#with melting that cold thinking but anyone can do it

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I LOOOVE ALL YOUR STORIES!!! And I wanna ask for something I just thought: virgin Severus (not student, already being a professor but you know he would not even dare to sleep with someone after Lily's death, full celibate against his own will lol) so virgin adult Snape in a new relationship with another f!professor but she's so careful with him seeing how scared he is for all this new sexual experiences, from being shy to being scared of hurting (idk why I imagine that and think it's cute af ON HIM) also being tender, asking him what he's feeling and taking their time to process the whole act until he gets the hang of it of course ❤️❤️❤️

Title: The Love Potion

Summary: Severus reveals a truth he’s long kept hidden, allowing you to lead him through a world of intimacy. Through careful guidance, you both experience a connection that is as magical as it is transformative.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your order!

Also read on Ao3

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across Snape’s chambers, highlighting the intensity in his dark, piercing eyes as he looked at you, as if searching for any hint of ridicule. When he admitted, almost in a whisper, that he was still a virgin, your surprise must have shown. His gaze flickered away, his mask slipping into a familiar cold indifference, as though he was expecting you to mock him, dismiss him, or even turn away.

"Forget it," he muttered, his voice suddenly low and guarded, hiding behind that armor of indifference. "I’m sure you think I’m a fool now."

You quickly reached out, your hand gently covering his, the warmth of your touch pulling his attention back to you. "Severus," you whispered, your voice soft and reassuring. "There’s nothing shameful about it… I’m just surprised, that’s all." Your fingers traced soothing circles over his knuckles. "Someone as brilliant—and as handsome—as you… I just thought…"

He tensed at the compliment, his cheeks tinged with a faint flush that you’d never seen before. It softened him, made him almost vulnerable. Seeing him like this, a side of Severus Snape that no one else would believe existed, sent a thrill through you. Carefully, you lifted his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

His breath caught as he watched you, his gaze searching, hesitant. "I never… after Lily, I never thought about… anyone else," he admitted, his voice barely a murmur. "And with you… it’s different. I find myself thinking… things I haven’t dared to in years."

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You leaned forward, bringing your face close to his. "Severus," you murmured, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray lock of his dark hair back from his face. "If… if you’re ready, if you want this, I’ll be here with you. We can go as slow as you like."

He swallowed, visibly nervous, but a flicker of desire lit his gaze as he nodded. "I… want to," he whispered, his voice thick and uncertain. "But… you’ll have to… guide me. I—I've never…"

You silenced him with a soft kiss, feeling his initial tension melt away as he began to respond, hesitant at first, but growing bolder. His hands settled on your waist, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested there. You pulled him closer, letting him feel your warmth, your heartbeat.

You took his hand and guided it over your shoulder, letting him feel the bare skin beneath his fingers. He shivered, his breaths coming faster as he touched you, as if in awe of each sensation. “You’re doing perfectly, Severus,” you murmured against his lips, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your touch. "Just relax… let me show you.”

He nodded, his usual sharpness replaced by a quiet vulnerability that tugged at your heart. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered, his voice laced with both apprehension and desire, his eyes locked on yours, seeking your guidance, your assurance.

You brought his hand to the clasp of your robes, guiding his fingers over it. “Unfasten it,” you whispered, watching as he swallowed nervously, his fingers fumbling slightly before he managed to undo it. His eyes widened as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you, his gaze intense and hungry.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper as his hand slid over your skin, hesitant yet yearning. His fingers brushed lightly along your collarbone, down your arm, as though memorizing every inch.

“Yes, Severus,” you replied, guiding his hand lower, letting him feel the way your body responded to his touch. “Just keep going… just like that.”

His gaze darkened with desire, though he still held a hint of nervousness as his fingers traced over your skin, exploring tentatively. “You’re so… beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself, his voice filled with awe. His lips followed his hand, trailing soft kisses along your neck, down your shoulder, each one sending a thrill through you.

You could feel his hesitation as he watched you, still caught between the layers of insecurity and wonder. You smiled, letting your fingers trail down the dark, heavy fabric of his robes, resting on the clasp. “Let me help you with this, Severus,” you whispered, your voice gentle, reassuring.

With a flick of your wand, his robes loosened, slipping from his shoulders. He tensed at first, but the sight of your calm, steady gaze softened his resolve. As the fabric pooled around his feet, revealing his long, lean frame, you saw a faint blush color his pale cheeks. He looked away, as if unaccustomed to such vulnerability, such intimacy.

You reached out, tilting his chin gently back toward you, your eyes meeting his. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching for reassurance.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly, savoring the way his chest was exposed to you inch by inch. Beneath the austere fabric, his body was lean and surprisingly defined, a testament to years of discipline and restraint. He shivered as your fingers traced down his chest, his breaths coming faster, uneven.

“Have you… ever experienced a blowjob?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of playful mischief.

Severus swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “No… is that… is that bad?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, no,” you murmured, voice filled with reassurance, “that just means I’m going to be the first… the only one to give you that experience.” Your fingers trailed down his torso, resting just above the waistband of his trousers. “And I get the privilege of this view… of seeing you, Severus, like no one else ever has.”

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly as you knelt before him. His eyes were locked on you, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling within them. “Are you… are you certain?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with vulnerability. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”

You looked up at him, offering a reassuring smile. “Just relax, Severus,” you murmured, your voice filled with warmth. “Let me take care of you.”

He nodded, his hands trembling as he watched you, utterly captivated by every movement. You gently tugged his trousers down, your fingers grazing his skin, feeling his muscles tense and then relax under your touch. His reaction—so genuine, so raw—sent a thrill through you as you pressed a gentle kiss to his hip, hearing the sharp intake of his breath.

As you took him into your mouth, you felt him shudder, his hands tangling in your hair. He gasped, his voice rough and breathless. “Merlin… I never thought…” His words trailed off, replaced by a low groan as he closed his eyes, letting the sensation overwhelm him. He tried to keep quiet, but soft, ragged sounds escaped him, each one filled with wonder.

You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to each touch, each flick of your tongue, guiding him through the pleasure. “Is… is it supposed to feel this…” His words were cut off by another shuddering breath, his hand tightening in your hair as he struggled to stay grounded.

You paused, looking up at him, your lips curling into a gentle smile. “Yes, Severus,” you whispered, “this is exactly how it’s meant to feel.”

As you continued, Severus seemed almost overwhelmed, his usual stoic demeanor melting away with each flick of your tongue, each gentle, attentive movement. His breath came in shuddering gasps, his hands clumsy and unsure as they found your shoulder, then tangled in your hair, gripping tighter as if he feared he might drift away in this unfamiliar sea of sensation. The normally composed Potions Master was unraveling under your touch, his fingers flexing, trembling, his control slipping with each passing second.

Soft curses slipped from his lips, unfiltered and raw, breaking through his usual restraint. “Bloody… Merlin, what…,” he mumbled, his deep voice ragged, tinged with disbelief and awe. Every now and then, he’d catch himself, his mouth snapping shut as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. But as your lips slid down his length, taking him deeper, his restraint shattered. His voice, usually so composed and cold, was now thick and desperate. “Gods… yes… just like that.”

You tasted the saltiness of his pre-cum, his body betraying just how close he was to losing all control. It spurred you on, urging you to take him deeper, savoring the way he responded to every flick of your tongue, every gentle suck. He groaned, his grip tightening, his other hand reaching to steady himself on your shoulder, his fingers digging into you as he struggled to remain grounded.

“You—” He tried to form a sentence, but his words were lost in a throaty growl, his voice filled with helpless wonder. “You’re… remarkable… utterly… sinful,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost reverent. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and the sight of his dark, half-lidded eyes watching you sent a thrill down your spine.

The intensity of his gaze grew as you continued, his breaths coming faster, each one a raw, guttural sound that made your heart pound. His fingers tangled tighter in your hair as he leaned his head back, surrendering to the pleasure. The sight of Severus Snape, usually so composed and guarded, completely undone before you was a sight you would never forget.

His hips jerked involuntarily as he neared his climax, and you felt his entire body tense, his hand clutching you tightly as he came, his release spilling into your mouth. You took him in fully, feeling the warmth and the weight of his climax as he shuddered, his breath catching in his throat.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you swallowed, savoring every taste of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction unlike anything you’d experienced before. When you looked up, he was still catching his breath, his chest heaving, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mixture of amazement and disbelief.

“Merlin… you…” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. The vulnerability in his eyes was something rare, something precious, and you felt your heart swell at the sight of him like this, unguarded and exposed.

You rose slowly, moving to stand beside him as he regained his composure, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his hand brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness, his fingers still trembling slightly. “I’ve… never…” He struggled to find the words, his usual eloquence lost in the aftermath of such intense intimacy. “I never imagined it could feel like that.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your own heart pounding as you met his gaze. “You deserved this, Severus,” you murmured, your voice soft, reassuring. “To feel wanted… cherished… you deserve all of it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his hand remained on your face, his touch gentle, lingering. “I… thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet gratitude, a vulnerability he rarely showed.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling him relax beneath your touch, his usual sharpness softened in this rare, unguarded moment. And as you held him, you knew that this night was something that neither of you would ever forget—a night where the enigmatic, guarded Severus Snape allowed himself, for once, to be truly seen.

With a gentle smile, you took Severus’s hand and guided him to the bed, watching as he settled himself beside you, still tentative, his gaze flickering from your face to the bed as if uncertain of what lay ahead. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, leaning in to meet his dark, intense eyes.

“We can stop here, if you want,” you murmured, your voice soft and inviting, allowing him the choice. “There’s no rush, Severus.”

But he shook his head, a determined look settling over his features. “No,” he replied, his voice low and sure, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I want to… I want to please you, to make you feel what I just felt—if you’ll… teach me, that is.” A faint blush crept up his cheeks, and his gaze softened, a vulnerable earnestness showing through his usual guarded demeanor.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth flooding through you at his words. “Oh, so I’m to teach the great Potions Master something new?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

He grumbled under his breath, a hint of that familiar, dry wit shining through. “Must you joke about this?” he murmured, his gaze shifting away for a moment before returning to you, filled with determination.

With a reassuring smile, you rose, slipping your bra off and letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties, allowing yourself to stand before him completely bare. His gaze lingered, captivated, his dark eyes widening, lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you. The faint flush returned to his cheeks, and you noticed the way his body responded, his cock beginning to stir once more, reacting to the vision before him.

Slowly, you straddled his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your body against his. His breath caught, and his hands rested hesitantly at your waist, trembling slightly. You leaned closer, guiding one of his hands to rest between your thighs, over the softness of your skin. “Follow my lead,” you murmured, your voice soothing, reassuring as you held his gaze.

With your guidance, his fingers began to explore, tentative at first. You gently led his hand, letting his fingers slide over your most sensitive spots, rubbing slow circles over your clit. His hand was large, calloused yet gentle, and under your guidance, he began to gain confidence, his movements growing steadier, more assured.

“That’s perfect, Severus,” you whispered, letting out a soft moan as his fingers pressed just right. “Just like that…”

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with desire and wonder. His fingers moved, tentative but increasingly skilled, following every soft instruction you gave him. As he rubbed your clit, you let out a breathy gasp, and his eyes flickered with satisfaction, a hint of pride flashing across his face.

Then, you gently guided one of his fingers inside you, showing him how to curl it just so, the way that made you shiver with pleasure. “Feel that?” you murmured, guiding his hand as he explored you, his touch growing more confident with each movement.

“It’s… incredible,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe. His dark eyes were intent, focused entirely on you, as though he was determined to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every soft sound that escaped your lips.

With each movement, he grew bolder, curling his fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body responded to his touch. He watched your reaction, his eyes darkening with desire, his lips parting as he took in the sight of you, writhing beneath his skilled fingers.

“You’re… remarkable,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur as his fingers continued to move within you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “So responsive… so beautiful…”

A shudder ran through you as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck, his hand still working you with a practiced precision that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, feeling yourself unravel beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps as he brought you closer to your climax.

“Severus… oh, Merlin…” you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand continued its steady, skillful movements, each stroke and curl sending you spiraling further. The way he learned, the way he responded to your every reaction, was a testament to his brilliance, his meticulous attention to detail.

As your breathing settled, you whispered, "Severus, stop." He froze immediately, his expression shifting from one of raw desire to immediate concern. His fingers withdrew, his gaze searching your face with worry. "Did I… did I hurt you?" he murmured, his voice soft and apprehensive, as if bracing himself for a truth he feared.

You shook your head quickly, reaching up to caress his cheek with a reassuring smile. "No, Severus," you breathed, feeling the weight of your own arousal pulsing through you. "I just… I want to feel you inside me. I want to cum on your cock." The words hung between you, and his face softened with understanding, a hint of vulnerability mingling with his desire. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he absorbed the intensity of your request.

You brushed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger as you asked gently, "Would you like to be on top?" He nodded, his gaze darkening with both eagerness and a slight apprehension. The two of you shifted, moving slowly together until he hovered over you, his tall, lean figure casting a shadow over you in the dim candlelight, his piercing eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

You watched him, feeling your own anticipation mounting as he took himself in his hand, positioning himself as you spread your legs wider for him, inviting him closer. He paused, meeting your gaze with an unspoken question. “Do you… know what to do?” you asked, your voice a quiet murmur, filled with warmth and understanding.

He nodded, glancing away briefly, a faint flush creeping up his pale cheeks. “Yes… I’ve read about it,” he admitted, his voice almost hesitant. “There were… books… illustrations, even. I know that… when two wizards connect like this, sometimes… the magic between them manifests in strange ways. Unstable at times, powerful.” His gaze flickered back to you, his dark eyes searching. “It’s… intense.”

You nodded, pulling him closer, feeling his heat against you as you whispered, “Yes, exactly. It’s a bond—an exchange of magic as well as bodies. Sometimes, it can even… explode.” His breath hitched as he pressed himself against your entrance, feeling the heat of you drawing him in. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as he hesitated, his voice a whisper.

“Will it… hurt?” he asked, his gaze vulnerable, revealing a hint of that nervousness beneath his composed exterior. You stroked his cheek softly, meeting his eyes with a reassuring smile.

“No, Sev,” you murmured. “For me, maybe… but for you, it won’t hurt. Just… let yourself feel it.” You pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist as you encouraged him to press forward.

His gaze never left yours as he slowly began to slide inside you, his fingers tightening against your waist as he let out a shuddering breath. “Merlin… you’re… so warm,” he murmured, his voice rough with wonder and desire, as he sank deeper, inch by inch, his control unraveling with each passing second. The sensation sent a shiver through both of you, a hum of magic sparking and swirling around you, brushing against your skin like a living thing.

As he moved, finding a rhythm, you could feel his hesitation begin to melt, replaced by something raw and powerful, a hunger he had never allowed himself to feel before. His movements grew bolder, each thrust driving him deeper, filling you completely, his breath heavy as he let himself fall into the rhythm, his dark eyes intent on yours, the vulnerability fading, replaced by unrestrained desire.

"Gods… you feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick, a mixture of awe and disbelief as he pressed deeper, his fingers tracing down your sides. The magic between you seemed to respond to his every movement, pulses of energy surging with each thrust, filling the room with a faint hum, crackling with intensity.

You arched against him, matching his rhythm, savoring the way he filled you, the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours, fitting together as if made to be one. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer as he moved, a soft groan escaping him as he began to lose himself, his control slipping further with each passing moment.

“Severus… you’re perfect,” you whispered, gasping as you felt his thrusts grow harder, more desperate, his breaths coming faster as he buried himself deeper, the magic swirling around you, igniting with each thrust. His gaze locked onto yours, filled with a primal intensity, a fierce possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

With each thrust, you could feel the magic building, crackling and surging, an overwhelming wave of energy rising between you both. His pace quickened, each movement more intense, more powerful, his voice a low growl as he whispered, “You’re… mine… only mine.”

“Yes, Severus,” you gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you felt yourself nearing the edge, the magic between you sparking wildly, filling the room with a radiant, pulsing glow. His hands tightened on your hips as he drove into you with a desperate, hungry fervor, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

And then, as you both reached that peak, the magic exploded, a blinding surge of energy flooding the room. Glass shattered, every fragile object in his chambers breaking as the wave of power swept through, leaving nothing untouched. You cried out, clinging to him as the energy surged through both of you, binding you together in an unbreakable, consuming bond.

When the intensity faded, you found yourself lying together, both of you breathless, bodies entwined, your skin still tingling from the lingering effects of the magic. Severus looked down at you, his expression softened, a mixture of wonder and disbelief in his gaze.

“Did… did we just…?” he whispered, his voice filled with awe, as if unable to believe the depth of what you had shared.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a hand along his cheek. “Yes, Sev,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “That… was us.”

Severus glanced around the dimly lit bedroom, his dark eyes sweeping over the shattered remnants of glass scattered across the floor. The faint glow from the still-flickering candlelight reflected off broken pieces—a mead bottle lay in shards by the nightstand, a few cracked potion vials scattered near the bed, and fragments of other glass objects glistened in the shadows.

His lips curved into a wry smirk, and he let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. "Well," he said, his voice a low, rich murmur, "it appears I’ll have to use the Reparo spell quite liberally this evening. I do hope you’re pleased with yourself."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, snuggling closer into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his lean, solid frame against yours. His sarcasm only endeared him to you further, especially in this vulnerable, unguarded moment. “Oh, I am,” you replied, your voice filled with teasing satisfaction as you looked up at him. “And I think you are too, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

A faint blush crept up his pale cheeks, barely visible in the candlelight, and he quickly looked away, as if the sight of you, so close and so content, was too much to take in. “That’s… hardly the point,” he muttered, trying to keep his usual cold indifference, though it softened with every second he spent with you.

You traced a gentle finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch, savoring the rare, unguarded look in his eyes as he met your gaze. “Severus, I think it’s exactly the point,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I’ve never seen you so… carefree.”

He scoffed, though his tone held none of its usual harshness. “Carefree is hardly a word one would use to describe me,” he replied dryly, though the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer to him, letting your head rest against his chest as his arm wrapped around you, holding you gently. “I think I quite like this version of you, Severus. The one who lets himself relax… who lets himself be cared for.”

His fingers traced absent patterns along your shoulder, his other hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he looked down at you, his piercing dark eyes softening, filled with a warmth he so rarely showed. “Only for you,” he murmured, his deep voice quiet and steady, a confession wrapped in simplicity. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen me like this… the only one who’s ever truly cared to.”

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb grazing over his sharp cheekbone as you took in the rare vulnerability in his expression. “I’ll always care, Severus,” you whispered, meeting his gaze with all the sincerity you felt. “And I think, perhaps, you’re worth more than even you realize.”

A faint smile touched his lips, and for a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the comfort of your touch, the warmth of your words. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet wonder as he looked down at you, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real. “Perhaps I am.”

The chalk squeaked under your hand as you wrote on the board, the words of today’s History of Magic lesson taking shape in neat, tidy letters. You’d always preferred doing things by hand rather than relying on magic for every little task, a habit most of your students found a bit old-fashioned but charming. As you worked, the low murmur of conversation floated around the classroom, a hum you usually silenced with a single glance. However, today, you found yourself allowing the chatter to continue, as it seemed to be centered around a rather intriguing subject.

“Did you hear about Snape today?” a Gryffindor whispered to his friend, a mixture of disbelief and excitement in his tone. “He didn’t take a single point from Martin after he melted his cauldron in Potions! Just told him to be more careful next time.”

“What?” another Hufflepuff gasped, turning wide-eyed to her neighbor. “Snape didn’t yell at him? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Snape?”

“Positive,” the Gryffindor replied, nodding eagerly. “He just seemed… relaxed, almost like he didn’t care. The whole class was holding their breath, waiting for him to start docking points, but he didn’t.”

The gossip spread quickly, whispers of Snape’s newfound calm weaving through the classroom like a spell. You felt a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you continued writing on the board, your face carefully turned away from the students to hide your amusement. So, all it took to soften Severus’s edges was a little bit of intimacy, was it?

“Well, maybe he’s in a good mood for once,” one of the Hufflepuffs muttered. “But still… this is Snape we’re talking about. Something must have happened to make him this way.”

“Think he’s sick?” a Gryffindor asked, her voice laced with genuine concern, as though the idea of a kinder Snape had unsettled her deeply.

Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you continued to jot down the day’s topic, hiding your amusement behind a pretense of focus. If only they knew the truth. You had spent the night unraveling those tense lines of Severus’s, peeling back layer after layer of the man he kept hidden from the world. Beneath his cool exterior, you’d found passion, vulnerability, and an intense desire to be seen for who he truly was. And now, it seemed, a few traces of that newfound peace had followed him into the daylight.

Another Gryffindor chimed in, her tone hushed but filled with amazement. “Do you think it could be… love?” she whispered, her eyes wide, as if such a notion were almost too fantastical to believe.

“Love? For Snape?” her friend snickered, rolling his eyes. “Please. Snape doesn’t have time for things like love.”

You turned back to the class, raising a brow as you caught their startled expressions. “If you’re quite done discussing Professor Snape’s private life, we do have a lesson to cover,” you said, your tone light but pointed. The students quickly quieted, a few exchanging sheepish glances, though one or two looked as if they still weren’t quite over the shock of Snape’s unusual behavior.

As you resumed the lesson, your thoughts drifted, replaying fragments of last night: Severus’s tentative touch, his whispered confessions, the way he’d looked at you with such awe and vulnerability. It was hard to reconcile that tender, exposed version of him with the intimidating Potions Master your students were so accustomed to.

In your mind, you could almost hear Severus’s low, velvety voice, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “I suppose this new softness is all thanks to you, then?” he might have murmured, his eyes narrowing as he gave you one of his dry, unimpressed looks. The thought made you smile, knowing that you held a secret version of Severus that no one else would ever see, a version hidden behind his usual cold mask.

You moved to the side of the classroom, letting the students dive into their assigned readings. As you glanced out the window, your mind wandered back to Severus’s chambers, to the way his guard had melted away in the dim candlelight. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d allowed himself to let go, even if just for a night.

Well, Severus Snape, you thought with a quiet chuckle, it seems you’ll just have to get used to the idea that you, too, are deserving of softness.

[twipsai]

omega and silver fic is up! ill put the full thing under the cut yayyy

~

Days and weeks and months melted together, years going by as his body rusted and decayed, warping itself beyond repair as fewer and fewer people dared to enter the Flame Core, fewer caring to check in on them.

He wasn’t conscious for a large portion of it. How could he be? Why would he be? Any reason to stay present was gone.

So he sat. He waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.

…

And then.

And then one day.

One day, something new. The feeling of something stirring against his chest awoke him from a multi-decade slumber. It took minutes, maybe hours, for all of his systems to come back online. The ones remaining, anyway. Everything hit him like bullets— two lifeforms detected, tactile input detected, loss of ammunition, left shoulder joint disconnected, motor functions offline…

Everything buzzed faintly.

Finally, he could see again.

He shifted his cameras down to see…

“CHILD.”

The kid’s eyes flew open as he stumbled backwards from being curled up against his side. A scream erupted from the child’s body. Analysis showed he was a hedgehog, about six, not matching anyone stored within his database.

Though, there weren’t many people around who did, anymore.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Omega questioned, voice echoing unpleasantly against the cavern’s walls.

The child didn’t answer, his breathing picking up speed as his hands started to tremble. He fell to his knees, eyes wide and unblinkingly staring at Omega.

“I BELIEVE I MAY HAVE FRIGHTENED YOU. THIS WAS NOT MY INTENTION.”

It looked like the child couldn’t breathe, now, as if he was being strangled by an invisible force. He grasped a hand around his neck while tears rolled down his cheeks.

Somewhere in his data storage, something like a memory surfaced. It was an unfamiliar feeling.

At some point, someone he knew had something like this happen to them.

“INITIATING ‘COMFORT’ PROTOCOL.”

Through old, crackling speakers, a song started to play. Even with the terrible audio crunching, the piano still rang out as soft as ever. Slow notes drawled on. The lifeform behind him shifted. The child took about 3.49 seconds to visually indicate he had heard the music. His ears perked up and his terrified eyes softened. Over the course of six minutes and twenty-three seconds, the child’s heart rate decreased from 110 beats per minute to 100.

The first thing that tiny child squeaked out was, “Can you move?”

Omega responded after a moment to check. “NO.”

The child then slowly stood, inching forward on trembling legs to sit closer to the music. He leaned an ear to Omega’s chest where the sound crackled out from. He was way too warm for a tiny child, and if he wasn’t showing no other symptoms, Omega would have thought he was sick.

As the song steadily reached its conclusion, the child seemed about as relaxed as he was going to get.

“What is this?” he asked.

“GYMNOPEDIE NO. 1.”

The child looked up and squinted his eyes, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“IT’S A VERY OLD SONG FROM AN ESTIMATED 400 YEARS AGO.”

“A song? What’s a song?”

Omega was never very good at explaining the more… human aspects of life. The alive parts.

Others would be better suited to explain this.

He knew many that could’ve.

“A SONG IS TYPICALLY A COLLECTION OF NOTES PLAYED IN SUCCESSION TO CREATE A MELODY. WHY WERE YOU SLEEPING ON ME, CHILD?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I DO NOT CARE. YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED MY QUESTION.”

The child’s grey quills flared out even more than they already had, and he fidgeted with the bandages around his wrists. “Your body is cold. It’s very warm here. I was just trying to cool off…”

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”

“I think it’s Silver.”

“YOU ARE NOT SURE?”

“No.”

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

“I’m trying to get to Crisis City.”

That was an unfamiliar location. Omega checked his residual memory, and cross referenced it with previous data he had archived. “THE RUINS OF SOLEANNA.”

“Um. Maybe?”

“THE HEART OF IBLIS. INQUIRY: WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR CERTAIN DEATH?”

Silver sat down in the place where his left arm should have been, under exposed wires sparking threateningly. This close, Omega could see the scabs on his knees, the blood soaking through the messily-wrapped bandages, the cuts littering his arms and legs, his calloused hands and feet— he could see the determination in his eyes as he folded his hands in his lap and furrowed his brows. “I'm going to defeat Iblis.”

If Omega could laugh, he would. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. SILVER THE HEDGEHOG: SMALL, MORTAL, POWERLESS. IBLIS: GIANT, IMMORTAL, POWERFUL. I ASK AGAIN; WHY IS A TINY MEATBAG LIKE YOU MARCHING TO YOUR DEATH?”

“Because I have to! I have powers no one else has, if there's something I can do, then I wanna help!”

“FURTHER DATA NEEDED. WHAT POWERS DO YOU POSSESS, CHILD?”

“Um, someone told me its called psy– psycho— um—”

“PSYCHOKINESIS.”

“Yes! Psychokinesis!”

There was no telling how powerful the child actually was. Omega knew better than to underestimate children at this point, when three had accompanied him on adventure after adventure before the flames had consumed the world.

They were children. Most of his companions were. 

His chest suddenly felt strange. Felt. He tried to run a diagnosis on his power core, only to find that it was still destroyed. Nothing had changed about his state. What made that feeling?

“Excuse me, uh… sir?”

“OMEGA.”

“Huh?”

“THAT IS MY NAME. E-123 OMEGA.”

“Oh. Well, your eyes are glowing.”

Strange. Someone once said that he was very expressive— he thought it was what she called “sarcasm”, but then went on to explain all the little things she noticed about him, and how he reacts to things. It seemed that, even with almost all of his functions offline, he was still finding ways to express himself.

“Omega?”

“WHAT.”

Silver looked up at him shyly. “Can I lean on you again? It’s very hot in here, and you’re very cool…”

“I LACK THE PROPER MOTOR FUNCTION TO STOP YOU.”

“That’s why I asked.”

A memory surfaced. Covered in rust and cobwebs and ash.

A very long time ago, he was carrying someone gently, as gently as he could. This person was tired— he had been through a lot that week. He could barely stand. So he carried him to his room quietly, trying his best not to tear the blankets he used to tuck him in. He must not have done a very good job at being quiet, because he woke up to a degree.

“Omega,” he mumbled, eyes still half-closed. “Don’t… don’t let anyone do anything to you. Even though you’re… you’re a robot… you should get to be your own person…”

He quietly took a step back. 

“YOUR MUMBLING IS INCOHERENT,” Omega replied. “TELL ME TOMORROW; I WILL STILL BE HERE.”

And he turned.

And left.

Silver, for one reason or another, was dragging up memories that he thought had been trapped in old storage. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a conversation with another person in over a hundred years. Maybe the long stretches of silence had a way of turning one into a poet.

“YES,” Omega finally replied, “YOU MAY LEAN ON ME.”

Silver crawled over his lap, smushing himself in between Omega’s in-tact arm and torso, forehead leaning against his upper arm. If Omega thought the child would listen, he would warn him about getting tetanus from his rusted fingers.

“I have a question now. Is that okay?”

“YES.”

“How old are you?”

“73,784.8 DAYS HAVE PASSED SINCE MY CREATION.”

“Uhhh… that’s a lot…”

Eggman didn’t program conversion to weeks, months, and years into his internal clock. Eventually it would stop counting up when it hit 999,999.999 days. It also meant that he had to mentally convert it himself. “APPROXIMATELY 200 YEARS.”

“Oh.”

…

The child looked up at him with impossibly large eyes.

“Oh! Were you around before Iblis was, Omega?!”

“YES—”

“Can you tell me about it?! Please! I’ve heard stories but— but not from someone who was there! You gotta tell me!”

Much to his dismay, Omega was finding this child amusing. And familiar. “WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW?”

“Um, um…” When he was in thought, Silver fidgeted with his poncho’s hem. “Tell me about the sky!”

“...THE SKY?”

“Yes!”

Omega hadn’t been outside for most of his lifespan— he had spent it in the Flame Core. But he did remember that— “IT WAS GIANT.”

A massive expanse that blanketed the entire earth. A constant in a chaotic life. No matter where you went, the sky followed.

“IT WOULD CHANGE COLOR. MANY COMPARED IT TO A PAINTING.”

The child looked up at him with wonder in his eyes, absorbing every syllable.

“IT WAS THE ONE THING IN LIFE THAT REMAINED.”

Absolute awe was written on Silver’s face. 

Omega could make a well-informed guess of what awaited him outside the cavern if he was ever fixed.

“Can you tell me about the people?”

“YOU ASK MANY QUESTIONS.”

“I haven’t gotten this many answers before.”

They were his companions. Teammates. Friends, though, that was pushing it a little, as one of them would say. After so long to think about it, to put his feelings into words, he came to the conclusion that he must have cared about them. They were almost all gone, now. Almost. But he could remember watching them from afar, completely captivated by how they moved. It was all just play to most of them. They would train against each other, race across continents, get takeout in the middle of a mission… Everything was just another day. They laughed in the face of danger. They stood tall. They cared.

Oh, how they cared.

“I BELIEVE THEY WERE NOT VERY DIFFERENT FROM THE PEOPLE OF THIS TIME.”

“No?”

“NO. THEY WERE ALL JUST PEOPLE. MUNDANE.”

Silver knitted his brows together in thought, then pointed past where Omega’s cameras could reach, behind the two of them. “Was he there?”

But he knew.

He knew.

Knew who he was pointing to.

“YES.”

“What’s his name?”

“SHADOW.”

“Why is he trapped in there?”

While Omega couldn’t see him in his position, he knew exactly how Shadow looked. Arms up and cuffed with giant metal rings, attached to a hexagonal cage that stretched over him in a diamond shape, glowing pink and white. The image was committed to his long-term memory.

Perhaps it was better he couldn’t turn to see.

“HUMANITY THOUGHT HE WAS THE CAUSE OF THE FLAMES OF DISASTER.”

Silver stood and walked behind him. The tingle of apprehensiveness of having his back turned to a sentient being was duller than he remembered. “Was he?”

“NO,” he could say for certain. “NO, HE WASN’T.”

“Then why did they do this to him?”

He could remember his claw gripping Shadow’s neck as he begged and pleaded for mercy. He remembered his body acting without his command as he unfeelingly attacked him. He remembered Shadow going limp on the floor, almost dead. He remembered watching as people crowded around him and quickly put him into stasis.

He remembered standing with him,

for centuries.

Maybe as an apology. Maybe because it was what he was built to do.

He remembered.

“HUMANITY FEARS WHAT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND, CHILD.”

Quietly, Silver walked back to Omega’s side, leaning on him once again, and a little more curled up in his lap than he was before. “I know,” he said. “I know that.” 

Of course he did. Omega could have guessed that, especially in this world; this world that was dominated by terror. After all, Silver was here, alone, at six years old. Whatever reason he had for that couldn't be a pleasant one.

“YOU REMIND ME OF THE PEOPLE I FOUGHT ALONGSIDE BACK THEN.”

“Before Iblis?”

“YES.”

“I do?”

“YOU ARE MARCHING TO FACE IMPOSSIBLE ODDS. YET YOU REMAIN OPTIMISTIC. YOU STRIVE TO PROTECT A BROKEN WORLD THAT HURT YOU.”

Silver fidgeted with the hem of his poncho. His markings pulsed with light. “Even if the whole world was against me,” he whispered, “I'd still protect it.”

“I SEE. INQUIRY;”

“Mhm?”

“HOW CAN YOU FIGHT WHEN YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T WIN?”

For a long time, Silver stayed quiet.

He spoke slowly. “As long as I don't give up… there's hope.”

How optimistic. How cruel, for a child to say those words with a trembling voice. If Omega could, he'd weep. 

Then, he returned to his excited demeanor. “Hey, you know what? I could probably get Shadow out of there!”

“YOU COULD NOT.”

“I could try! If I could wake your friend up, then maybe—”

“CHILD.”

He stayed quiet.

“I MADE A VOW TO PROTECT THOSE I HELD DEAR.” He flickered some of the lights on his body on and off. “I BROKE THAT VOW ONCE. NOW, I WILL REMAIN HERE, BY HIS SIDE, UNTIL I AM GONE.”

Silver was practically curled up in his lap, forehead rested on his chest. His body temperature had dropped significantly since he had woken up. “Okay, then. Hey, I have another question.”

“ASK IT.”

“Can you make that ‘song’ again?”

How optimistic.

How cruel.

“YES. I CAN.”

The piano hummed through his broken speakers. It made ear-splitting popping noises occasionally, but Silver didn't seem to mind. He shifted so his ear was right above Omega’s internal speaker.

His companions would have liked Silver. It was obvious— maybe even Shadow would have. But they were separated by eons.

Omega only hoped the next time they met, it was for a kinder reason.

‘Hoped’...

Silver must have been rubbing off on him. 

[ardenssolis]

[I find it neat that whenever Ozy has basically 'given up' on others, it's always reignited by someone with strength of will. It's just something that I've noticed and have thought about from time to time. He's a cold realist and one has to prove him wrong in his thoughts for him to step back and reconsider. He could have bore Arthur ill-will for defeating him and destroying the dream he had planned on seeing come into fruition, but rather than do that, when Arthur needed help dealing with that Beast in Proto Frag, he was one of the Heroic Spirits that aided him. He's not someone who delves into whimsical optimism as he can't afford to do that, thus, he tends to only see what's in front of him. It can take effort for him to see anything else.]

[rafesproperty]

Thinking about how Rafe would treat you each season…

Bro was tweakin’ the whole show 😭 Good luck with the mood swings

Also can you tell S2 Rafe is my fav and owns my entire heart? Ok? Ok.

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Season 1 Rafe treats you horribly. Never there for you even tho you are always there for him. Always thinking about himself.

He can be nice behind closed doors but the second you are with him and his friends he’s cold. He almost acts like you guys aren’t together but if one of his friends flirts with you he throws a tantrum. Also he gets mad when you don’t give him enough attention but he ignores your messages for days.

He snorts cocaine in front of you even tho it makes you uncomfortable… but he doesn’t really care as long as he gets his high. He asks to snort it from your thighs or cleavage as well. If you say no he’ll keep asking until you say yes just to shut him up.

If you’re being all annoying asking him to drive you home he’ll just smear some on your gums.

“Shit. Alright, c’me here baby,” he mumbles and you sit on his lap as he grabs a tiny bit of the powder and uses his fingers to open your mouth. “There you go, baby, good fuckin’ girl.” He chuckles and kisses you. You instantly melt into the kiss, feeling as if the drugs effect melts your body. You’re on top of him the entire night, cuddling up to him, straddling his lap, purring when he kisses you. You’re just so good to him, so devoted when you’re in this state.

He never lets you snort it tho. And he won’t do it again for a long time. He doesn’t want you to be addicted like him.

He calls you in the middle of the night and demands you come over when he’s in the mood. He’ll pick you up but won’t give you a ride home so you’re either staying or walking alone.

He yells Kiara looks hot at Midsummers when you’re right next to him. You’re angry at him but he doesn’t care.

Probably constantly breaking up and getting back together when he has one of his breakdowns and needs you. So he seeks you out. Cries to you about his dad. Cries to you about your relationship. Promises to do better. And you always take him back.

He takes you on motorbike dates, goes way over the speed limit tho.

You are there when his dad kicks him out, he takes his sadness and anger out on you. You are there when he kills the sheriff, and you’re not running away, not telling anyone, you’re keeping your mouth shut. For him. You do a lot of things for him.

Season 2 Rafe aka the most unhinged psycho you’ve ever met is actually nicer to you (worse to everyone else… but nicer to you). He keeps you safe. Never lets you walk alone at night. He basically never ever leaves your side, when he does it’s to do something he doesn’t want you to see.

He keeps you away from Ward and Barry - especially Barry. Until you actually meet Barry and find out he’s cool and funny asf. Rafe is pissed at first but Barry is the only guy he’ll let you hang out with (only in his presence, tho).

Barry starts calling you “Mrs. Country cluuuub.”

Never lets you do drugs again. Not even a little bit. He feels bad for what he did before, smearing it on your gums when you didn’t even really know what he was doing. He won’t admit it out loud, tho. He just won’t allow it again.

He needs to touch you constantly. Hand on your back or your thigh at all times. Holding you close to him. He needs to know feel you’re there.

He swears he’ll buy anything you damn want with the gold.

He still gets mad when he doesn’t get your attention but this time he’ll just take it. He’ll force you to give him attention if he has to. Sometimes he’ll rile you up and piss you off just so that he’s your main focus.

He seeks you out for comfort when he comes to your house all bloody and beaten… whether the blood is his or not is a mystery. He’ll open up to you, he’ll talk about his dad and you’ll comfort him with sweet words, he gets so used to it. Addicted. His dad never listened to him. No one ever listened to him. But you do. He may be in love with you.

He’s possessive. Won’t let you talk to other people, will break anyones bones if they look at you the wrong way. You’re his. And he’s slowly starting to realise that he is yours, too.

“I’ll take care of you. Shit, I’ll fuck up anyone who tries to hurt you, got that?”

He’s harsh about everything he doesn’t like and especially to people he doesn’t like. You better not get in the way when he’s really angry.

He hates it when he makes you cry, but if he’s already pissed off he can’t stop himself from yelling. He never hurt you tho. Maybe a few bruises from gripping your wrist with too much force but nothing intentional.

His eyes soften when you flinch one time. That being the only time he actually somewhat calms down.

Not many peaceful moments with him given how little chill he had in S2 😭 BUT if you guys are just talking, playing with eachothers fingers in the dark and you start talking about your future he melts. You always include him. In all the details and in all the plans. He loves you. He’s sure of it now.

Wheezie absolutely adores you, she gossips about Rafe with you all the time. You guys play board games and he’ll scoff and roll his eyes but Wheezie will force him to join. For 5 minutes. Then he’s like “Fuck this bullshit” (he’s losing) and he leaves. You and Wheezie laugh at him.

He tells you everything, he tells you about how he shot Sarah, how he tried to drown her, how he almost killed Pope, how he hates these fucking Pogues so much and wants them all dead… he’s never saying it calmly, his pupils are dilated, he’s shaking, his words are mixing, he has this look on his face… sometimes he’s so scary. But you never run away from him.

His obsession with making his dad proud slowly turns into an obsession to make you proud. To make you happy. To make sure the gold is fucking yours and anyone who tries to take anything away from you two dies.

I seriously can’t stress enough how Rafe is always obsessed with one person only and does absolutely everything in the world for them. And his focus changes from his dad to you. You’re his priority now. He’ll protect you, not his dad. He’ll make you proud, not his dad. You. You. You.

Season 3 Rafe is an obsessed man. Spoils you. Takes you on fancy dates all the time. Gets you anything you like or anything he likes.

Gets you hot dresses that he’ll rip the same day. You’re actually angry because you liked that dress so he’ll just buy it again.

He doesn’t really know how to express his emotions so he’ll just constantly buy you expensive things just because he can and he’ll keep you close, cuddle you, kiss you, squeeze your waist. Physical contact all the time, basically.

You don’t really fight anymore. But if he does make you angry you’ll wake up to princess treatment the whole day. Food, clothes, jewelry, his attention, anything you want, you got it.

“Can we get a dog?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

… almost anything you want.

You are his priority, always. Always focused on making you secure, safe, happy, proud, satisfied. You don’t have to ask for anything, ever. He’s got you.

Constantly shielding you with his body when you two go out, keeping you close, thumb drawing little circles on your back, his attention on you the entire time.

He’ll take you on boat drives and just chill and make out with you out on the open ocean.

He’s so madly in love with you.

He’s loyal, pushing other people away from him, and he expects the same from you… tho you usually don’t even get the chance to. He’s scaring anyone away the second they look at you.

He doesn’t care about Ward anymore, all he sees is his pretty girl who’s been with him the whole time, through everything. His girl. That didn’t push him away when he was on his lowest. His girl, who didn’t run away from him when he killed people. His girl who makes him feel so warm and fuzzy it actually keeps surprising him.

He wants to marry you, give you everything he has, pay you back for always having his back.

[eclips-moon]

The Batboys being clingy headcanon:

Including Duke and Bruce <3

Hope you guys like it!

Tim Drake Tim’s clinginess is low-key, but it’s also constant. He’s the type to text you “What’s up? I miss you <3” while you’re just sitting 5 feet away from him. If you so much as stand up to go get a snack, he’s immediately there, like, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me.” He’ll lean against you, his hand finding yours without him even realizing it. When you're watching TV or reading, he’s definitely leaning into your side, trying to get as close as possible without being too obvious. But if you move to shift positions? Nope, he’s following you. He’ll slip his arm around your waist, all like, “Don’t think I didn’t notice that.” He’s not a big PDA guy, but when it’s just the two of you? Prepare for cuddles, hand-holding, and small, random kisses. He’s gotta be touching you constantly.

Jason Todd Jason is obsessive, no doubt. He’s that partner who’ll try to act like he’s tough and independent, but the moment you show him any kind of affection, he’s all over you. Like, you can’t just hug him. No. He’ll climb into your lap and basically trap you there, rubbing his face into your neck like a cat. He’s gonna constantly ask for kisses, too, but not just little pecks—he wants full-on, deep kisses where he can pull you close and remind you that you’re his. If you’re doing something, like, working or even hanging out with friends, he’ll try to drag you away, be like, “Hey, come hang out with me, stop ignoring me for two seconds.” He’s possessive, but in the cutest way, constantly needing your attention. If you even talk to another person for too long, he’ll give them side-eye and pull you back to him like, “You good? You’re not gonna leave me for some random guy, are you?” He’s also the type to cling to you in bed, hogging the covers and curling up like a human koala.

Dick Grayson Dick’s clingy energy is pure gold. He’s the most affectionate of the bunch and doesn’t shy away from public displays of love. He loves hugging you from behind, nuzzling into your neck, and just randomly planting kisses all over your face. He’ll text you “miss you <3” every few hours when you’re apart, and when you’re together? It’s all about touch. He’s sitting on your lap, or leaning on your shoulder, or pulling you into his chest just because he needs to be close to you. If you’re watching a movie, he’s definitely going to have his head in your lap, just to be as close to you as humanly possible. He gets giddy when he gets attention from you, too. You could be playing with his hair, and he’ll melt. He’ll whine like, “I’m not clingy, you’re clingy. But also, I love it. So don’t stop.” Honestly, Dick doesn’t care if he’s acting like a bit of a puppy—he’s obsessed with you, and he makes sure you know it.

Damian Wayne Damian’s clingy moments are hilariously dramatic. He might start out cold, acting like he doesn’t need anyone, but as soon as you show him any affection? He’s all in. He’ll randomly grab your hand and hold it like it’s the most important thing in the world. If you try to walk away from him for whatever reason, he’ll growl and pull you back in, like, “Where are you going? You’re staying right here.” He has this whole vibe of “I don’t need anyone else, just you”, so if you’re talking to someone else or looking away from him for too long, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and be like, “I don’t think you should be talking to them. They might steal you away from me.” In bed? He’s a hug monster, wrapping his arms around you like he’s never letting you go. He’s all about the intimacy, though—when it’s just the two of you, he’ll be soft and surprisingly vulnerable, making sure you know that he needs you more than he lets on.

Duke Thomas Duke is lowkey super clingy, but in the way that’s goofy and endearing. He loves to follow you around, like, just wherever you go, he’s tagging along. You’re going to the kitchen? He’s there. To grab something from the laundry room? He’s there. If you sit down, he’s sitting on the floor next to you, asking if you want to “cuddle and watch dumb shows together.” He’s always finding excuses to touch you—like, his hand will just casually rest on your knee or he’ll come up behind you and play with your hair. And if you don’t give him attention? He’ll pout, even if he’s trying to play it off, like, “Aren’t you gonna give me a kiss? C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He’s the type who’ll give you a silly smile, lean in for a kiss, and then pull you into a full-on hug like, “Don’t go. I’m not done with you yet.” He’s all about the hugs, especially after a long day. You’ll be just chilling, and suddenly he’s like, “Hug time, right? Let me get one.”

Bruce Wayne Now, Bruce is not the type to openly admit he’s clingy. He’s still the stoic, brooding billionaire who’s been through a lot, but when it’s just the two of you? He’s softer than anyone expects. He’ll always make sure you’re physically close—his hand on your lower back, your legs touching when you sit next to him, and if he’s standing near you, his hand will casually rest on your arm. When you’re working late or doing something serious, Bruce will occasionally pull you away for a few minutes just to kiss you or hold you close. He’s not great at asking for attention, but when he’s feeling clingy, he’ll show you through little gestures. You’ll find him just sitting beside you in silence, just content to be in your presence. He’s a man of few words, but when he’s clingy, it’s all about the touch—the way he holds your hand, how he presses his shoulder to yours, and how he’ll insist on driving you home or waiting up for you, just to make sure you’re safe.

[pucksandpower]

Jilted

Charles Leclerc x runaway bride!Reader

Summary: you find out that your groom is a cheating bastard on your wedding day … Charles helps you pick up the pieces

The sun-drenched bridal suite buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror, your reflection a vision in white lace and satin. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through your veins. This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but something feels ... off.

“You look absolutely stunning,” your best friend, Mia, gushes as she adjusts your veil. “James won’t know what hit him.”

You force a smile, trying to shake the nagging feeling in your gut. “Thanks, Mia. I just ... I can’t believe this is really happening.”

Mia squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Cold feet are totally normal. Trust me, once you see James waiting for you at the altar, all those doubts will melt away.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts. Your mother peeks her head in, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart,” she breathes. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

As she enters the room, you notice her clutching her phone, her knuckles white. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

She hesitates, exchanging a worried glance with Mia. “I ... I’m not sure how to say this, honey.”

Your stomach drops. “Mom, what is it? Just tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I just got off the phone with James’ mother. She... she overheard him talking to someone. A woman.”

The room spins as you struggle to process her words. “What are you saying?”

“It seems ... it seems James has been seeing someone else. For quite some time, apparently.”

The words hit you like a physical blow. You stumble back, gripping the edge of the vanity for support. “No,” you whisper. “That can’t be true. We’re getting married in an hour!”

Mia rushes to your side, her arm around your waist. “Y/N, breathe. We’ll figure this out.”

But you can’t breathe. The room feels too small, the air too thick. “I need ... I need to talk to him.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re bolting from the room, your dress billowing behind you as you race down the hallway. You burst into the groom’s quarters, startling the group of groomsmen inside.

“Where is he?” You demand, your voice trembling.

James’ best man, Tom, steps forward, his face pale. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s bad luck-”

“Where. Is. He?” You repeat, each word dripping with venom.

The bathroom door opens, and there he stands — the man you thought you’d spend forever with. James’ eyes widen as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

You laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “What’s wrong? How about you tell me, James? Who is she?”

His face crumples, and in that moment, you know it’s true. “Y/N, I can explain-”

“Explain?” You spit. “Explain how you’ve been cheating on me our entire engagement? How you were going to stand up there and lie to my face, in front of everyone we love?”

James reaches for you, but you recoil. “Please, just let me-”

“Don’t touch me!” You scream, tears streaming down your face. “How could you do this to me?”

The room falls silent, save for your ragged breathing. James’ groomsmen shift uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. You turn to leave, but James grabs your arm.

“Y/N, wait. I love you. We can work this out,” he pleads.

You wrench your arm free, fixing him with a glare that could freeze hell itself. “Love me? You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

With that, you’re running again, pushing past concerned guests and ignoring the calls of your name. You burst out of the hotel into the blinding sunlight, your legs carrying you down the street without a destination in mind.

You don’t know how long you run, your white dress now stained with dirt and tears. Eventually, you find yourself in a part of town you don’t recognize, your feet aching and your lungs burning. A neon sign catches your eye — The Dive Hole.

Without thinking, you push open the door to the dingy bar. The few patrons inside turn to stare as you stumble in, a bride in full wedding attire, mascara streaking down your cheeks.

The bartender, a gruff-looking man in his fifties, raises an eyebrow. “Rough day, sweetheart?”

You laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical. “You could say that.”

As you collapse onto a barstool, the weight of the day finally crashes down on you. You bury your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The bartender slides a glass of amber liquid in front of you. “On the house,” he says gruffly. “Looks like you could use it.”

You lift your head, offering him a watery smile. “Got anything stronger?”

***

The world spins as you stumble out of The Dive Hole, your wedding dress now stained with whiskey and regret. The streetlights blur into a hazy glow as you teeter on your heels, struggling to maintain your balance.

“Hey, watch it!” A passerby shouts as you nearly collide with him.

“Sorry,” you slur, waving a hand dismissively. “Just trying to ... to find my happily ever after. Have you seen it? I think I lost it somewhere.”

The man hurries away, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. You laugh bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty street. “That’s right, run away! Everyone else does!”

As you take another unsteady step, your heel catches in a crack in the pavement. You lurch forward, bracing for impact with the cold, hard ground. But instead of concrete, you find yourself enveloped in warmth.

“Whoa there!” A gentle voice exclaims. “Are you alright?”

You blink, trying to focus on the face of your savior. Kind green eyes peer down at you, filled with concern. The man helps you regain your footing, his hands steady on your arms.

“I’m fine,” you insist, even as the world continues to tilt around you. “Just ... just celebrating. It’s my wedding day, you know.”

The man’s brow furrows as he takes in your disheveled appearance. “Celebrating alone? In the middle of the street?”

You nod vigorously, immediately regretting the action as nausea washes over you. “Yep! Best day ever. Who needs a groom anyway, right?”

“I’m Charles,” he introduces himself, his accent warm and inviting. “And I think maybe you should sit down for a moment. There’s a bench just over there.”

He gently guides you to the nearby bench, helping you settle onto it. You slump against the backrest, your head lolling to the side.

“So, Charles,” you drawl, poking him in the chest. “What brings you out on this fine evening? Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Charles chuckles softly. “Actually, I was just heading home after a late dinner with friends. And then I found a beautiful bride who seems to be having a rough night.”

You snort, gesturing to your ruined dress. “Beautiful? I look like I’ve been through a war. A war of the heart.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles offers, his voice gentle and free of judgment.

For a moment, you consider spilling everything. But the wound is too fresh, the betrayal too raw. Instead, you shake your head, feeling tears well up in your eyes once more.

“No talking,” you mumble. “Just ... can you sit with me for a bit?”

Charles nods, settling onto the bench beside you. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

You sit in silence for a while, the cool night air slowly clearing your head. Charles remains a steady presence at your side, occasionally glancing at you with concern.

Finally, you break the silence. “I should probably go home. Except ... I don’t really know where home is anymore.”

Charles frowns. “You don’t have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. “Nope. Funny how your whole life can fall apart in a single day, huh?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, seeming to wrestle with a decision. Finally, he speaks. “Look, I know we’ve just met, but ... I have a spare room. You’re welcome to stay there for the night, just to sleep it off and figure things out in the morning.”

You blink at him, surprised by the offer. “You’d do that for a stranger?”

He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Well, we’re not exactly strangers now, are we? Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if I left you out here alone.”

You consider his offer. Every logical part of your brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, but something in Charles’ eyes tells you he can be trusted. Plus, you’re not exactly swimming in options at the moment.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Thank you, Charles.”

He helps you to your feet, steadying you as you sway slightly. “My car’s just around the corner. Think you can make it?”

You nod, determined. “Lead the way, knight in shining armor.”

The ride to Charles’ apartment is mercifully short. You spend most of it with your head against the cool glass of the window, trying to keep the nausea at bay. Charles fills the silence with gentle small talk, his voice soothing in the darkness.

When you arrive, Charles helps you out of the car and into the elevator. As you ascend, the reality of your situation starts to sink in.

“Oh God,” you groan, leaning against the elevator wall. “What am I doing? I don’t even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer or something.”

Charles chuckles. “I promise I’m not a serial killer. Just a guy who couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.”

The elevator doors open, and Charles leads you down the hallway to his apartment. As he fumbles with his keys, you sway on your feet, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with you.

“Here we are,” Charles announces, pushing open the door. “Home sweet home.”

You step inside, taking in the stylish but comfortable living room. “Nice place. Very ... un-serial-killer-like.”

Charles laughs. “Thanks, I think. The spare room is just down the hall, but maybe we should get you some water first.”

He guides you to the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water. You accept it gratefully, gulping it down.

“Easy there,” Charles warns. “Small sips or you’ll make yourself sick.”

You nod, slowing down. As you finish the water, a wave of emotion washes over you. The events of the day come crashing back, and before you know it, you’re sobbing.

“Hey, hey,” Charles says softly, moving closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. Charles stiffens for a moment, surprised, before wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup between sobs. “I’m getting your shirt all wet and snotty.”

You feel Charles’ chest rumble with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry about it. That’s what washing machines are for.”

He holds you as you cry, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You cling to him, this kind stranger who’s shown you more compassion in one night than your fiancé did in years.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles asks gently.

You shake your head, still pressed against his chest. “Not yet. Maybe... maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says simply. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You stay like that for a while, your sobs gradually subsiding into quiet sniffles. Charles continues to hold you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

As your breathing evens out, exhaustion begins to overtake you. Your eyelids grow heavy, and you find yourself struggling to stay upright.

Charles seems to sense your fatigue. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He leads you down the hallway to the spare room, supporting most of your weight as you stumble along. The room is simple but cozy, with a plush-looking bed that seems to call your name.

“There should be some spare pajamas in the dresser,” Charles says. “They might be a bit big, but they’ll be more comfortable than that dress.”

You nod sleepily, already fumbling with the zipper of your gown. Charles quickly turns away, a blush creeping up his neck.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it,” he stammers. “Bathroom’s right across the hall if you need it. And I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumble, your eyes already half-closed. “Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

He smiles softly. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

As the door closes behind him, you manage to slip out of your wedding dress and into a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. The bed feels like heaven as you sink into it, your body finally relaxing after the emotional roller coaster of the day.

But as you lie there in the dark, the silence allows your thoughts to creep back in. Memories of James, of the life you thought you’d have, of the future that’s now shattered. Tears begin to fall once more, soaking into the pillow.

Before you know it, you’re padding out to the living room, sniffling quietly. Charles looks up from his spot on the couch, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Every time I close my eyes, I see ... I just ... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Without a word, Charles opens his arms. You practically collapse onto the couch next to him, curling into his side. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

You nod against his chest, fresh tears soaking into his shirt. Charles doesn’t seem to mind, just holds you tighter and begins to hum softly, a soothing melody that washes over you.

As you lie there, surrounded by the warmth and kindness of this virtual stranger, you feel something you haven’t felt all day: safe. The steady rhythm of Charles’ heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you into a state of calm.

Your eyelids grow heavy once more, and this time, you don’t fight it. As you drift off to sleep, still wrapped in Charles’ arms and using his shirt as a makeshift tissue, your last coherent thought is a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will be better.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the unfamiliar curtains, gently rousing you from your slumber. For a blissful moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or why your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Then, like a tidal wave, the memories of yesterday crash over you, bringing with them a fresh wave of pain and embarrassment.

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. How did you end up here? Slowly, fragments of the night before come back to you — a kind stranger, an offer of shelter, crying yourself to sleep on the stranger’s couch.

Charles.

His name was Charles.

The smell of coffee and something deliciously savory wafts through the air, making your stomach growl despite the lingering nausea. Reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed, wincing at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, mascara smudged under your eyes, and you’re wearing clothes that are decidedly not yours.

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself to face your host. You pad quietly down the hallway, following the sounds of movement in the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Charles standing at the stove, his back to you as he hums softly to himself.

You clear your throat softly. “Um, good morning.”

Charles turns, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

You grimace, running a hand through your tangled hair. “Like I’ve been hit by a truck. Emotionally and physically.”

He chuckles sympathetically. “I bet. Here, sit down. Coffee?”

You nod gratefully, sinking into a chair at the small kitchen table. “Yes, please. And maybe some painkillers if you have them?”

“Coming right up,” Charles says, placing a steaming mug in front of you before rummaging in a drawer for the pills.

As you sip the coffee, relishing the warmth spreading through your body, Charles returns to the stove. “I hope you like omelets. I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for, but I figured eggs are usually a safe bet.”

“Omelets sound perfect,” you say, your stomach rumbling in agreement. “Thank you. For everything. I ... I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

He waves off your thanks, sliding a plate in front of you. “No need to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

As Charles settles into the chair across from you with his own plate, a comfortable silence falls between you. You pick at your food, your appetite warring with the knot of anxiety in your stomach.

Finally, Charles breaks the silence. “So ... seems like yesterday is quite a story.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “A very long one.”

Charles’ green eyes meet yours, filled with gentle curiosity. “Care to share?”

You hesitate, pushing your food around your plate. Part of you wants to keep it all locked away, to pretend yesterday never happened. But another part of you is desperate to unburden yourself, to make sense of the whirlwind that turned your life upside down.

Taking a deep breath, you begin. “Well, yesterday was supposed to be my wedding day.”

Charles nods encouragingly. “I gathered as much from the dress. What happened?”

“I found out my fiancé — ex-fiancé now, I guess — has been cheating on me. Throughout our entire engagement.”

Charles winces. “Ouch. That’s ... I’m so sorry.”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as tears prick at your eyes. “Yeah, well. Apparently I’m great at picking them.”

“How did you find out?” Charles asks gently.

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, it was a real soap opera moment. His mother overheard him on the phone with the other woman, literally an hour before the ceremony. She told my mom, who told me, and ... well, you can imagine how that went down.”

Charles shakes his head, disbelief etched on his face. “That’s awful. What did you do?”

“I confronted him, of course. In front of all his groomsmen. It was ... not my finest moment. There was a lot of yelling, some crying, probably some mascara running. And then I just ... ran. In my wedding dress. Like some cliché runaway bride, except I had nowhere to run to.”

You pause, taking a sip of coffee to steady yourself. Charles remains silent, his face a mix of sympathy and something else — anger, maybe?

“I ended up in some bar I’d never been to before,” you continue. “Drank way too much, way too fast. And then I was stumbling around on the street, and ... well, you know the rest.”

Charles nods slowly, processing your story. “Wow. That’s ... that’s a hell of a day.”

You snort. “You can say that again.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Charles says, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand gently. “No one deserves that kind of betrayal.”

His touch is warm and comforting, and you find yourself fighting back tears again. “Thanks. I just ... I feel so stupid. How did I not see it? We were together for five years. We were supposed to spend our lives together. And all this time ...”

“Hey,” Charles interrupts softly. “You’re not stupid. He’s the one who made the choice to betray your trust. That’s on him, not you.”

You nod, not entirely convinced but appreciating his words nonetheless. “I guess. It’s just ... where do I go from here? We had a whole life planned out. A home, careers, maybe kids someday. And now it’s all just ... gone.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

You look at him skeptically. “An opportunity? To what, have my heart ripped out and stomped on?”

He chuckles softly. “No, no. I mean ... look, I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ve been given a chance to rewrite your story. To figure out what you really want, without having to consider someone else’s dreams or expectations.”

His words give you pause. You’d been so focused on what you’d lost, you hadn’t even considered what you might gain. “I ... I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“It’s okay if you’re not ready to see it as a positive yet,” Charles assures you. “Healing takes time. But I promise you, this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just the beginning of a new chapter.”

You manage a small smile, the first genuine one since yesterday morning. “Where did you learn to be so wise, huh?”

Charles grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, you know. I moonlight as a philosopher when I’m not rescuing damsels in distress from the streets.”

You laugh, surprised by how good it feels. “My hero,” you tease.

As your laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. You find yourself studying Charles, really looking at him for the first time. He’s handsome, in a boyish sort of way, with kind eyes and an easy smile. There’s something familiar about him, but you can’t quite place it.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I’ve shared my tragic backstory. What about you? What’s your deal, Charles?”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, you know. Just your average guy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Average guys don’t usually invite strange women in wedding dresses to stay the night. Unless ... oh God, you’re not married, are you? Did I just cause some poor woman to think her husband was cheating?”

Charles laughs, holding up his hands. “No, no, nothing like that. I’m very much single. And I promise, inviting strange women in wedding dresses to stay over is not a regular occurrence for me.”

“So what do you do, then? When you’re not playing knight in shining armor?”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face before he answers. “I’m ... in sports. Racing, actually.”

You nod, impressed. “Racing? Like, cars?”

“Formula 1,” he clarifies. “I’m a driver.”

Suddenly, it clicks. The familiarity, the nagging feeling that you’ve seen him before. Your eyes widen. “Oh my God. You’re Charles Leclerc. The Ferrari driver.”

He grins sheepishly. “Guilty as charged.”

You bury your face in your hands, mortified. “Oh God. Oh God. I cried all over a world-famous race car driver. I used your shirt as a tissue. This is ... this is so embarrassing.”

Charles reaches across the table, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Hey, none of that. I’m just a person, like anyone else. And I meant what I said — I’m glad I could help.”

You peek at him through your fingers. “You’re sure? Because I’m pretty sure I got mascara and snot all over your probably very expensive shirt.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “I promise, it’s fine. The shirt will survive. I’m more concerned about you. How are you feeling now?”

You consider the question, taking stock of your emotional state. “Honestly? Still pretty awful. But ... maybe a little less awful than before. Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me last night.”

Charles smiles softly. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. And hey, look at it this way — you’ve got a pretty unique story to tell now.”

You groan, but can’t help laughing. “Oh yeah, because drunk and crying in a wedding dress is exactly how I wanted to meet one of the best F1 drivers in the world.”

“One of the best?” Charles teases, clutching his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m clearly the best.”

You roll your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of such greatness.”

As you banter back and forth, you feel something shift inside you. The pain is still there, raw and aching, but it’s no longer all-consuming. For the first time since yesterday, you feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay after all.

***

The roar of engines fills the air as you make your way through the bustling paddock, the excitement of race day palpable. You can’t help but smile, still amazed at how much your life has changed in the past few years. From runaway bride to Formula 1 WAG — it’s a plot twist you never saw coming.

“Mon cœur!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Charles jogging towards you, his race suit tied around his waist. He grins as he reaches you, pulling you into a quick embrace.

“Hey, you,” you say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got time. Besides, I needed my good luck charm.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Flatterer. Go on, get back to work. I’ll be cheering you on from the garage.”

He steals one more kiss before heading back towards his team, leaving you shaking your head with a smile. As you turn to make your way to the Ferrari motorhome, a familiar face in the crowd stops you dead in your tracks.

Your ex-fiancé is standing just a few feet away, gawking at you with wide eyes. For a moment, you’re frozen, unsure how to react. It’s been years since you’ve seen him, since that disastrous almost-wedding day.

Before you can decide whether to acknowledge him or pretend you haven’t seen him, James is moving towards you, a strange mix of emotions playing across his face.

“Y/N?” He says, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Is that really you?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Hello, James.”

He looks you up and down, taking in your sleek outfit and the VIP pass hanging around your neck. “Wow. You look ... different. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my partner,” you say simply, not feeling the need to elaborate.

James’ brow furrows. “Your partner? You mean like ... a business partner?”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, James. My partner. As in, the person I’m in a relationship with.”

His eyes widen comically. “You’re dating someone involved in Formula 1? Who?”

Before you can answer, a small group of fans approaches, their eyes lighting up as they spot you.

“Excuse me,” one of them says excitedly. “You’re Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend, right? Could we please get a picture?”

You smile warmly at them. “Of course!”

As you pose for photos with the fans, exchanging a few friendship bracelets as well, you can see James out of the corner of your eye. He’s standing there, mouth agape, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a frying pan.

Once the fans move on, James practically pounces on you. “Charles Leclerc? You’re dating Charles Leclerc? How ... when ... what?”

You sigh, already tired of this conversation. “Yes, Charles and I have been together for a while now. Is there something else you needed?”

He shakes his head, still looking dazed. “I just ... I can’t believe it. How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story,” you say, not particularly wanting to rehash your past with him. “One I don’t really have time to get into right now.”

James seems to ignore your hint, his eyes narrowing. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t expect me to believe that you’re actually dating one of the best F1 drivers in the world. What’s really going on here?”

You feel a flash of anger at his dismissive tone. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, no offense,” James continues, oblivious to your growing irritation, “but last I knew, you couldn’t tell the difference between F1 and NASCAR. Now you’re supposedly dating a Ferrari driver? It doesn’t add up.”

You clench your fists, trying to keep your cool. “People change. They grow. They learn new things. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He scoffs. “Right. So I’m supposed to believe that in the few years since our ... since we last saw each other, you’ve not only become an F1 expert but also managed to snag one of the most eligible bachelors in the sport? Come on, Y/N. What’s the real story? Are you some kind of ... I don’t know, brand ambassador or something?”

Before you can respond, a warm hand settles on the small of your back. You look up to see Charles standing beside you, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

“Everything okay here, mon amour?” He asks, his eyes flicking between you and James.

James’ jaw drops even further, if that’s possible. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

You lean into Charles’ side, drawing strength from his presence. “Charles, this is James. My ex-fiancé. James, this is Charles. My boyfriend.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up in recognition, but he recovers quickly, extending a hand to James. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely, though there’s a hint of steel in his voice.

James just stares at the offered hand, then back at you, then at Charles again. “This ... this is a joke, right? Some kind of prank?”

Charles drops his hand, frowning. “I assure you, it’s not a joke. Y/N and I have been together for over two years now.”

James shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. This doesn’t make any sense. Y/N, what are you playing at?”

You feel your patience snap. “I’m not playing at anything. Charles and I are together. We’re happy. I’m sorry if that’s difficult for you to comprehend, but it’s the truth.”

“But ... but how?” James sputters. “How did this even happen?”

Charles tightens his arm around you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Well, if you must know, I found her wandering the streets in a wedding dress, crying her eyes out because her fiancé was a cheating bastard.”

James blanches, his face turning an interesting shade of purple. “That’s ... that’s not ... you can’t just ...”

“Can’t what?” You challenge, feeling emboldened by Charles’ support. “Can’t move on? Can’t find happiness with someone who actually respects me? Can’t build a life that doesn’t revolve around you?”

A small crowd has started to gather, attracted by the rising voices and the presence of Charles Leclerc. You can see people whispering, phones discreetly pointed in your direction.

James seems to notice the attention too, his eyes darting around nervously. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

“It’s not a game,” you interrupt, your voice firm. “This is my life. A life I’m very happy with, I might add. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Charles has a race to prepare for.”

You start to turn away, but James grabs your arm. “Wait, just ... just tell me the truth. Is this some kind of revenge? Did you set this all up to get back at me?”

Charles tenses beside you, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I suggest you remove your hand,” he says, his voice low and controlled.

James lets go as if burned, taking a step back. “I just ... I don’t understand. How could you … with him?”

You take a deep breath, deciding to end this once and for all. “James, listen carefully because I’m only going to say this once. What happened between us was years ago. I’ve moved on. I’ve built a life I love, with a man I love. Your inability to believe that says far more about you than it does about me.”

You turn to Charles, softening your voice. “Come on, love. You need to get back to the team.”

Charles nods, pressing a kiss to your temple before addressing James one last time. “It was ... interesting meeting you. Enjoy the race.”

As you walk away, leaving a stunned James in your wake, you can’t help but let out a small laugh. “Well, that was ... something.”

Charles chuckles, squeezing your hand. “You handled that beautifully, mon cœur. Though I have to admit, I was tempted to deck him when he grabbed you.”

You lean into him, smiling. “My hero. But I think leaving him standing there like a fish out of water was far more satisfying.”

As you approach the Ferrari garage, you pause, turning to face Charles. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For being there, for backing me up. For ... everything, really.”

Charles cups your face gently, his green eyes full of love. “Always. You know I’ve got your back, just like you’ve always had mine.”

You stretch up on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, you know that?”

He grins, that boyish smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “I love you too. Now, how about we go win a race, yeah?”

As you enter the garage hand in hand, the organized chaos of the team preparing for the race enveloping you, you can’t help but marvel at the twists and turns that led you here. From the lowest point of your life to the highest — all because a kind stranger couldn’t leave a crying bride on the street.

You squeeze Charles’ hand one more time before he heads off to his car. As you watch him go, you silently thank whatever twist of fate brought him into your life that night. The road hasn’t always been smooth, but you wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

After all, sometimes the best love stories start with a broken heart and end with a chequered flag.

[shushmal]

Steve and Eddie get a little studio apartment in the queer section of the city, by virtue of Steve getting hired as the building’s handyman. Half the residents are drag queens and there are RULES.

They can flirt with Steve all day long. Eddie (literally) will hiss and spit like a jealous cat, all red faced and pouting, which is INCREDIBLY entertaining. While the flirting is harmless, Steve’s pleased smile about how possessive Eddie is over him can melt the most cynical old queen’s heart. (They all think a lil “you’re welcome, Steve” for getting Eddie all riled up ever night.)

However, anyone who flirts with Eddie better be prepared. Steve’s glare is cold and cutting, and the silence after is worse. And if you piss him off enough, Steve is all for revenge. Better hope your toilet does clog or your sink keeps draining. Worst case is he’ll MAKE issues for you, until you make it up to him. And the only way to do that is to go support Eddie’s underground metal band and spend your hard earned money on his merch. (Eddie thinks Steve being a stone cold jealous bitch is hot.)

[cntloup]

can't stop thinking about toxic!simon and how he absolutely destroys you :'(

the pad of your fingers softly brush against simon's cheek ever so slightly so as not to wake him up. you'll be damned if you disturb his peace.

and soon, you feel tears well up in your eyes. he's been distant lately, much more than before. and you can sense him pulling away more and more each day.

even though you've always known he's not yours, it still hurts as a thousand knives being plunged into your heart every time he comes back with the smell of a foreign perfume lingering on him or the shade of red, slightly purple on his skin.

and you feel hatred and disgust bubble up inside you, mostly toward yourself because you let him do this. you always let him do these horrible things to you. you just can't help the way he has you wrapped around his finger.

and you feel nauseous as you recall all the empty promises of commitment and a long-lasting love he makes as he thrusts deep inside you and brings you over the edge of euphoria.

oh how lovingly he holds you as though you’re his entire world as he makes love to you. how he whispers his honeyed words into your ear as you come undone beneath him and he chases his peak, using you for his own satisfaction, he thinks to himself.

but as soon as his balls are empty, he's back to being the cold and distant hardened soldier you know all too well.

he always has a protective hand on your back when you're out together and glares daggers at the creeps who dare to even take a glance at you.

he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces in his chest every time he leaves you, and every time he sees the pained look in your eyes as they fall on the hickeys on his neck, or the times he hears your muffled sobs when you think he's asleep and you bring your hand to softly caress his cheek.

he fights so hard not to melt right then and there under your touch, not to break down and spill out a thousand apologies and beg for your forgiveness.

he just can't go further than that and fully commit to you. every time he feels those three words spill out, he bites back his tongue. and every time he feels his walls crumble down and himself becoming vulnerable in your presence, he builds them back up only to be stronger and more impenetrable.

he's not yours, yet he can't be anyone's but yours. he knows that. he feels it deep in his heart. but he takes ten steps further away from you when you take a step towards him.

yet he comes back. he always comes back. only to shatter you into pieces again and again.

and you wonder why he is so cruel yet so loving. why he keeps pushing you away when you complete each other like pieces of a puzzle.

and you think this 'why' might kill you one day as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

[mcondance]

an “i love you” that isn’t words

Spencer’s love for you is evident all around you.

warnings & notes the rumors are true i love tøp and spencer reid! anyways fluff but still MDNI 18+, title from shy away by twenty øne piløts, do not listen as you read. inspired by the lyric it’s titled after. real freaks only (people who love love), reader may or may not be autistic i don’t know if you feel it you feel it! reader is a bit shorter than spencer, writing fluff is becoming less and less out of character for mcondance

1.1k words (what…….)

Spencer’s apartment is still, save for the solitary body making its way from room to room. Music floats from his turntable— you remember having to tell him to store his records vertically. Even that super mind of his didn’t contain the knowledge of what happens to records if they’re stacked on top of each other. So he stood them up, and he made room for your records as your collection slowly began to find a new home. 

The desk by the door is littered with both yours and his papers, and trinkets that belong to both you and him, Spencer’s lamp, and a really weird looking lamp you got off EBay more than a few years back.

One of your blankets is thrown over the back of the couch, infusing some color into the deep browns and reds of his living room. The small table in front of the couch holds your tattered copy of the book you’ve been reading since you were 12 years old. It looks like something you can’t describe, something that’s been with you for a decade now lying on your boyfriend’s table. Poetic, maybe.

Your stacks of books have long since married with his. To anyone else, it’d look like a library, but to you both it’s not enough, not enough. 

“We’re gonna have to rent a storage building,” you deadpan, staring up at the ceiling in bed.

“Yeah,” he agrees, letting his head fall toward where you lay beside him. “But what if there’s a book we want to read but it’s in the storage building? Then we’d have to drive over just to get it—”

“And we’d get distracted like we always do so we’d be there for hours.”

“It’s unproductive.”

“Horribly so.”

You’re not sure who breaks the faux-formality first. Either way, you both end up laughing with sparkling eyes fixed on each other, and a giggled agreement to just let the books continue to pile up. 

“I wouldn’t mind living in a library,” is what Spencer tells you after he’s caught his breath.

In the bathroom there’s room for yours and his body wash. Your toothbrush sits next to his in a brown mug with a funky design on it, one you brought in your move. Along the side of the sink lay your hair products, arranged neatly. Two towels hang from a spiraling rack you bought at an antique shop a few months after you moved in. 

“Spencer, look!” You exclaim, clearing the small space in less steps than it’d usually take you. He follows quickly, pressing his chest to your back as he looks over your shoulder and gives his attention to the metal rack. 

“We can put it in the bathroom, maybe. If that’s fine with you,” you suggest, turning to face him. It seems like his eyes are ever melting when you’re in his line of sight, but somehow they melt further when you turn. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, encasing you in the kind of warmth you get when you step out of the cold into a heated building, shivering but grateful to be out of the frigid temperature. It’s reminiscent of how it felt to actually step into the shop. 

“If you want to, then we’re going to.” 

“Yay,” you smile, before you kiss him shortly. He smiles back, glowing eyes soft and smooth, and kisses you authentically, and not so deeply as to be inappropriate in public, but still enough that you distantly think your legs might buckle. 

The bedroom is a portmanteau of you and Spencer. Your plushes sleep soundly on your side of the bed, and at night they watch quietly from their perch on the table on the other side of your night stand. Your stand matches Spencer’s, so heart-flutteringly you’re sure teenage-you would jump up and down and screech. Scattered upon your nightstand are a couple of half-drunk bottles of water, your vitamins, various necklaces and rings, a couple of books stacked on top of each other, and a drawing Spencer made for you. 

Spencer’s side is a bit less packed, but still unorganized nonetheless. Books (of course), a journal and a pen (you’ve gotten him into journaling as a way to regulate himself when he’s feeling overwhelmed), and when he comes home later tonight his watch will join the rest of his things.

One side of the closet is yours, and the other is Spencer’s. While his style seems wacky to other people, there’s a couple of pieces on either side of the closet that have a sibling on the other side. The clothes that can’t fit in the closet are folded in the dresser drawers. 

The dresser is decorated with a couple of your CDs, the ones you like to see when you’re in the room. Necklaces and rings plucked from various antique and thrift stores are spread over the cherry-tinted wood, mixed in with some of Spencer’s cologne, a tie or two he hasn’t hung up yet, and a bag of candy you’ve both been eating out of. 

Your trinkets mix with his, a display of two people who spend way too much time sifting through shelves in places full of dust and the smell that is unique to antique shops.

“Jesus, why do these shops always smell like that,” you whisper as you enter the store.

“Everything in here is most likely, at the least, over 50 years old. Most older things are made of natural fabrics like linen, cotton, wood— you know, stuff like that— that are extremely good at absorbing smells. I’m sure our clothes now will have a unique smell that people down the line will have the exact same reaction to.”

You smile, and you think your eyes are about as wide as a saucer, that little look of pining you always take on when he talks like that. It’s not your fault, really, he’s just so nerdy and you love his rants so much. 

“I can tell you more about it while we shop,” he offers. 

“Uh, duh,” you answer, looking between him and a cute tie you think he’d like.

In the kitchen cabinet, your bowl is freshly cleaned, as Spencer washed it before he left this morning. Ever the pattern-recognizer, he picked up on your attachment quite quickly and has made that accommodation for you ever since. You’ll use other bowls if you have to, but you haven’t had to for months. 

The record finishes. You pick another one out of your section of the collection, and play that one. Coincidentally, it’s one of your favorites that became one of Spencer’s favorites after you played it for him. One happily and gratefully became two.

[thephantomsdream]

Simon "Ghost" Riley that likes to be pampered, to be taken care of and let me tell you, he's just so not used to it. He's never had anyone to really treat him anything close to good.

In all honesty, he genuinely thought it was fine, being alone. He's a solitary creature, as life taught him to be, and deep down he convinced himself it was best. It didn't matter if there was a small, minuscule, pained tug at his heart every time he thought about it.

What he didn't expect was to be whipped immediately, one glance into your eyes and he was a goner. It went against his reasoning, this instinct of his to have you, battling everything he's been trying to avoid at all costs. But that one glance, that small smile you gave him, and he just knew. And months of tedious yet slow opening up and trying not only for you, but for himself, Simon was yours somehow. Baffling as it was, he now had someone to go home to. A sweet angel that in no time he plans to up and move into that bare house he has and take care of. Only thing is, the man did not expect to be taken care of himself, as if he forgot that was an option.

The first few times you two dated, officially, as he had to clarify this wasn't what kids these days mean by "hanging out" or "talking to" or whatever the fuck Johnny and Kyle were babbling to him about their dating lives (it's dating or not, Simon likes things clear), the man was surprised by how sweet yet determined you were. "Can I hold your hand?" You asked him a little flustered, and this big boy almost stuttered. He found himself nodding while gulping before taking your hand in his, internally beating himself up for acting like such a... boy? Having a silly crush on a lovely sweetheart that made him nervous by just exiting around him.

God, it felt fantastic when he finally got to kiss you. Simon thought it was gonna be just a kiss, big fucking deal (he was trying to cope, his hands were sweaty but whatever, big deal), but the way you sighed and melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck made him shudder. It ignited something in him and his heart tugged again, this time not painful but hopeful.

It was the way you touched his scarred face that really astonished him, especially the first night you spent in his house. Whatever movie you babbled about the last date, vampires or whatever, was now playing on his flat screen on the new profile he created for you on whatever streaming service Simon just bought just to watch it. Another tiny bit of you in his life, it seemed. Movie was fucking awful, truly, fucking dumb teenagers and vampires, but whatever, your boyfriend (bloody fucking hell it felt fantastic and scary to think that he's now yours officially) was determined to watch it even if he snorted and made fun of it every three seconds, yet having you giggle by his side made his cold heart warm up as it beat a thousand times per second. Once again, he found himself about to mock something jokingly when he turned to you, finding your beautiful eyes already on him, expression warm and relaxed.

"Come here." At that moment, Simon Riley realized he'd follow anything you'd order him, as his body moved without any thoughts, just closer to you. Like a stray dog that's learning what a home is, something he's never really had, and when your lips touched his cheek while caressing the other, the world slowed down.

Having you move closer to him, placing a leg over his, smiling at him sweetly while gently kissing the scar near his lower lip, all he could do was stare dumbly as his face felt on fire. Little did he know that his pale cheeks reddened so adorably that you started to giggle. God, he fucking loved that sound.

"Lay on me, c'mon." You ordered gently again, grabbing his calloused hands to tug him onto you as you laid down on your back. Simon knew he looked like an idiot in awe, very much aware he's always had a staring problem. But as he crawled gently over you, expecting you to push him off after abruptly changing your mind, all he could do was to look down into your cleavage and stare like a muppet. " 'S aight?" Being all he asked before hearing a nice hum, approval for him to lay on you.

That day, Simon learned what heaven is. Your fingers into his hair, slowly, gently playing with his dirty blond locks, his face in your soft tits, your voice oh-so clear as he pressed his ear into your torso, the slow rumble almost putting him to sleep while his eyes were focused on the silly movie. His arms were wrapped around you while he just laid down between your legs. His dumb jokes still delivered as he muffled them out lazily, getting you to laugh and make him smirk as you(r tits) jiggled under him, and his reward, because you're a fucking angel, of course, was a sweet kiss on his temple every single time. The man could be turning into a clown by the end of the night as long as you kissed him so tenderly.

You spoiled him too. How dare you, really? Bringing him sweets, asking him what he wants to eat, adjusting your schedule to fit his (man's off duty, he can camp outside your house and come in whenever you want him to, if you'd be willing, like a good obedient dog), just making him feel wanted. It was odd. And new. And addicting.

You cared. You cared for him. And in his wonky yet honest way, he cared too. Always making sure that you know he's somehow thinking of you. He wanted to try. He wanted to make sure you'll stick around. The military has taught this man a lot of things, and apart from his head-strong conviction that he indeed can do anything if he puts his mind to it, another was how to not fuck up something good, all through the hundreds of stories from many other soldiers about failed relationships. He knows all the perspectives, all the failures, all the erros and all the aftermaths, so he learned to listen and not blame, to pay attention, to be there even if he was half a world away. Simon is determined to keep you around, coming back to you battered, wounded, traumatized, exhausted, and is greeted with his angel, all ready to pick him up, wrap him in a warm blanket and fuss over his ass. He'd roll his eyes at you, but his emerging smile said it all.

His heart now tugs when he's about to pick his luggage, a duffle bag filled with essentials and nothing more. A week earlier than expected too, relief washing over his body like never before, knowing you're at home waiting for good news. And he's heading that way too, determined, unrelenting, head first, no thoughts. He's going home to you.

Home to warm, delicious food, instead of stale and plain. Home to sweet laughter and love, instead of orders barked and indifference. Home to his, your comfortable bed, arms and legs wrapped around each other, the plump delicious curves of your body pressed against his hardened one. Home to gentle, home to calm, home to soft, home to himself, home to everything. Home to his heart, that is tugging him closer and closer, where he left it with you.

I'm just gonna dump this here and leave. Not proofread because we're old and lazy here.

[messenger-of-babel]

Nightmares

Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx

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It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.

Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.

What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.

The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'

The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.

"After you, dear."

You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."

You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.

"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.

"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"

"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?

"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.

"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.

"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."

Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.

"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.

"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."

When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.

"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."

The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.

He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.

"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."

Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.

"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.

"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."

you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."

"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."

You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."

The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.

"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.

It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.

"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."

He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.

"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.

"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."

"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."

Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."

he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'

"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."

You sigh.

Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"

"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.

"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."

His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."

Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.

"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."

When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"

Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.

It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.

His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."

And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.

[avocado-writing]

Not sure if this is enough to go off of but I loved the poly!poolverine fic where they rescued the reader. I was wondering if we could get some more of them being protective of the reader 🙏🏻

The bar is pretty crowded tonight. You nurse a rum and coke and hope Logan and Wade are able to find you in the corner booth you managed to snag, because you know the second you go to order another some opportunistic patrons will take your spot - and you’ve been on your feet all day at work so there’s no way in hell you’ll let that happen.

You take a sip. It’s warm now, ice long since melted in the heat of the room. You grimace at the taste as someone slides onto the bench next to you. 

It is not one of your boys. 

“Hey, baby.”

He’s big. Kinda guy who goes to the gym every day big, which isn’t inherently bad - but from the way he uses his size to press up against you there’s a little bit of unease rising in your chest. He puts his elbow on the table so that he can rest his jaw in his hand, biceps flexing in the tight shirt he wears. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” you say, as calmly as you can, hoping this will deter him. It does not. 

“So? We can have a little talk, can’t we? Not hurting anybody.”

His hand goes to cover yours where it rests on the table. You snatch it back. He frowns. 

“Dunno who you’re waiting for, but they probably shouldn’t have left you here alone. Looks like they don’t care about you, honey.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, annoyed, deciding it’s not worth it. He won’t go so you will. You slide out the free side of the booth - but you’re forced to stop when he grabs your wrist. 

“I wasn’t done talking to you yet,” he says. Okay. Now you’re panicking. You manage to shake yourself free of his grasp and quickly push through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd. No such luck. He knows where you’re heading. 

The air is cold on the street as you speed up; not running, never running, that might incite a chase. He’s on your heels anyway. 

“Hey, are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

He grabs you again, harder this time. A grip you can’t break free from. 

“You know, you should learn not to be such a bitch —”

“Oh! Isn’t this fun! Sorry to interrupt this little show of misogyny in action but it’d be great if you could let go of our pookie.”

You’ve never been more relieved to hear Wade’s voice. Suddenly you’ve got someone either side of you: the brick which is Logan on your left, and the snark which is Wade on your right. 

The guy who’s holding you does not drop your arm. He frowns. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“They’re who I was waiting for,” you say quickly, as if this will deter him. The man laughs, loudly, cruelly.

“Sorry, you’re in some kinda threesome with this old fucker and whatever this dude is? Fuck, honey, you really need someone to show you what a real man—”

He does not get a chance to finish. Logan’s fist has collided with his face with such ferocity you can hear his nose break. The man yelps and staggers backwards, you bring your hand to your chest for safety. 

“Should’ve let go, bub,” he mutters, massaging his knuckles. Wade deflates. 

“Aw, I wanted to get the first hit in!” He peers over at where the guy is laid out flat. “Go on, get back up. If I don’t throw a punch it emasculates me, and I’m very sensitive about it.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his sleeve. 

“Let’s just go, guys. I don’t think he’s gonna follow us.”

“One sec.”

Wade strolls over and puts his boot on the guy’s chest, pushing down until he’s wheezing.

“You wanna apologise?”

The guy groans out a sorry, and you give a curt nod when Wade turns to see if you’ve accepted it.

“Don’t do this bullshit again, with anyone, or I’m gonna find you, rip your dick off, then feed it to my adorable, hideous dog.”

They cage in around you as your turn, two loyal hounds at your beck and call. You throw a couple of glances over your shoulder as you leave but it’s as you suspected: the guy remains on the cold concrete. When you’re far enough away to feel safe they slow to a stop. 

“You okay?” Logan asks, lifting your chin with a finger so that he can get a good look at you. You nod. 

“Yeah. Thanks for being there in time.”

“I’m sorry baby, we should have got here earlier, but peanut here tore a guy’s arm off so we had to go and clean up first—”

“Oh god, stop,” you say, pulling a face. You don’t want to know about their line of work, very happy for the business and personal life gulf to be a wide one. “Let’s go get some pizza and head home.”

“Anything you want,” says Logan, squeezing your hand. 

Anything where you’re between them is what you want. Safe and happy, they’ll make sure you’re both. 

[itaipava]

— things f1 boys do that make people think you’re dating.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

the way he always looks at you when he makes a joke; he loves your laugh and he loves knowing that he is often the reason for it, so he always tries his best to make you smile and feel happy around him. there’s no better feeling than making some comment or stupid joke and knowing that you liked it and laughed, that you share the same brain cell as him, makes him extremely happy and warm inside. he looks at you with a smile on his face, eyes shining as your laughter fills his ears like music. and he can’t hide his emotions, which makes everyone around look at the two of you, a sly smile on their faces.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

the way he smiles when you walk into the room; he always instinctively looks for you when he arrives somewhere; his gaze darts to all the people there and he feels a slight sadness invade his heart when he doesn’t see you. but he’s patient and while he’s talking to his friends or listening to them tell a random story, he’s staring at the front door waiting for you, and, when you finally arrive, he’ll stop anything he’s doing just to go to you and his smile is priceless with a happy, anxious gleam in his eyes. he greets you with a kiss on the forehead and wrapping you in a hug before taking your hand and leading you closer to his friends.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

the way he takes care of you in little ways; he always accompanies you home and only leaves when he makes sure you are safe, he always offers you his jacket when it starts to get cold or else you are wearing skirt/dress and will sit down. he always protects your body with his in crowded places. he takes care of you with so much love and affection that it always makes your heart melt in your chest and the pure smile and look you give him makes everyone around you think that you are together, especially when he pulls you to him and kisses your head.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

the way he looks at you; when you are in a place with many people, he likes to admire you from afar; watching your smile and seeing you having fun makes his heart warm in his chest because your happiness is his happiness. he always keeps an eye on you and sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he just notices he’s staring a little too hard when you snap your fingers in front of him or smile amusedly at him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

the way he always talks with or about you; when you start talking, all his attention goes to you; he memorizes everything you said, all your mannerisms and quirks and he honestly could spend all day listening to you talk, gently pulling a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear just so he can see you better. and when you’re not around, he always thinks of you; especially when someone starts talking superficially about people they like or think it’s hot, and he always mentions your traits when someone asks him what’s his ideal type. he is also always the first to defend you if someone dares to say something bad about you; to him, you are the most amazing and flawless person ever, and he is not afraid to say that to anyone who will listen.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the way he is chivalrous with you; he always opens doors for you, gives you his jacket at the slightest sign of cold, walks on the side of the road to protect you, leaves you the last bit of food, and even sends you flowers at your work or school. he does all this with love and genuineness, you know he is affectionate and wants to make you feel appreciated and loved, but whoever looks at you two on the street, surely thinks you two are dating because of the way he shows love for you; it’s totally unique and passionate.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

the way his actions become warmer and softer towards you; he does things for you that no one expected him to do like reserve a seat for you, share the blanket with you on the couch during a movie night with friends, give you flowers, and even go to the shopping with you, even if it means he’ll carry your purse and bags or sit in the same store for hours while he waits for you. he has so much love for you and everyone who sees him knows he is eager to give you his heart.

[crepezinhos]

Mummy or Mommy?

POV: What happens when you take the quote: ‘Halloween is the only day a woman can dress up like a whore and not get criticized for it’ too seriously to a point where your own best friend can’t handle it?

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a NSFW Oneshot

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Bondage, blindfolding, hair pulling, slight mommy kink and a lot of degradation.

“What the fuck were you thinking, huh?” He grunted in your ear while brutally fucking his cock inside your pussy over and over again. “Dressing up like some fucking cheap slut… You were looking up to this, weren’t you?” His passion while degrading you was noticeable, which just made your horny pussy grind around him even more.

You wanted to innovate this year’s Halloween party, but not this much.

Your costume was simply thick white stripes tied around the core parts of your body, leaving your legs and belly mostly exposed although it was a considerably cold day. It obviously called most people’s attention, including your friends. All the girls thought you looked sexy and praised your efforts with the makeup, but Scaramouche, one of your few male friends, but your best friend, didn’t actually say much.

He spent the whole party quietly staring at your body up and down, avoiding any comments, even when you asked for his opinion. You two only found yourselves fucking in the house's bathroom when you were alone with him in a sofa and you asked why did he have a pillow in his lap. It turned out he had a boner... an aching one.

“Ass up, mummy whore.” Scaramouche slapped a buttock of yours, causing your whole body to quiver.

Although Scaramouche has never shown off himself to be a common guy, you'd never expect him to be so aggressively kinky. He had pulled the bandages you had in your face up to blindfold your eyes and the ones in your arms to tie your wrists in the towel hanger of the room. He also almost ripped apart the ones in your boobs and crotch just because he was that desperate to see them. It was definitely humilliating and it would take you a while to redo all of that work, but you couldn't deny that being manhandled like that was making your pussy throb in pleasure. Scaramouche was incredibly good at .

“Fuck, Scara! Slow down!” You tried turning your face to him to beg for mercy, but that pathetic look of your blindfolded face and ruined makeup just made his cock twitch in arousal.

“Oh-ho? Begging already? But I have barely started yet...” He mocked you, continuing to hammer you in the same pace. “But maybe if you admit that you’re a cock-hungry slut, I might change my mind.” He proposed a game to you, leaning closer just to tease you further into that mind-numbing pleasure.

“F-Fuck! I am a cock-hungry slut who whore this outfit to have your attention!” You screamed whatever came to your mind at the moment to make him feel satisfied. “Y-You look so fine dressed as a vampire, I couldn’t just ignore it..! It got me so wet when I saw it…” You babbled between your outrageous moans.

“My costume, huh? I bet you’re loving to have your wrists tied up by my jacket then…” If he knew that you’d be such a perfect slut for him and his necessity to fuck rough, he would’ve done it centuries ago.

“Y-Yes! I love it! I love being dominated by you like this!” You suddenly felt your hair being pulled in his direction, which caused you to scream in shock and slight pain while your body spasmed and your eyes mired stars.

“Then, right after this, I want you to wear it for the rest of this party. I don’t want anyone else seeing you in this outfit, you hear me? No one. From now on this outfit belongs to me.” He whispered in a more dominant tone that took you off guard.

Scaramouche was melting your brains and muscles, causing them to be useless to you, especially now that you were cuffed and arched to him. All you could do in such position was to nod to his orders and moan, and you were shamelessly letting every single one of them out of your mouth, which made Scaramouche’s ego skyrocket. Having his hot best friend inflating his ego by acting and dressing like some cheap, submissive slut was ecstasy to him. It even made him feel a little emotional than he expected to feel since you were a nice and t(h)rustable friend.

Perhaps he likes you more than a friend? Or was starting to like? That’s something he still has to reflect about later because all he wanted was to milk your pussy dey right now.

“Such a fucking perfect slut… Who would’ve guessed that you’re a hidden masochist whore under that pretty face of yours?” He let go of your hair just to hold your hips with more precision, but still kept his back leaned close to you so he could put his tongue to use.

He started in the side of your neck, kissing it and licking it already aggressively. He was focusing specifically on the muscle of it that was slightly stretched out because of the position you were in.

“You taste so fucking good…” He purred while his warm breath made your skin sweaty. “I might just suck you until you’re bleeding…” He laughed at his own pun, but immediately went back to his mission of fucking you until you regretted your choice of costume.

But you had just acted so mean to him this entire party when he was supposed to be the mean one in the group, he had to scold you back to your submissive place.

The way you walked up to him when you two first met and immediately spoiled him that you weren’t wearing any underwear was enough to make him fantasize with his hands ripping your costume apart to see your nudity under it. There was also the way how the lack of bra usage made your boobs jiggle with every movement you did, especially when you were dancing, which made his eyes completely stone in them for most of the party. Of course it got him hard and quickly. But the way you laughed at him when you found out he had a boner was what triggered him into scolding you in his own peculiar way.

“Tch…” He got a little annoyed remembering those moments. “You were so proud of yourself some minutes ago… mocking me and laughing at my boner… But look at you know… getting off with me referring to you as a cheap slut… It’s pathetic, really, but I’m proud to be the one that will teach you about knowing your place…” He ranted while admiring every single moan that came out of your red lips, who had some chapstick dragged outside of them because of the sloppy kisses you shared while he prepared you for his cock.

He took a look to the side where the mirror was located.

God, he thought he looked so sexy with those marks of your chapstick kissing him in various spots of his face and neck… it all just made him more praised by you. And the way your crotches moved in rhythm made him feel like he was watching his own personal porn movie.

“Oh? Suddenly getting extra tight here?” He grunted huskily while he felt your pussy suddenly tightening around him again with no warning. It was like it was trying to milk an orgasm out of him desperately.

“G-Gonna cum!” Your voice was already becoming hoarse in exhaustion, which made Scaramouche just more thirsty with what he was doing to you.

“Perfect, because I’m cumming too and you’re gonna take it all inside, ok?” His pace managed to become even more erratic, punching your cervix with no care at all while his hand ran under your belly and started circling your clit violently just to make you more helpless under those cuffs.

“Yes, yes! I’m gonna..! I’m gonna!!” You were desperate for your climax, screaming like you were going to die.

“Come on, whore.” Scaramouche slapped your ass again, trying to stimulate you into climax the fastest he could with that jolt of pain.

And finally, both your bodies had that moment of peak together. Scaramouche sliding a thick and long string of cum inside your womb, and you exploding cum all around his cock. Your scream was feral and his grunt was very powerful, both of your bodies shaking and twitching with that peak, enjoying every noise you heard from each other.

“F-Fuck!” Your body quivered while he spilled his burning seed inside you, demonstrating how overwhelmed you were feeling. But no matter how much your body agonized, he still kept his hips stoned in place, looking forward to brand you as his with that load of cum.

“Good girl… taking all of me inside even if it is too much for you like a true-spirit whore…” He giggled meaningfully while gently tapping the same buttock he slapped previously, watching you twitching in a sadistic kind of joy.

He quickly pulled out, wanting to check just how much you came around him. His cock was entirely wet and full of stains of your essence.

“Look at this mess you did in me… Oh, you’re absolutely cleaning this up.” He reached a hand to his jacket and pulled it away from the hanger, making your body finally become free again. Since your legs were extremely weakened by sex, all they could do was crumble and kneel down in the floor, your face resting against the cold white wall.

But your moment of break didn’t last as much as you needed it to. Scaramouche was determined to make your ruined face suck, still blindfolded. That’s why your hair was suddenly fisted by his hand and forced to turn around.

“Say ‘ahh’…” He rested his cock on top of your lips, aching to make its way inside your mouth. His hands also moved to your fringe, pushing it all the way to the back of your head until he could clearly glare all of your face breathing in and out exhausted.

“Ahhh…” You obliged to his orders and stuck your tongue out, which impulsed him to immediately place his cock on top of it, pulsing to feel your warm tongue licking it like it was your source of water.

You, thankfully, obliged to that too and started licking him up and down, all around his length, since you couldn’t see where he was stained. You looked so destroyed licking cum like a kitten, but that made you look so beautiful to his hungry eyes. He deadly wished he could spend more time messing with you, but the constant knocks on the door to go inside the bathroom were annoying him to a point he wanted to kill whoever was doing that.

“A-Are you clean now..?” You asked while pulling yourself out of his range, a chord of saliva connecting you and his cock for a second before it fell in your chin.

He took a look at his cock, meeting it perfectly clean transparent, but still wet with your saliva, while using a hand to wipe your chin.

“Yes, I am… Good girl.” He patted your head gently while grabbing a piece of toilet paper to finally wipe his dick dry. “Get up.” He shifted his tone as soon as he zipped his pants back to their place.

With the help of his hands, you stood up, still struggling with your shaky legs. But Scaramouche held you against the wall while rearranging you with a knee. He firstly took off your blindfold and tried tying it back to its spot in your forehead, which made you also available to help him out. Of course you didn’t look perfect. Your mascara and lipstick were ruined and you couldn’t get the straps in breasts back to their place, unless you took it all away from you and did it again.

“Shit…” You complained while looking at yourself in the mirror by your side.

“Here.” Scaramouche grabbed his jacket from the floor behind you and handed it to you.

God, he looked so much better without that jacket on him, although it did add more to his costume. But now that his wine-colored dress shirt without most buttons attaching to their hole was all he wore in his chest, it made him look twice sexy to you, especially since some of the many kisses you marked in him were visible there.

“Thanks…” You were a little embarrassed now that sex was over. “You might want to button your shirt again.” You started dressing his jacket and he immediately started closing up his buttons.

“Thanks. Can you walk?” He asked while reaching for the door, also awkward.

“I… don’t think so…” You looked away, but Scaramouche simply took your worst in his hand.

“Come… let’s get out of here.” His look was surprisingly very calm and smooth to you. A version of Scaramouche you’ve never witnessed.

“What a gentleman I got myself tonight…” You mocked while he opened the door.

“… Shut up.” You two finally stepped out, meeting a man right in front of the door that seemed to be waiting to use it for a long time.

Scaramouche ignored him, but you felt a little guilty and embarrassed to know that some minutes ago you were fucking with your best friend with degradation kink.

“Hey, you two! Where the fuck you two have been at?!” I’ve been looking for you two for hours!” Your friend in common, Faruzan, suddenly showed up in front of you two, dressed up as a sexy cat, but when she noticed the differences in your costumes, one of her eyebrows frowned. “What the hell happened to you, Y/N?! Weren’t you supposed to be a mummy mommy? You look like an actual mummy!” She laughed at you, but then she realized that you two looked awkwardly sweaty. “… Don’t tell me you two fucked.” She looked a little concerned.

“She was the one trying to fuck actually.” Scara suddenly started arguing with her for you. “Found her drunk ass trying to hit on Alhaitham. Even showed her boobs to him, but she failed so bad, she can’t even stick the stripes back.” Scaramouche and Faruzan started cackling together at his fake story, taking advantage of the fact that she was a little drunk to invent a really weird lie.

“Alhaitham?!” Faruzan acted like she had just heard the gossip of the year to you, who just stared at her still exhausted.

You breathed in and out.

“… Yeah, I tried.” You looked away, and she started cackling again.

“Oh my god! You’re sooooo stupid! Out of all hotties you could hit on here, you picked that geek?! Even Scaramouche was a better option!” She couldn’t hold back her giggles, barely spilling her alcohol out of her cup, while Scaramouche smirked at the unintentional compliment.

“Yeah, I know…” You avoided eye contact with Scaramouche.

“Let me take her home now. Her legs are, like, barely working.” He finally started talking more serious.

“Ok, ok! Don’t try hitting on him too, you silly!” She pointed at Scaramouche while talking to you, and finally walked away.

As soon as she was out of your way, you two went back to normal

“Really..? That was your lie? You’re lucky she was drunk enough to believe it.” You mocked him.

“It worked, so shut up.” He brushed you off, finally opening the doors to the exterior. “So you think I’m a better option than Alhaitham?” He asked in the same aroused tone he was using in the bathroom.

The cold air of the night immediately hit your bodies, making you shiver a little bit since your costume result wasn’t made for fall. You didn’t expect the weather to change so much in such a short matter of hours.

“Please… not even if he was as ugly as you.” You scoffed at him.

“That wasn’t what you were saying some minutes ago, mommy.” He opened the door to the backseat of his car.

“Are you trying to take me home right now? I’m fine! I still want to party! Gosh, and you can’t even let a friend sit next you…” You tried pushing him away, but he resisted and looked at you ready to laugh.

“… Don’t tell me you didn’t figure out we’re gonna fuck in the backseat.” He giggled at you.

And then you remembered what he previously told you before walking you around.

“I can’t predict the meaning of every puzzle that comes out of your mouth!” Scaramouche simply smirked and pushed the both of you in the cushions and smacking the door shut.

“You’re just slow.” He shrugged his shoulders while positioning himself between your legs. “Now… let’s go for round two. Shall we, mommy?” His pun made you smirk in anticipation.

“Sure… try being more gentle this time.” You shrugged your shoulder while sliding the zipper of his jacket down again.

“Gentle?” He laughed for a moment.

“I’ll fuck your brains out of your head.”

Taglist: @alatusorrow @shyentsfoundherink @luminieee @the-stinky-winky @kindofshyent @amoyanderes

Happy Halloween for all the Scaramouche whores! 🎃

[hanasnx]

Indy! What kinks do you think Bruce would have ?

bruce wayne's kinks.

MINORS DNI 18+

! ── bondage + gags: it's a classic. tying you up and taking control from you is a huge turn on for him. if you have his complete trust, which rare ever do, you'll be able to do the same to him. unfortunately, those pretty silken ropes end up getting worn through way too quick, so you've upgraded to chains so you can ride him like a stallion. however, your headboard creaks a little more each time. when a 200+ man of pure muscle yanks on wood it splinters.

! ── edging + overstimulation + dacryphilia

! ── exhibitionism: part of his bruce wayne persona means public displays of affection are required. however, he enjoys it. getting his hands all over you where anyone could see means he elicits that cute reaction out of you where you hit him and scold him all the while his teeth are on your neck and he's groping you through your dress. the thrill of removing just enough to make sure he can get inside you makes him rip his belt open with fervor, and he's always a fan of a quickie. it's a stress reliever.

! ── breathplay: he's calculative when it comes to breathplay, but more specifically he loves putting his hand around your throat.

! ── size: he's an avid supporter. he thinks it's hot when you get all sheepish being reminded of how big and strong he is. he's got a powerful body he works day and night for, the least you can do is appreciate its every inch.

! ── food play: ever since strippers jumped out of his birthday cake in his twenties covered in frosting and edible bits that he was allowed to lick off he's had a thing for food play. at one point you feel like he's eaten entire meals off of you, he's completely nondiscriminatory when it comes to what he can lick and mouth as long as it's on you. if he's on a cheat day, he lets a scoop of ice cream melt on your skin just so he can clean you himself and watch your poor nipples pebble from the cold.

! ── impact play: chronic ass-smacker, tit-smacker less so, face-smacker even less.

! ── old school panty snatcher: if you put a pair of your used panties in his suit pocket before he goes to work he will play with it all day. stick his hand in there to meddle with the fabric between his fingers while he's talking to his board of directors with the presentation he's been preparing. he gets into the habit of inviting himself to your undergarments, and has been caught multiple times using one of your favorite pairs to jack himself off.

! ── bareback + creampies: condoms are fine he's not an idiot, but there's something about going in raw that draws him in. the extra edge of danger and the intimacy of touching the deepest parts of you bare.

! ── thigh riding: clasping your hands in his for balance while he watches you get off on his thigh. tells you it's like a personal show. he keeps those eyes trained on you with such an entertained grin it makes you whine in frustration, and that's hot too.

! ── threesomes/foursomes: he's done it all. having multiple partners is a testament to his endurance and he loves the praise, but since he's been official with you there is no room for that sort of thing and that's fine with him.

! ── light roleplay: you two have been known to throw the word "batman" around the bedroom.

! ── praise mostly very rarely a degrader

! ── daddy: as far as he's concerned, that's one of his names when it comes to you. in any context you call him that, he swells with pride. one time you visit him while he's in a meeting, not only did you turn every head in the room but when you called him "daddy" accidentally and out of pure habit, he didn't skip a beat. he glances at his companions with a knowing glint in his eye because they should be jealous that the girl they're gonna be thinking about for the rest of the day just called him daddy. he's got no shame about it.

[luveline]

Gah, your Peter Parker leaves me sighing in the best way every time! If you feel like it, could you write a little blurb of him melting from fondness when reader gets bashful following him doing/saying something soft? It’s so sweet, seeing two people mutually melt around and because of each other. Even when it’s the smallest thing, it means so much more when it’s from one of YOUR important people.

ty for your request! <3 fem

Fuck, Peter Parker thinks, jogging up the steps to your apartment building, this is the life. It’s a hot day in New York City but there are cold drinks to be had and that electric fan in your bedroom is calling his name. There’s genuinely no better place to be than laying on your sheets in pyjamas you wash with that apple blossom laundry softener he loves, knowing you keep using it ‘cos you love it, and knowing you wash his pyjamas because you love him. 

Spidering is going well, he saved a kid today who nearly got crushed by a ten tonner, so he’s feeling pretty good about himself, or at least feeling good about his decisions. He made Aunt May lunch and took it down to the hospital, he flirted gently with the older nurses, and now he’s gunning up the stairs to your apartment, every step a crinkle. 

Your door is wide open (awful) but you have good reason —the floors and the countertops shine. The windows are open, and the room is fragrant with your oil diffuser. You’re on your knees by the TV wiping down the table with a damp rag in loose-fitting clothes, sleeves pushed up, brows puckered. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. 

“Peter, I’m not talking to you today.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“You know how many pairs of your socks I found when I was cleaning today?” 

He grimaces. “Two?” 

“Nine pairs of socks, Peter.” 

He puts the flowers he’s brought you down on the coffee table and his back on the floor. He’d been hoping to do a grand unveiling of the bouquet to surprise you, but he feels terrible. “I don’t even know how that happens,” he mumbles dejectedly, kneeling down behind you, his arms threading in front of your tummy to give you a backwards squeeze. “They just disappear.” 

“They don’t, evidently.” 

“I’m really sorry.” He kisses your cheek. “I’m genuinely really sorry. That’s sloppy. I’m not a kid.” 

“No, you’re not… I’m not that mad though, you don’t have to sound so serious.” 

He holds the place just under your breastbone in his hands. “Oh, you’re not?” He tugs you to his front to stop you from moving prematurely and reaches blindly behind him for the flowers. You laugh as he tips back, taking you with him, the sound vibrating through you and into him. “That’s good. Don’t need these then, do we?” 

He twirls the bouquet, pressing it carefully to your chest. 

You immediately relax in his arms. He treasures that feeling, your weight leaning against him, your cheek listing down into his arm. You raise a hand, his arm trapped in the crook of your elbow as you examine the lilac petal of a sweetpea. “I love these ones.” 

“I know.” 

You take more time than anyone else would sifting through the flowers of the bouquet, breath the only evidence of your delight. You breathe out slowly whenever one of the flowers is particularly beautiful, and then you hug the bunch to your nose for a mild sniff. 

“Thank you.” 

Peter kisses your cheek. He savours the feeling of it, your skin under his lips, being that close to you, his hair on your forehead and your eyebrow tickling him as he hugs you just that little bit closer. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, affection in every word, and a little drop of shyness too, “I was thinking of you, and they looked healthy for once, considering they’re off of the corner by Mandy’s.” 

“They’re so pretty,” you mumble, turning into him as much as you can. He lets up his tight hold. 

“Like you.” 

You brush your forehead against his chin. Peter actually gets goosebumps, letting the flowers fall to the floor by your leg so he can hold you. “I feel bad for caring about the socks now,” you mumble. 

He laughs with lips still closed and offers you a soft kiss.