you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
In my wee humble opinion, the best kind of angst is when the main character is pissed off, usually for a good reason, at the love interest; and the MC is fucking angry, I mean yelling through tears level rage, and the love interest is begging forgiveness. Bonus points if they're in the rain.
Ship dynamic pitch: enemies, to still enemies but one genuinely hates the other and the other thinks their SO interesting and won’t leave them alone, to enemies but they know everything about each other and have found some sort of common ground but there’s still tension, to lovers but one is a raging ball of hate that’s not directed at the other any more and the other is their co-conspirar and equally as bad. Plus theyre down bad for each other and everyone can see it.
//hi i know this is the pot calling the kettle black but.
"matt murdock who fucks you so hard and makes you cum" "matt murdock who is a sex god" IM TIRED OF IT. BRING BACK YEARNING.
matt murdock who does not believe in soulmates until he meets you.
matt murdock who learns you, who memorizes you-- your favorite foods, your hatred of certain textures, the last color you painted your nails, the things that make you tick, the way your breathing changes when you've had a long day.
matt murdock who finds himself distracted when he hasn't heard from you, wondering if you're doing okay.
matt murdock who sends flowers to your office, just because.
matt murdock who goes from bachelor with only beer in his fridge to keeping the pantry fully stocked with snacks for whenever you get hungry.
matt murdock who feels his skin start to burn when you give him the gentlest of touches-- a caress of his arm, a hand on his shoulder. it drives him crazy.
matt murdock who is intoxicated by the mere sound of your voice, learning all the different tones you take in various situations, the way your voice softens when talking to anyone you deem a baby (cats, dogs, kids, drunk foggy), or the way it hardens when you're dealing with someone you find annoying (clients, assholes at the bar, etc)
matt murdock who gets drunk with his best friend one night and leaves you 27 voicemails, ranging from twenty seconds long to fourteen minutes, all rambling about how much he loves you.
matt murdock who spends months trying to hint that he likes you, buying you lunch, asking if you need anything, always pouring your coffee just the way you like it, asking if the book you finished was good and letting you ramble about it for twenty minutes.
matt murdock who has the biggest, fattest, most disgusting crush on you.
matt murdock who blushes whenever you enter the room.
matt murdock who yearns. yearns for you.
and yeah, also, he fucks. of course. get yourself someone who can do both. get yourself someone who makes you cry from overstimulation AND spends hours kissing literally every inch of your skin because he can and he wants to.
get yourself someone like matt murdock, who can only be described as head over heels in love with you.
I’m pretty sure mechs would think gardening is some kind of organic black magic.
What, you think my subspace is weird? That’s just math and engineering! But you put that tiny speck in dirt and now it’s become something completely different? It’s green and there’s flowers and it’s going to make something you can EAT?? You literally created your own fuel from practically nothing. And humans don’t think that’s weird?!?!
Cornfields make them uneasy. Even Optimus locks his doors when he’s driving you somewhere through the Midwest. You hear a chumpfk of the locks engaging and you’re like
hey big guy, everything okay?
And he’s just,
There is so much of it, and it registers strangely on my sensors. The way it moves is…unsettling. Why do humans grow this in such quantities?
You think for a second and tell him, very seriously,
To appease the corn god.
(You make a habit of eating popcorn around him as much as possible after that)
Warnings: Mentions of suicide, not a lot of Bob interaction just yet, Valentina and Walker need their own warnings
Author's Notes: I love him, okay? I'm not even sorry.
Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3
Six Months Before the Void
“Sergeant Barnes, if you would just give me a chance –,”
“A chance to do what, exactly?” Bucky asked, turning to face the young woman who had –for the better part of an hour –been following him through the charity event.
“Help with your campaign!” She explained, throwing her hands in the air. “Sir, you’re an icon. A legend. So it genuinely pains me to say this. But you suck at talking in front of the camera.”
He stared at her for a long moment, considering what she was saying. Okay, sure –he wasn’t great at interviews. But he was polling better than everyone else running against him. That had to mean something, right? He rolled his neck, pushing aside an annoying tingle that had shot up his spine.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she continued, stepping in front of him, putting her hands up as if she could stop him from leaving. “You’re thinking that you’re polling better than everyone else running against you, and that has to mean something.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. “How did –,”
“And it does mean something –but it won’t if you don’t learn how to address the public. The whole ‘man of the people’ schtick gets old fast when it’s less endearing and more ‘is this man actually qualified?’”
He doesn’t have time for this, he decided, shaking his head. Then he reached out to just move her –something he didn’t really like doing, but she was too persistent and kind of annoying, so he needed her to go away.
“I’m not going away!” She exclaimed, ducking away from his touch –as if she anticipated it. “Also don’t manhandle people –sir, do you realize how bad that looks? Like, our mayor does enough of that.”
“How are you doing that?” He demanded, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to the side. Though his grip wasn’t tight –he didn’t want to hurt her.
“Doing what?”
“Can you read my mind?” He demanded again, glaring down at her.
“I mean…,” she dragged out the phrase, making a ‘maybe’ sort of motion with her hands. “Listen, I told you I knew what you were thinking. But that’s not all I can do –and I can use it to help you.”
“Why on earth would you want to use your superpowers to help me run for Congress?”
“Because I actually think you can do good for Brooklyn,” she insisted, and Bucky swore that she was being genuine. “I am being genuine, sir. I care about my city. And I do think you can do a lot more than most can. But you need a public relations specialist and I am really good at my job. Theoretically, at least.”
“Theoretically?” He asked, frowning deeply.
“I mean, you would be my first client because I finished my Master’s like right before the Blip then disappeared technically, but I know I can be really good at my job if you just give me a chance. Please. I’ll even do it for free!”
“I’m not –you’re not doing it for free. I’ll pay you –,”
“Yes!”
Present Day –D.C.
“Any word on our friend?” Bucky asks, glancing at his PR specialist slash assistant slash…well, everything, really.
He isn’t sure how to describe the young woman who stood next to him, because she’s a jack of all trades at this point in his very short Congressional career. She started off managing his social media and helping his public image before the election. Bucky had to give credit where credit was due: the girl is good at her job. Her speech writing skills are solid. She keeps his message and support consistent. She even managed to get him less stiff and weird on camera. She keeps him on schedule and pushes him through things he doesn’t want to do, with both a smile and a snarky comment that lightens his frustrations.
Her abilities came in handy quite a bit in these tasks. Between reading the minds of the people around her –knowing what they wanted, how they felt –and being able to project positive thoughts into a crowd…well, Bucky is glad she was so persistent six months ago.
But then she had a run-in with one of his opponents supporters, showing up to work disheveled and frustrated.
“It’s nothing,” she had insisted, “Just some asshole who thinks I’m a monster for helping you.”
Bucky decided that he could teach her a few things too.
She was a fast learner, and a willing student. If she got knocked down, she got up again and immediately sought feedback and improvement. While she’s no super soldier, she is able to hold her own if she needs to —after a few months. Bucky taught her how to handle a weapon or two, she taught him how to use Twitter and TikTok (which he hated, but damn did it help his numbers). It’s a good partnership.
The latest lesson is a bit of espionage –nothing super intense. Bucky is working on how to get Valentina Alegra de Fontaine impeached –and while his assistant was a great asset in confirming that Valentina was, in fact, guilty…well, the public doesn’t know he has a mutant in his employment. And while Bucky has no issue telling anyone, she does –and it isn’t his secret to tell.
“None of my family knows,” she explained over a beer one night after another charity gala. “I don’t…It’s not something I need anyone to know. I already know what everyone thinks; I don’t need them to start thinking specifically about me too. I don’t think I could handle it.”
“Her assistant –her name is Mel –is on the fence about her boss,” she explains, clicking away at her phone as she sends him over her notes. “I tried talking to her but she pretty much immediately beelined for the door when I got closer.”
“Who's the unapproachable one now?” He jokes, grinning down at her as he grabs a champagne glass for both of them.
She snorts in response, taking a sip of the bubbly he hands her. “Still you, sir.”
“Fair enough,” he agrees, nodding some as he looks around the room. “Anything else?”
“She’s getting rid of any and all evidence of O.X.E and something called Project Sentry,” she continues, though she’s hiding her lips behind her glass. “I couldn’t figure out what that was –I’m sure something ratchet.”
“Ratchet?” He asks, frowning deeply.
“Terrible,” she offers.
Her and her millennial slang. He couldn’t understand it half the time.
“I’ll try to get closer –,”
“Don’t,” he interrupts, stepping in front of her. “Cool it for the night. I have some angles that I can work with; I need you to do what you do best now.”
“Get people to think you’re not a weird old man from the forties?”
“...yes.”
“Can do, sir.” She salutes him, grinning up at him.
Bucky shoos her away, shaking his head, then heads off to locate Congressman Gary about his findings.
*****
She sees coordinates.
She knows she promised Bucky she wouldn’t get closer to Valentina, but she never promised she wouldn’t pay attention to Mel.
“I know you’re avoiding me,” she comments as she slips behind Mel with a polite smile and glass of champagne. “I don’t know why. I thought we were like…I don’t know, two peas in a pod. Assistants to weirdly powerful people –,”
“Oh, I’m not –,” Mel starts but bites her tongue. “I’m not avoiding you. Just super busy. You know, being an assistant to a weirdly powerful person.”
She nods, sipping her drink thoughtfully. But Mel is focused on her tablet again, and the coordinates are flashing in her mind as she looks at a name –John Walker. U.S. Agent. Dime store Captain America. She makes a face behind her glass, unable to help it.
The same coordinates flash again, indicating that Walker was being sent somewhere to get rid of someone named Belova in Utah.
She hums as she jots down the coordinates in her phone, fully intending to send them to Bucky.
“Well, well –finally, I get the pleasure of meeting the little girl who’s made our junior congressman remotely functional,” Valentina announces from behind, catching her off guard. “You know, you could do a lot better.”
She smiles politely, though she wonders if it looks as forced as it feels. “I don’t think I could, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Valentina hums, bumping shoulders with Mel, who looks painfully uncomfortable. Her thoughts are loud. What is she doing? She literally told me not to talk to this girl. Why is she talking to her? What’s her angle? Is she trying to fire me? Do I want to be fired?? “Could work with us –I bet your skills would do wonders.”
She narrows her eyes at the inflection –at the implication –in Valentina’s tone. “I think you have an excellent assistant already, Ms. de Fontaine –,”
“Oh, I don’t need another assistant. Mel is perfect,” though her tone sounds…alarmingly poisonous. “You, though…you could be so much more than just Bucky Barnes’ pretty assistant.”
“I am more than that, ma’am,” she argues, narrowing her eyes.
“I think you have the potential to be a hero,” Valentina continues, ignoring her. “Think about what you could do with those powers of yours.”
“I don’t –,”
“Oh please,” the director of the CIA interrupts. “Number one, it’s obvious that you can read minds. You know way too much and have almost no contacts in D.C. Just because everyone else in this room is oblivious doesn’t mean I am. Number two, you have an actual talent –something that can literally calm down the worst of the worst without even touching them. Think about what you could do with that.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself. Valentina is manipulating her. She knows that the director is. It’s obvious, and Valentina isn’t even trying to hide it.
“I’m making an impact here,” she says, though she’s not half as confident as she was before.
“Are you, though?”
“More so than a woman experimenting on humans and destroying the evidence.”
Valentina laughs –well, snorts really, because her laugh is not from amusement. “Shit, you know. I thought I could get you. That’s unfortunate. Now you’re just a liability.”
Her brow furrows and as she’s about to call out –for Bucky, for someone –there’s a high pitched screeching in her ears and everything goes fuzzy. She curses out loud as Valentina calls for help –as someone helps her up and leads her away. She can’t hear what’s going on –she can’t see what’s being presented to the crowd. But through blurry eyes, she can see Bucky trying to make his way through the crowd.
She’s blacked out before she knows if he’s going to help her.
*****
Her head hurts.
That’s all she can focus on.
There’s a dull ache in her skull like someone took a screwdriver and tried to scramble her brain through her ears.
The pain, however, is overcome by the sound of gunshots echoing in an empty room.
She rolls over, bumping into a crate or something, and tries to push herself onto her knees. There’s yelling and gunshots and she’s barely able to think let alone move. But she manages to get herself sitting up, eyes screwed tight as she presses her head into the crate behind her. She needs to get her bearings. She needs to figure out where she is and she needs to call Bucky because she fucked up and now she’s probably in danger and –
“It’s getting kind of tense out there,” a voice whispers –trembling, soft.
But she’s not expecting anyone to be so close to her and she screams out, throwing herself away from him.
The gunshots stop, and there’s a silence for a moment as the weapons shift towards her and this man she doesn’t recognize. Though, she’s certain that even if she could see properly without feeling like her brain was bleeding, she wouldn’t know who he is.
“And who are you?” Someone asks, and she can hear footsteps coming closer.
She tries to mask herself –hide from whatever is probably going to kill her –but the moment she even considers her powers –there’s another violent jolt down her spine and she cries out in pain.
“Oh,” the man above her says, putting his hands up. “I’m –I’m uh, Bob. I don’t –well, I don’t know who she is –,”
“Don’t involve me in this,” she hisses as he points to her, though she looks up as John Walker peers down at her. She glares at him through squinted, bloodshot eyes.
“Aren’t you…Bucky’s assistant?” He asks, holstering his gun.
She nods once, swallowing hard. “Yeah…yeah, I am.”
“How the hell did you both get in here?” the Russian asks.
“I don’t remember,” Bob admits, still trembling some as he looks down at her on the floor. “I found her like that –,”
“I think I was kidnapped,” she explains as Walker offers her a hand to stand. She slaps it away and slowly pushes herself up. “Fucking Valentina –,”
“So just to confirm,” the Russian begins. “Valentina sent…all of us here, to kill each other. Plus two civilians?”
“I think she sent me here to get killed,” she offers, leaning against the crate to hold her up. “I, uh, can read minds and shit.”
“Ah, okay. Liability,” the Russian confirms, as if it was obvious. “Doesn’t explain Bob though.”
“Wait, you guys were sent?” He asks, and she’s taking a breath and finally finds herself focusing a little better.
She glances at Bob now, taking a moment to finally look at him. He’s in scrubs, disheveled and confused. She, probably inappropriate for the moment, thinks he would be kind of cute if he was a little more cleaned up. Or least not in scrubs.
There’s not a chance in hell she can read his thoughts –her brain is still a mess. She tries to focus her gaze, blinking away the fuzziness that had overwhelmed her. Things were getting clearer; their thoughts —though still fragmented and scrambled like a TV without signal —were finally breaking through. He’s standing there barefoot and it's hard to believe that he wasn’t just…here already. He seems too confused to have snuck in, and more importantly too scrambled.
“I don’t think it matters, really,” she finally says, standing up straight. “We need to get out because Valentina is absolutely trying to kill all of us.”
“Okay, these two —yeah, I get it,” Walker argues, motioning to the Russian —Yelena— and the other woman —Ava —she’s gathered. “But I’m a decorated war vet. I was Captain America —,”
Bob suddenly laughs, and the sound feels almost unnerving in the situation they’re in. She turns to him, his fragmented thoughts loud and…and scary.
Walker isn’t amused. “What’s so funny, Bobby?”
Some thought —or maybe emotion —flares up in Bob but he just laughs uncomfortably again.
“You keep saying you’re Captain America,” he explains, wringing his hands.
“And why is that funny?” Walker presses and his thoughts are getting louder now too.
“It’s just…you’re an asshole.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Walker looks mortified and angry. Yelena is clearly holding back her laughter while Ava is more focused on getting the hell out. But Bob is laughing —boyish, timid, and dare she admit it, kind of cute. And she can’t help but laugh now too.
“Oh, god. He’s got such a point. God bless you, Bob, thank you so much for seeing things clearly,” she agrees, putting a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “Walker’s literally the worst.”
There’s a moment. The room shifts, like how it shifts when she uses her powers. But it’s darker, and she’s familiar with her room she’s standing in. It doesn’t last though. As she’s trying to figure out where she is, it shifts back.
And suddenly she’s back in the vault, hand on his shoulder, and everyone staring at her like she’s lost her goddamn mind. Maybe she has, because she’s worried she’s accidentally lost control. And that’s never happened before. She’s usually in far more control —but she chalks it up to anxiety and shakes herself out of it. She didn’t mean to do it; it wasn’t on purpose. Bob does seem a bit put out by it though; blue eyes wide as he stares at her like he’s done something wrong.
“Sorry, I —,” he starts, but an alarm goes off, interrupting her thoughts and she drops her hand from Bob’s shoulder.
“We need to get out of here,” Yelena states, pointing to the clock on the wall. “We find the console that controls the barrier, Ava can get through and open it from the other side. Once we’re out, we split up, we find an exit. Walker, keep assistant girl and Bob alive.”
There’s arguing, and their thoughts are getting louder as she’s finally coming into focus again. She wants to argue and remind them what her name is but it seems redundant at this point, given she’s probably going to die.
Oh. Oh god. She’s actually going to die. She’s actually enough of a liability that someone wants her dead and she’s going to die in a vault underground, with a bunch of assholes and some guy named Bob. Her hand grabbed at her chest, trying to ease that panic as she fell against another crate, sitting down and breathing hard.
“I’m going to die because I’m too good at my job,” she mumbles to herself. “God, what the fuck?”
“You’re not going to die,” Walker insists as Yelena shouts out in discovery. Walker turns his attention to the Russian, hurrying over to smash the controls in with his shield.
“We might die,” Bob offers, as if that was reassuring. He sits beside her, hands in his lap as he picks at the skin around his nails. “It’s fine, I think.”
Another yell of triumph and they both watch as Ava phased through the walls, finding an escape. If she wasn’t so scared of death, she would have been wholly impressed. Bob patted her shoulder awkwardly —though she pulled away.
“Don’t —I don’t want to accidentally make you see my thoughts,” she explains, frowning deeply as he drops his hand. “I appreciate the thought, Bob. I just —I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Oh,” though he doesn’t really seem to understand what she means.
“Come on!” Walker suddenly screams, hitting the door. “Where the hell is she!”
The two civilians stand, moving to stand behind Yelena and Walker. The timer is counting down and the thoughts around her are…alarmingly accepting of their fates. Walker and Yelena both seem to be totally fine if this is where the line ends for them. And Bob…well, his thoughts are still fragmented and confusing, but he seems just as willing to die down here as the other two.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, covering her eyes. “You’re all suicide risks.”
Summary: You had been seeing Bob Reynolds for a while now, and after a couple of drinks you invite him over to your place. Turns out the time at isolation made him more touch starved and submissive that you could ever imagine.
Warnings: fem reader, vaginal sex, dominant female and submissive male tones, submissive man, crotch grinding, male overstimulation, making out, slight mention of drinking, unsafe sex I guess
Notes: I really really took heavy inspiration on someone called @squinch-depraved who did a sub!charlie slimecicle fic but I'm pretty sure they deleted their blog. I also got some amazing one liners from @nightprompts, thank you so much!
If you are more into dom!void go read my other fic That other side of you. Love you!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------You had to admit it, you were head over heels for Robert Reynolds from the moment you first saw him.
Back then, you were just an intern at the Thunderbolts HQ, running errands, fetching coffee, organizing press conferences, whatever Mel needed. You weren’t exactly close to the team, though you shared the occasional chat with Ava or Bucky. Still, you’d stepped into their meeting room a handful of times.
It was on one of those cold autumn afternoons, the kind where you just wanted to stay at home and cozy up, when you were asked to retrieve some leftover merch from the meeting room. You went in, oblivious to the presence of anyone else, when you suddenly heard a shuffle from behind you.
"Oh...hi...sorry" A man's voice said timidly, stuttering over his words. A figure emerged from behind a panel. He wore a dark blue hoodie, and had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, clearly not expecting anyone. He slowly made his way towards you, and as he stepped into the light you started to distinguish his features. His deep blue eyes barely looked at you, avoiding your gaze as he fidgeted with his hands. His dark, long hair framed his soft face as his smile shined under the afternoon light.
"Oh, Mr. Reynolds. You scared me" You said, smiling at the boy in front of you.
"Oh I'm so so sorry, I was just uh...reading...you know"
You realized you had never seen him face to face, only heard the rest of the team mentioning him from time to time. And god, was he beautiful up close.
"Well, everyone else is at the press conference, are you not coming down?" You asked curiously.
"No no, it 's fine. I'm not big on being on TV or answering questions or well talking to people I guess" He replied, almost embarrassed at his own shyness.
"Okay then, uhh....see you around!" You smiled, making eye contact with him as he did.
"See ya then" He smiled back, making a small awkward wave as he did (and regretting it immediately).
From then on you saw him around more, in the cafeteria, in the training room, in the hallways, and you always hit it off. You talked about basically anything, and you ended up considering him your closest friend in the HQ. It wasn't until one day, when you were chatting in the tower terrace, that you realized he was more fidgety than normal. Tugging on his sleeves and tucking his hair behind his ears. He looked nervous, like if he wanted to say something but just couldn't figure out how.
"I'm sorry, do you, do you want to go out sometime??" He asked jumpily.
"Like a date??"
"Yeah I guess, like a date"
And so you two met, for coffee, for dinner, for a walk in a park. First a couple of times per week, then basically every night. He was a hopeless romantic, a surprisingly classical gentleman. He bought you flowers, called you beautiful, looked into your eyes like you were his world. And god, he was so nerdy and timid. "I'm sorry I just, I haven't been with someone for a really long time" He said, as he timidly leaned in for your first kiss.
It wasn't until a couple of weeks later, when he had completely broken out of his shell, that you decided to invite him over to your apartment. You both had a couple of drinks on you, nothing to make you drunk but enough to boost your confidence. And you laughed as you made your way in. Once you were inside, you both fell into the couch, laughing in each other's arms as you settled down.
You looked into his eyes,he was so pretty, so soft, he wanted you so badly, and he made you know it with every single stare. He tucked your hair behind your ear as he reduced the distance between you, leaning in to meet your lips. A slow couple of delicate kisses as he cupped your face, his hot breath against yours. You were hungry for him, he was finally there for you and only you. He slid his tongue through your lips, and you opened your mouth, letting him explore every part of it.
“You really wanted this didn’t you??” You asked, smiling at him.
“Y….yes” He replied, embarrassed at his own desperation.
You put your legs over his, slowly climbing on top of him as you keep kissing him. You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling his head back to meet your gaze. He looked so vulnerable, so pretty, his soft eyes looking up at you, glistening as they alternated between your eyes and your lips. He swallowed, looking up at you in desperation, begging you to keep touching him.
You made your way towards his neck, leaving wet kisses all over it. Your hot breath against his throat made him feel otherworldly, and you felt him shiver from just your touch. A pathetic whine escaped his lips as he threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. You started sucking on his neck, one hand scratching his torso and the other pulling on his hair, running your fingers through his scalp. "Y-you are so good at this" He said, stuttering and breathing heavy as he did. You started pulling on his shirt, signaling him to take it off, which he did desperately exposing his abs as you ran your fingertips over them. He sloppily unbuttoned your blouse, struggling with every button and apologizing, choking a groan as he got full view of your tits.
You started grinding your hips against his crotch, a slow, tortuous rhythm as you moved towards his mouth, biting his bottom lip. He whined into your mouth, desperately trying to buck his hips into you to gain some friction. “You are so touch starved aren't you baby??” You smiled, looking down at him.
A whimper escaped his lips as you fastened your pace, pushing yourself harder against his growing bulge. You felt yourself starting to get wet, his crotch rubbing perfectly against your clit. He felt like he was gonna cum just from this, just from your touch against him. He was painfully hard, his cock pushing against his boxers, wishing that you would just ruin him already.
"H-hurts...p-please" He couldn't even get his words out correctly, whines interrupting every word.
"Please what baby? Use your words" You replied, shocked at your own sudden cockiness.
"Please touch me, please" He said desperately, his hips trying to increase your rhythm.
You got off him and started undoing his pants, noticing how utterly big he was. You ran your fingering through his growth over his boxers, eliciting a whine as he shivered under your touch. "Please....I beg you." You smiled, slowly taking his underwear off, making him suffer with every single touch. His cock was glistening with precum, he looked down, almost embarrassed at the sight. "It's okay baby" You said reassuringly.
You got up, aligning him against your entrance. You were already wet from how desperate he was, yet he still didn't fit that easily. You slid down, slowly, taking in all of him. His cock sliding through your folds. "Oh...god" He choked out, throwing his head back as he did. You felt him hit your core, filling you in perfectly as you adjusted to his size. You grabbed his shoulders, slowly pumping in an out of him, each movement eliciting groans from him, You felt so perfect around him, he hadn't been touched in so long, and the way your walls wrapped around him was just ideal, his mind felt hazy, only thinking about fucking you. You increased your pace, filling him against your folds with every single pump. He whined with each thrust, a collection of desperate moans escaping his lips each time.
"What's wrong baby? Can't handle it?" You asked, pulling his hair so his eyes met yours.
"I can....fuck.....I can handle it" He said, out of breath as he looked at you.
You grabbed his shoulders, pushing yourself harder against him. He grabbed your waist, helping you steady as you found a perfect rhythm. Your moans syncing, each thrust leaving you two out of breath as he slid in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot everytime. "That's it baby, just like that" Your words made him whimper under you, as he fucked into you harder, feeling himself about to spill. With one deep groan you felt him filling you, his cock pulsating inside you. He was so overwhelmed, so overstimulated, gasping for air as he looked at you.
"Oh, but I'm not done with you yet." You said, digging your nails into his shoulders and pushing him down. "Just a little more, you can take a little more can't you baby?" You cupped his face with one of your hands, his eyes glistening.
"Y-yes, I can" He said, his mind hazy from how sensitive his cock was, from how tight your walls were against him.
"Such a good boy aren't you?"
You thrust yourself against him, each pump painfully wrapping around his over sensitive cock. He whined in pure desperation, not even able to hold you anymore, dropping his hands to his sides. "God..god I-" He gasped, unable to even form a coherent sentence by this point. You felt yourself about to spill just from how vulnerable he was being for you, your core tensing up as you felt that familiar feeling building inside you. His whines filled the room, his eyes stuck to yours, oscillating to your breasts from time to time. With one last thrust you collapsed into him, moaning and shivering as you fell into his arms.
You both took deep breaths, looking at each other and smiling. You got off him, kissing his forehead and putting his messy hair away from his face. "That...that was great baby" You said, still out of breath as you laid your interlocked his hands with yours. He looked at you silently, still hazy from all that you had given him.
This is my first time writing a sub!man and my second time writing smut in like 4 years, and I don't know I feel like i didn't do it that well so sorry if this doesn't live up to your expectations. English is not my first language and my brain is foggy and tired. Pleaseeee give me ideas and recommendations I'm willing to write anything you guys want but I'm strill trying to figure out how to put a requests button on my profile. Love you!!! (GIVE ME IDEAS NOW!!!111!!)
The New Avengers Tower was meant to be a monument—an icon of strength and stability. Sleek, modern lines. Reinforced titanium walls. Floors that didn’t groan beneath the weight of gods or legends.
None of that stopped the way she always felt him.
Robert Reynolds—or Bob, as most of them knew him—never announced his presence. He didn’t stomp like Thor or mouth off like Stark. No—he moved like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking. Quiet. Dense. Charged. Every step deliberate, every breath like it had claws.
When he walked into the training room that morning, damp from a run, sweat clinging to the defined lines of his chest, golden hair wind-tousled like he’d just stepped out of some myth—something primal in her kicked to life. The air changed. Tightened.
She didn’t look at him. Wouldn’t. But she felt his gaze settle on her like gravity.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over a blade.
Y/N didn’t flinch. She dropped deeper into her lunge, ignoring the warm twist in her stomach. “You’re imagining things.”
“I don’t imagine,” he murmured, voice dipping into something darker—something that curled around her like smoke. “I know.”
She rose slowly, unhurried, brushing hair from her face. She felt him watching every movement, tracking her like prey. “You psychic now, too? That’s new.”
Bob didn’t answer. Just stepped closer. Not touching, not inappropriate. But close enough that the heat from his body rolled off him like a promise.
“I hear your pulse when I walk in,” he said, voice softer now—intimate. “It spikes.”
She fought the urge to react. But her body betrayed her—heart kicking like it wanted out of her ribs. Her eyes flicked to him. Brief. His gaze was dark and amused.
“Sounds like a you problem,” she said coolly. But her voice had a rasp. Damn it.
His mouth curled into that maddening half-smile—slow and sharp, like he knew too much. “Doesn’t feel like a problem to me.”
She raised a brow, letting her lips tug into something flirtatious—mocking, almost. “You want to spar? Or just stare at me all day?”
“Why not both?” he drawled. “I heard you’ve been bored, looking for someone to knock around.” He paused and tilted his head. “I’m volunteering.”
For a second, she considered walking away. Cutting the tension before it strangled her. But instead, she stepped forward with a grin, dropping into a fighting stance that let him see every inch of her ready and waiting.
“No powers,” she said.
Bob nodded, and moved into a fighting stance.
She struck first—fast, sharp, a calculated series of blows that pushed him back a few steps. He moved like water. Smooth, reactive, dangerous. But she was quicker than he expected, and she knew it. Her fist caught his ribs with a satisfying thud, and when she spun low to sweep his legs, he barely avoided the hit.
His grin flickered, more real this time. “Didn’t peg you for a brawler.”
She didn’t answer—just pressed forward, unleashing another flurry of strikes that had him shifting defensively. Still, she got a few good hits in. His breath hitched after one particularly vicious jab to the side, and for a second, he looked…impressed.
Then he caught her wrist.
It wasn’t rough—barely more than a touch. But the second his fingers closed around her skin, her body betrayed her. Heat flushed through her, sharp and sudden, racing down her arm like lightning. Her breath faltered. His hand was hot—warmer than it should’ve been—and it sent a pulse straight to her core.
His eyes caught the flicker of surprise in hers. “Huh,” he murmured, thumb dragging across her pulse. “Interesting.”
She jerked free, spinning out of reach before he could say more, masking the flush in her cheeks with a glare. “Hands to yourself, golden boy.”
“You’re good,” he said, breathing harder. Admiration flickered behind the tension in his eyes. “But not good enough.”
In a blink, he caught her wrist, spun her, and swept her legs out from under her. She hit the mat with a gasp, breath stolen—only to find him already on top of her, pinning her effortlessly.
He wasn’t pressing her down. Just... hovering. But the weight of him, the heat—everything—wrapped around her senses like fire.
His lips hovered just above her throat, the warm brush of breath sending a shiver down her spine.
She could shove him off. Should.
But her body didn’t listen.
His mouth skimmed the curve of her neck—barely touching. Teasing. Her breath caught, a soft, involuntary sound slipping free.
For one electric heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.
She was almost certain she wanted him to.
Instead, his lips brushed her ear, his voice a low rasp. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”
Tension coiled like a spring between them. Her pulse thundered.
She smiled, lips parted, breath catching. “Where’s the fun in easy?”
For a moment, it was just breath and heat and the thrum of something wild. Then—
She moved.
A twist of hips, a shift in leverage, and suddenly he was on his back with her straddling his waist, hands on his chest. Her thighs caged him in, her grin smug.
His breath left him in a surprised huff, but the look in his eyes was all heat and approval.
She leaned in slowly—close enough to feel the rush of his breath against her collarbone.
“You were saying?” she murmured, her lips brushing over his—so light, so slow it burned.
His fingers flexed on her hips, and it took everything in her not to melt into him.
“Still hearing my pulse… or is that yours I hear now?”
Bob let out a sharp, rough laugh. His hands slid over her thighs—firm, possessive. Holding. Her restraint wearing thin.
“You play dirty,” he muttered.
She met his eyes, mouth a breath from his. “Only when it’s worth it.”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “You’re trouble.”
She grinned.
Then—
Bob surged up, flipping them again. Fast. Fluid. Dominant.
She was beneath him again, his forearms bracketing her head, his entire body pressed flush against hers—hard muscle, warm skin, and intent heat. She could feel him between her thighs, thick and wanting. All she could think about was what it would feel like to be with him, it made her vision go blurry.
His eyes had gone dark. Fixed. Hungry. Not just watching her—consuming her.
“You know what happens to trouble?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, lips brushing along her jaw with maddening slowness. “It gets handled.”
She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her breath caught when his mouth trailed down her neck, slow and claiming. Lips parted, tongue flicking lightly over her skin before his teeth grazed her collarbone—enough to make her hips buck involuntarily beneath him.
“Your body is betraying you.” He whispered.
Then his hand slid down her side, fingers splaying wide as they curved over the swell of her ass—possessive, firm, like he’d been thinking about it for a long time and wasn’t planning to let go now.
Y/N arched into him with a sharp gasp and in turn he pressed harder between her legs. She felt every inch. Her hands found his hair, threading through the brown strands, tugging just enough to earn a low, appreciative sound from deep in his chest.
Her mouth brushed his—a bare kiss that wasn’t really a kiss at all. A promise. A maddening tease that made him freeze above her.
“Seems your body is betraying you too,” she whispered, her voice a breathy challenge against his lips.
“I had no intentions of hiding it, sweetheart.”
His growl rumbled through her, primal and wicked, vibrating against her chest. Then his mouth dipped again, trailing lower, hot and open-mouthed along the top of her breasts, pulling her shirt lower. Every pass of his lips left her burning, her skin hypersensitive under his touch.
“Oh my God.”
They both froze.
Bob’s jaw tightened as he slowly turned his head. Y/N groaned, head thunking back against the mat.
Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed dad. Next to him, Yelena chewed a toothpick, clearly enjoying herself.
“Well,” Bucky said dryly. “That answers so many questions.”
Bob didn’t move. Just stared at them. “You guys ever knock?”
“Door was open,” Yelena said sweetly. “Also—this is technically a public space. You two wanna dry hump in the middle of a government-owned mat, that’s your call.”
Y/N slapped a hand over her face. “I hate you both.”
Yelena grinned. “Love you more.”
Bucky walked past them like it was just another work day. “Try a closet next time. Or, I don’t know—lock the damn door.”
Bob finally rolled off her with a groan, lying flat beside her. “So close.”
Y/N turned her head, still breathless. “So very, very close.”
A beat passed between them, the charged air refusing to settle.
“Maybe we can continue this another day,” she said lightly, teasing but hopeful.
Bob’s gaze raked over her, heat simmering low behind it. “I was thinking… back in my room. Fifteen minutes.”
Her grin deepened, slow and wicked, the kind that made promises without saying a word. She leaned in just enough for her lips to graze his ear again, her breath warm and teasing.
“Make it ten,” she whispered, then pushed to her feet—leaving him on the mat, watching her walk away like she’d just won the match in more ways than one.
Warnings: biblical/religious themes, I think that's it.
Word Count: 1,465
Castiel hadn't known why he came.
Only that something ancient stirred beneath the layers of reality, humming in frequencies older than Heaven. He followed the vibration like a compass in his Grace. It led him to the bunker—below layers of sigils and mistrust, into the damp cold of stone and salt.
And there you were.
Shackled. Silently sitting.
Golden cuffs bit into your wrists, inscribed with Enochian wards long since buried by time. Angel cuffs. As if you could be held by such things.
Dean stood nearby, arms folded, jaw set. Sam hovered close to the edge of the devil's trap they'd etched into the floor.
"You summoned her?" Castiel's voice cracked like thunder muffled through cloth.
"She just... appeared," Sam said, clearly uneasy. "We did what we had to do. She wasn't talking."
"She shouldn't be talking," Dean muttered, eyes flicking toward the glow leaking from your skin. "She looks like Heaven with teeth. We didn't know what she was."
"You still don't."
Castiel stepped forward. His wings, invisible to them but fully unfurled now, cast long shadows against the walls. The pressure in the room shifted.
He looked at you—no, into you—and his breath caught. Your gaze met his, and the veil thinned. Grace recognised Grace. But yours was older. Wilder. Purer. Not diluted by Heaven's hierarchy or Father's commandments. You were not cast or created. You were formed in the silence before sound.
"Unshackle her," Castiel said.
Dean frowned. "She could be dangerous."
"She could unmake you."
That silenced them.
Castiel walked closer to the circle, then knelt outside its edge. "She's choosing to stay. To show peace. If she wanted out, no binding in this realm would hold her."
A moment passed. You tilted your head slightly, just enough to let a strand of light spill from your temple like a falling sunbeam.
"She is not like us," Castiel continued, quietly now. "She is older than the Word. She was the light before light. She is Aurelia. You've caged the first spark of creation."
Sam took a half-step back.
Dean looked shaken. "Then why the hell is she here?"
"To be seen."
Castiel reached toward the edge of the warding sigil, his fingers brushing against it—but he didn't cross. "She's not a threat. She's beginning. And right now, she's choosing to show you mercy."
You smiled. And the room filled with the scent of myrrh and apples.
Castiel rose slowly, the faint buzz of his Grace unsettled beneath his skin. He stepped past the edge of the devil's trap. Sam didn't stop him. Dean made a sound, half-warning, half-surrender.
You didn't move. Not until he did.
His hand hovered above yours—scarred fingers flexing once, unsure. He didn't want to offend you. He didn't want to touch something that preceded touch, something that might undo him just by being real.
But you looked up at him. And you smiled.
"You're not like the others," you said, your voice quiet and slow, like honey cooling in the sun. "You feel more."
He faltered. His hand trembled. "I—"
"You're closer to them," you said, eyes flicking toward the Winchesters. "But it's not weakness. It's warmth."
Castiel dared to lower his hand the final inch, fingers brushing your wrist, just above the cuffs. The moment his skin met yours, a hum moved through him—not pain. Recognition. Like a chord struck true.
He helped you to your feet. Carefully. Reverently. As if you might dissolve into light if he breathed too hard. You stood with the kind of grace Heaven forgot. Your golden cuffs caught the light, but you no longer seemed trapped—just kindly enduring.
"I can't tell you why I'm here," you said softly. "One moment, I was with my sisters—floating in the starless void, drifting through warmth and dark. The next... I was falling."
Castiel stared, unable to look away.
"I hit the earth like a star," you went on, tone light and distant, like you were still remembering how to use your voice. "And they found me."
You tilted your head toward Sam and Dean. Not with anger. With understanding. Like a teacher gazing down at frightened students.
"They didn't ask questions," you said. "They tried to bind me. And when I let them, they became afraid."
Castiel turned. His voice sharpened—not cruel, but cutting with divine disappointment. "You shackled something you didn't understand."
Dean stepped forward, stiff. "You've seen what happens when we trust first and ask later."
"She's not Lucifer," Castiel snapped, his voice low and thunderous. "She's not even an angel."
He turned back to you. The way he looked at you now—there was no fear. Only reverence. "She is something older. She remembers stars being born."
Sam swallowed, visibly shaken. "Then what is she?"
"She is what Heaven tries to rewrite," Castiel said. "Because she reminds us we didn't create anything. We only inherited it."
He looked back at you, and his voice softened.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For them. For all of us. We... still have so much to learn."
You smiled again. Not forgiveness—just understanding.
The cuffs shimmered softly at your wrists, etched in ancient Enochian, but they didn’t hum with resistance. They were already powerless. You allowed them to hold you.
You allowed this.
Castiel’s fingers hovered above the bindings, unsure if he was worthy of removing them.
“May I?” He asked quietly.
You nodded once. And then, with a voice like velvet wrapped around starlight, you said his name.
“Castiel.”
He stilled.
It wasn’t surprise that rooted him—it was recognition. The sound of his name on your tongue was like a prayer said backwards, like something being remembered rather than spoken. You didn’t say it like it was borrowed from lore. You said it like it belonged to you.
“I know you,” you said. “Shield of God. Angel of Thursdays. The Watcher. The One Who Does Not Look Away.”
Castiel’s chest rose, then stilled.
You said it so simply. As if you’d always known him. As if you had watched him form from the breath of God Himself and never once looked away. A strange warmth filled his vessel—grace and something more. Not pride. Not entirely. Something more ancient. Something like being seen.
He unclasped the cuffs slowly, reverently, as though removing thorns from holy flesh. As though he might unravel himself in the process. The metal slid away and fell with a soft chime to the stone floor. You rubbed your wrists, not in pain—but almost as if reacquainting yourself with freedom.
He stared at you. He couldn’t help it.
You were…
The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Not in the way humans spoke of beauty. Not in colour or symmetry. But in truth. You were the closest thing to God he had ever touched.
Your wings, half-unfurled, shimmered with layered gold and starlight. Your eyes held entire lifetimes of suns being born and burnt. Your skin looked like scripture remembered by a weeping prophet. And when you blinked, the air itself listened.
“I am honoured,” Castiel said, his voice hoarse, his eyes still locked to yours.
You tilted your head, considering him. Not like a creature. Not like a soldier. But like a choice.
“No,” you said. “You are worthy.”
And just like that, something in him cracked. Not broken. Freed.
Castiel’s hand lingered near your wrist for a breath too long before he stepped back, eyes still fixed to yours as though tethered. He didn’t blink. He couldn’t. The air shimmered faintly around you, golden and warm, like sunlight filtered through cathedral glass.
Then—
“Well,” Dean muttered from the sidelines, voice cutting through the hush like a beer can cracking open in a church. “Guess we know what gets Cas all hot and bothered. Golden girls with apocalypse eyes.”
Sam closed his eyes like he was begging for death. “Dean.”
“I’m just saying,” Dean said, smirking as he folded his arms. “Little intense back there. Thought Cas was gonna propose or combust.”
Castiel turned to him slowly, face stone-flat, eyes blazing just slightly. “She is older than creation. Have some respect.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Yeah, well, so’s Crowley. Don’t see you looking at him like he hung the stars.”
“I would sooner tear my Grace from this vessel than equate her with Crowley,” Castiel said stiffly.
You watched this exchange in quiet amusement, head tilted like someone watching children bicker at a funeral. Dean met your eyes briefly—he visibly wavered.
“…Okay, yeah, I see it now,” he muttered. “You’re terrifying.”
Sam cleared his throat and took a half-step forward, clearly eager to change the subject before Dean got smote.
“Uh—Cas, maybe you could… show her around?” He offered, voice a little too high. “Let her get her bearings?”
Castiel nodded once, his expression smoothing back into calm reverence. “Yes. Of course.” He turned to you, posture careful again, gentled by awe. “Would you… walk with me?”
You smiled. “Lead the way, Castiel.”
As you moved side by side, heading down the hallway, the overhead lights flickered slightly—unable to decide whether they should dim in your presence or burn brighter just to be worthy.
Behind you, Dean muttered under his breath, “If she glows in the dark, I’m not sleeping tonight.”
Sam just sighed.
A/N: AHHH! Okay, I love them already. Like honest-to-god, love them. They are gonna be so cute. I have so much planned for Cas and Aurelia. <3
everything taglist (if you don't wanna be tagged in Cas works, please let me know, lovely bbys.)
It's 2 a.m. and you're sitting in some dingy bar in the bad side of town, hand covering your fifth? drink of the night.
It's a little hole in the wall no one really knows but always stumbles into whenever they need it. You’ve only been in here twice before. The bartender is an older woman with not much makeup save for a dark brownish rouge on her lips. She’s nice enough, though. She gave you a bowl of cheap candy after your third drink.
Your eyes fall on the man on the far side of the counter. He's almost impossible to miss, what with being one of the three other people there, but he's also massive, which doesn't really help him blend into the shadows of the corner he's sitting in. His hair's in need of a trim, a little shaggy in some parts and almost covering his eyes, but it's clean and fluffy in a way that makes you want to run your hand through it. He's in a hoodie that's a little oversized even for him. Prime estate for any girl/boyfriend.
You've been staring a little too long, though. Seemingly feeling your gaze, his eyes flick up, meeting yours through the white strands in the way. He looks tired. Not too tired to send a glare your way, though.
But he’s pretty, so you decide he’s interesting.
Taking your glass and your candy, you walk the long, wobbly journey to his end of the table. The bartender keeps an eye on you, probably deciding to cut you off for the night. Bummer. In hindsight though, she probably should have done that a while ago. The hangover’s going to kill you tomorrow.
The man doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit down on the stool next to him. He doesn’t bat an eye when you keep staring either.
You scrunch your nose a little when the smell hits. “You smoke?”
You wonder if he’s just going to keep ignoring you when he shifts a little, angling himself away from you. “..go away.”
You rest your hand on your palm, taking a candy from your bowl and sliding it towards him. “It’s bad for you, y’know.”
“I don’t care. Go away.”
“Sweet things help.”
“Leave me alone.”
His voice is deep, but not in an ‘I chain smoke every day’ kind of way. Puberty must’ve hit like a bitch. A social smoker then, maybe. He doesn’t seem the social type though.
You sigh, taking a piece of candy fir yourself. Your friends are social smokers. Well, ex-friends, but that sounds kinda silly. It’s a little melted and it sticks to your teeth and tastes like fruit flavored plastic. You shrug and enjoy it anyway.
You can feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to be left alone, you’re not that oblivious. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder, though. And apparently makes your stranger danger alarm go away, because you suddenly realize you’re sitting next to a grown ass man you don’t even know, and who’s twice the size of any guy you’ve seen around. Normal you would have left the bar as soon as he walked in. It’s Gotham, after all. Never too safe.
“…how many of those have you had?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to answer but have to finish chewing first. You’d apparently stopped when you drifted off.
“Like… at least two,” you shrug, glancing at the small bowl. It had been nearly full when the bartender had given it to you. Now it’s just about half empty. “Yep. Definitely at least two.”
He looks at you like you’re stupid. Rude. “..I can see that.”
“Your hair’s white.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Stressed much?”
Again, no answer.
“I am.” Your arms are crossed in the table now, and you lay your head on top. “Wanna know why?”
“No.”
“I cut off all my friends.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I mean ‘no, I don’t care.’”
“They were real toxic.”
“Okay.”
“Shoulda done it sooner.”
“Sure.”
You grab another candy. His eyebrows raise the slightest bit.
“Those are bad for you.” He says, a little gruffly.
“So’s smoking.”
“That’s different.”
“I’ll stop these when you stop smoking.”
“It’s different.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and you get a clear look at his eyes for the first time. They’re such a pretty green. Or maybe blue. What was the color… teal? Cyan? Either way, they’re pretty. You tell him so.
“You’re pretty.” Your words come out a little dazed. You swear his eyes are glowing in the dim light.
He frowns at your words, gaze a little sharper now. “I’m not.”
Well that’s just ridiculous. “You are.”
“Stop it.”
“Is this some toxic masculinity thing?”
“Shut up.”
“But-”
“I’m not pretty,” he grits out. There’s a finality in his voice that makes you hesitant to push. You notice him looking down at his hands, closed around his nearly untouched glass of whiskey. Not much of a drinker usually, then? Must’ve had a bad day. You also notice the scars littering his skin. His knuckles are the worst, but that’s really only because they’re cut and bruised, not fully healed like the backs of his hands.
“..you fight much?” You ask, a little quieter now. His fingers twitch, like he’s trying not to pull the sleeves of his hoodie up to cover the entirety of his hands.
“What’s it to you?”
“I fought too.”
“With your friends?”
You can’t help but smile at that. “So you were listening.”
“Wasn’t.”
“Sure.” You’re silent for a moment before you down the rest of your own drink, squinting at the bitter burn at the back of your tongue. “..yeah. With my friends. Lotta screaming. My throat hurts..” you pause, “..alcohol probably isn’t helping.”
He’s looking at you. “…no.”
“No as in ‘I don’t care’?”
He shakes his head. You swear there’s almost a smile ln his lips. It’s probably your alcohol-ridden brain seeing things where they aren’t. “No as in, ‘no, alcohol probably isn’t helping.’”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I have common sense.”
“Do you, though?”
“You calling me dumb?”
“I’m calling you drunk.”
You giggle. “Maybe.”
“No, not ‘maybe’,” he rolls his eyes again, glancing at the bartender when she comes over to take your empty glass. “Jess is cutting you off.”
So her name is Jess. You squint at her as she puts your glass in the sink. Suits her.
You reach for another piece of candy when he takes the bowl away from you. “I’m cutting you off, too.”
You groan. “But why though..”
“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“So give it back.”
“No.” So bossy.
You glare at him. Some of his hair falls back in front of his eyes. “..you need a trim.”
His eyebrows rise, caught a little off guard. “..haven’t had the time.”
“Can I do it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.”
“What if I wasn’t?”
“I still don’t trust you with scissors near me.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know you,” he pauses, considering the half-empty bowl he’s keeping away from your reach. A weird but somehow generic name is printed on each candy. No ingredients, though, just flimsy plastic. “And because you eat Gotham store-brand candy by the handful… god, what’s in these?”
He looks at the bartender - Jess - with an almost disappointed look. “Really, Jess? You couldn’t even get the good knockoffs?”
“It was on clearance,” Jess drawls, unbothered.
“You do know me, though,” you murmur, head resting on your arms again. The man shakes his head slightly.
“I don’t even know your name.” Okay, fair point.
You give him your name. “What’s yours?”
There’s a minute before he answers. You can tell he’s contemplating just leaving right then. You’re getting a little too close for comfort. You don’t want him to leave. Your eyes shift to look at the table instead.
“…Jason.”
“Jason,” you hum. It suits him.
There’s really nothing to do here anymore. You’ve been cut off from the two things that gave you purpose here. “What am I supposed to do now?”
He shrugs. As if he’s not part of the reason there’s nothing to do now. “Go home.”
Your expression darkens at that, and you muffle a groan by now lying face-down on the table. It’s not sticky, thankfully. That’s really all you can ask of a place like this. “I can’t.”
Jason frowns. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“The friends I cut off were also my roommates..” Bit of a stupid decision on your part.
“That was dumb.”
“Yes, Jason, I know. Thank you.” You sigh. There’s definitely going to be a shit ton of glitter in all your stuff by the time you get back home. You don’t have the strength to deal with that today. Evil little fuckers.
You’re busy trying to remember if there’s a motel around you can actually trust when it happens. Maybe you looked a little too miserable to ignore. Jason, after a couple minutes of seemingly endless self conflict, blurts out,
“You could crash at mine.”
…
Um…
I mean, yeah, sure. Why the fuck not at this point, right?
“Um… thanks, but, I don’t know..” you decline once to be polite. And also because holy shit, some guy - very pretty guy, but still some random guy - just offered for you to sleep at his place. You’re not getting murdered, right? He’s been nice(ish) up to this point, but…
Jason, apparently also utterly confused on why he’s offering in the first place, adds, “we have a guest room. Probably a lot cleaner than any motel within walking distance.”
“We?”
“My roommate.”
“Oh.”
You sigh again. Thinking too hard about this is starting to make your brain hurt. And you really don’t want to go back home.
The bartender comes over to take the candy bowl. You wave her over, leaning over a little to talk ‘discreetly’.
“You know this guy?” You ask, tossing what your drunk mind thinks is an inconspicuous glance at Jason.
She shrugs. “Yeah. For a while.”
“So he’s safe?”
She raises an eyebrow. “..safe as it gets around here.”
She shakes her head at the skeptical look you give her. “I’ve known him since he was little. He’s a good kid.”
Alright. Good enough.
You turn back to Jason. “..Mind if I sleep over?”
He shakes his head, leaving a twenty under his still mostly full glass and sliding off his stool. He’s even bigger standing up. What did his parents feed him?
You pay your tab and follow behind him, stumbling occasionally. It’s cold when you get out of the bar, you’re sure it has to be, because your breath fogs up the slightest bit. You should be shivering with how thin your shirt is, and you’d neglected to grab a jacket when you’d stormed out of your apartment, but the drinks you’ve had dulls the sense. Your cheeks are warm enough you’re sure there’s a very noticeable blush there.
You stumble on the crumbly pavement, hand instinctively reaching out to grab Jason’s arm to keep yourself from falling. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. You hold onto his sleeve for the rest of the walk.
He’s nice. Just.. nice. While it may be a catch all phrase to describe someone who doesn’t have much else going for them, it’s also often overlooked hw difficult it is to find someone who’s just nice (in a non-creepy way) in a place like Gotham, and especially Crime Alley. Just look at the name.
He finds somewhere clean-ish for you to sit when you’re feeling a little dizzy and entertains your little detours, like stopping at some random convenience store to fill a random cat food bowl on the street because there’s a little left at the bottom, “and that means something’s eating out of it. It’s probably hungry now.”
When you get to his place, you tentatively step inside, looking around but not really taking in much. You’re not comfortable showering here so you just decide to sleep in your outside clothes. Not the most comfortable thing either, but it’s not long to fall asleep after your head hits the pillow, so you don’t have to think about it much.
Vaguely, you feel something soft being haphazardly pulled over your head.
It barely feels like you’ve blinked when the sun peeks through the blinds, dark circles and a pounding headache keeping you company as you groan, trying to make sense of the world again.
You’re in a strange bed. You reach up to rub the sleep out of your eyes when you realize you can’t.
Looking down, there’s a hoodie pulled over the thin top you wore out last night. It’s on in a weird way that you’re technically wearing it, but your arms are stuck inside the torso and not in the sleeves. It smells faintly of cotton, the brownish paper of books and Irish Spring. There’s also the smallest hint of cheap gas station cologne. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t quite fit in with the rest.
You opt to keep it on since it’s chilly. Pushing your arms out the sleeves, you try to stand up from the bed and immediately sit back down, the headache worse with the sudden movement. Your muscles aren’t much better either, some screaming in protest since you slept positioned like a crumpled piece of paper in the night. Taking a moment to recover, that’s when you notice the cup of water and a packet of pills on the bedside table.
Taking the necessary amount, you feel a little heat in your cheeks. The alcohol must not have completely worn off yet.
You sit there a minute before trying to get up again. Success. You reach the door and are just about to turn the handle when you hear voices outside.
“-can’t believe you brought a girl home-”
“She needed a place to crash. That’s it.”
“And you gave her my hoodie!”
“It’s my hoodie.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, was it meticulously stashed in your closet?”
“No.”
“No! Because it was in mine, and therefore, is mine.”
“You can have it back when she goes home.”
“I want it now..”
“There’s like half a dozen more in the closet. Pick one.”
It’s then that you decide to open the door. It didn’t sound like they were stopping any time soon. Plus, you needed something hot in your system right that minute or you were definitely going to throw up everywhere.
You recognize Jason, but the other man - a ginger in a tank top, well-built but not massive like the former - is new, and he stares at you for a solid minute like you’re an alien creature.
“…hi?” You mumble awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. It’s the first time you’ve been taken to a stranger’s place drunk, with nothing but literal sleep happening after.
“Hey,” Surprisingly, the ginger is the one to move first. He gives you a toothy grin, holding out his hand. Jason pushes it away, but it persists. “I’m Roy.”
You take his hand after a second. “y/n.”
Your eyes flicker over to Jason, who’s already staring at you. He looks a little softer here than at the bar, the natural coming through the small living room window makes him look a little less weary. Or maybe he just had a good night’s sleep. Are the circles under his eyes lighter?
“So…” you start, feeling a little uncomfortably warm under his gaze. “Thank you.. for everything.”
You’re expecting him to kick you out. After all, letting you sleep here in the first place must’ve been an impulsive decision made under the influence of alcohol and pity - god, why had you told him so much?
It’s another minute or something of staring before Roy ‘subtly’ elbows him, apparently bringing Jason back online.
In my wee humble opinion, the best kind of angst is when the main character is pissed off, usually for a good reason, at the love interest; and the MC is fucking angry, I mean yelling through tears level rage, and the love interest is begging forgiveness. Bonus points if they're in the rain.
☆ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, 90s Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne.
☆ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
☆ BRUCE WAYNE
You are never getting this opportunity again.
Bruce is standing in the kitchen, wearing sweatpants.
His back is turned.
The ass is right there.
You act on impulse.
SMACK.
Bruce freezes.
You grin, leaning against the counter. “Damn, Daddy Wayne. Is that Batcake for me?”
The silence is deafening.
Bruce slowly turns his head, staring at you like you just committed a felony in broad daylight.
“…Excuse me?”
You wink. “You heard me, sweetheart.”
Bruce stares for ten more seconds.
Then, without a word, he leaves.
OH NO.
You realize too late what you’ve done.
Bruce is disappearing into the Batcave.
You hear him booting up the Batcomputer.
“…Bruce?”
TAP. TAP. TAP. He’s typing furiously.
You peek over his shoulder. He’s running an analysis.
On himself.
“BRUCE—”
“I need to reassess my stealth levels,” he mutters. “If you could land that strike, I’ve grown careless.”
OH MY GOD.
☆ DICK GRAYSON
You see him walking down the hallway, all smug and confident, wearing those tight jeans he knows make people insane.
You can’t help yourself.
You smack it. Hard.
SMACK.
Dick gasps.
LOUDLY.
“Damn, Grayson,” you whistle, “is that thing double-cheeked up on a Thursday?!”
Immediate. Dramatic. Reaction.
Dick clutches the wall like he’s fainting.
Then—he spins around so fast he almost trips.
“Babe.” His eyes are wide, teary, shaking. “DO YOU MEAN IT?”
You blink. “Huh?”
Dick grabs your hands. “Say it again. Say it with your whole chest.”
“…What.”
“Do you mean it? Do you mean the ass thing?”
“…Yeah?”
Dick grins so wide he looks insane. He winks at you before immediately turning around and sticking his ass out.
“Go ahead, babe. One more for the road.”
“OH MY GOD.”
You are never doing this again. Maybe.
☆ JASON TODD
Jason is minding his business.
Jason is walking past you.
Jason’s fat ass is asking for it.
You strike.
SMACK.
Jason IMMEDIATELY turns, hand on his gun.
OH SHIT.
You throw your hands up. “WAIT—”
His eyes narrow. Suspicious. Dangerous.
Then—he relaxes.
“…Did you just smack my ass?”
You grin. “Yup.”
He blinks.
Then—he smirks.
“…Oh.”
You squint. “Why do you sound happy?”
Jason shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nah, it’s just funny.”
You relax. “Good, ‘cause—”
SMACK.
JASON JUST DROPPED HIS WHOLE BODYWEIGHT INTO SLAPPING YOUR ASS BACK.
YOU FLY ACROSS THE ROOM.
“JASON, YOU FUCKING PSYCHO.”
Jason just cackles.
☆ 90s TIM DRAKE
Tim is exhausted.
Tim has had three hours of sleep in the past two days.
Tim is running on caffeine, crime, and sheer force of will.
So, naturally—you strike when he’s at his weakest.
SMACK.
Tim jumps so hard he drops his coffee.
“WHAT—” He spins around, eyes wide, looking like a scared raccoon
You grin. “Damn, baby bird. You always keep that wagon on you?”
Tim stares.
Tim processes.
Tim crashes.
He grabs his head like he’s having an existential crisis. “Oh my God.”
“Tim?”
“Oh my God.” He’s stumbling backwards, running into the table. “I—I was not prepared for this.”
“Tim, breathe—”
“I HAVEN’T EVEN FINISHED PUBERTY. AM I EVEN LEGALLY ALLOWED TO HAVE A WAGON?”
“TIM—”
He grabs your shoulders, looking deep into your soul.
“…Do I actually have ass?”
You blink.
Tim shakes you.
“TELL ME THE TRUTH.”
☆ DUKE THOMAS
Duke is chilling.
Duke is relaxed.
Duke is having a nice, peaceful day.
So, naturally—you ruin it.
SMACK.
Duke immediately whips around, betrayal in his eyes.
“EXCUSE ME?”
You lean against the counter, smirking. “Damn, sunshine. Didn’t know you were carrying all that.”
Duke freezes. Then—he laughs.
“Oh, word?” He steps closer.
You narrow your eyes. “…Duke?”
“Oh, word?”
He’s too calm.Too smug.
He leans down, real close, real quiet.
“…Bet.”
Then—he disappears.
For three days.
And when he returns—he waits.
Until you’re completely unsuspecting.
Until you’re relaxed.
Until you think it’s over.
And then—
SMACK.
“DUKE—”
“EQUALITY.”
☆ DAMIAN WAYNE
You spot him.
You see the perfect opportunity.
Damian is standing by the window, arms crossed, looking all broody and serious.
SMACK.
The moment your hand connects, Damian jumps like he’s been electrocuted.
Then—he spins around with his sword half-drawn.
“WHO DARES—”
You grin. “Damn, baby. Didn’t know you were packing all that.”
Silence.
Pure, horrified silence.
Damian just stares.
Then—he slowly processes what you just said.
His entire face turns red.
“You—you dare—” He grabs his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “You speak of my body so… so FILTHILY?”
You cackle. “Yes.”
He looks away sharply. “This… this is inappropriate.”
“And?”
“…Say it again.”
“…What.”
“Say it.”
“…Damian, are you—”
“SAY IT.”
# “THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK…” ── .✦ ( batboys w an unhinged!reader and blunt!reader )
a/n: this is from my little brain of mine , and I like to honor it for @kyriakis anywhoo I’m back and omg 1k?! Alsoo guys dw! I’m gonna do the event tomorrow && I’m gonna pick out some prompts I have organized, so i didn't forget okay but i just got a lot of DMs asking when I’m gonna do it for you guyss so yeah it’s gonna be tomorrow since I’m gonna re-edit + add some ideas of your guys votes!! Tags: (batboys x unhinged!reader)
He’s always caught off guard but loves it. Your bluntness is a breath of fresh air for Dick, who’s so used to diplomatic conversations. You say whatever’s on your mind with zero filter, and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Okay. I respect it.”
Hates it when you don’t hold back with him. He’s used to being the charming, funny guy who makes everyone laugh, but you hit him with a “That was dumb, don’t do that again” and his brain short circuits for a second. “You can’t just say that!” “Why not?”
Finds it hilarious when you wreck other people’s egos. You have zero time for anyone’s nonsense, and when someone messes up, you let them know. Dick’s in the background, trying not to laugh. “Do you not think before you speak?!…” He’s always acts so shocked but hey, he’s kinda enjoying it unless it’s aimed at him. (He can’t fight verbally for the life of him without saying some cringe shit)
Doesn’t even try to change you. Dick knows what he’s getting into, and he loves you for it. He’s never going to ask you to ‘tone it down.’ He actually finds your unapologetic attitude pretty hot.
He’s 50% worried you’ll get into trouble, 50% impressed. But in the end, he’ll always back you up, saying, “She’s just honest. Get used to it.”
JASON TODD ── .✦
Finally, someone who speaks his language. Jason lives for the fact that you don’t care what people think. He loves how blunt you are, especially when you cut through the BS with the precision of a sharp knife.
Gets protective when people try to push your boundaries. If someone dares disrespect you, Jason’s the first one to step in. “You’ve got a problem with her? You’ve got a problem with me.”, “Jason that was so fucking cringey..”
Appreciates that you don't sugarcoat things for him. You’ll tell him exactly how it is, whether it’s about his attitude or a bad decision he made, and he respects it, it’s like the tt sound where “that’s when it hit me, it was the best idea I ever had..” but like this: “Not gonna lie, that was a terrible plan, Jay,” and he’ll just nod. “Fair.”
You guys have the most chaotic, weirdest conversations. It’s a mix of witty banter, ridiculous one-liners, and deadpan sarcasm. Other people can’t even keep up with the energy.
The idea of dating a ‘good girl’ never appealed to him anyway. He thrives off your unhinged energy. You’re unpredictable, and it keeps him on his toes, which he loves. “Yeah, you’re definitely not boring.” (Although the thing is he does love innocent people, like if you’re like gen clueless he wants preserve your innocence.)
TIM DRAKE ── .✦
Tim’s brain can’t keep up with you. Your blunt, no-nonsense attitude constantly makes him blink in confusion. One minute you’re casually roasting someone, and the next, you’re giving a straight-up critique of his latest plan. He’s learning that he can’t outthink you.
He admires your unapologetic honesty. Tim has a lot of internalized doubts, so watching you casually reject anyone’s judgment is a nice contrast. You don’t apologize for your thoughts, and it’s something he secretly admires.
Constantly second-guesses himself around you. Your sharp tongue makes him want to be as confident as you. He gets nervous about saying anything that might sound soft, so when he stumbles, you’re like, “What was that? I swear you just whispered something.” And he’ll blush hard, muttering an apology.
You both have a sarcastic sense of humor that others don’t quite get. You say something outrageous, and Tim will respond with the driest remark possible. People in the room often wonder if you two are joking or just genuinely a bit rude.
Not scared to call him out. When Tim’s too nice, you’ll be like, “You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Grow some teeth.” Tim won’t admit it, but that does motivate him to be a little bolder.
DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦
Damian is a bit taken aback at first. He’s used to people being respectful or like seeing him as kinda a role model, so when you come out with a “That’s dumb, don’t even talk to me right now,” he’s not sure how to handle it. He will stand there, blinking, while processing your bluntness. (He’s too stunned to speak 😞)
Genuinely respects your forthrightness, though. “I’ll admit, I have never met someone so… honest.” He starts respecting you even more, thinking you’re someone he can’t manipulate or charm easily.
Loves that you’re as stubborn as he is. If you’re determined about something, there’s no changing your mind. You’ll fight for your opinions even if it gets you into a heated debate. And Damian’s right there with you, arguing like it’s the most fun thing in the world.
Tries to match your bluntness. “You talk too much,” he says one day, and you immediately reply, “And yet, here you are, listening to every word I say.” Damian actually pauses for a second, impressed. “Right..”
Loves how you’ll shut down his critics with zero hesitation. Someone says something disrespectful to him, and you’ll be the first to shoot back, “He doesn’t need your advice, trust me.” He’ll give you a proud little smirk. “I like the way you handle things.”
BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦
At first, Bruce is a bit disconcerted by your bluntness. Bruce’s the kind of guy who expects people to be formal and classy, and you just come in with “This entire meeting is a waste of my time. I don’t care about any of this.” He blinks, then quietly admires your bravery.
Totally respects your unfiltered honesty. Bruce has had enough of the world’s games, so when you don’t bother to pretend or hold anything back, it’s like a breath of fresh air for him.
Secretly loves when you don’t play nice." He knows you're not afraid of saying what you think, and when you call him out on his brooding or overly protective behavior, he listens. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” (He totally doesn’t have a tracker on your hair clip..🥰)
You both have moments of pure savage honesty that no one else gets. There’s no need for filters, and you’ll both exchange one-liners so dry that it leaves everyone else in the room confused.
Finds it endearing when you make his plans more interesting. “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this again?” You snap at him in a room full of his board members, and he just gives you a look that says, “I’m never apologizing for you.”
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