#starrys fics

[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch2

[My parents don’t get up until seven, and they’re in the lab by eight. They typically don’t leave the lab until after I get home.] Danny says as he leads Damian into the kitchen, the automated voice of the translator AI cutting through the air easily. Damian stuck close to his side, eyes narrow and a snooty look of disdain stamped on his face like a printing press while his eyes flit around the room.

The kid had woken up immediately upon Danny shuffling out from beneath his desk, and he had to scurry back to avoid being skewered by Damian’s katana. He bumped into his desk in the process, and the muffled thud it made against the wall had Danny praying that his parents wouldn’t wake up from the noise.

(“I should’ve confiscated that.” He muttered, gripping the table with white knuckles and mouth pursed into a thin line. The business end of Damian’s katana staring him in the nose.)

(He should’ve expected the baby assassin to sleep lighter than a feather. His mistake, of course. Damian realized quickly after where he was, thankfully, so Danny didn’t have to fight him off in his room. The noise and mess that would make would have surely woken up his parents, and he still hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why Damian was even there.) 

So now with Damian awake, Danny decided to just go ahead and give him a quick tour of the house so that he knew where everything was. Fuuuck, it was only setting in now that he had to leave the kid home, alone, all day.

(Maybe things will be fine. Murphy screwed him over already with this, he has other people to torment, surely. Like the other heroes, for example.)

Wherever Damian’s ‘League of Assassins’ was situated, it was probably ten times nicer than Danny’s house. That is, if Danny’s assumption from the look on Damian’s face was correct. 

Breathing out through his nose, Danny leads Damian over to the fridge, his fingers digging into the phone screen again. [I don’t have an excuse ready for why you’re here, so please don’t get seen by them. They spend all day in the lab so you should be able to roam the house freely.]   

He feels like the butler from a period drama set telling the down-on-her-wealth noble lady the rules of the manor, while she was staying with a fabulously wealthy nobleman of higher standing. It felt ridiculous. But it was unfortunately necessary, he can’t imagine what kind of reaction his parents would have to Damian — and what kind of reaction Damian would have to his parents. 

Damian scowls at him and says something in Arabic, spitting it out like acid while his arms cross over his chest grumpily. Danny stops and turns to him fully, raising a deadpan eyebrow. Damian repeats what he said, looking at Danny like he wants him to spontaneously burst into flames. 

They stare at each other for thirty, uncomfortable seconds, with Danny keeping his deadpan steady, before finally he silently holds his phone out. Damian breaks their staring contest to look down, and his surly expression deepens. 

Grumbling under his breath, Damian snags it out of his hand. Danny counts his fingers as he pulls his hand away. 

(When he counts all five still there, he drops his arm back to his side.) 

[I will stay hidden, for now.] Damian spits out, looking supremely disgruntled. It’s kind of endearing, but endearing the same way a tiger cub was. Cute, but undoubtedly dangerous. Rather than handing back his phone, Damian speaks into it again. [But figure out what to tell them. I am above hiding.] 

“Planning on it.” Danny mutters, nodding sharply before taking back his phone and turning back to the fridge. Before he even takes the handle, Danny pushes his hair from his face and leans forward, pressing his ear to the door. The metal is cold on his cheek, but he barely pays it to mind. 

Ecto-contaminated food didn’t have nearly enough of a signature to fully trigger his ghost sense, but it did make a strange, buzz-humming sound that felt more internal than external. Like the sensation that Danny himself was humming instead.   

From his peripherals, Danny can see Damian staring at him with unconcealed bewilderment, his apparent surliness temporarily forgotten in favor of looking at Danny like he was an idiot. “Madha tafaeala?”

In lieu of answering, Danny just holds up a finger at Damian. Something the little dude really doesn’t appreciate, as he immediately scowls at Danny and makes that ‘myeh’-like expression that kids do when they’re trying to give someone they don’t like attitude without actually saying anything. The one that, as far as Danny is concerned, doesn’t have a real term for but everyone knows what it is anyway. 

Either way, Damian makes a face at him that does, briefly, succeed in irritating Danny. He says nothing and cranes his ears instead, trying to catch if there’s any internal buzzing coming from inside the fridge. His hand drifts instinctively to the counter, where he and Jazz had moved the knife block for this exact reason. 

…Will he have to hide this with Damian here? He hopes not, the last time the knife block got moved he forgot, and had to strangle a half-eaten chicken from the fridge after it came back with fowl vengeance. 

When he doesn’t hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, he leans back and swings the door open with ease. Rows upon rows of liquid-jellied-solidified-whatever-it-was-feeling-at-the-time ectoplasm sat in glass canisters, tupperware, and bottles on the shelves. Glowing green in between the stuff that was actually food, and washing a buzz over Danny like someone just draped him in a weighted blanket. 

(He should clarify. Ectoplasm does exhibit its own signature that’s too weak to signal his ghost sense, but that buzzing-humming feels more like the painless tingling of when part of his spine falls asleep. Except everywhere, and the feeling is heavier in his head. It’s oddly comforting. Nostalgic; like the smell after the snow’s freshly melted and the weather is warm. It is very much not like the ominous, buzzing-humming-intent of a partially reanimated chicken that’s regained some of its sentience and wanted revenge.)  

Behind him, Damian makes some kind of squeaking sound. Or maybe it’s more like a yelp. Either way, it’s alarmed and loud enough that Danny turns around with half a jumping heart and a ‘shush’ on the tip of his tongue. 

“​​Ladayk ma' lieazir!” Damian hisses, pointing behind Danny at the canisters behind him. Damian’s eyes narrow into slits, and he hunches up like a stray cat that’s been cornered. “Min 'ayn hasalt ealaa ma' lieazir?!”

Danny follows the point of his finger, and sees the ectoplasm canisters behind him. “The ectoplasm?” He asks aloud, looking back at Damian in bewilderment.

Apprehension tightens slowly in his chest. Damian used that word again — and Danny only catches it because it was what Damian had been calling him last night, in the warehouse. He thought it meant ‘stranger’ or something — but, he glances back at the ectoplasm in the fridge.

Was Damian calling him ectoplasm? 

He knows what ectoplasm was? 

What had been a steady tightening in his chest suddenly fastens like a noose. Danny reaches for one of the canisters just to make sure, and Damian watches him tersely as he curls a hand around one of the canisters and pulls it forward. He doesn’t take it off the shelf, but he does gesture slightly with it. “This?” He asks, “The ectoplasm. Is this what you’re talking about?” He knows he has a translator on his phone, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it for this. 

He recalls the word Damian used, and frowns. “The- the lazeer? Laziere?” It’s an embarrassing attempt at trying to repeat it, but Damian understands what he’s saying anyways and nods sharply.  

“Niema, ma' lieazir. Kif lidayk.” 

Danny really doesn’t like that Damian knows what ectoplasm is, and he really doesn’t like the idea that his League of Assassins place knows about it too, and seemingly has access to the physical stuff. This feels too much like going swimming in the ocean and feeling something brush against his foot. 

Now he really needs to make sure that Damian never makes it back to the League. The idea of a bunch of assassins finding out that his parents can make ectoplasmic weapons terrifies him, just a smidge. (Just what has he gotten himself into?)

Putting the canister down and pushing it away from the ledge, Danny reaches for the milk instead, his heart beating uncomfortably in his ears. A discomfited “Hn.” comes out under his breath as he plucks the jug off the shelf and shuts the door, it closes a little more forcibly than normal. Danny reaches for his phone. 

The word ectoplasm doesn’t translate into Arabic, he checks before he says anything. Danny reaches over Damian to put the milk on the table as he types, still frowning uneasily. [It’s ghost stuff.] He says, and then says aloud: “Ectoplasm.” 

“Ec-to-plasm.” Damian repeats curtly, lip curling. Danny nods curtly.

Rather than repeating himself, Danny types into his phone again. [You’re not allowed in the lab without me. Don’t touch the ghost stuff in the fridge, it’s dangerous.] He says, [I was listening to the fridge because the food likes to come alive and attack, if you need food from the fridge, grab a knife.] He’ll try and show Damian how to listen for reanimated food later, it’s a little harder without a ghost sense but the food moves, so he’ll show him how to listen for that.  

Damian scoffs; “'Adhhab hayth 'urid 'ayuha almuhtal.” and reaches out to take the phone from his hand. 

Rather than letting him, Danny pirouettes away, holding his phone over his head, “Nah-ah-ah.” He says, watching Damian’s face twist indignantly into anger. [We’ll talk more later, I want breakfast and you’re probably hungry.] 

(Is he avoiding? Absolutely, he is. But it’s early, and Danny is much too tired to entertain the impending doom sinking into his chest like snow caving in a roof. He needs to do something about the information that a league of assassins has access to ectoplasm, but that something is… being put on the backburner for now.)

(Maybe he’s just catastrophizing — he’s gotten pretty good at that over the years. Maybe he’s putting too much weight on the idea; maybe he’s just sleep deprived. No, he’s definitely sleep deprived. Either way, he’s putting a pin in the murder group for now.)  

Danny turns for the pantry, and takes about one step before he remembers the phone in his hand. Twisting around, he plops it onto the table for Damian, and then marches over to the pantry for the cereal. 

The oven clock reads six-twenty-eight, and that doesn’t have Danny feeling all that great. He said earlier that his parents got up at seven, so they only have thirty-two minutes before then. Then another ten or so before his parents come down for breakfast. Mom takes the shower first, and dad comes downstairs to get started on breakfast. Sometimes it's cereal, but he likes making eggs if they haven’t been irradiated.

The pantry swings open and Danny pulls out a box of cereal, his brows furrowed in thought. Dad will want to talk to him if he sees him — so it’s for the best that Danny and Damian finish eating before dad makes it to the hallway. He turns and glances at the time again. Six-thirty. Thirty minutes. He puts the box onto the table and grabs their bowls and spoons. 

There’s a look of apprehension on Damian’s face as he puts everything down, his fingers curled around Danny’s phone. His eyes flick up to Danny, and then he holds up his phone. [Is this what you eat?] He asks, before eyeing the table again. 

Danny can’t stop the quiet snort that escapes him, his thoughts quieting for a moment as he slides into his chair, before reaching over and plucking the phone out of Damian’s hand. [Sorry bud, it’s all we’ve got time for before my parents get up.] 

Damian makes a disgruntled face, and sits down. 

(He idly makes a mental note to wrangle out of Damian later what kind of foods he likes. He’s not too bad at cooking. He’s better than Jazz, at least.)

—-----

They make it back up to Danny’s room by six-fifty-two, just as Danny hears his parents shuffling around in their room. They’re up a little earlier than normal. His mom’s limb, quieter footsteps already padding for the master bathroom. Danny is closing the door when he hears a familiar thud, and the low, sleepy groan of his dad sitting up and putting his feet on the ground. 

Damian bounds away and is already situated on Danny’s bed when he turns around, fingers snatching his katana from beneath the pillows before he turns and sits stiffly with it in his lap.    

It was a bit of a ridiculous sight: despite being awake for nearly an hour, Damian’s bed-head hadn’t changed a bit, with a tangled bunch of curls jutting out from one side of his head. Pair that with him still wearing Danny’s NASA tee (and being swamped in it), and the katana, and Danny was half tempted to snap a picture. Again, he was finding himself endeared.

He does end up sneaking that picture as he strides over to his closet to rummage for clothes. 

[I’ll try and think of a way to get you home.] He lies as he shifts through the shirts on the hangers, typing with his thumb, and tilted halfway with his phone jutting out for Damian to hear. [But that’s gonna take a while, so we should get you some different clothes soon.] There was no way he was letting this kid wear the same thing every day, this might take weeks. 

He yanks a yellow turtleneck that Tucker got him off the hanger and tosses it out onto the bed. It lands next to Damian with a quiet thump, and the kid shuffles away from it with a glare as if it's personally offended him. Danny stifles a smile and walks out, grabbing his hoodie-jacket from its spot on the door and tossing it onto the bed as well. 

Damian grumbles something, then holds out his hand for the phone. Danny hands it to him as he passes by, going over to his desk to pick up his gloves and grappling hook, before turning to his bag. 

[I am not worried about the time, Mother will come looking for me.] Damian tells him, sticking his nose up into the air and missing the cold seize of Danny’s heart and the tensing up of his shoulders. His mother. Who was probably also an assassin from the assassin club Damian was made from. 

(A blood rush sends stars spinning around in the corners of Danny’s vision, and he pauses in order to stare blankly at the top of his half-opened backpack. He quickly blinks it away, and unzips his bag fully to shove his gear into one of the larger pockets.)

He hums low, turning to look at Damian with a fake smile plastered on his face. “That’s great, bud.” 

(It should be a good thing, but he can’t quite shake the whole ‘assassins’ thing. Specifically… well, all of it. It’s all giving him a headache to sort through.) 

Damian scoffs at him, [I cannot understand you.] 

Danny snorts unwittingly, turning and shoving his gloves into an inside side pocket just as Damian throws his phone at him. He catches it before it can slam into the wall — or Danny’s head, and puts his grappling hook into his bag before typing into the translator. [I said that it’s good. I’m glad your mom is looking for you.]

That was another lie, and he felt bad that it had to be. Damian rolls his eyes at him, and Danny stuffs his phone into his back pocket and grabs his hook. 

When his bag is accounted for, Danny finally focuses on getting dressed. He moves out to the bathroom to change, admittedly hot-footing it a bit so that Damian is alone for the least amount of time possible. He passes a sleep-mussed Jazz heading for the stairs, and she pauses to mess with his hair.

“Did you stay up all night again?” She mumbles, her fingers catch on a few tangles, but slide out at the end easily. “You don’t have bedhead.”  

Danny pauses, half-distracted by the feeling of her hands in his hair and the urge to hurry through getting dressed. “Only a little.” He says, scurrying away and opening the door to the bathroom. “Was workin’ on a case.” 

Jazz frowns at him, and he closes the door before she can say anything. 

(He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when he remembers that Damian will need other essentials than just clothes, and immediately starts compiling a mental list.) 

He’s got half an arm through his jacket when he leaves the bathroom, his attention split between getting it on and typing into his phone. When he opens the door, there’s quiet, rapid footsteps shuffling before he sees Damian hopping back onto the bed, staring at him stonily and like a kid who was acting like he hadn’t been doing anything. 

A smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, and he types into his phone to add something before hitting play on the translator. [I have to head out now, you can look around my room if you’d like. Don’t touch the brown files on my desk, I’ll be back after school ends. I should have a game plan by then. Don’t be seen by my parents.] 

As it speaks, Danny strides over and grabs his backpack. Damian’s eyes follow him the whole time, and Danny slings his bag over his shoulders and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. 

Damian nods curtly at him, and before Danny leaves he reaches over and plucks a hairband off his dresser, pinching it between his teeth. 

“Okay, I’m off.” He repeats, voice slightly muffled by the hairband as he starts pulling his hair up. There’s a huff from Damian and a knowingly annoyed look, and Danny’s smile grows a little out of amusement. He tugs the tie out from his mouth and twists it around his hair. “Be good, Damian.”

Green eyes narrow at him, and Danny hurries out of the room, closing the door behind him. 

(He was a little — no, scratch that, a lot apprehensive about leaving Damian here alone for most of the day. He was worried about his parents, perhaps a little too much, and he was worried about Damian recognizing the ectoplasm in the fridge. He’s worried about the whole thing with these ‘League of Assassins’ people, and he’s worried about how he’s going to explain Damian’s presence to his parents. And he’s most especially worried about how on earth he was going to convince Damian to not return home.) 

Instead of going for the stairs, Danny turns and hurries over to the end of the hallway where the ladder to the rooftop is. There’s a lot he needs to think about, too much for him to want to walk with Sam and Tucker.

The nice thing about people is that they don’t really ever look up.

—----------

Danny: hey i’ll meet you guys at school

Tucker: did something happen during patrol?

Danny: something like that

Danny: i’ll tell you in class

Sam: alright. Hop safe

[Danny liked Sam's message]

—-------------

(if continued)

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“Dude!”

“I know!” 

Danny drops his head onto his desk with an unceremonious thump, groaning low with his nose smushed into the wood. Sam’s hands, buried in his hair and in the midst of messing with it, stills to let him. Some of the strands slip out of her fingers and pool around Danny’s face, causing a curtain. It tickles a little. 

Maybe he should have just walked to school with them, telling them about Damian probably would’ve garnered less attention that way. He can feel the gazes of their classmates — or at least, the ones not slowly filtering into the room — turning onto them, and burning into his head. 

But running over the rooftops, albeit only until the residential area ended, was sorely needed. It didn’t help clear all of his thoughts, or really much of any of them, but it’d chased away the worst of his anxieties about it. Like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room. 

(This has been, officially, the longest… five hours of his life. And he’s had many, many long five hours in the last two years.)

(Pariah Dark and his evil future self are tied for the record of being the longest twenty-four hours of his life. Finding out he was a clone doesn’t count — it was still ongoing, and distressingly permanent.) 

Tucker makes a noise, and Danny turns his head just in time to see him drop into his desk beside him, lifting his hat to run his hand over his curls with a look of disbelief. He’s staring unseeingly over Danny’s head for a whole of two seconds before looking back down. 

“So he just — what, popped out of the ground? Like a daisy?”  

Sam continues with her ministrations, and her fingers brush against his neck as she straightens his hair down his back. It’s soothing, enough so that the sleep-soreness of his eyelids becomes a lot more evident to him. 

“Hn. Something like that. If the ground was a once-in-a-lifetime portal and the daisy was a murderous six year old.” He mutters, blinking slowly to try and keep himself awake. Sam’s nails scratch behind his ears, gathering up his hair again to finger-comb out the tangles, and he sighs quietly in content. 

He sees Tucker suppress a smile, and he can practically sense Sam doing the same thing. Danny stares, did his ears do the thing again—? 

“You don’t think a ghost had something to do with it?” Sam asks him, her voice staying low as she tugged out the knots in his hair. “It’s really strange that…” She pauses. Danny can feel her lean against his chair, and he lifts his head slightly as Tucker leans in too. “..that Damian just appeared in front of you right after you got done with fighting a ghost.” 

Hrm. She was right. It was weird. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He says quietly, “I was too busy trying to get him to stop attacking me.” And after that he was busy trying to get them both home in one piece, and then after that was the whole identity crisis—

And he’s gonna stop there before his tired mind latches onto that spiral again. 

Sam and Tucker’s mouths press together worriedly, and Danny finds himself frowning too. “Maybe I can sneak into the Zone sometime this week and ask one of the Ancients.” Frostbite knew a lot about the Infinite Realms in general, but Pandora might know more about strange magic. 

He could try Clockwork, but finding the clocktower always feels like a scavenger hunt, and getting straight answers out of the ghost is like trying to catch the wind in a bag. Danny normally wouldn’t mind, he kinda likes the challenge, but now is not a good time for that. 

Either way, it was just another thing on his long list of things to do this week, on top of everything else he had to do since acquiring Damian. He could feel a stress headache coming in, and it was only — he takes a quick glance at the clock — eight-fourteen. Yeah, longest five hours of his life. And counting.

Hrrm. “I just can’t believe my luck.” He complains, of all people to clone, of all kids to end up being cloned. It had to be the one kid who, by technicality, was his biological son. That thought alone felt like a tsunami about to swallow him whole. It was confusing, and complicated.  

It shouldn’t have to be.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t view Damian Wayne as his son. Not by a long shot. Damian Wayne was Bruce Wayne’s son. But just like how Ellie isn’t Danny, and Danny isn’t Bruce; Damian is not Damian Wayne. And Danny still doesn’t view him as a son, and obviously Damian doesn’t view him as a father. But it all feels like a strange gray area, like a merry-go-round that’s not turning off, and it wouldn’t have to be if his parents hadn’t been fucking careless with their DNA samples— 

It’s been four months why does he still feel so raw— 

Tucker snorts roughly, bringing Danny out from his head. 

He breathes in deep, blinking quickly, as Tucker leans back into his chair. Sam starts sectioning off Danny’s hair. “Yeah, fair enough,” he says, “bad luck is my schtick though, Danny, so don’t go start encroaching on my brand.” 

“Your brand?” Sam repeats, voice lilting upward. Danny can imagine she’s raising an eyebrow at him, and he snickers both at the thought and at Tucker. 

Tucker’s eyes light up at the sound, and he grins like he’s won a prize. “Yeah, my brand! You know, Bad Luck Tuck?” 

Danny snickers louder, adjusting to sit more comfortably. “I thought your brand was Too Fine Foley.”

“I can have more than one brand.” 

Sam snickers this time, in the midst of braiding Danny’s hair. It feels fantastic, Danny hums lowly, sinking like putty into his desk. “I’m pretty sure that’s called a monopoly, Tuck.” 

Danny laughs quietly, blinking lizard-like. “Tuck Driver.”  

Sam barks out a harsh laugh, and it trails off into stifled chuckles as Tucker’s jaw drops. The wide grin on his face betrays any potential upset he might have though. “That’s the mania setting in.” He says, voice thick with laughter, “That’s the fucking sleep mania talking right now. Take a nap, dude, we’ll wake you up when class ends.” 

Sleep sounds great actually, and he’s gonna do it soon anyways with Sam still doing his hair. But— “I’m not done talking about Damian.” He protests, but his eyes are closing on their own, as if all they needed to hear was him agreeing to sleep to do it. 

Tucker waves his hand, “It’s not like we can’t talk about him later; nap first. Your eyebags can’t get any darker.” He assures, “Don’t worry, we’ll take notes for you.”

“Hnn… fine.” Danny says, and lets his eyes close. He’s out like a light in minutes.  

[ikarakie]

hopper sees steve as a surrogate son. really, he shouldn't make such a habit of picking up stray children, but he looked at harrington and saw a kid who just... needed someone. saw the vacancy in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. saw the police file, the noise complaints and the few reports from hawkins middle school about suspicious bruises that had been swept away. saw a boy who'd seen too much. who just needed someone to lean on.

so he tries to be that. offers the kid a hand every now and then. keeps an eye on him, all alone in that big house, after everything. after '83 and then '84 and then summer of '85, when he'd signed his medical papers because there was no other adult for him around. it always left him a bit hollow, but he told himself that it was okay as long as he was around. as long as steve knew, deep down, that he could come to hopper for help, even if he'd wait until he was on the brink of overload before doing so.

it's all this that makes the sight of steve's car, that brown beemer that had dropped his daughter back home so many times, pulled into a ditch with the lights off cause his stomach to sink. a million awful things come to mind as he pulls in behind it and quickly hops out of his cruiser.

had he seen something and spiralled into a panic? had he gotten a bad migraine? had he run off into the woods alone?

thankfully, he finds the best case scenario: a slightly flushed and dishevelled steve rolling down a foggy window. grinning like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar when he realises it's just hopper. he's fine, he's in one piece.

what's not fine, however, is the person with him in the backseat. eddie fucking munson, a kid hopper's put in handcuffs more than once. not because he's another boy, who gives a shit about that, but because it's eddie munson. drug dealer, general troublemaker, and definitely a bad influence on his boy.

he does his best to save the judgement this time, sensing the fear emanating off the couple. tells them to be more careful, to go home and kiss or do whatever there instead in case anyone else drives by tonight. munson looks at him like he's grown a second head, (which, fair. usually their interactions go a lot less amicably than this) and steve just tears up and nods. he reaches in to ruffle the boy's hair, ignoring the protests, before reluctantly trudging back to his car and driving away.

he calls steve the next afternoon and gets him to confess that, yes, he is dating edward 'eddie' munson. no, it's not a fling. yes, they're boyfriends, god help him. he gripes about it a decent amount, because really, steve? that one? you picked that one? but he keeps the tone light enough that steve feels comfortable enough to defend eddie's honour amidst laughter. within a week he's got steve sat across from him, eddie by his side looking two seconds away from shitting himself.

"well, boys." he grins, cracking his knuckles. eddie watches. gulps. "let's have a little chat, shall we?"

[lonelycowgirls]

Tongue-Tied

I'm ovulating and I'll give no other explanation.

Thank you for your time.

Warnings: smut | harry in barcelona Word Count: 1.9k

Angel: You better get your man, Stell

Angel: Sent 1 image

Looking to the side at her phone as she washed the dishes and cooking utensils she’d used to make up her breakfast, Stella’s brow furrowed, her belly flipping wondering what he’d done now. He was three shows off completing Love on Tour and the gravity of tour being over was starting to hit home for both of them, especially Harry. The result; him growing more and more uninhibited on stage.

She swatted gently at Delilah who was perched on the only clean tea towel in the house - she really needed to catch up on some laundry - and dried her hands on it once the cat had slinked off, heading for the cat flap at the back door. She unlocked her phone and leaned back against the sink to open the text thread she shared with her work friend.

The image wasn’t actually an image, but a GIF. A moving image of her partner playing guitar, her eyes widening as she watched him lean down to enact the motion of playing the strings with his tongue. She watched it repeat on a loop a few times and chuckled dryly to herself. This man was becoming unhinged.

Stella: Now where have I seen that action before…?🤔 Angel: Oooooh get it girl!!!👏🏾👏🏾

Stella laughed to herself again and opened up her TikTok. Her For You page often had a lot of Harry on it, because that was the content she found herself liking and sharing. Whether it be a sweet fan interaction she would share with Anne or a video of Harry tripping or stumbling she would have a giggle over with Gemma and Dolly.

As she scrolled, her feed was jam-packed with content surrounding Harry at his Barcelona date. This wasn’t uncommon, as it was obviously the most recent concert. But the focus was a little abnormal. Emphasis on the ab... People were going feral over Harry’s body and she couldn’t help but smirk to herself. He did look damn good. She often complimented him on his newly buffed-up physique, but she didn’t want to stroke his ego too much. That got enough stroking every time he galloped on stage.

This was maybe a little different though. She thought to herself - she’d probably not seen him look or act this sexy since the first One Direction stadium tour. Back when Harry’s hair was the longest it ever got to and he made it everyone’s problem.

She tapped on the Clock app on her phone to check the World Clock for the time in Barcelona. It was just gone 9am in London, making it around 10am where he was. She wasn’t sure if he’d still be sleeping or training or out sightseeing, but she tapped on the FaceTime icon anyway.

Walking through to the living room as her phone dialled his, she glanced out of the window and rolled her eyes at the rain pelting the glass. It was so unfair how he got to be in the sunshine while she was practically engulfed in a typhoon. Bloody England. She glanced down at her phone again when the little chime alerted her that he had answered and connected.

His face filled the screen, a glowing orb of yellow sunlight behind him surrounded by blue sky. His bare shoulders and the trim of a parasol peaking into the frame indicated that he was by the pool or on the beach. Bastard.

“Oh my God, look at that weather.” Stella groaned, collapsing back on the sofa with a flop. He chuckled and moved his sunglasses to sit on top of his head.

“Good morning to you too.” He replied, resting back against the sun lounger and squinting at the screen. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face so early?”

“Oh, nothing much, just getting digitally assaulted with pictures and videos of you whoring yourself out for thousands of people. The usual.” Harry laughed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned loudly around a smirk.

“You know, I haven’t seen that tongue move like that in a while.” She mumbled, now displaying her own smirk.

“Oh,” Harry chuckled, this time running a hand down his face as he remembered his actions and finally registered what she was talking about. “God, I dunno what comes over me.” He said smiling, dimples on full display and cheeks slightly tinted in a blush.

“Well, I hope it comes over you again when we go to Italy next week…” She said softly, almost certain he wasn’t alone - he never was. He smirked and lifted an arm to rest over his head on the lounger. She could see the muscle in his biceps move under his skin with the motion, the tattoos rippling and causing her to drop her head back against the sofa. She really wished he was there, now.

“Yeah? Would you like that, Stell?” She nodded and he sighed, folding his lips into his mouth and furrowing his brow. He eyed her neck as her head leaned back against the back of the sofa and watched her long lashes blink over her hooded eyes. He couldn’t wait to have her in his favourite place, her tanned skin smooth under his palms, couldn’t wait to feel her pulse under his fingers as he wrapped them around her throat. “Want me to do the same on your little clit?”

Her lids closed as she inhaled and smiled with a nod, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Suddenly, her expression changed to one of pain as she raised from her position on the sofa. “Shit, H I need to go get ready.”

“For what?”

“I’m meeting your sister for yoga in like half an hour.”

“Ah great, I needed someone to say something to help me get rid of this tent in my trunks. Mentioning my sister always does the trick.” He said sarcastically with a thumbs up to the camera.

“Aw, you got a stiffy for me? Let’s see.” Harry rolled his eyes and brought the camera down to his shorts. Barely there but noticeable if pointed out, a slight bump was peaking up from his black Nike swimming trunks. He swiftly brought the camera back up to his face, Stella beamed at him on the other side. “I’ve still got it.” She said with a wink.

“Always have, always will.” He said sincerely and she bristled, feeling a warmth spread through her at the look in his kind eyes. “Come on Stell, let me help you before you go.”

“Help me what?” She said, a brow arched knowingly, she knew what he was up to.

“You know what. Let me give you a good one, so I know you’re thinking of me when you’re in your downward dog.” She snorted, looking away and then looking back at him.

“Alright fine, but you need to put your AirPods on or something.” She conditioned, not wanting Brad or Mitch or anyone who may be around him to hear her through the phone.

“Don’t worry, I’m on a patch of free beds, behind some palm trees. There’s hardly anyone here and Brad’s in the pool.” She nodded and waited for his instructions. “Take your bottoms off, baby.”

She dutifully did as he said, sliding her pyjama shorts off so that she was bare, perching a leg up on the coffee table so that she was open to herself.

“Give your fingers a lick, three of them.” She bit her lip and nodded again, making sure to angle her phone at her face as she sunk further into the cushions of the sofa. She brought her fingers up to lick a long stripe up the surface of them, not waiting for him to tell her what to do next and bringing them to start rubbing circles into her clit. She sighed at the feeling of her fingers getting wetter and wetter with the way she was already so turned on.

“Eager aren’t we?” Harry smirked, wanting to rut his hips into the air but restraining himself. “A girl who always knows what she wants.” Stella’s brows knitted in the middle as a ripple of pleasure coursed through her. “Keep rubbing that pretty clit, baby, that’s it. Is it all swollen?” She nodded, an audible moan quietly escaping her. “For me?”

“Yes, Harry. Watching you lick that guitar… fuckin’ hell.” She sighed, shaking her head, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah? Did that do it for you, baby?” She nodded and moaned as her lips folded into her mouth. Picking up the pace of the circular motions on her clit. “Want my tongue working on you like that?” She nodded, swearing and looking down at where her hips had begun to swirl along with her fingers, complimenting her wrist's motions. Harry had to see. “Show me, Stell.” He said, low and gruff.

She brought the camera down, angling it so her full body was in view, her vest ridden up to just below her boobs, her naked bottom half bucking and twisting in the air. Harry nearly doubled over.

“Fuck me. You’re everything.” He groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes tight. Trying to control his hips and body’s reaction to her stunning image. “Keep going, baby, good girl. Can’t wait to have you in my bed again. Gonna lock us in our villa and make you scream.”

Stella’s moans became louder and louder as she chased her high. “Yeah, that’s it, get yourself there, Stell, come on.” She panted and groaned as she brought the three fingers he’d suggested into her slick hole, pumping just right, getting closer and closer. “You’re fucking beautiful, my God, wish I was fucking there.” Arching up, Harry’s view was almost non-existent as she writhed, the phone in her hand no longer her priority. “I’ll be on my knees for you, soon as I walk through the door.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” She gasped, her fingers now rubbing ruthlessly across her clit, toes curling and stretching.

“Give it up, Stell.” With that, the phone was dropped. Stella’s fingers dug into the softness of the sofa as she squealed and panted, writhing, her other hand not relenting on her pussy. Harry waited patiently, still giving her appreciative comments of how good she was, how gorgeous she was, how he loved her so much. Her hips finally found their place again on the edge of the sofa as she collapsed back down to Earth. Catching her breath, she picked up her phone again to see him smiling softly at her, only before laughing at her red cheeks and messed up hair. “Enjoy that, babe?”

She giggled back, blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. The familiar feeling of a post-orgasm making her glow from within. “Mhm, feeling good, baby.” She breathed, completely blissed out. She wanted to kiss him so bad, almost ready to climb through the phone to get to him. “Oh, shit.” Stella laughed slightly, Harry’s brow furrowed at the change of pace. “Gem’s just text me. She’s just left. I’ve gotta go, Gorgeous. Love you.”

“Alright, Stell,” Harry said, sitting up in his lounger, placing a foot on either side of the bed in a straddle. His full chest and upper body now visible, making her belly flip once more. “Good job I came in my shorts, knew you wouldn’t wanna return the favour.” He shook his head, playfully tutting in disappointment.

“Aw, you poor thing.” Stella pouted, before giggling and raising from the sofa, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. “Have a good time cleaning up!” She joked, before hanging up and trotting up the stairs. Her phone pinged almost instantaneously.

Harry: Glad I could be of service 🫡

Stella: Don’t worry, I’ll show you my downward dog later 😉

~~~

That was fun.

Nel xo

P.s. you can read the rest of the pieces from this universe here.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.31

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Her eyes flash from concern to awe before she seems to realize how many eyes are focused on the two of you. Her face quickly settles back into its neutral state and you’d probably be a little offended if you weren’t also acutely aware of just how many people were watching you. Still, it didn’t stop you from staring at her like she wasn’t real.

Sure, you wanted to see her as soon as possible but you hadn’t been expecting to see her today. Unlike her, you were unable to hide the awe from your face and you swear her lips quirked up into a quick smirk at your expression but it’s gone before you can focus on it.

You don’t know if it’s from the crowd or her but your heart is pounding a million beats per minute and your face feels a million degrees hotter.

The people around you murmur with questions and the few reporters that were there have already snapped a hundred pictures that you’re sure they’re going to spin into nonsensical stories. Both you and Nat seem to get overwhelmed at the amount of eyes on you two, especially for a moment that was supposed to be so intimate.

You imagined this going a lot differently. 

The suited man that grabbed you is one of many and you realize they were there protecting Nat. You almost snort at the idea but realization dawns on you; The important meeting at the courthouse. Nat was here to fight her case for the Avengers. You hadn’t had the chance to check for updates when you got home.

Before you can dwell too much on the outcome of the case, a gentle grip is guiding your body and you look down to see Nat’s hand around your wrist. Her skin was warm against yours. It makes you wonder if she was nervous at court. Most people would laugh at the idea but the more you’ve gotten to know her the more you can recognize what’s real confidence and what’s not. Even someone like Nat had her moments.

She leads you to a black SUV as more cameras flash and you realize it’s the same SUV that was tailing you earlier. It looks similar to the ones that followed you before your trip but when Nat opens the door to the car for you those thoughts are replaced with confusion.

She wanted you to go with her? Surely this was against protocol or something? Either way, none of the men in suits make a move to stop you and you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to finally be with Natasha now that you knew who she was.

Any initial hesitation fades with one look in Nat’s reassuring eyes and you’re sliding into the backseat with the certainty that Nat would protect you no matter what. If not because she knew you, then because she was a hero for the public and it was her job to do so.

She slides into the backseat after you and exchanges a few words with a guy in the driver's seat apparently named ‘Happy’ and then you’re off to your destination.

The car ride is silent for a while, neither of you knowing how to start the conversation, and you’re trying not to gawk at her despite the urge to take her in after not seeing her for so long. Not to mention you’re seeing her in an entirely different light.

“It’s good to see you again” Her tone is oddly formal and when you gather the courage to look her in the eyes she seems more reserved than before. You’re confused and a little hurt, having assumed that once you two had more privacy she would be more open but it’s then that you realize she doesn’t know you know.

She’s talking to you as if you’re still the Y/n she met at the party. The oblivious, stupid, blind Y/n. She was holding herself back from showing more emotion than would be normal for you two.

There are so many things you want to say. Things you want her to say. You want to tell her that you know who she is in a coherent and obvious way but all that comes out of your mouth is-

“Nat?” You’re not asking for the Natasha Romanoff in front of you. You’re asking for your Nat. Asking for her to drop the facade and show you the person who’d become your best friend after a lot of begging and breaking down her carefully constructed walls.

She raises her eyebrows in a silent question but doesn’t catch on.

“Y/n.” You hadn’t had the chance to appreciate the way she said your name before but now it was everything. The slight rasp at the end of her voice, the way her lips moved, the slight tilt to her head as she studies you. You were going to spend every second you had with her soaking her in to the fullest.

Your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. For some reason, your brain refuses to cooperate with your mouth and finally spit out a confession. A part of you resists the urge to just pull her in for a kiss that would say so much more than words ever could but consent is important and you’re not even sure if she likes you back.

Nat seems to find humor in your pout, a small smile on her face as she reaches out to soothe the space between your brows. Only after the action does she seem to realize that’s not typical acquaintance behavior. She moves to retract her hand but you catch her wrist.

Her hands were so warm. Or maybe that was you. You couldn’t tell much anymore aside from the tingling where her fingers touched.

Even if she didn’t like you back. Even if all you had with her was this car ride, you were so happy you had gotten to know the real her. So happy to have fallen in love with her. You hope you were able to be a place of solace for her, and that she’s felt at least a quarter of the happiness and reprieve that she gave you.

Tentatively, you bring her hand to cup your cheek, relishing in the sparks that dance along your face at her touch. You can practically hear the somersaults your heart is doing in your chest. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Nat’s playful smile shifts into concern once again.

“Y/n-” You don’t even give her the chance to finish, a wet laugh escaping your lips at the obscurity of your situation. 

After all the pain and trouble and confusion you finally had her in your arms. 

“Nat.” You say through a teary smile and you feel a bit bad that you’re getting her hand wet but you’re so overwhelmed that you can’t bring yourself to let go of her.

You have to wonder if you looked that same way when you realized who Nat was. The dots slowly connect behind her eyes before they light up with hopeful relief. Not to flatter yourself but you’re pretty sure her pupils dilate.

Despite her physically positive reaction, doubt must cloud her mind immediately because she retracts her hand from your face and subconsciously leans away from you. 

Now it’s your turn to be concerned, unsure of how to stop the lies swirling in her head. Your brain finally decides to catch up to you in time to speak but instead, a laugh escapes and you clamp a hand over your mouth in surprise

“ Sorry!” it’s a half-assed apology and you both know it “I just can’t believe how stupid I was. I mean you were trying to tell me at that party and I was completely clueless!” You can’t help but laugh at your obliviousness and soon enough Nat cracks a small smile.

The serotonin that courses through your body is immediate and you have a feeling getting Nat to smile could become dangerously addictive. She seems to relax a little as she comes to the same realization you did. You’re not someone scary or intimidating or unfamiliar, you’re just you. The you Nat could vent to and laugh with. Her Y/n.

“In my defense, you totally could have told me who you were at that party!” You argue and she shakes her head, the smile still not leaving her face.

“I didn’t know if you’d believe me or not” It’s a valid excuse for anyone else, but for you it’s ridiculous and you have a feeling there’s more to it that she’s not ready to admit.

“I’d always believe you. '' Both of you know how true that statement is, and the playful atmosphere is dampened as the sentence reminds you of your month-long separation. It felt so natural to be with her that you forgot you hadn't spoken to her in a month. She seems to be thinking of the same thing as you as her smile slowly drops from her face once again.

The silence eats at you and you don’t know whether to apologize or just change the subject but before you can speak Nat beats you to it.

“I’m sorry” You go to tell her she doesn’t have to apologize but she fixes you with a look that shuts you up “I’m sorry, Y/n. I could’ve explained my situation to you better or called. I was just so lost for the first time in a while and I didn’t know how to tell you” You nod in understanding and let her continue “And there was no time for anything, I mean- I didn’t even get to say goodbye to some people-”

Sensing how emotional and terrifying this experience must have been for her, you place your hand over hers in a silent gesture of comfort and she shifts until your fingers are intertwined. You do your best to hide your blush but make no move to free your hand.

“I know you have every right to be mad at me but I hope you can hear me out” 

You give her a reassuring smile. You’re surprised she would think you wouldn’t be willing to hear her out but you don’t dwell on it.

“Nat, I’m not mad- well not anymore at least. Of course I’ll hear you out, I’m not the type of person to be that petty.” She seems hesitant to accept the fact that you got over your anger a long time ago but she must read the sincerity in your body language because she smiles again and begins explaining the details of what went down a month ago.

Pt.32

A/n: why am I crying?~Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013 @thalia-is-not-ok @tessalah @annab3113 @officialnighttime @taliiiaasteria @bgwlsmahf25 @chibilauren @natashasgirlll @nmhlver @strange-night-owl @obsessedwjill @autorasexy @kissesfornat

[hajihiko]

Reunited 💫

from:

I've been dragging posting this one bc a) probably the last one b) you know how it is with art when you look at it too much and c) explicit emotion BUT I will be brave 😤 also shout-out to lines that are now a permanent wallpaper in my brain. anyway sun and stars you get it

[starryeyedadmirer]

Could you make a stuffing story about this?

✨Y’all, don’t hate me, but this has been in my inbox since July of last year. I’m so sorry I’ve been sitting on it for that long… but, I’m in the process of writing a full story for it. I promise. Also, thank you to @nvtwhalk07 for this amazing edit you’ve done! Anyway, here’s a snippet of what I’ve got:

_________________________________

Kit stood in the kitchen, doubled-over against the bar counter, his massive stomach stretched to its limits... the aftermath of yet another epic stuffing session, orchestrated by his adoring partner, Joe. His elbows resting on the cold granite, Kit struggled to keep his balance.

The couple's stuffing sessions were typically hot and intense, never failing to push Kit's body to its limits. He was accustomed to the extreme bloating, feverish sweats, and unrelenting gassiness that plagued him after each trial... but this time, Kit had eaten more than he ever had before, and his digestive system wasn't prepared to take on such a hefty load.

Large chunks of solidified food and pools of sloshing liquid made their presence known inside his swollen belly, turning and shaking inside of him as though his stomach were a compact tumble-wash... but, in spite of his intense discomfort, Kit tried to play it cool, putting on his best pokerface, in an attempt to conceal his agony.

With a strained smile, he turned on his charms, concealing his discomfort. "Wow." He sighed, taking a moment to catch his breath. "That stuffing session was amazing. Look how big and round I am right now."

Joe looked over at him, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. Kit had become much larger than he was the last time Joe had attempted to make his gut burst, having consumed an excessive amount of food. "Are you sure you're okay, Kit?" Joe asked, genuinely worried about his well-being.

"I'm sure." Kit replied, his voice strained. "You've really outdone yourself this time, sweetheart. I'm massive!"

It was true. Kit had greatly surpassed his previous threshold, having gulped down the better portion of Joe's large feast during his feeding, which left their refrigerator almost barren. He had indulged in a bounty of homemade dishes, savoring every mouthful... but now, faced with his oversized belly, in the wake of his gluttonous feat, Kit longed for some relief.

Still maintaining his facade of nonchalance, Kit continued, his voice a seductive whisper. "Once I find the strength to move again, I expect this belly to be showered with love... the way you always do it. And... I think my belly button deserves some attention too, this time. I've earned that much, don't you think?"

His navel had been overlooked for far too long, having gone completely untouched for months. Joe used to adore his belly button — the way it looked; it's funny smell; the bitter taste of his flesh; the way that the tight hole would hold onto his fingertips — but, for some unknown reason, he'd simply stopped looking after it. Kit missed the days when he'd wake up to the feeling of Joe's tongue burrowing it's way down into the deep pit, and eating it out... all of the thorough shower cleanings, and sensual fingerings. Having fervently devoured his grande meal, he felt as though he'd proven himself worthy of receiving that kind of affection once again.

Joe, still gazing at Kit, with a mixture of pride and desire, rose from his stool. Like a cat, he tiptoed around the stretch of the bar — his wool-socked feet hardly making a sound against the tiled floor — and approached Kit from behind. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Kit's body and placed his hands on his lover's engorged stomach, feeling the gravity of it's weight, and it's radiating warmth beneath his touch.

Slowly, he began to circle Kit's navel with his fingertips, applying a slight pressure to the area around the hole. Kit felt like he might burst — still doubled over, his breath labored — and yet, the feeling of Joe's hands against his skin sent a shiver of delight down his spine. His eyes fluttered closed as he relished in the euphoric sensation... the heaviness of his belly all but disappearing in his partner's firm grasp. Joe's fingers worked into his flesh, as though he were a large lump of clay — his hands gliding smoothly over the expanse of Kit's bloat, molding it. With each gentle stroke, he felt his discomfort fade away, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

Keeping a tender hold on Kit's midsection, Joe lifted him up from his slump against the countertop and turned him around, so that he could rest his back against the cool surface, and draw some of his tension away of his aching spine. Desire gleamed in Joe's eyes as he slowly knelt down and gave Kit's belly a shower of loving kisses, his hands massaging either side of his lover's bulging abdomen. Kit watched with excitement, his discomfort a thing of the past. Joe's tongue delved deep into the crevices of Kit's belly button, exploring every nook and cranny that the had been etched into the walls of the dark hole during his infancy. It was absolutely filthy, having gone unwashed for months — each wrinkle bearing a new bitterness.

The sensory overload only amplified Kit's pleasure, causing him to squeeze out a small, pungent fart, in a moment of heat. "Oof! Sorry." He muttered, acknowledging his accidental emission as he fought to catch his breath.

Instead of reacting with disgust, Joe encouraged him, his lust unwavering. "No... don't apologize." He murmured, his voice filled with adoration. "You're so tight. Make yourself comfortable."

Joe's worship continued, his tongue swirling in large circles, exerting a immense force against the edges of Kit's belly button. Kit writhed in ecstasy, moaning like ghost, with the occasional accompaniment of yet another unapologetic fart. Time seemed to stand still as he surrendered to the moment, completely lost in the revelry. Joe's tongue reached every filthy nook and cranny, with a sloppy motion, leaving no pore untouched.

"Aahhh." Kit sighed, reveling in the rapture of that familiar tingling. "That's nice. I... missed this."

Feeling as though Kit was sufficiently primed for further pleasures, Joe removed his tongue from the depths of his navel and invited Kit to join him on their bedroom. "Why don't we take this... elsewhere?" He proposed. Urging him to follow, Joe inserted his finger into the slimy, warm crater, giving him a taste of the joys that lay ahead, and bent his knuckle — pulling Kit up from the counter like a fish on a hook.

"Mmm. Okay." Waddling behind Joe like an obese penguin, Kit eagerly followed him.

It was clear to him that Joe had further plans to cater to Kit's desires, setting the stage for an intimate and fulfilling evening. Both men, enthusiastically embarking on the intimate adventure that awaited them on the other side of the open door, made their way into their private quarters.

[enidtendo64]

I just finished Wednesday today and I'm full on the wenclair ship!!!! so I'm glad to have seen your art just as I'm done lmao. if you read wenclair fics do you have any recommendations?

OOOOH Okay nice nice!!!

I'm so sorry this is so late but I hope you still want some recs, bc I def got some for you! I tried to keep these pretty succinct and not too many bc a lot of these are pretty long reads but these are some of my fav Wenclair fics to read and reread! I made sure to put different types/genres of fics in here too so there's a diverse list of flavors on here! Most will be complete but I'll throw in some WIPs i've been keeping an eye on!

If We Make It Through December by overnights: If you love FLUFF and Enid interacting with the Addams Fam! A wenclair STAPLE tbh, fake dating, Enid being invited to the Addams Mansion, and CHRISTMAS fic all in one! The dynamics between the Addams and Enid are always sweet, and Wednesday and Enid just teeter on that close friendship to oh, maybe it's love??? thing and it's so sweet to see. It's just very lovely and wholesome! A great execution of that 'fake dating but oops you were in love all along haha' trope!

Magus et Lupus by wigglewyrms: Ok like I had to rep one of my pals in here but in my defense this is genuinely so good and one of my favorite wenclair fics before we even became friends! It's a fun fantasy Wenclair with dialogue that's just so fun and snappy and witty! You're gonna have fun reading their conversations and then you're gonna get caught up into the world and the story! The plot is very fun and the end is a very fun payoff! I think I might have overused the word fun a lot for this fic but like that's just what this fic is--It's entertaining, it's engaging, and it makes you feel like you're having fun reading wanting to know what's next or what's this person gonna say or etc. It's a fic you read and you feel good! 100% Recommend! I even drew art for it if you're interested (which I should honestly repost on here soon)

I'd recommend their other stuff too-- Stubborn, Single Minded, and Obsessive is great if you like the slasher horror genre with a dash of Addams Family Values Lore, and their most recent one that's a WIP, When The Moon Shines Red is a very fun fic focused on Enid's werewolfisms but dangerous, with a very sweet friendship to relationship evolution between Enid and Wednesday!

i know the end by thriftedstars: If you're an angst lover like I am, you're gonna LOOOOVE this! A sort of groundhog's day type of fic, it focuses on the day of the last episode of the first season--Enid, Wednesday, Tyler, Crackstone, all that entails in that night. It's a really fun read just to know what happens next and how Enid gets out of the situation but also to see the girls' relationship grow in this terrible situation. Lots of emotion! Listen sometimes you just need the hurt for the ending to be sweeter! Recommend wholeheartedly!

curtain call by hanjisgirlfriend: on the complete opposite side of the last fic, Curtain Call is an enemies to friends to lovers Wenclair that does an amazing job of capturing that kind of high school love story kind of vibe but like also a dash of youthful nostalgia. It gives me the same vibe of like, if I was listening to the Kids album by Mac Miller--They're kids and they're friends and they're growing up and they're growing up together. I HIGHLY recommend as well, like it genuinely makes my heart lighter thinking about how sweet this is.

raven in the den, wolf in the nest by Barbara_Lazuli: So you might be familiar with the author's name--Artist, Comic maker, Writer, literally what CAN'T she do!!! This fic is another fake dating fic but a different flavor from the first one! This one really dives into both Enid and Wednesday's relationships with their mothers, as well as the building feelings they already have for each other. Their bond in this fic is nothing short of sweet and heartwarming, and I genuinely think this is one of the best fics in the tag! Just got so much substance! Also all the Addams family media references and the Loona refs-- like Barb if you read this you're a champ for making Wednesday play Sonatine and also listen to Hula Hoop and just for making this in general????? Seriously how are you so talented bro

queen of the night by heyfools: Look, a flower shop AU hits okay? And this? THIS HITS. Wednesday is an owner of a flower shop, Enid needs a job, and we know where this is going. But man the way you get to know both characters a little more--their histories, traumas, likes and dislikes and their personalities beyond "appropriately polite cowoke" (well, polite for Enid, not so much Wednesday at first) it's soooooo good! You have a journey along with the characters and you really get invested in their relationship! A great read, especially if you wanna read something like in the afternoon light with a nice lemonade maybe, or like just a very relaxing fun read!

Forged in Blood by RiseAboveTheAshes_203: Okay so this one is a HEAVY HITTER! We're getting into the big bois! It's a 100k fic about Wednesday and Enid basically dealing with the consequences of Enid becoming a blood wolf-- and bro you are seated, belted, strapped into the ride every step because PHEWWWW what a RIDE! It has really interesting lore building upon werewolf society in the show and also witchery and magic from the Addams family. And all of that is great and amazing but the real star of this is just Wednesday and Enid being Wednesday and Enid--they are DEVOTED to each other! Even if they don't quite understand the full means of it yet, and if it gets them in trouble sometimes. It's amazing to see their relationship grow and them understand what they truly mean to one another and it's a captivating love story that also happens to have fun world building for the show and amazing moments that just leave you so tense to know what happens next! I was so tuned in when this was still a WIP I remember refreshing the tag every lunch time for a while for a chapter I was HOOKED, and I'm sure you will be too!

A Kidnapping By Any Other Name by Ravenmoon33: So bear with me this is gonna be a long one; Ok! So this is the other WIP I've put in here (aside from When The Moon Shines Red) and let me tell you--this fic changed my life fr. Some TLDR lore about it tho--the version I linked above there is a revised version! They have an old version they still have up on their account and honestly I also HIGHLY recommend that version too bc it had me in bed giggling kicking my feet like ROMANCE. ROMANCE WAS MADE in these ao3 walls!!! (The flower scene???? No spoilers if you know you know but OOOOOOOOGGHHHH I would not shut up about it for WEEKS Im so sorry to my friends and my poor gf) but I also highly recommend the new version as well! If you've read the first version and are keeping up with the new version, the new things are also so good and you can tell the author is so locked in and excited with what they've added and what they've changed, I honestly recommend both;

So onto what it's actually about-- Enid is "kidnapped" by Wednesday and is "forced" to stay at her best friend's mansion for the summer. And you know what happens? LORE. So much worldbuilding on Addams family lore like it's AMAZING!!! You read about new characters the family past and what it means for Wednesday and Enid, and if that's not enough, there's also the MYSTERY aspect too because Weds and Enid will have to deep dive into that lore to figure out a problem in the present and it's so much FUN to like try to figure out how things go together! I love that aspect of both the versions so much that it's only rivaled by my immense love of how everyone's relationships are written! Enid's relationships with the other members of the Addams fam, especially Morticia, is so healing and heartwarming, and we see Wednesday's different dynamics with her family and how Enid affects her and helps her grow and you see those relationships with her family members grow because of it! And of course, the obvious, Wednesday and Enid basically having a love story for the ages cause JESUS, this is ROMANCE. Wednesday BIG FUCKING ROMANTIC Addams!!! It's amazing omg I wanna say more but I also don't bc I don't wanna spoil but I absolutely cannot rec it enough, even if it stays unfinished it will still be genuinely one of the best wenclair fics for me.

Tumultuous Waters: Wednesday Season Two by KrackenoftheDeep: So we're here at the last one. I didn't really list these fics out in specific order but I did save this specific one for last bc I genuinely think this is my favorite Wednesday fic. This is like a full ass season 2! It's a telling of how season 2 could happen, continuing from season 1 and picking up the ball the first season threw with stuff about the Morning Song cult, a deeper dive of Crackstone and Goody, more worldbuilding about the outcasts and the school, and best of all-- THE Wednesday and Enid dynamic that to me would be so fucking ideal for season 2 if Timothy Burton wasn't a COWARRD!!! /j /maybe

The growth Enid and Wednesday have in this fic, along with the exploration of the other characters, more investigations not just by Wednesday but also the other nightshade members helping and getting involved as well! You really get to feel so many things for these characters, and all of that pays off in one of the most satisfying endings for me in a fic like the author really fucking knocked this out of the park I felt like giving a standing ovation!

I genuinely don't think the Wednesday writers could like, live up to this. At least for me, it's that good. This is everything I've ever wanted for a Wednesday s2 honestly and I honestly, HONESTLY could not recommend this enough.

And after you read this, you can follow along the author's sequel to this fic, The Infinite Black Sea: Wednesday Season 3. Again, also highly recommend! A new mystery afoot!!!

I'm so sorry I didn't expect this to get super long but sometimes you just gotta give tens where tens are deserved!!! There are so many more great wenclair fics out there that deserve a reading and loving, like I know the tag can look a little scary sometimes but seriously there's some great gems there underneath all the scary stuff lol

These are just some of my personal favs, and honestly thank you to all the authors here yall are doing God's work fr!!!

[stars-and-cows]

Previous part

[starry-bi-sky]

sO i got to part two of the daniel jason todd fenton au :)

>:) word count 8k+

So, first, taglist for folks who asked for it: @blep-23 @mikyapixie @isnt-that-grape @randomenglishmajor @illryiannightmare @the-navistar-carol

SECOND: this part needs a trigger/content warning list: - CW Mild Swearing - CW Slight Psychological Horror - ^ CW mild depictions of being haunted by your own ghost/death flag and not realizing it (other people do though) - CW Brief Emetophobia (Danny throws up during a second nightmare) - CW Danny has nightmares of dying - except its of Jason Todd's warehouse death. It's not explicit but it's implied - TW Mild mentions of perceived Blood - TW Depictions of Corpses (first is non-descript, and then second one is slightly more descript but its not anything uh, super descriptive) - TW Mild description of burns (the descriptive part above) - TW Depictions of Panic Attacks (Danny's nightmares)

I mentioned that this au was inspired by a song lyric from Jann's 'Gladiator' here is that line:

I know your addiction's attention, Let's start a show Is it everything and more than you were hoping for? Show us something we ain't never seen before

The day after Danny meets himself, he's downstairs having breakfast in the dining room with the rest of the family, listening idly in on their conversations. Tim Drake is talking about something about Wayne Industries with Mr. Wayne - and wasn't that a startling surprise to learn the first time? - and Damian was slyly trying to feed Ace under the table. Duke Thomas was mid conversation with Cass, much of it audibly one-sided as Cass swaps between ASL and verbal speech.

(Danny comes across her a fair few amount of times in Wayne Manor. The first time was in the library. She hands him a book about planets, smiles, and walks away.)

(He hasn't talked much to Duke Thomas yet, but he plans to - he seems cool. They just haven't had the time to run into each other yet. Danny might just have to corner him, he thinks.)

And finally Dick Grayson on his left, his Dick Grayson, was talking away with the other Dick Grayson - who had stopped by from Bludhaven for the morning for his day off. He was a cop, ew. They were comparing lives, specifically college lives. There wasn’t much to talk about in their childhood, it seems. Danny was quietly listening in. 

(They both gave their Bruces headaches as children, apparently. Climbing the chandeliers and sliding down the staircase banisters. Flips and tricks only a child raised by the circus could do.) 

All-in-all, a very quiet morning, Danny thinks. That is, until the other Dick Grayson turns to him and goes; "I'm sure you've been asked already, but what do your parents do, Mini Jay?"

Danny squints at him, and releases his grip on his spoon to raise a pointed finger. "First off: only my Dick Grayson can call me Jay, you have your own." He says, slightly playful and nodding to Dick - oh that was going to get confusing, fast. He should come up with a nickname for one of them, probably - "And second: you're the second person to ask me that, actually. Jason - er, myself? - asked me yesterday. My parents are ectologists."

Apparently, mentioning that he met himself is a set of magic words, because the whole table stops what they're doing, and Danny's half-sinking back into his chair when all eyes turn to him in varying degrees of surprise. Dick - Richard, he’s going to call him Richard - looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed, confused brows. "You saw Jason?"

(Danny sends Bruce a confused look, but he's not paying attention - looking at everyone else with threaded eyebrows and a faint frown. Well, at least Danny isn't the only one confused by the reaction.)

(What a comfort.) 

"I guess that nickname is a dimensional constant." He mutters under his breath, and straightens up, eyeing the room warily. It... doesn't bode well to him that the Waynes were surprised by his other self's appearance -- was hisself estranged from the family?

...He hopes that doesn't happen in his world. Dick and Bruce may not be his adoptive family, but he likes them quite a lot. He wants to stay in contact with them when they get home.

"Yeah, he was in the library." He says, frowning at Richard Grayson. "He was sitting in my armchair." He supposes it was Jason's armchair first -- god, that was so weird to refer to himself in third person. "We talked for a little bit, and he asked me what my parents did. They're ectologists, by the way."

He turns to Mister Wayne and tilts his head, "Did you really not know that he was here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. He wouldn't expect Richard to know, he doesn't live here. But Mister Wayne looks just as surprised, perhaps even a little remorseful.

(There’s a pit in his stomach that’s growing bigger.)

(His neck burns with a new pair of eyes, ones that he can’t see.) 

Mr. Wayne looks thoughtful for a moment, and then carefully, he goes; "Jason is rather... independent. He comes and goes from the manor when he feels like it." And the way he speaks sounds like he was choosing his words carefully. Danny suppresses the shiver of unease.

Something was not well in this house. Something unspoken was haunting the air. 

(Jason would know about hauntings, wouldn’t he?) 

He hopes history won't repeat itself, he likes Bruce quite a lot.

"...Alright," he says after a moment of silence, not hiding his wariness as he slowly turns back to Richard. His eyes flick towards Bruce, and then to Ricard. "Anyway, my parents are ectologists, as I've said for the third time now."

Richard, for his effort, takes the topic change easily, and his surprise shifts into one of curiosity - as does everyone else. (Did Danny really not mention what his parents did? Even Dick and Bruce look intrigued.) "That's... new." Richard says lightly, Danny commends him for the way he sounds non-judgmental. "What are ectologists?"

Danny quirks a dry half-smile, and deadpans; "Studiers of all things dead and afterlife."

...And there is that reaction again. A ripple of surprise and intrigue that spreads throughout the room as everyone looks at him, like a bunch of cats perking up their ears. 

On the other side of the table, Damian scoffs quietly, a sound much like the one Jason - the other one - did when Danny told him. Danny's eyes snap over to him in an instant, he stares at him, trying to study him. Why that reaction - again? 

He lets himself frown, briefly, before addressing Richard again. "Everyone just calls them ghost hunters, but the 'official' term is ectologists." He drawls, air-quoting the word 'official' with his fingers as he rolls his eyes. "They've been obsessed with ghosts since college. We even have a lab in the basement, and they keep liquid ectoplasm samples in the fridge."

Danny's been in the lab a handful of times, he and Jazz both have, either to clean it as part of their chores, or to listen to a lecture from their parents for their newest invention. The lab is cool, kinda, but Danny thinks it wouldn't look out of place in any evil lair of a Rogue with a doctorate. 

…He’s glad that the Fentons weren’t stationed in Gotham. They would have blown up a street. He’s surprised they haven’t already. 

"Ectoplasm?" Dick asks, leaning over to catch Danny's eye. Almost by instinct now Danny smiles at him, and then nods.

"Mom and dad say it's the stuff that makes ghosts." He explains, leaning back against his seat, his arms crossing. "It's invisible in its natural state, and it makes up everything. Kinda like the Force from Star Wars, or just, matter in general."

That cracks a few quiet, laugh-like sounds through the dining room. Danny halves a smile again, a swelling of pride in his chest that lingers for a moment. "My parents say that when ectoplasm condenses enough in one area, it can start taking on visible properties," he continues, "they say that ghosts are just the memories and emotions of a dying person or animal being imprinted on a concentration of ectoplasm, and that the ghost itself isn't actually the person or animal, just matter trying to mimic it."

Which Danny guesses makes sense, even if the way they talk about ghosts made him really uncomfortable. His parents insisted that ghosts weren't actually people, but he just couldn't shake the idea that they were. How close to ‘human’ does something get before they actually are? 

Well, no, that wasn’t fair. Superman wasn’t human, and yet everyone treated him like he was. Let him rephrase himself:

How human-like must something get before they are considered as such? Before they’re considered sapient and sentient, and real?  

"That's... quite interesting." Someone says, and Danny turns to see Bruce leaning his elbows against the table and putting his chin on threaded fingers. He looks genuinely engrossed in what Danny's said, and pride once again leaks into his heart. "You mentioned they kept ectoplasm in a liquified state in their... fridge?"

"Oh yeah," Danny says, putting his full attention to Bruce, "it's crazy. They keep little test tube racks in the freezer full of liquid ectoplasm, and it's this - uh - glowing, bright green stuff. It used to be the weirdest thing in the house."

(From his peripherals, Danny notices the room tense up again at his description — and he bites back the urge to slow his talking down and narrow his eyes. Suspicious. Suspicious. The Waynes weren’t scientists - why do they react to something like they are?)

(Nobody knows what ectoplasm is. To the scientific world, it's an unconfirmed theory of a state of matter. Why do the Waynes act like they know what it is?)

(Danny is not stupid. Even if his scientific family makes him feel like it, sometimes.) 

Bruce gives him this half-tilted, confused smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. "Used to be?"

Danny opens his mouth, the answer already on the tip of his tongue -- and then he freezes. His jaw clicks shut as he frowns. Should he say what his parents' latest pet project was? Surely, surely, it would be fine? Their inventions never work - and a life-sized portal is just another thing on his parents' crazy ideas list.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, chewing on the skin as he rolls the answer over in his head. ...Surely, it would be fine. His face turns in hesitance, and his shoulders scrunch and twist to his ears, like he's about to admit something that could get him grounded by his parents.

"They... may, or may not, be building an inter-dimensional portal in the basement?" His voice steadily pitches upward nervously the longer he speaks. By the time he finishes, his voice is close to a squeaky pitch.

There is a horrified silence that follows him, sitting in the air so still-like that Danny could hear the whoosh of a pin drop. He should have expected that, nervously surveying the ranging horrified expressions on the Wayne family's faces. "...I promise they're harmless... to the living." He hesitates, "Mostly."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment. "Mostly?" He repeats, his brows arched high and pinched together. Danny cringes back a little.

"Dad's a little clumsy, that's all." He says, shrugging with a helpless smile. It doesn't help, he thinks, and the silence is strangling. Sitting up, he's a little frantic to add; "I really, really, doubt it's going to work, Bruce. Their inventions never do. Mom and dad built a mini portal in college and it didn't work either!" There's a moment of silence following him, before he quietly adds, wincing, "It- it did hospitalize the guy who was helping them, though."

He only heard about that when he asked his parents about the portal - it was still in production when they picked him up. Jack Fenton claimed it was safe as safe could be - they’d make sure that the ‘college’ instance never happened again.

Bruce - both Bruces actually - looked vaguely ill at the thought. Mister Wayne’s face was blank, his face sunk into his folded hands, and Bruce’s stare burned into Danny, intense like concentrated fire. 

Danny for some reason - either through his panicked urge to make things better, or through temporary insanity - laughs forcibly. "The worst thing that could happen is that the portal could explode, but that never happens."

Next to him, Dick makes a stressed sound. "That's not better, Jay." He forces out. He looks even more horrified.

Danny sucks on his bottom lip for a long beat. Then lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I know." Danny sighs, deep and long while his shoulders slump. He watches the room for a moment, with their various stony-like expressions, and looks back at the very concerned-looking Bruce. "But Bruce, I swear it's fine. Nothing's gonna happen, please don't call the Justice League on my parents. They really are harmless."

Bruce looks conflicted.

"I was being dramatic when I said the portal could explode, it won't." He continues, giving Bruce what Jazz has called his 'cheating puppy eyes'. "My parents are eccentric about their line of work, but they understand lab safety. They'd never do anything to put me and Jazz in danger."

...Actively or on purpose, that is.

He and Bruce stare each other down. One second, two seconds; what feels like thirty seconds pass in silence before Bruce relents, sighing deeply and uncannily dad-like. He drags a hand down his face, and rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "When we get back to our universe, you are giving me your phone number so you can contact me if anything happens."

Danny beams, nodding hurriedly. "Thank you, Buzz."

Bruce isn't able to hide his smile - small as it was - quickly enough. "You're welcome, Danny."

—-----

Danny has a nightmare that night. He doesn't remember most of it. There's a ticking sound, and high laughter, and there is a thumping heartbeat in his ears. Everything is dark and he is in agonizing pain.

He wakes up in paralyzing terror, a scream lodged in the back of his throat. His head pounds like a concussion and there is a shallowing ache in his ribs, like someone's kicked him, and kicked him, and kicked him until all air has been knocked from his lungs. He can't breathe.

Danny's hands scrabble for his throat, and even though he can hear himself gasping for air, it doesn't feel like he's taking any of it in. There is no relief in the action, no reassurance, and everything is so hot. He kicks at his blankets, his panic growing higher as they tangle around his legs.

He needs-

He needs--

He needs to move. He needs to get up. He needs to free himself. He needs to prove that he's not dying. He feels like he's dying. He feels like he's burning. There are tears swelling in his eyes as he finally gets the blankets off his feet, and he rolls - quite literally - out of bed.

He tries to catch himself, he does. But he doesn't. He hits the floor with a heavy thud and can hardly bring himself to care -- he catches himself on his elbows, and the sting it causes makes him feel worse. The air is knocked out of his chest again. 

The ground is cold though, blessedly cold. And before Danny can realize this, he lifts his head and, disoriented, looks for the door. It's too dark, it's too dark. His head swivels blindly in search of it. He needs to get out, he needs to escape. 

"Bruce." He croaks, still trying to force air down into his lungs. His call comes out raspy, weak, and hot tears blur his vision.

"Dick." He tries instead when a minute passes and no one comes, and he thinks he can finally start breathing. No one comes to find him - his voice is too quiet to wake anyone up. The tears in his eyes bubble and pop, and stream down his face.

He makes a distressed noise. "Jazz?" He whispers, his voice shaky and uneven with an encompassing want for his sister. It's nearly been a month since they got here. He wants Jazz.

No one hears him. He's alone.

God, he doesn't want to be alone. Please don't make him be alone.

Danny eventually gets himself calmed down. But he is curled up on the floor, trembling with the lingering traces of fear from whatever dream had woken up. His fingers dig painfully into his arms, leaving crescent-moon indents by his nails. The contents of the nightmare are already fading further into his mind, slipping out of his hands like water. Like ash.

He feels no need to chase after it.

The back of his shirt is damp with sweat, and in between the trembling he is also shivering, goosebumps lacing up his arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he stares with wide, crying eyes at the side of his bed. His breath comes out in short, shaky pants.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, trying to comprehend what happened as his mind still hangs onto the edge of the dreamworld. It feels like there is something in the room with him, crawling along the walls.

Danny forces himself to get up, and the sudden standing makes his vision blacken and swim as blood rushes to his head. He stumbles, slightly, and lurches halfway across the room for the light switch.

He squints as the room is drenched in light, chasing away the lingering paranoia in the back of his brain. He is still shaking. His head still hurts. He still looks, wide eyed, around the room for anything out of place.

There is none.

But he still feels unsafe. He needs- he needs to find someone, or go somewhere else. He grabs a firm pillow off the bed, and leaves.

(He ends up in the library alone. He turns on the lights and grabs a book Dick recommended to him, and he curls up tight in his armchair. He ends up falling asleep just as the sun is rising.)

(He doesn't tell anyone about the nightmare.)

-

Progress in getting the three of them back to their home dimension is slow. Dimension Hopping is a rare experience, and what update Bruce gets he relays back to Danny and Dick: they're trying to figure out a way to send them back safely, from the exact time they disappeared, and to find what dimension they're from. It's complicated magic.

It's been three weeks. 

Danny, for one, is getting homesick. He misses Jazz, Sam, and Tucker terribly, and his parents. Bruce and Dick are great, really, and Danny kinda wants to keep in touch with them after they return to their own world, but they aren't replacements of his sister and friends.

His nightmare from a few days ago still haunt his steps. He closes eyes, and that high-pitched laughter and blood-rushed pounding burns itself his ears and fills a level of unseen terror into his heart. Danny thinks that if he was hit with Scarecrow's fear gas, this is what it would feel like.

He tries to avoid falling asleep by reading in his room, by stargazing, but the place sets him on edge; an unsettling reminder of that nightmare. So he goes to the library when it gets too much, he's run into Bruce twice now doing it, and they both do reading.

Danny thinks Bruce can suspect something is up with him, but he doesn't want to tell him about that nightmare. Dick either, for that matter. He just wants to forget it.

They spend afternoons in the gym, they have it mostly to themselves - Tim Drake is at Wayne Industries, Damian Wayne is at school, so is Duke Thompson, and Cassandra Cain is... doing whatever she does during the day. Danny's not totally sure.

Dick in that time, tries showing Danny how to be more flexible. He says he's a fast learner, but Danny knows he's been slacking lately with his lack of sleep.

There isn't much they can do outside of the manor - Bruce and Dick can't go outside because they'll catch the attention of the paparazzi, and they are both significantly younger than their counterparts, and Danny isn't allowed out without a chaperone.

Which has its own unique set of problems because rumors could rapidly start if he's seen with any of the Waynes multiple times. The paparazzi aren’t dumb enough… okay, most — some — of them aren’t dumb enough to make a tabloid claiming there’s a new Wayne kid just because they see the Waynes interacting with one kid, one time. Multiple times however? That’s another story. And, he has the same issue as Bruce and Dick - he's a baby-faced Jason Todd. Who is Bruce Wayne's adoptive son in this world. He could be recognized. 

And how do you explain a tiny Jason Todd to a world where Jason Todd is a full grown man?

So all three of them are... stuck inside, so to speak. And making do with what they can. Danny spends most of his morning and early noon with Dick, and then they both separate after to have time to themselves before dinner.

Bruce is in one of the studies, doing... something. Danny's not sure and he keeps forgetting to ask.

--

Dick likes Danny - Jason? - Jay. Danny said that he can call him Jason, and he doesn't protest to being called Jay. 

Point is: he likes Jay. He's a delightful kid to be around; he's funny, and clever, even if he doesn't realize it himself. And Dick's a little upset that Jay isn't his brother in his world, he would've loved to have him around the manor. He probably would have visited more if he was around.

Something that he and Bruce were still slowly trying to fix...

He likes spending time with him - getting to teach him his acrobatic tricks was not something he expected, but he loves showing Jay how to do them. He thinks this is probably how Bruce felt when he was training Dick how to be Robin, all those years ago.

Speaking of which, Dick was still not over the Robin jacket that Jay wore. The origins of it weren't the best - Jay started wearing it to take back the insult the other kids at his school were throwing at him - but isn't that what part of what being Robin was about? 

Cheesy, he knows. But his point still stands.

He thinks that if he had to pass the Robin title down to anyone, it would be Daniel Jason Todd-Fenton. Or perhaps just Jason Fenton-Todd? Jay doesn’t seem all that attached to the name Danny. 

(“Mom and dad just started calling me it when they picked me up.” Danny — Jay shrugged when Dick asked him about it, the two of them swinging from bar to bar. “I wasn’t tellin’ ‘em my name at the time, so they gave me a new one.”) 

If he had met Jason before the Fentons had, Dick thinks maybe he would have adopted him instead. And what would that future look like? Would he have been able to, when he had to go to college and classes? Would he have been able to keep going out at night, and keep that secret to himself? 

He’ll never know, he supposes. 

“I think that’s it for today.” Dick says, swinging off the jungle gym and landing on the mats with a cat-like thump. Behind him, Jay groans, and drops with a less graceful thud as Dick stretches out his spine. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop of his back as he leans back. 

He turns, and sees Jay going for his water bottle. He looks tired — from what, Dick doesn’t know. But there are dark bags under his eyes and a sleep-distracted look on his face. He’s been distracted, and their lessons have been suffering from it. 

Dick wants to know what’s bothering him, but Jay hasn’t said anything, and Dick doesn’t know what he could say to make it better. 

“I can still keep going.” Jason insists, but he tiredly slumps over to grab his water, and straightens up sluggishly. It’s probably not a lie, but anything Dick shows him he doubts that Jay will retain it. “You don’t have to stop.”

“Oh but I want to.” Dick says, walking over to grab his own water. “I’m human too you know—” and Jay snorts at him with a grumbled ‘doubt it’. “—so I also need my breaks.” 

“With the way you can bend I really don’t think so.” Jason mutters, eyeing him up and down. Dick laughs quietly and takes a long sip of his water. “Seriously, circus boy, what do they feed you? Actually - what did they feed myself?”

Dick’s laughter doubles as Jay’s eyes grow wide and wild, his head shaking with spasming arms. “No, seriously! I don’t know if you’ve seen the other me yet, Dick, but he- he’s fucking huge!” He exclaims, and jumps as high as he can as his arms try to make a silhouette above his head. “I- I’m almost as big as Jack Fenton, and we’re not even biologically related! I don’t know where he got that much height to him, ‘cause- ‘cause Willis, that drunk bastard, was never that big!” 

Dick hasn’t seen the elusive other Jason Todd, and he’s been so curious about him. Both he and Bruce have — especially considering that everyone else doesn’t seem to want to tell them about him. He tried stopping his other self to ask about Jason Todd of his world, and his other self just said that he was his little brother and the second robin, and that he did a lot of his own stuff. 

It was a whole bunch of fucking nothing. And he and Bruce were growing suspicious about it. They hadn’t thought of it before because, well, they were busy adjusting to being in a new world and trying to figure out a way back. And then Jason was never really brought up, but neither was Dick Grayson unless Dick asked about it, and he didn’t think to ask about Jason Todd before.

It was all just strange.

But Jay’s exclamation over the size of himself distracts Dick long enough that he forces himself to put the mystery of Jason Todd on the backburner for now. “I’ll- I’ll have to see him for myself, Jaybird.” He says when his laughter subsides, and he straightens up. 

“Seriously,” Jay stresses, and he starts to make his way towards the gym door. “He’s fucking massive, Dick. Built like a brick shithouse.” 

Dick almost starts laughing again, “Where did you even learn that phrase?” 

Jay rolls his shoulders back and grins at him slyly, “I read.” He says, and it’s so clearly not how he learned that word that Dick barks out a laugh. 

They reach the door, and Jay holds the door open as Dick reaches for the light switch. He looks behind him, surveying the room quickly to make sure that there’s nothing they could have left on the floor, before turning off the lights.

Bright green eyes stare at him from the mirror. Right where Jay is standing. 

In an instant, the lights are back on. Dick’s heart has been kickstarted into fifth gear, suddenly and loudly racing in his chest as he darts his head around the room. It was only two seconds, perhaps only even one, but fear has been shot like an adrenaline needle into Dick’s veins. An inhuman, skyrocketing fear alike to Scarecrow’s fear gas. 

What was that?

What was that?

WHAT WAS THAT?  

But there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There is only Jason where the eyes were. 

From the mirror’s reflection, Jason turns his head — he hadn’t been looking at Dick, he hadn’t been looking at Dick — and stares up at him. There is confusion written on his face as he glances up at Dick, and then at the mirror. He meets his eyes - Jason’s blue, blue, not green, eyes — and Dick forces himself to look away from the mirror and down at Jay.

“What was that for?” Jay asks him, perfectly normal and perfectly confused. 

Dick feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s panting, he doesn’t know why, and he forces himself to sound like he wasn’t as he wets his lips and furrows his brows. “I thought I saw something.” He says, frowning. 

He didn’t think. He did. He did. 

What did he see? 

It was standing where Jay was. Those eyes. Those green-green eyes. It was where Jay was. He forces himself to shake his head, his frown deepening, unsettled. Jason peers around him as if to see what he had, and Dick puts a hand on his chest, stopping him. “It was nothing, let's go.” 

He turns Jay around, and ignores his bewildered look. That lighthearted mood he had earlier has plummeted, replaced with an eerie paranoia as he takes the door from Jason’s hand and flicks the lights back off. 

When he looks over his shoulder at the mirror, there’s nothing there. 

—------------

Danny has another nightmare. It’s the same one. It’s dark again. That high pitched laughter fills his ears. The ticking is louder, louder, louder. It’s counting down, but to what - he can’t see — he can’t see what it’s counting down to. 

There is still so much pain. His head hurts, his body hurts. He has a body now, he can remember he has a body. He’s in so much pain. He looks down at his hands and pooling around his knees is a bloody yellow cape, it’s torn and bloody and his hands are bloody and torn and he’s wearing green gloves. 

He wakes up just before the ticking stops. He doesn’t know how he knows that the ticking stops. 

Danny rolls over and hangs himself sideways off the bed, gasping for air that doesn’t come. He wants to scream again, to shriek with such terror that it sends everyone in the manor running into his room. He doesn’t, he can’t, he has no mouth and he must scream. 

Danny gasps for air instead, and then dry heaves until he throws up onto the floor. His head is spinning with the fadings of a dream-made concussion, again. His chest hurts deeper, more, it’s no longer shallow and as if someone was sitting on his chest, like someone had beat him in the stomach and chest and head.  

He feels like he’s choking. He is, he’s choking on what bile he can’t get out of his throat, and he forces himself to swallow it back down. He’s crying, he realizes, and dragging in air down into his lungs to the point it hurts. 

What is going on? He thinks through the haze in his mind. With what lucidity he has he brings a hand to his head to make sure he’s not bleeding. His palm swipes against sticky skin, and all that comes back is sweat. He’s not bleeding. He feels like he is. 

Make it stop. His inner mind wails as he finally, finally, starts to calm down again. He’s still crying. The tears burn down his cheeks, and he absently sticks out his tongue and licks the ones that gather at his lips away. He wipes at his face again, and when he looks at his hands, all he sees is skin.

He’s not wearing gloves. 

His hands reach for his back, and grasp his sweat-soaked shirt instead. He’s not wearing a cape. It soothes him, just a little bit. But not enough to keep him feeling safe. 

Danny peers over the side of the bed, and through his dark-adjusted eyes he sees the sitting puddle of throw-up on the floor. He cringes, sniffling. He can’t keep that there. He needs to — he needs to clean that up. 

Alfred must be sleeping by now — what time is it? He doesn’t know. He can’t wake him up. Where does Alfred keep the cleaning supplies? 

Danny throws his legs over the side — they’re not broken, he thinks dazedly — why would he think they’re broken? — and he stumbles to the door. He avoids, somehow, the sick.

(He passes by a mirrored vanity on his way to the door. He doesn’t see his reflection staring at him with green-green eyes. He doesn’t see those eyes following him.) 

He runs into Bruce in the hallway. He should have guessed it so. Danny freezes in his tracks, fear shooting up into his throat as Bruce turns towards him, already a smile pulling on the older man’s face. 

It drops immediately when he sees him. It twists down, and his face burrows into concern. “What’s wrong?” He asks, and Bruce is kneeling before him before Danny can blink. He looks worried. Danny must look awful then.

(He does. He looks pale as a ghost, and his face is splotchy red and shiny with tears.) 

Danny blinks at him numbly, trying to get his thoughts in order. Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders, Danny throws his hands over them, squeezing the knuckles and blinking widely. “I had-” he licks his lips, “a- uh, nightmare. And then I threw up.”

Fuck, he feels like a toddler. His eyes burn with embarrassed tears. He’s fucking thirteen. He’s not a baby. But he feels like a little kid going to their parent’s room. Bruce isn’t even his dad. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

But Bruce doesn’t make fun of him, or scold him, and Danny didn’t really expect him to, but the concern that melts over his face as his eyes soften makes him feel all warm and fuzzy anyways. “Okay,” Bruce says, expression softened but no less worried, and stands up. “Okay, we can go find Alfred then.” 

Danny’s lips press together, uneven and wobbling. “Please don’t.” He says before he can stop himself, and his voice cracks. He feels like such a baby. “I can clean it myself. We don’t have to wake him up.” 

“Do you even know where the cleaning supplies are, chum?” Bruce asks, and in the dark hallway he can see him raise an eyebrow. Danny’s lips press tighter together. He doesn’t. But he can find it. 

They wake up Alfred. Dany feels like shit the entire time. 

“I’m sorry.” He croaks as he follows Alfred and Bruce down the hallway with a mop and a bucket. He’s so embarrassed. He’s going to cry again, and he hates it. “I can do it, Mister Pennyworth. Please.” 

“You sound,” Mister Pennyworth starts, his voice soft, “just like young Master Jason when he started living here.” He turns to throw Danny an endeared smile, and Danny thinks it’s supposed to make him feel better. It does, a little bit, and it also makes him feel worse. 

“I am Jason.” He says, and tears spill down his face again. He is Jason. That’s his name. It’s not Danny, it never has been. The time he’s been here has slowly been pointing that out to him. He may be Fenton, but he’s not Danny. 

Alfred gets it all cleaned up, and Bruce sticks with him after he leaves. Danny’s grateful and resentful of it — hasn’t he embarrassed himself enough tonight? 

Bruce leads him to the library, a funny parallel to the first time. “We can ask Mister Wayne —” Bruce’s face scrunches up slightly, and Danny laughs under his breath. At least he’s not the only one still weirded out by it. “— about getting you a new room tomorrow.” 

Danny sniffs dryly, “How’d you know?” He didn’t think it was obvious that he didn’t want to go to sleep in his room. Bruce smiles knowingly at him, sadly, and they both sit down in the lounge chair next to the fireplace. It sits across from Danny’s armchair.

“I know a thing or two about nightmares.” He says softly.

Oh. 

Yeah.

That’s right. His parents. 

He probably had nightmares about that. 

Danny looks away from him, his eyes drop to his hands. His bare, non-bloody hands. He leans into Bruce’s side. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about dying. Or what he thought was dying.  

“And you don’t have to.” Bruce says, slinging one arm around him and slumping against the curve of the chair. Danny reluctantly follows his falling, and finds himself trapped between the back of the chair and Bruce’s side. His ear is pressed to Bruce’s heartbeat. “We can just sit here, and talk about something else.” 

Danny blinks at the empty fireplace. “Okay. Tell me about films again.”��

Bruce’s fingers dig gently into his hair, and scratch slowly against his scalp. “Okay, Danny.” 

Danny frowns. “And don’t call me Danny. It’s Jason.” 

He doesn’t look up to see Bruce’s smile, but he can hear it as the man thumbs over the shell of his ear. “Okay, Jason.” 

(Danny falls asleep halfway through Bruce’s telling of the history of the Grey Ghost. Bruce knows by the way his breathing slows into a steady rhythm and his eyes don’t open.) 

(He smiles for mite a moment, before it drops and his eyes turn to the bookshelf in the corner. Standing there is a small black figure, with two burning green eyes.) 

(They stare at each other for a long, long minute, Bruce’s heart rising slowly. The figure tilts its head, and disappears. Bruce doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.) 

—-------

Danny stares down Bruce. Bruce stares him down back. It’s morning. It’s breakfast. Everyone is at the table eating, and he and Bruce are having a silent staring contest. Danny has to ask Mister Wayne about moving to a new room, he thought he would be able to do so after breakfast. 

(Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to ask at all - why bother Mister Wayne about something he can get over?) 

(Bruce, apparently, wasn’t having it. With that stupid knowing look on his face.) 

But Bruce wants it to be now. Danny narrows his eyes at him, and Bruce raises an eyebrow back. Dick Grayson, his world, was going to notice soon. He was sitting next to Bruce this morning. That traitor. 

If you don’t do it, I will. Bruce’s face says. Bastard. Danny was going to take away his Jason rights.

Danny’s the first to relent, pressing his lips together into an annoyed, thin line, before he lets out a silent sigh and turns to Mister Wayne. “Mister Wayne?” He says, cringing slightly when Mister Wayne looks up at him - as with most of the room. 

“Yes, Danny?” 

He spares one last look at Bruce, who nods curtly at him, and Danny throws him one last annoyed look before turning back to Mister Wayne. “Would it, uh, be fine if I changed rooms?” He asks. 

Mister Wayne tilts his head, slightly, to the side with a look of interest. “You can, but what brought this up? Is everything okay?”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Danny was expecting that question. He glares at Bruce from the corner of his eye. And then smiles shakily at Mister Wayne. “Um, uh, yeah. Everything’s fine— it’s just, it’s stupid. Some, some stupid nightmares keeping me up.” 

Mister Wayne’s brows furrow, and Dick looks concerned from Danny’s peripherals. “It’s not stupid, you can change your room. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares.”

He doesn’t even ask what they’re about. Bruce didn’t either — he thinks he would’ve, maybe — but fuck, jeez. Danny laughs uncomfortably, scratching his jaw. “Yeah- um, thanks. It sucks.” He just barely stops himself from blurting out that he was dreaming that he was dying.

That was not a can he wanted to open. They would have questions, he knows they would, and he doesn’t want to think about it. The image of his bloody, torn hands are already seared into his mind. 

Everyone goes back to eating.

(Dick keeps looking up at him with a shadow of a frown on his face, like he’s keeping an eye on him. Quick enough that Danny doesn’t notice it. Bruce does, and watches his son from the corner of his eye.)

(Danny doesn’t see it, but his reflection turns its head. And peers around the back of its chair. Its eye burns green and it stares at Dick. The next time Dick looks up, it catches his eye.)

(He doesn’t straighten up, he forces himself not to react. He just keeps staring at it, his breath locked in his lungs, his limbs filling with a low, buzzing static. He doesn’t know what it is. It’s terrifying him.)

(The reflection doesn’t react to him, but its eyes seem to… glitch. And an eye appears next to it, and another one appears in a line. The pupils slowly turn to look… at Danny.)

(The window begins to crack.)

“JaSON!” Dick suddenly yells, standing up so abruptly that his chair falls back and slams against the ground with an echoing bang. Danny jerks back in surprise, and stares at Dick, who looks at him with equally wide eyes. 

Dick looks like he’s seen a ghost, his face pale as a sheet. He looks ill. He’s panting, there’s a sheen going over his forehead, like he’s just run a mile. But he’s gripping the table like he may just vault over it.

And everyone is looking at them both once again. Bruce looks incredibly concerned. 

“I— what?” Danny says, pushing his back into the chair as far as he could go. 

Dick blinks, and heaves a breath. Like whatever trance he was in was just… snapped out of. His brows furrow, and he moves, suddenly, peering over Danny like he’s trying to look around him. Left, right, and over, and then back again. 

“You—” he pauses, breathing in, “you looked like you were about to disappear.” 

Danny stares at him in disbelief. And he looks behind him, laughing nervously. There’s nothing there but his own reflection in the smooth glass window. “What- what kind of fucking—” he turns back around to look at Dick. “Why would you say that?” 

“There was something in the window.” Dick says immediately, and Danny is immediately rising to his feet and rushing around the table. Nope - nope, nope, fuck that. He’s by him and Bruce in an instant, as the other Waynes stand up and turn to the window as well.

Dick’s arms are around him the moment he’s within reach, tugging him into his side as one hand presses down against his chest, keeping him close. Dick hasn’t taken his eyes off the window, brows furrowed and serious. 

Everyone looks so serious. It’s freaking him out a little bit. 

“What was your nightmare about, Jay?” Dick asks when he finally tears his eyes away from the window and looks down at him. He’s got a protective hold on him, something so similar to Jazz whenever their parents set something on fire upstairs. 

Danny swallows dryly — does he have to say it? Saying it might bring him back to it, and he doesn’t want to go back to it. Twice was enough for him. “I was dying.” He admits anyways, and regrets it immediately when half a dozen heads all snap to look at him. 

In a panic, his mouth runs. “I was- I don’t remember anything- I just, it was dark and I was in pain and-” He presses his lips together, “I— I was in so much pain. There was this laughter—” Laughter. Familiar laughter now that he thinks about it. From the news. Danny’s lips curl downwards, and he whispers to himself, “Joker?”

“Joker?” Dick repeats, his voice hard. When Danny looks up, his face is unrecognizably stern. “You had a dream that the Joker was killing you?” 

“I— no— yes?” Frustration bleeds into his chest, fear pooling up his throat as the nightmare pulls on the edge of his memory. “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t see anything, all I heard was ticking and that stupid laughter. And I was bleeding, and I was wearing this yellow fucking cape, and- and I was dying.” 

He pulls himself away from Dick, his breathing picking up. “I just- I was— there was this ticking sound and I woke up before it stopped, and I- I don’t know why I knew it was about to stop — but I know that when the ticking stops something bad was going to happen— and it was just a nightmare.” 

Danny grits his teeth, and looks back up at Dick, forcing himself to calm down before he works himself into a panic. “It was just a fucking nightmare, Dick.” He says forcibly, and then he marches out of the room to the library. 

His appetite’s been ruined. 

—---------

Danny’s — Jason’s — asleep next to him. Bruce would think it was sweet if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s been having nightmares about dying of all things. Nightmares that weren’t, he suspects, completely unfounded. 

His other self looked ill in the face as Jason marched out of the room that morning after Dick’s outburst. Outburst. That’s all he can think to call it even if it sounds juvenile. Like it was unfounded as Jason’s nightmare. 

His other self has been hiding something from him. Something about Jason Todd of this world, who he hasn’t seen at all since they arrived, but Danny — Jason — has. He would’ve thought the other Todd was a ghost if his other world’s… children… hadn’t confirmed seeing and knowing him recently. 

(That was something he still hasn’t fully comprehended. Children, plural? He adopts more after Dick? He has a biological son?) 

He’d be interrogating his other self on this if Jason wasn’t asleep next to him. It would be remarkably easy, as they were all sitting in the living room for the afternoon. All his other children were vigilantes, he wouldn’t need to keep pretenses.

But Jason is asleep next to him, and he doesn’t know. So he resolves to staring holes into his other self’s head, who was going through documents. A case, he bets. His other self doesn’t pay him any mind, but Bruce knows he knows that he’s staring at him. 

(“What have you been keeping from me?” He growls the moment Jason is out of the dining room, rising to his feet. The look on his other self meant that he knew something about those nightmares that Bruce didn’t. 

His other self looks at him, “Nothing that concerns your world.” He says, all of the kids looked tense as well, but now they were staring between the both of them like a fight would break out. 

“Bullshit.” Dick snaps before Bruce can speak, he walks around him and points an accusing finger at his other self. “You looked like you saw a ghost when Jaybird said he was dreaming of the Joker killing him. You know something.”

He did not tell them anything.) 

Whatever it was that his other self was hiding, Bruce would find out before they went back to their world. This concerned him, and it concerned Jason’s safety. If he wasn’t safe and his other self knew something about it, Bruce would be furious. 

Jason’s ragged gasp cut through the air like a knife, and Bruce’s gaze snapped down to his face as the boy’s eyes flew open and he jerked sharply. Jason’s hands were latched onto his shirt before Bruce could react, his nails dragging into his skin like he was trying to claw himself up.

It was another nightmare. Jason was clawing at him, trying to sit himself up while jagged, awful sounding gasps filled the air. He wasn’t looking at Bruce, he wasn’t looking at anything, his eyes glazed over like he was still trapped in the nightmare. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around the small boy and pulled them both down onto the ground, ignoring his other children standing up and looking at them until he had Jay in a cradle. 

The boy was still gasping for air, hyperventilating. His hands drop from Bruce’s shirt and scratch at his throat, his arms forming an ‘x’ while he tilts his head back and desperately tries to draw in oxygen. Bruce tilts his head back up with his hand, and leans him against his shoulder. 

“Breathe.” He murmurs, pushing damp black curls out of Jay’s face. It was a poor command - Jason’s eyes were squeezed shut and his face scrunched in pain, Bruce doesn’t think he can even hear him. “You’re safe.” 

“Bruce.” Dick hisses into his ear, and Bruce doesn’t look at him. He grunts to let his son know he heard him. “The mirror.” 

Bruce’s eyes fly up.

There was a floor length mirror sitting in front of the couch. A mirror that Bruce was conveniently, coincidentally, sitting in front of. A mirror that should have been working as all mirrors do. 

A mirror that, instead of showing Bruce his reflection back as he was, showed him in his Batman suit. Jason was in his arms, but in a torn, bloody uniform. A uniform that looked like a Robin suit. Jason - his Jason - wasn’t a Robin. But here he was, dressed as one, his black-yellow cape pooling beneath him and covered in blood. 

The Jason in the mirror, the Robin, wasn’t breathing. His head lolled over Bruce’s arm lifelessly. 

Bruce’s heart skids to a stop, and he looks back down. Jason was still breathing, his hyperventilating was beginning to slow, but he was breathing. The pained crease of his face was softening, even as his brows were still furrowed. 

When Bruce looks back up at the mirror, the reflection has changed. It wasn’t back to normal, Jason was just in a different suit. He was wearing a white hazmat suit now, and he was burned, horribly. The suit was melted to his skin in patches around his body in black, charred splotches, what wasn’t burned was torn, and the skin he could see was cauterized. The only part of him that was bleeding was his head, and it soaked his black hair red. What of his face he could see, there were bright green lightning figures going up his neck, burning the skin around where it glows. 

The mirror cracks down the middle, severing Jason from Bruce. 

He forces himself to look down, terrified to see the reflection a reality right in front of him. But Jason was alive, uninjured, and breathing quietly. Bruce presses two fingers to his throat, and feels a steady pulsepoint thumping against the pads of his fingers.

Jason’s eyes open and blue stares up at him.  

When Bruce looks up at the mirror, the reflection is back to normal.  

[paul-situations-matthews]

Listen I need I need I need Artemis and Paul Schue-Horyn from Wayward Guide to investigate Hatchetfield like can you IMAGINE

[insanityisdivine]

They Make Everything Okay

My favourite guitarists at the Frehley’s Comet after-show party at Beacon Theatre NY, September 12 1987

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Epilogue

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 719

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

“And here I am thinking ‘Oh god I’m going to be kidnapped by an angry-looking puppy dog-” The people around you laugh as you tell this story for probably the twentieth time. However, one very unamused-looking puppy dog who is sitting in the corner does not laugh.

“Meanwhile I’m just trying to figure out why my potential kidnapper is buying so many plums”

Bucky groans as the rest of the group begins teasing him and he tries to defend himself to no avail. There’s no escaping the roasting of both Sam and Wanda.

You look over into the kitchen during all the commotion and see Nat staring at you with a lazy smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. You beam in her direction and send her a wink before diving back into your story of how you two officially met. 

All of the other Avengers had been curious about your presence but they’d grown used to you the more you came around, and you and Wanda had hit it off just like Nat thought you would.

It was a rocky start after you two had gotten together, Nat was still dealing with government stuff and the Avengers were divided but your support always comforted Nat, and now she had a shoulder to rest on on the days that got rough.

The rest of the Avengers seemed to enjoy your presence as well, and eventually, you’d convinced them all to do a game night together. 

Tensions were high when they’d all first sat down but by the end of the night, everyone was laughing and teasing like before.

You had the biggest smile on your face that night and that was when Nat realized just how gone for you she was. She wasn’t big on the idea of marriage but she bought you two promise rings the next day. 

You brought her peace and happiness and helped bring her family back together. She didn’t know if it was God or Fate but whoever it was she was thankful that you’d texted her that random morning. 

She walked over to you and wrapped her arms around your waist, feeling you lean back into her.

When you’d finished telling your story and everyone was talking amongst themselves you turned your head to the side to catch her lips in a kiss.

“Hi Nat” You breathe out with a soft smile as soon as you pull away.

Nat smiled into your shoulder, kissing your scar lightly before speaking lowly into your ear.

“I was going through my phone listening to some of your old messages and guess what I found?” Curious and a little worried you tilt your head and make a noise of question, all while being distracted by the taste of wine that now lingered on your tongue.

Much to your horror, the sound of your voice begins playing lowly on her phone speaker

‘Anyway, sorry I know that was a lot- all that to say I miss you and I love y-’ You reach to shut off the voicemail as you hiss at her to turn it off, embarrassment burning your cheeks

“I thought I deleted that?!” You were so sure you’d pressed the delete button all those months ago and now you were determined to delete it for certain this time. 

All your attempts to reach Nat’s phone to delete the message are useless of course and you forget your mission halfway through when Nat laughs at your failure to do so. Your mission changes then, and instead of reaching for your phone, you take Nat’s moment of distraction to peck a kiss on her cheek, quickly looking away to try and pretend you didn’t do anything but unable to hide the blush on your face.

Her laugh stops and when you turn to look back at her the playfulness in her eyes has been replaced with a hazy dark green. 

You don’t even try to protest as Nat pulls you away from the group and off towards the direction of your shared bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: ahhh it’s finally done! I really hope you guys like this ending as much as I do. I feel like a simple domestic end is perfect for Nat and Y/n after such a rollercoaster of a relationship. Feel free to ask me any questions in the comments. I love answering them!! ~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy @gay4hotmilfs @tofu9162 @dyslexic-dreamer @graniairish @colettehope @kosmichs1 @nmhlver @natblidaclexa @skittlebum @dorabledewdroop @nothanksbye07 @mrsrushman @midastouch013 @thalia-is-not-ok @tessalah @annab3113 @officialnighttime @taliiiaasteria @bgwlsmahf25 @chibilauren @natashasgirlll @nmhlver @strange-night-owl @obsessedwjill @autorasexy @madamevirgo @kissesfornat @gemz5

[lonelycowgirls]

Harry and Stella at LOT Wembley

Liked by annetwist, dolly_mallonex and others

stellamallone ready to melt for 2/4 nights in Wembley, still can't quite believe I'm saying that 🫠

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gemmastyles can't wait to see you! Stay hydrated 🥰

dolly_mallonex on fire baby G!

annetwist our boy is home ❤️

↳stellamallone Manny will always be home ❤️

harrystyles not a lot of melting to be done in all those layers 🙃

↳stellamallone you love it

13 June 2023

Liked by gemmastyles, MummaMallone and others

dolly_mallonex the girlies are OUT for Love on Tour

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stellamallone I can't believe we're dressed like this for a gig in ENGLAND 🥵

↳dolly_mollonex only because @mayajama said it's time for the summer of lurrrve

↳mayajama killing it chicassss 🤌

↳stellerrrr let me innnnnnn

harryshoes the friends and family box is about to be FULL full tonight 🥹

sideboobrry @dolly_mallonex show us Stella and Harry!!!

carlybaby11 Stella's getting railed tonight

↳frankiejane that's her baby sister y'all 😭😭

↳harrytheone you guys are too much 😅

14 June 2023

Liked by court_xo, tbslamber and others

harryflorals ANNE ACCEPTING FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS FROM FANS DURING WEMBLEY NIGHT TWO via adoreyoualice

View all 1,437 comments

cruel_summerrr she is the cutest!

raven3333 I love how she interacts with fans

sweetchels13 she's so like Harry fr

↳ginacorrin like mother like son 🥹

harrysgirl I love herrr, saw Stella and her sister with Anne and Gemma too

↳ari_love We saw her too! She's so small!

↳rinaaaaa Yeah she's super small and cute 😍

↳kristbsl she must be so proud of her boyf

↳larry4life if only it was real 🙄

14 June 2023

Liked by lilyrose05, stellamallone and others

harry_update Harry looking like a sculpture on stage at Wembley Stadium! June 17 via nikkimariejpg

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adore.starry Stella liking this is so me coded

sweetcreature22 STELLA LIKED

tori_wilks how does he look like thisssss

uma.clarke2 Have you seen the state of his body

freddiejones I can't keep going like this 😩😩😩

lilyrose05 he's fucking shredded 😩

becca_jane Stella's getting this every day... let that sink in

↳tbslamber STOP HSDOSJCNKS

↳mylarry you spelled Louis wrong

↳becca_jane @mylarry be serious 🤣

17 June 2023

Liked by stellamallone, starrylove and others

dolly_mallonex wishing my bb an amazing trip to Italy with her bb @stellamallone

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harrystyles thank you for dropping us off Dolls ❤️

↳dolly_mallonex no bother, I'm always up at half four in the morning... 😉

↳stellamallone Harry singing Holiday by Madonna at the top of his lungs didn't help 🙄

↳harrystyles heyyyy

↳starrylove PUBLIC INTERACTION???

↳tbslamber do you believe in miracles???!!!

annetwist have a fabulous time you two ❤️

19 July 2023

Liked by foreverharry, italrry20 and others

harryflorals HARRY ARRIVING IN ITALY THIS MORNING via italrry23

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sideboobrry this fit

harryshouse_x welcome to the final show 😭

tina.snow.33 how do we never get pap pics of Stella anymore 🤔

↳hannasmith probably because ya'll scarred her back in 2014 🙄🙄

↳kirstyloml I'm glad tbh my heart can't handle

elenavatore Harry waved at us through the window of his car today! I think they're heading to his villa ❤️

19 July 2023

Liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and others

stellamallone thirteen years <3 one guess who Delilah's favourite parent is...

So proud of this smiley man. Love on Tour has been the perfect celebration of your talent, music, kindness and love. Four sold out nights at Wembley fucking Stadium. I'll never get over what you can accomplish. What an achievement.

The love your fans have and show for you inspires me to strive to be the most adoring and supportive partner that you deserve... most of the time 😉

We're now where we're meant to be. Together, eating all the pasta and gelato we can possibly stomach, sipping on Aperol Spritz's in the sunshine - our true natural habitat.

That reminds me, next round's on you, Gorgeous.

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annetwist The greatest of blessings ❤️

dolly_mallonex We're all so proud of our H!

zayn 🤍

MummaMallone Can't wait for our big family holiday soon. ❤️

↳stellamallone Can't believe it's finally happening!!! 😍

niallhoran Love to you both

harrystyles you make it all worth it, Stell x

harrystyles and Lilah knows where the good cuddles come from

24 July 2023

Liked by izzypope, stellaflorals and others

harryflorals HARRY POSTED AND DELETED A PICTURE OF STELLA IN ITALY ON HIS STORY! via harrystyles

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starryforever Crying real tears 💔

toriiii_x he's in his feels

harryholics guys what if he proposes on this vacation

↳tbslamber omg we could see fiancerry by HS4

↳oliviamac don't 🫠

↳kiwidaddy FINALLY

georgieanne This dress she served 😍

jamiestyles_xo He's in photographer boyfriend mode 💘

carly_d what a beautiful sunset ✨

willowshouse Luckiest bitch in the world confirmed

24 July 2023

Hope you enjoyed this piece of absolute self-indulgence because I want this to be my life 😂

Okay, bye!

Nel xo

[starryeyedadmirer]

Ross Lynch: After the Show

-Ross x Reader-

!!CW!! — Belly Worship (Playing, Rubbing, Kissing, Licking), Navel Worship (Fingering, Kissing, Kissing, etc.), Smells/Odors

Synopsis: The Driver Era has just concluded another show… and, after doing his thing onstage, Ross is a complete wreck. As his assistant, it’s your job to get him dressed and ready for the band’s upcoming fan meet and greet… but, while you’re fixing him up, the two of you get a little carried away with one another.

Words: 4.83k

A/N: This writing is SUPER fan-fictiony… like, reads like the stuff that they make fun of on TikTok fan-fictiony… but I figured that I’d go ahead and tweak it a bit, and post it anyway. It’s not my best work… but it’s one of my first serious writings, and I do still enjoy reading it (for what it is)… and hopefully you do too.

Wattpad Link — “Celebrity Worship Fics” Series

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The Driver Era's show in Houston, Texas, has just wrapped up — and, as per usual, it was spectacular! The band, the crowd, the music, the vibe... everything was just perfect... but, as always, Ross was a total standout — rocking out like a beast, in the middle of it all. It's such an unparalleled experience, watching on as he loses himself on stage. The way he performs... it's like he becomes a different person — at one with the music, and deeply connected with everyone in the crowd — and tonight's show was no exception. Like always, he got super worked up, an slipped out of his shirt halfway through the set... then, toward the end of the night, he rid himself of his shoes and socks — tossing them into the crowd. By the end of the act, he was half naked onstage — dancing around, in only his pants and underwear... and sweating his perfectly round ass off, in front of hundreds of people.

Now that the show is through, the only thing left for him to do is get dressed, and head off to a private room, for a short meet-and-greet backstage. It shouldn't take him that long to get himself situated... but after the incredible performance that you've witnessed this evening, his fans may have to wait just a little longer for their chance to speak with him.

                            ———

"That was incredible!" You call out to the band, from your chair — a tattered, metal barstool, sat just offstage. "You guys killed it! Yeah! That was amazing!" You could almost pop a lung as you join in with the crowd's wild chanting of the word 'encore.' After screaming like a crazed fan all night, echoing every word that the symphony of voices says, you just can't contain your excitement. It's only natural that you let it out. "Encore! Encore! Encore! Woo!"

Waving their goodbyes to the audience, and blowing a few frenzied kisses out into the packed venue, the guys come puttering down off the stage — walking shoulder-to-shoulder, with their guitars dangling at their hips, and their bodies heavy.

"That was fucking awesome, Dude!" Ross shouts into Rocky's ear as the two of them approach you — competing with the roaring horde to be heard. "The crowd was great tonight! I think this may have been our best show all tour!" With his muscle-bound arms held above his head; his bare chest dripping with white sweat; and his hairy pits, and thick treasure trail out on full, wet display, Ross looks absolutely unreal to you... like some sort of bad-boy angel, stepping down from heaven's stairway.

You've had the entire span of the front end of the boys' national tour to get used to the sight of Ross's body... to shake the nerves, and tame your mind, whenever you see it... but after being with him for so many weeks — working as his assistant — you're still an anxious wreck. Every time you catch even the slightest glimpse of his exposed flesh — whether it be his toned, hairy underbelly, his bulging biceps... or even something as inconsiderable as his ankles — you're overcome with that same old fluttery, sick feeling... the one that makes your tummy turn, causes you to lose control of your body, and clouds your mind with nonsensical thoughts. You become a zombie — a dumb, clumsy mess.

You've embarrassed yourself in front of him more times than you can count — ran face-first into closed doors... tripped and fallen, over your own two feet... dropped everything in your hands — though he's never taken too much notice of your awkwardness. No matter how hard you try to shake them, the nerves just won't go away. Ross's allure is too strong to resist, you simply cannot fight it.

"Yeah... sure, bro." Rocky replies, pulling Ross's guitar off from his side — visibly exhausted. "Hey... I'm gonna take this from you and skip ahead, alright. Maybe meet with the fans a bit earlier than we planned. That cool? I know we've got, like, half an hour before the thing starts... but I'm super tired... and I think it'd be cool for some folks to get a chance to hold our guitars. Plus, I figure it'll give you time to change into some new clothes. No offense, but you look fucked up right now."

You feel yourself getting anxious with every step the boys take... too uncoordinated to get up from your seat without falling over, but far too excited to stay sat. It's like you could burst at any moment... scream at the top of your lungs, and spill your guts all over the place. The sweaty, disheveled rockstar is already messing with your head... and he hasn't even looked your way yet.

"Sure. No pro—"

"Yeah! That's no problem at all, Rocky." You butt in, awkwardly rising up from your seat — your knees wobbling like those of a newborn horse. "That's totally fine. You go ahead, and start early. I'll take Ross back to the room, to go change. I should have him back to you in about... ten minutes. Shouldn't be too long. Is that Cool?" You have no idea what you've just said... why you even opened your mouth. Once again, you've made a fool of yourself... and this time, Ross has taken notice.

Staring at you with a twisted brow, Rocky nods his head, and places his brother into your custody — pushing him onto you. "Yeah... whatever. I'll see you two in a couple minutes... I guess. Don't take too long."

"Alrighty then, Ross. C'mon... let's get you changed." Careful not to be too handsy with him — in such a jittery state — you take a loose hold of his left wrist, and toss his arm across your shoulders... smearing his thick sweat all over the back of your neck. "Uggh." You mutter to yourself, getting your balance as you watch Rocky walk down to the greeting room. "You're soaking wet. This all sweat? Or did you pour water on yourself again, when I wasn't looking?" His putrid body odor swiftly rushes into your nostrils — a sour musk... like cheese and onions, or an old bag of sour-cream-flavored chips. It's an odd smell to process... a disorienting stench , that takes you aback. "Woah... and you stink too."

Your nerves slowly begin to settle — halting their restless dance, at the mere inspiration of Ross's B.O. — allowing you to calm your mind, and regain control of your movement. It isn't at all what you had imagined his scent to be, when he and Rocky were coming down from the stage... not the same fragrance that he had before the show. He smelled strongly of fruit-producing flowers, and expensive cologne at the top of the band's set... soaked with the cologne that you'd been asked to spray onto his clothes, prior to him going out onstage. You breathed him in at least a thousand times before he took his place behind the microphone — burned his flowery, pre-show scent into your mind — and, although his post-performance musk isn't as pleasant, you waste no time to file it in your brain as well... deeply inhaling his air, until it no longer stinks.

It doesn't take much time for you to come to enjoy the odor... to love it the way that you've come to love every other unsavory smell that his body produces. His musky armpits, after a full day's work... his horrible breath, before you've brushed his teeth in the mornings... his silent farts, that he thinks go unnoticed — you've endured them all... and, with time, eventually grew to enjoy them. This odor of his — though it's new to your nostrils — is no different from the rest... it's heaven. Taking deep breath after deep breath, you walk him back to the prep room — reveling in the atmosphere of his new aroma.

"The greenroom is just up the hall." Ross guides you — staggering at your side, as you uphold the brunt of his bodyweight — beginning to come down from his emotional high. "Just go down these stairs... then it's the third door on our left. First two are janitor's closets. Learned that the hard way." In his half-dreamy daze, he seems to have forgotten that you'd been hanging out in the greenroom with him before the show — standing idly by, while he prepared himself for the performance. He must not remember you being in the room at all. The loud sound of your nervous gulping; your shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floor; and the curiosity of your wandering eyes, examining every inch of him... it's all vanished from his recollection. Good.

"Um... thanks for the pointer." You reply, going along with his direction. "God knows I would've been lost without it. I've got no mental map of this place. It's like a... like a huge maze."

———

The two of you squeeze through the narrow doorway together — leaning hard against one another, until you're nearly glued at your sides, by his sweat — and situate yourselves just behind the threshold. "Alright." Ross groans. "I'm not gonna lie to you, my arms are fuckin' dead right now... and my legs are killing me. There are some clothes over there, on that wall in the back... okay. I'm gonna need you to help me put on a decent shirt." He nods his head in the direction of the old rack of clothes — slanted up against the wall, and full of stuff that you could've sworn you've seen him wear already.

"Okay... sure." Hesitant to let him go, you make your way over to the shabby bar of metal. "Hey, um... I know you don't need to hear it from me... but, you guys were really great up there tonight, Ross... especially you. I know I say it a million times every show, and I should shut up... but I totally agree with what you said to Rocky... about tonight being your best performance by far. You weren't wrong."

"I know, right?" He giggles, like a shy child. "Everything was perfect tonight. Things couldn't have gone any better."

"Yeah, well... somehow, you always manage to top your latest show. Who knows how good tomorrow night's gonna be, huh?"

"Out of this world, I hope... if tonight's anything to go by. Ya know, I never knew you were such a fangirl... that's kinda funny."

"Yeah... I guess I am." Your hands start to shake as you browse through the limited selection of shirts. For the first time since you started working for him, you feel seen, and present... like you're not just taking up space in the room anymore. "Can you really blame me though? You guys are great!"

"Thanks."

"Now... um... my only suggestion for you, Ross... and I'm serious about this... is that you could start making an effort to keep your clothes on. Let me know if I'm out of line here, but you've had to change your outfit after almost every set. That's a little crazy, don't you think?"

"So what? It's just a couple of shirts... and maybe some shoes, here and there."

"I know. I'm just saying... as your assistant... you should really try and keep your clothes on next time. I feel like I spend more time watching you... change... than I do watching you perform. Maybe you could take them off when you're meeting with your fans! Strip out of your shirt... maybe show your feet in photos. I know they'd pay top dollar to see you shirtless... and barefoot. It's just a thought, though."

"Hmmm... I guess that's not a bad idea. I'll sleep on it tonight."

"Yeah... yeah, okay. What... uh... what do you wanna wear tonight though? Looks like there's a white, plain shirt over here. This pink one? Hawaiian flowers? Leopard print? Oh, and about your pants? You may need to throw some on, unless you're fine Donald-Ducking it out there."

He looks at each piece of clothing as you list them off, and takes a second to think. "Yeah... I'm gonna need a fresh pair of pants too. Between you and me... I'm kind of a swamp down there right now. My ass is like a fucking river... and my balls are swimming. I could use a pair of jeans... to cover it all up. I'm gonna need another set of socks and shoes too. Oh, and grab me that pink shirt... with those ripped denims, please. The distressed ones, on the other side of the rack."

"Sure." Careful not to shake the long rod from the wall, you pull the pink shirt and ripped jeans off of their hangers, and hold them up together. "Here you go." You call out — giving Ross a heads up as you pitch his outfit to him. "Your shirt, and pants. I'll grab these black socks from the floor... and these checkered slip-ons, over here. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Toss 'em my way."

"Cool. Here you go." You sloppily tuck a single sock under the tongue of each shoe, and chuck them in his direction. "Coming at ya!" Confident in his ability to catch the flying footwear, you continue looking through the selection of clothes — double-checking for any other pieces that he may want... though nothing looks too promising. Aside from his typical choices of shirts, pants, and shoes, there are a few cool jackets hanging on the rack — made of leather, and what you can only assume is some sort of chainmail. Curious, you grab one of them off the rack, and hold it up too. "Hey, Ross! Think this jacket would look good with that outfit? It's black... it could match!"

"N—No... I'm good." He replies, sounding as though he's struggling with something. "This stuff'll work just fine."

"You sure? You could... wear it around your waist... or, throw it over your shoulder, like fur. I used to do that back when I was a kid. I thought it looked cool."

"No. Mmmph... It's all good. I don't need anything else." Ross is too busy messing with his pants to realize that the checkered shoes have landed at his feet — having not made a sound upon coming back down to earth. He looks like he's having trouble with the button... fumbling it around with his fingertips, so that they appear to be getting the job done.

"Having trouble over there?" You ask him, sauntering his way, with a newfound confidence. "Do you need help? I can fasten it for you if you need." You don't give him a chance to answer before reaching out for his waist... your hands are just too curious for their own good. "Let me do it for you."

"No. I'm fine." He answers, moving away from you. "I got this. I don't need you to do anything."

The two of you tussle around for a short while, playing an unfriendly game of Tug of War, before he finally lets go. "Woah." You gasp as his pants drop to his ankles — just narrowly missing your fingertips. "You do smell like a swamp, Ross. That's... that's awful." The musky stench of his sweaty, unclean ass, and sticky balls wafts into your nostrils... radiating into the air, along with the heat from his body. He smells like an over-crowded sports locker room... or a dirty bathroom... an odor that takes you completely by surprise. "I can... um... give you some privacy if you wanna change into some underwear that aren't sweaty. They're right over he—"

Again, your body takes over... and, this time, it's leveraged control over your eyes. You can't stop yourself from peeking at his bulge... the impressive lump of mass at that protrudes from the front of his underpants. Though it doesn't smell the best, it looks rather shapely, and it takes up a decent amount of space in the room. Its bigger than you would've ever imagined it to be... and, as if it couldn't get any better, a thick, dark trail of curly hair peaks up over the waistband of his boxers — meandering up his stomach. "Sorry." You mumble under your breath. "I... uh... they're right over here."

Regaining your self control, you break eye contact with his meaty bulge and crouch down — grabbing hold of the fallen trousers. Before you can sneak another peek, you hike his pants up over his waist, button them as quickly as you can, and zip them up — trapping the raunchy odor within it's denim prison once more. "Okay... there." You mutter to yourself. "Wow... that was... really something. Um... let's put on your shirt now, Ross. Give it here."

Wasting no time, he hands the pale pink shirt over to you, and holds his arms up over his head — waiting for you to lower it onto his shoulders. His armpits smell almost as awful as his nether regions, but it doesn't bother you. His stench his been sitting in the air just long enough to establish itself... and, now that it's left its signature in the atmosphere, you're senses are growing used to it. You lift the shirt up over his head, breathing in the smell of him, and drop each sleeve over their respective limbs.

"Thanks." Ross says to you, dropping his arms to his sides — his voice low and throaty. "I got it from here, okay. I can button my shirt and put my shoes on by myself."

"Alright... good." You let out a sigh of relief... feeling like you can finally breathe again. You don't know what you'd do if you would've had to put his shoes on for him... what your eyes would've fixed themselves onto, or where your hands would've wondered. You can give him all of the space that he needs and escort him back to his brother's side once he's ready, all without jeopardizing your integrity. "That's great."

"Damn... I know I stink, but is it really that bad?" He laughs. "You're sighing like you couldn't wait to get the hell away from me. Does my ass smell that bad?"

"No... no. It's not that."

"That's not it? What is it then?" He looks at you as if he knows exactly what's in you're head... like he can see all of the intrusive thoughts that are running through your mind. You're losing your composure with every passing second... crumbling under the influence of your dirty imagination.

"I don't... I don't know." You answer him — your voice trembling. "I just think I need some space right now... to... to get myself together. I don't know what's going on, but I really do think it's best you dress yourself." Your hands shaking, you make your way to the door and try to twist the knob to leave, but it won't budge. "Shit! Really? It's locked." Your skin is on fire as you continue to tug at the static doorknob. It feels like the room is burning down around you, and there's no way to run away from the flames.

"Dude, don't be so dramatic." Ross chuckles. "You're embarrassing yourself right now. You're not so good at pretending, you know. If you wanna touch me, just say so. And don't even try to deny it... cuz you're not good at hiding it at all."

"What? No! I—"

"You think I didn't notice you gawking at my cock a minute ago? I know you, man... I let you brush my fuckin' teeth every morning. Can't fake it with me. You looked like your were gonna bite it off while you were down on your knees. I thought it was pretty hot, if I'm being honest."

"No, Ross. That's not— was it that obvious?" Your hands still wrapped around the metal grip, you can't help but to laugh along with him. You must look so foolish right now, trying to break out of the room, with your tail so obviously tucked between your legs. It's almost shameful. He's right... there's no point in trying to pretend. You do everything for him, whether he realizes it or not... and, of course, he'd eventually start to pick up on even the smallest of your mannerisms. It's only natural. You can only imagine how Ross is perceiving you right now... especially now that you know what he thought of you... that you were hot.

"Yeah... it was. You can do whatever you want to me, okay. I literally give you all of my consent. I'd kill to feel anything else but exhausted right now... and I haven't cum all day... so go ahead. Have your way."

"Oh... okay." You quickly swallow your laughter, as the fiery heat pours out of you like molten lava, and the flames cool down. It's almost too good to be true, him giving you permission to have your way with him... a free pass, that you've been dreaming about having since the night of the first show. "I guess... if it's alright with you."

He meets you by the door — walking toward you with a lazy sway. "Yeah. It is. Now... you gonna touch me, or what?"

Unsure of where to begin, you reluctantly rest your hand behind his left ear, and drag your fingertips along the side of his neck. Almost instantly, he melts away at your touch... a big lump of putty in your hands. It's even more clear now that he's just as desperate as you... desiring more than anything to feel something other than perpetual drowsiness. "C'mon." He groans — his eyes half-closed. "Is this all you got? We've got less than half an hour before I have to be back out there. If you're gonna do something to me, you might as well do it now."

"Oh, yeah. I completely forgot, for a second. Rocky's waiting." Following his lead, you do exactly as he wants, and fast-track right into the action. You tighten your grip on his throat and force your lips against the other side of his neck... breathing in his stench as your mouth scatters a chain of sloppy kisses down to his chest, and leaving red love bites all over his skin. His diaphragm expands and collapses against your lips, in quick succession — inflating with anticipation at the crest of every breath. Your tongue flicks out between your teeth like that of a snake — gently brushing against his pointed nipples, one by one — and then makes its way down to his slutty little waistline, that you've spent weeks eying. You have a clear idea of where it wants to go... all the way down to that musky swamp, to get a mouthful of those smelly waters... but, just like before, the thick trail of hair on his stomach catches your attention. Your eyes lock onto it for a second time — and then, without a further thought, you flatten your wet tastebuds against it, taking in all of its salty bliss. Ross's stomach convulses — rising and falling in little bursts as your tongue wanders into his belly button. "Ugh," he moans, taking in a huge gasp of air, "That... that feels so good."

"Does it?" You ask him, wanting to hear him say it again.

"Yeah it does. You're... talented with your mouth. It's like you're inside me right now... like, licking me from the inside." Ross smushes your face harder against his stomach and pounds his hands on the door. His breath is picking up again, quivering like you've just hit the g-spot on his stomach — the center of his navel. "Fuck!" He can't keep his body still anymore... even as he leans over you. His legs won't stop trembling, and his back is like a wet spaghetti noodle. "Oh my god!" He cries out — his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. "W—Why does that feel so fucking good? Yeah, yeah... get in there! Use your finger."

"Mmm... okay." Slowly, you pull your tongue out from his belly button, and replace it with the top of your index finger. It feels like a rubbery little stud against your fingertip, a hard spot on his tummy.

"Ya know, I think I'm in love with your outie." You tell him, entranced by how strange it feels to the touch. "It's just so... weird... and sexy. I wonder if it stinks like the rest of you do—"

Just before the final word can jump out from your lips, Ross shoves his body hard against your face — smashing you between his stomach and the door, and overwhelming your nostrils with the sour stink of his sweaty navel. Each and every part of his person seems to excrete its own unique odor, all with their own variation of a potent sweaty stench, with the additional notes of something more... something that no other area shares. His armpits had an onion smell to them, like a bag of sour cream chips, or something like that; his crotch smelled of swampy waters; and his neck smelled like perspiration and weak cologne. His belly button, though, smells different... like it's sweat has been festering there for ages, there's nothing else to it. It's the most foul stench that you've encountered all night... something bitter... and yet, you enjoy it's aroma the most.

"How's it smell," he asks you, flexing his belly outward, "It stinks, right? How does it smell?"

"I don't know." You answer, grasping for the right words. "I... I can't place it."

"That bad, huh? Uhhh, that's hot."

With a sleazy smile fixed onto his face, Ross grabs your head and takes full control over you, moving your nose in and out of his belly button... nose-fucking it. "Woah!" He yells. "Fuck! Uhhh, that feels amazing. Ughhh, that's great."

"Yeah? You like tha—"

Just as he gets into his rhythm, on the 1s and 3s of his own beat, a sharp knocking sound echoes throughout the room. "What the fuck is going on in there?" Rocky's muffled voice calls out, "You guys fucking or something? We got two minutes 'til this thing is 'sposed to start, Ross! Unlock the door! Let's go!"

"Uhhh, fuck." Ross mumbles, letting go of your head. "Alright! I'll be out in a minute, Rock! Just... give me a sec!"

You immediately rise up from your knees and help Ross button up his shirt. "Okay, okay, shoes." He mutters to himself as you fasten the last few buttons. "There they are! I can put my own shoes on. Look...go hide somewhere. Behind that couch, maybe. I don't want to look too suspicious if Rocky comes in here. Go! Go!"

"Wait, but I haven't finished!"

"I know."

As quietly as you can, you duck down behind the couch, and listen out as Ross unlocks the door for his brother. You can just barely see it open from underneath the couch... the only thing that your eyes can make out are the bare backs of Ross's feet, and the fronts of Rocky's black sneakers. "Who were you talking to in here," Rocky asks him, sounding as though he knows what's going on, "All that screaming "Go, go," and shit? The banging on the door, and yelling "Fuck!" What was all that?"

"Nobody, it was a bug. I... was shoo-ing it away."

"Oh... okay."

"I'm gonna throw on some socks and be out in a second, alright."

"Good. I can literally smell your feet right now... and I'm not even kneeling down..."

"Yeah... it's bad, isn't it?"

"Just... get yourself together, and c'mon. You can bring that bug along with you too. I'm not that gullible, dude... they're in here somewhere. We're gonna need them there to take photos."

"Okay. I'll... un-shoo them, then." Nearly slipping out from the backs of his shoes, Ross closes the door as softly as he can, and turns around. "Well... you heard him." He says to you — just speaking into the open space. "You're coming with me."

"That's a good thing, right?" You get up from the floor, feeling somewhat embarrassed. That was a close one... you both know it... but you have no clue what you would've done if Rocky saw you. "You're cool with that?"

"Sure. You can snap a few photos... get people moving... and then, we can come back and finish up. I still wanna bust that nut... and, uh... apparently, my feet could use a good tongue-cleaning too."

"Okay..."

"Like I was saying, I'm just gonna put on some socks, and then we can go. Won't be too much longer."

You stand idly by as he slips on the socks that you'd tossed him earlier — forcing his beautiful, stinky feet into both pockets of fabric — and then, you escort him out of the room. You feel so dirty, like you've crossed the line with him somehow... and yet, you're so fulfilled. Your job isn't over until Ross sprays his load... and, by the looks of it, you'll be working for the rest of the night.

_________________________________

Thanks for reading❤️❤️❤️!!!

[starry-stan-blog]

am writing chapter 6 of my scum villain fanfic and there is 3K of sqq unwittingly unleashing his wife beam on lbh

as soon as binghe gets back from the abyss it's over for sqq's ass

[pollyannawog]

The Boy with Starry Eyes - Chapter 4

Original AU by @shima-draws