#BUT I ADORE THIS BOY. WHICH MEANS I WANT TO KNOW ALL OF THE THINGS. AND NOW I HAVE THIS KNOWLEDGE

[prettylilyanime]

Our Blessing ♡ Chapter 05

♡ Pairing: Toji Zenin x reader

♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.

♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop, Hidden Baby Trope

♡ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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“Thank you for inviting me to Megumi’s party, Miss Y/N,” Yuuji says, beaming up at you with sparkling brown eyes, little wisps of pink hair poking out from under his too-big beanie. He clearly practiced the line, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, then glancing back at his father for reassurance.

You crouch down with a soft laugh, tugging the beanie gently over his ears with your gloved hands. “Of course, Yuuji. You’re one of his best friends!”

His smile is so sweet it makes your heart ache. Your maternal instincts nearly shed a tear on the spot.

Megumi groans beside you, puffing his cheeks out and frowning in that terribly adorable way of his. “Mom,” he huffs, tugging at the hem of your coat. “Let’s go. It’s snowing more now.”

You glance up at the pale sky, where snowflakes have started to drift faster against the city skyline. A light dusting already coats the stone steps of the school.

You stand, smoothing down your coat, and give Jin a polite smile. “Thanks again for bringing him next week. It’ll just be a little get-together at our place with a cake.”

Jin nods, though his brows are drawn slightly, like he’s debating whether or not to say something.

It’s jarring, standing face to face with Sukuna’s brother who for all intents and purposes, feels like a different species entirely.

Jin is slimmer, softer-spoken. His presence is gentle, almost careful. Where Ryomen’s sharp features and imposing frame demand attention the moment he walks into a room, Jin feels like the opposite, quiet and unassuming. They share the same pink hair and striking eyes, but the similarities end there.

“I hope it’s alright if my brother drops Yuuji off at the party,” Jin says with a trace of concern in his voice. “I’ll be traveling most of the break, and Yuuji’s staying with him.”

You pause, just for a second. Just long enough to feel your stomach twist.

Of course Jin knows who Megumi is. Who you are. He might not have been part of that infamous friend group, but he’s Ryomen’s brother. That alone makes him familiar enough with them. Toji included.

You’d never crossed paths with Jin back then, but after that playdate from hell with Ryomen a few months ago, you’re sure Jin got an earful from his psycho sibling. The thought of Ryomen stepping foot into your home makes your skin crawl. 

But if it means Yuuji gets to come to Megumi’s party… so be it.

God. The things you’d do for your child!

“It’s fine, Jin,” you say, forcing a smile that softens when you hear Yuuji let out an excited little squeal.

“Have a great start to your winter break,” you tell them warmly, giving a wave as Megumi tugs you toward the parking lot.

Your boots click against the marble as you walk. The cold air bites your cheeks. Snow falls in gentle spirals, dusting cars and blanketing the city in white. Megumi’s gloved hand is small in yours, but determined, and your heart swells at the thought of having him all to yourself for the next two weeks.

Or at least, it should swell. But something clenches tight in your chest. An invisible grip that’s been there for days now. Ever since Megumi asked you if his father would be at his party. Ever since you said yes.

It’s been a week of stalling. A week of busying yourself to avoid the inevitable. A selfish part of you wondered, hoped, that Megumi might forget the conversation altogether.

But you quickly shut that thought down. You’d do anything for your son. Anything to make him happy, Even if it means reaching out to Toji.

You’ve stared at that slip of paper Suguru gave you so many times this week, you’ve practically memorized the number. And still… you haven’t found the nerve to call.

You’re just settling into the car when Megumi delivers the final push.

“Mommy,” he says casually as you buckle your seatbelt, “I told Yuuji that my dad is coming.”

Your jaw subtly drops. You twist around to look at him. “Yeah? Are you excited to meet him?”

Megumi shrugs, his green eyes trained on the falling snow outside his window. “Yuuji says his uncle knows him.” Your fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Your pulse spikes.

Of course Ryomen said something in front of Yuuji. That’s the only way he would’ve known!

“He does, sweetheart,” you say carefully. “He’s a friend of your father’s.”

Megumi goes quiet for a moment before he finally asks the question that freezes you solid. “How come Yuuji knows my dad… and I don’t?” You glance at him in the rearview mirror.

And suddenly, everything makes sense. The questions. The subtle shift in behavior. He’s been talking to Yuuji. Hearing things from other kids. Piecing things together.

You’re silent as you drive, contemplating your answer. Luckily for Megumi, the drive home is short. Just ten quiet minutes through tree-lined streets and under the soft glow of passing streetlamps. You pass manicured hedges and rows of elegant, ivy-draped townhomes, their windows lit warmly like little golden frames.

Your building is smaller than most. Quaint. Tucked between a bakery and an old bookstore that always smells faintly of lavender. Still, it’s yours.

You pull into your designated spot, the gravel crunching softly beneath the tires, and cut the engine with a slow, tired sigh.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out… but instead of circling to the backseat, you slip in beside Megumi. He looks up at you, confused, but says nothing.

You just couldn’t have this conversation with your back to him.

“Megumi,” you say gently, brushing his hair back from his face. “I know you’ve been feeling a little curious about your daddy lately. I’m sorry I haven’t told you more.”

His big green eyes blink at you. So full of trust it nearly knocks the breath from your chest.

“Before you were born, your daddy and I loved each other very much. That’s how you came to be,” you explain softly, your fingers lightly smoothing his dark brows.

He nods, but a small pout forms on his lips. “…But now you don’t?” Your expression softens.

“I still love him very much,” you admit quietly. “And even though you two haven’t met yet, I promise he loves you more than anything. Sometimes adults make mistakes. Silly, hurtful choices. Your daddy and I made some of those mistakes. But it doesn’t change how much we love you.”

You flinch a little at your own words. At the truth buried in them. You do still love Toji, even when he didn’t love you back.

Megumi’s pout shifts into a scowl. “Did Daddy apologize to you?” You almost laugh. His little face is scrunched with outrage. You press a kiss to his forehead. “We both have some apologizing to do. But especially to you.”

“Mama, you don’t have to apologize,” he insists, clearly offended on your behalf. You raise a brow. “But I do. I’m sorry I haven’t brought your daddy around before. I promise I’ll fix that.”

Megumi shifts, resting his head on your shoulder, still grumbling. “Daddy’s a dummy… don’t say sorry to him.” You blink, surprised. “Where’d you hear that from?”

You don’t need to guess. Either Yuuji, or something he overheard from Ryomen.

You sigh, holding your little boy tighter, wishing he could understand just how much of a dummy you feel like. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Searched longer! Maybe if you’d told Toji sooner, when you found out, you could’ve spared Megumi this ache in his heart.

You end up carrying him up to your apartment, the warm air curling around you like a hug as you step inside.

Today’s the day.

You’ll call Toji.

But not yet. First, a hot shower to melt away the nerves curling beneath your skin, and then a warm cup of cocoa in your favorite chipped mug, the one Megumi always insists on holding with both hands like you do.

Because Megumi comes first, he always does.

And if you're going to shake the foundation of everything - your peace, Toji’s silence, the quiet little world you've managed to build - you’ll do it only after your son is fast asleep, safe and dreaming… unaware that somewhere, a past is beginning to stir again.

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Toji’s day had been nothing short of insufferable.

It started early, with a call just after dawn. Takeda, his driver, sounded unusually subdued. A family emergency. Serious enough to take him out for the foreseeable future. Toji listened quietly, fingers tapping against the kitchen counter as he sipped his first coffee of the morning.

“It’s alright, Takeda. Take all the time you need. Just forward the dates to my assistant,” he said, before ending the call.

He could be an understanding man when he wanted to be! 

And this wasn’t really a setback at all. He had options. A rotating list of backup drivers, assistants, staff who’d scramble with a single text. But today? He didn’t bother.

So he dressed in tailored charcoal slacks, shrugged into a thick wool coat, and slid into the driver’s seat of his Aston Martin Vantage. The sleek gunmetal one he’d had for years. Still purred like the day he bought it.

Outside, the sky was already bruising gray, and light snow dusted his windshield in soft, steady flakes. Tokyo traffic was its usual brand of apocalyptic. Roads closed without warning. Detours stretching across the city like a joke told at his expense.

A drive that should’ve taken twenty minutes stretched to fifty. Every red light, every sudden stop chipped away at his patience. By the time he pulled up to the gleaming Zenin Financial tower, nearly an hour late, no one said a word.

Toji hated being late. He expected precision from others, and even more from himself. The fact that the floor was already humming with movement when he walked in only added to the tension crawling down his spine.

And the day was just getting started.

His assistant, or rather, the intern subbing in while his real one was abroad, greeted him with a little too much pep for the current mood. She handed him a coffee with a nervous smile, which faltered slightly under his unreadable stare.

He took a sip. And immediately regretted it.

Way too sweet. Syrupy. Hazelnut, of all things. Clung to the back of his throat like glue. He swallowed it down anyway, lips pressing into a thin line. It was the kind of drink you used to love. More sugar than caffeine.

He didn’t say anything. Just set it on his desk and left it there, untouched and rapidly cooling into something completely useless.

The board meeting that followed somehow managed to make things worse. Two of his highest-paid execs, the CFO and Director of Global Assets, devolved into a shouting match over some mishandled reallocation overseas. Grown adults, red-faced and bickering like children.

Toji sat through it in silence, one hand rubbing slow, exhausted circles into his temple. The minutes crawled by. His jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it.

Lunch came and went. He didn’t bother.

There wasn’t time to actually go anywhere, and nothing sounded appealing anyway. He ended up gnawing on a sad, half-eaten protein bar he found in his drawer. Dry as hell. More obligation than nourishment.

By the time the sun dipped past the skyline, the world outside had melted into a blur of neon and twilight. The windows of his office fogged slightly at the edges, framing a glittering Tokyo below. He could’ve stayed late. Probably should’ve. He had a stack of reports waiting, numbers he could pick apart, details to obsess over.

But tonight he just didn’t have it in him.

He wanted to go home, pour a drink, turn off his brain! That was all. His phone buzzed on the desk, a message from Gojo asking the group to meet at Horizon.

Toji snorted.

Not a fucking chance. Last time he went, he ended up in the tabloids with some woman he barely remembered talking to, and the hangover was not worth the PR cleanup. Tonight, he’d rather be asleep after nursing some of his criminally overpriced scotch.

He slipped back into the car, the leather seat cool against his back. The engine murmured to life, low and familiar. And for the first time all day, something in him began to loosen.

His penthouse was waiting. High above Roppongi, all dark marble and clean lines, floor-to-ceiling glass framing a city that never quite slept. The silence there wasn’t comforting exactly, but it was predictable. And right now, that was good enough.

He could already feel the weight lifting as he merged into traffic.

Then his phone lit up again.

A number. No name. Just digits.

He stared at it.

Almost didn’t answer.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have. Would have let it ring, let voicemail chew on it and spit it out. But something about this number gave him pause. It wasn’t quite recognition — more like a soft tug in the back of his mind, something familiar, buried and half-remembered.

His thumb hovered for a beat before he finally pressed accept.

“…Hello?”

There was nothing at first. Just the soft purr of the engine, the faint rush of tires over slush, and a quiet crackle of static on the line. He waited, jaw clenched, irritation already beginning to rise. If this was another robocall, one of those idiots trying to sell him something he didn’t need, he was going to throw the phone out the damn window.

“Toji… hi.”

His entire body went still.

The traffic, the sting in his temple, even the wheel beneath his palms - all of it faded. That voice. It was soft, unsure, like you didn’t know if you had the right number. But he knew. He had known the second he heard it.

It hit him hard, like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather groaning beneath his fingers. He hadn’t heard your voice in six years, and yet here it was. Alive. Real. Slipping through the speaker like it had never left.

“T-this is Y/N,” you added quietly.

He nearly laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the absurdity of it all knocked the air from his lungs. As if you needed to introduce yourself. As if he could’ve forgotten. Your voice had camped out in the corners of his mind long after you were gone. He’d tried to drown it in work, noise, late nights, women. Nothing had worked.

And now you sounded nervous.

That twisted something deep in his gut. You were always the calm one. Steady. Kind. So why the hell did you sound like you were standing on a ledge?

He ran a hand down his face, as if that might ground him somehow.

“Y/N.” His voice came out rougher than he meant, like he hadn’t spoken in days. Just saying your name out loud did something to him. It brought everything back with it—the ache, the questions, the ghost of who you’d been to each other.

You were calling.

You. After everything.

And he couldn’t stop asking himself why.

“I’m sorry, Toji. I know this must be a bit of a shock, but… I wanted to talk.”

He swallowed hard. The pressure in his chest hadn’t eased since he saw your name flash across the screen. If anything, it was getting worse—tight and aching, like his body couldn’t quite remember how to relax.

“About?”

The word left him sharper than he meant it to. It felt distant, almost biting, and he hated that. Hated that his instinct was to pull away, to block you out when you were the last person who deserved his coldness. 

But he couldn’t help it. His voice betrayed what he refused to name: the way his heart had started to race the moment he heard your voice again.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, even softer now. “I wanted to know if we could talk. In person.”

You kept apologizing - and it undid him. After all this time, you were still the same. Still gentle, still soft around the edges. Still offering your heart in quiet ways. And he… he had been the one to walk away from all of it.

The silence that followed was heavy, stretched taut between you like a thread on the verge of snapping.

You must have sensed it fraying, because your voice rushed in to fill the space—uneven, small, uncertain.

“It’s just… there’s something I really need to tell you.”

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose. And when he spoke again, his voice had already drifted, distant, as if his mind had stepped away from the conversation entirely.

He could practically see you now. Not as a memory, but like a vision playing just beyond the windshield. You, pacing the floor of your small apartment, wrapped in one of those oversized sweaters you always wore when you comfortable and home.

The phone pressed to your ear, your brow furrowed with thought, your lip caught between your teeth, pink from chewing. Every part of you brimming with hesitation, with the weight of something that had lived unspoken for far too long.

That image alone, faint and imagined as it was, ached somewhere deep in his chest.

“Send me your address,” he said finally, his voice lower than before as he maneuvered through the blinking lights and crowded streets of Tokyo. Home no longer felt like a destination, not when he was already in motion toward something far more important.

There was a pause on the other end. Hesitation, soft and telling.

“It’s… the same as before. I’ll send it to you,” you murmured, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

You were still there? After all this time? Still in that little apartment on the edge of the city?

“No need,” he replied, clearing his throat as he switched lanes, the skyline shifting as he made his way toward the quiet neighborhood he had gone out of his way to avoid for the last six years. “I remember. I’ll be there in twenty. There’s traffic.”

“Okay,” you said, your voice smaller than before, barely more than a breath. He knew that tone. He remembered the way your voice dipped when you were scared, when something was wrong, when you didn’t know how to say the next thing.

Why did you sound like that now? Why tonight, after six years of silence, had you chosen to call?

He glanced down at the time—just past 8 p.m.—then back to the road, headlights passing like ghosts.

“I’ll see you then,” you said, quiet and steady, pulling him back into the moment. The line went dead a second later.

And still, he drove.

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You’re restless.

Megumi’s already been tucked into bed. You got off the phone with Toji a few minutes ago and somehow just hearing his voice had been enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Now you’re pacing your apartment, unable to sit still.

Your eyes scan every corner, checking for anything that might look out of place. You shuffle between the living room and bathroom, adjusting the throw pillows, smoothing down the rug, fixing your hair in the mirror. Then you catch yourself and scoff. Why do you even care what your hair looks like right now?

Everything feels unsteady! You’re anxious in a way that makes your skin buzz. And in moments like this, you wish more than anything that you had someone to call.

Being a single mom and running your own business hasn’t exactly left room for a social life. Most of your time is spoken for.

Sure, you’ve gotten friendly with a few of the other parents in Megumi’s class, but those relationships are surface-level. No one you could actually call up and say, “Hey, my ex is coming over tonight. The same ex who doesn’t even know he’s my kid’s father. What do I do?”

It’s ridiculous!

What’s worse is that the one person you would have called back then was Satoru. Satoru Gojo, who ghosted you just like the rest of them did after Toji walked out.

Ironically, he used to be your closest friend. You always found him hilarious, and underneath the sunglasses and playboy rich kid act, he was kind. A nerd, really. You both loved the same video games and often read the same books in your free time. He used to call you his partner in crime, especially when you were ganging up on Toji with teasing jokes.

You talked to him about everything.

Now he’s gone too.

You let out a small, humorless laugh. Video games. You can’t even remember the last time you played one. There was a time when you had actual hobbies, strong opinions, little things that lit you up outside of baby bottles and semi-annual clothing sales for your growing child.

The thought makes your stomach twist, because Megumi is your life.

Nothing, nothing, brings you more joy than watching him thrive. But still, if you’re honest with yourself, the quiet longing is always there. The little things you once enjoyed have fallen by the wayside. And yet, every smile your baby gives you outweighs those lost pieces of yourself.

You sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, your knee bouncing in a steady, anxious rhythm. Your eyes are locked on the television, though you’re not really watching. The news drones on, the only remotely interesting story being about some upcoming community pet adoption event. God, this is a nightmare.

You’re left here waiting, like a sitting duck, and your thoughts give you no reprieve.

Still, you sit. You watch. You force yourself to breathe and try, with trembling effort, to pull yourself together.

And yet, when the knock finally comes, you still flinch.

Your eyes snap to your phone. 8:20 p.m. Just like he said.

God. Would it have killed him to be late for once? You could’ve used the extra few minutes to spiral some more. Maybe rearrange the throw pillows for the third time. Maybe cry!

You push up from the couch, suddenly remembering just how cold it is outside. The temperature had dropped hard after sunset, and the snowfall had thickened into sheets. You picture him out there - refusing to text like a normal person, freezing his ass off in a suit and tie.

God.

With one last frazzled attempt to fix your hair by the door, you swing it open and immediately come face-to-chest with the dark slate of a wool coat. Warm air from inside meets the crisp cold from outside, and for a second you just stand there, blinking.

Looks like he didn’t freeze.

Your chin lifts, eyes meeting his - and just like that, you forget how to breathe.

Toji Zenin is standing in your doorway. Six years older than the last time you saw him, and somehow even more devastating than you remember.

Those eyes. That impossible green that still makes your heart seize. His nose is still perfectly straight, save for the slight crookedness near the bridge from when he broke it falling off a bike as a kid. His cheekbones have only gotten sharper, his jaw more defined. Gone is the last trace of youth that softened his features. Now, he looks like everything you tried to forget. And failed to.

You always felt a little betrayed that Megumi ended up looking just like his father. But seeing Toji now, you think maybe your son hit the genetic jackpot.

He’s looking at you, too. Really looking. His gaze drags over your face like he’s trying to piece together who you’ve become, studying every detail like he’s afraid to blink. You don't know what he sees, but whatever it is, it’s making your knees feel alarmingly weak.

A cold gust cuts through the street behind him, snow swirling around his shoulders, and you instinctively shiver. Without thinking, you step back and open the door wider.

“Come in. It’s freezing outside,” you manage, your voice softer than you want it to be. Shaky, almost. You hate that.

Toji hesitates just for a second, then steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him.

Now inside, away from the cold and standing in the entrance of your home, he’s immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia. This tiny hallway that opens into the living room, the kitchen just off to the side with its familiar round wooden table. A beautiful floral centerpiece sits perfectly in the middle, just as he’d expect from you, a small reflection of your talent.

Beyond that, another short passage leads to your room, the spare bedroom, and the bathroom nestled between them.

He knows this place like the back of his hand.

The powder blue couch. The slightly worn furniture passed down from some distant relative. The soft golden lights that bathe everything in a warm glow. It all feels so distinctly you—gentle and inviting.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, trying to fill the silence. “I just realized I don’t have any slippers in your size.”

Your words snap him back to the present. He glances down, then up at you, caught between memory and reality.

That look on your face. It's like you’re bracing for something, like you’re waiting for him to snap at you.

It tugs at something in his chest he doesn’t want to name.

Toji attempts a smile. It’s not much, tight and uneasy - but it’s something. He shrugs out of his coat, revealing a dark suit and silk tie, crisp from a long day at the office.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, voice low as he toes off his boots.

But then he pauses. Eyes fixed on something by the door.

Two small sneakers, neatly lined up next to your own.

He stares. Long enough for your stomach to twist.

You follow his gaze. And your breath catches.

“W-why don’t you come sit?” you say, voice brittle. “I can get you something to drink.”

You turn before he can respond - half walking, half fleeing toward the kitchen, where the counter offers a merciful barrier. Your pulse hammers in your ears.

The door is closed now. He’s here. He saw the shoes. He hasn’t asked.

Not yet.

And your hands are shaking.

You’ve barricaded yourself in the kitchen, fumbling with mismatched mugs and digging through the clutter of sweeteners you always kept on hand. He watches in silence, choosing to stay on the couch rather than make it worse. You clearly hate that he’s here—or at least, it seems that way—but something must’ve pushed you to call him, to invite him into this space again.

So he’s merciful. Quiet. He sinks into your powder blue couch and waits, eyes following every anxious motion you make until you finally return, two steaming mugs cradled in your hands.

He quirks a brow as you hand one to him. A waft of herbal scent rises from the rim. Tea. You made tea.

“So... how’ve you been?” Toji breaks the silence, just after your third deep breath.

Your head snaps toward him, eyes wide like he’s jumped ahead of the script playing out in your mind.

“I’ve been okay... how about yourself?” you ask, voice barely steady.

He almost rolls his eyes. You’re stalling. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. Just what the hell is going on here?

Still, he can’t be too mad, not when looking at your face is as beautiful as he remembers.

“I’m fine, Y/N. What’d you wanna talk about? And how’d you even get my number?” Toji sighs, taking a slow sip of tea. It tastes exactly the way he likes it. You still remember.

“Well, um... I ran into Suguru a few months ago,” you admit, eyes on your lap. “He insisted I have your new number. Said I should reach out to you. Please don’t be mad at him.”

Your fingers are nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve, twisting a loose thread as if it’s the only thing tethering you to this moment. You refuse to look up at him. If you did, the tears would probably start.

Toji stares at you, a knot growing in his chest. You look scared. Really scared. Ready to break. And now he’s scared too.

Are you sick? Is it something terminal? Did someone hurt you? Why did Suguru see you and say nothing? Why are you talking like he’ll be angry?

It’s like you can read his spiraling thoughts.

“I made Suguru swear secrecy. I didn’t want him telling you what he saw,” you whisper.

Still, you won’t look at him. Your mug sits untouched on the coffee table.

“Y/N... what’s going on?” he asks, voice lower now, edged with something unfamiliar. Fear. “You’re worrying me. Are you sick? Did something happen?”

The way you’re building this up, the way your hands won’t stop trembling, he’s starting to think you’re going to tell him you’re dying!

Instinctively, he places a hand on your knee, grounding himself in the moment, but jerks it back the second your body locks up at the touch.

He’s never really been an anxious man but your anxiety is damn near infectious.

Finally, you move. You rise slowly, walk to the TV console, and kneel down to pull something from the cabinet. A small, soft blue book. A photo album?

You hold it against your chest for a moment before making your way back to the couch. You sit beside him again, not quite touching.

He watches you closely. Every breath, every hesitation. Your eyes meet his at last, and they’re glassy - tears threatening to spill over, but still holding the line.

He wants to pull you into his arms, bury your face in his chest the way he used to. But he doesn’t. He knows he has no right.

“Here,” you whisper. You offer him the album, still refusing to look at him. “Open this.”

Your gaze stays locked on the cover, refusing to meet his again. You’re curling in on yourself, as if you could disappear into the cushions if you just tried hard enough.

Toji tears his eyes away from you and down to the album in his hands. Baby blue, soft to the touch. In the center, in your unmistakable handwriting:

“Megumi, my love!”

His heart skips.

Megumi. Your love. An M name. The letter he saw on your necklace that night he found your social media profile again...

He opens the book, and the first page punches the air from his lungs.

It’s a photo. Just one. A printed image, slipped beneath the plastic sheet.

It’s you in a hospital bed, younger than you are now. Your hair is shorter, like it had been when he last saw you. Your face is fuller, flushed and tear-streaked, and still, you’re smiling. Beaming, even.

In your arms is a bundle of soft blue. A newborn, barely the size of a loaf of bread. A shock of black hair peeks out from beneath the cap.

Beneath the image, handwritten in pen:

“December 22nd is the day I had you, my little Megumi. A kind nurse took this picture. Look at how tiny you are!”

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, frozen, staring at the photo.

You don’t say a word. Not beside him. You don’t move, don’t breathe. Dread is gnawing through your stomach like a slow burn.

And Toji—Toji can’t even lift his head.

“You had… a baby,” he says, voice hollow with disbelief after long moments of paralyzed silence.

You nod, even though he won’t look at you. “Go to the next page,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut to stop any more tears from slipping out.

He obeys.

And then freezes again.

You're not in these photos. It’s all Megumi - sleeping soundly in a little wooden crib, swaddled in a close-up shot in your arms, glowering up at the camera with those unmistakable green eyes. The exact same shade as his own.

Toji has always prided himself on his composure. But in this moment, staring at that tiny face, he fears he’s forgotten how to breathe.

At the bottom of the page, he sees more of your writing.

“First week home! You weigh eight pounds and five ounces. I don’t think you could really see yet? Mommy has to read more baby books… Regardless, look at your pretty green eyes!”

Impulsively, he shuts the book.

He turns to you with a sort of mortified quiet, completely undone.

You don’t say anything at first. You just let the tears fall freely now since there’s no point in holding them back.

“He’s… our baby, Toji,” you manage to say, voice breaking. “He’s ours.”

Toji has never been a man of many words, but now you've done it, you've rendered him completely mute. He stares at you, his head practically spinning as the gravity of his actions six years ago dawns on him.

He left you, cut you off, stopped you from ever being able to reach him again - and you were pregnant.

Young, alone, probably terrified, and pregnant.

And it was all his fault.

You watch him, your face pained and the silent tears unrelenting. Years worth of heartache has all led up to this moment, and you find yourself struggling to put up a stronger front.

Because with Toji, you never had to act strong.

He had once been your safe space in this cold and unfair world. And it seems like your heart can't distinguish the man in front of you from the man who abandoned you all those years ago like your brain can.

"Megumi wants to meet you," you admit after a long stretch of silence, your shoulders drooping in defeat. "That’s why I finally decided to call you."

Toji doesn't move. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable — but finally, he speaks.

"Why didn’t you tell me… when you had the chance?"

You look away, guilt twisting inside you like a knife. "I tried. For so long." The laugh that escapes you is brittle. "Honestly, it got embarrassing."

Your eyes stay low, but his stay fixed on you - watching, listening, like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time.

"The week of Megumi’s first birthday, I was desperate. You had missed so much already… I didn’t want you to miss that too." Your voice cracks, and you press your hands to your face as your shoulders tremble. "He was already saying ‘Dada,’ and I just felt so alone."

You try to collect yourself before continuing, though your voice is still uneven.

"I paid for a babysitter. It was out of my budget at the time, but I was so determined. I couldn’t bring him with me - it was freezing out, and he was still so little, I was terrified he’d get sick. So I left him home and went to your office building."

You hesitate for a beat. Then, with a soft exhale:

"Security escorted me out as soon as they recognized me. Said it was on your orders." Your laugh is quiet this time - empty and raw. "But I was so stubborn."

You wipe at your eyes, but it’s no use. Everything is blurry now.

"I waited outside for a while. I don't know, I kept hoping I’d see you… or someone I knew. But nothing. Just time passing."

You finally lift your head and meet his eyes - and the sight of him startles you. His gaze is glassy, wet. He’s not crying, not really. But he’s close.

"I think that’s when I gave up on you too," you whisper, giving him a sad smile, small and tired. "I stopped waiting."

⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖°⋆˚♡˖

[bbgsaja]

ҍąҍվ ʝմղìօɾ ʂąʝą (βąҍվ Ϛąʝą × Ƒ!Ƕմղէҽɾ!འҽąժҽɾ) քէ ϩ.ϩ

summary - you're overdue and cranky and just want the baby to come. your friends try to distract you from your misery by taking you clothes shopping now that they know the gender, but the baby decides to arrive at the worst time (same plot as the one recently posted, just edited out the drama) warnings - none a/n - okay so i decided that since some of you want drama-free and fluff only, i will write a separate version of the series for you. so while it's under the same name, this will always end in .2 and just be the fluff version. unfortunately it will be shorter and might take longer to come out, though, since my focus will be on the dramatic version part 1 • part 2.2 •

"That's right, still no baby."

You walked out of the elevator and into the living room, throwing your bag down aggressively. Running your hand through your hair, looking irritated and impatient.

Rumi offered you a sympathetic look while Zoey made a comfortable space for you on the couch. You walked over and lowered yourself into that space, just relieved to be off your feet. Baby followed and sat beside you, gently rubbing your belly.

"OW!" You suddenly yelped, then glared at your stomach.

"What was that?" Mira asked, everyone looking at Baby.

"The baby is kicking a lot," he explained, "And because she's half-demon, her kicks are, well..."

"It's a girl?" Rumi's voice came out quiet.

Baby's eyes widened, "Did we not tell you guys? Oh, my bad."

"A girl?!" Zoey squealed and jumped up excitedly. "You're having a girl?"

"That's if she decides to come out," you grumbled.

You threw your arm over your eyes, laying back tiredly as everyone else gushed about the news. You caught onto a few things, one of those being Zoey and Rumi wanting to go shopping for cute little dresses now that they knew the gender. And another being Mira wanting to train her as soon as she could stand.

You groaned.

"Oh come on, (Name)!" Rumi grinned as she sat down beside you. "It's going to be fine! She'll come soon. In the mean time, let's go do something fun and I promise you we'll get your mind off the discomfort."

"Nothing could possibly distract me from this discomfort," you mumbled, but humoured her anyway.

She kept that promise that afternoon, dragging you out to every store that sold baby clothes.

"Oooh, how's this?"

"What about this?"

"This is so cute!"

"She'd look so adorable in this!"

You wished you had the energy to match their enthusiasm, but all the walking was exhausting. So all you could do was offer smiles, thumbs-up and eager nods. You trusted their taste, and you trusted Romance's as well - he'd excitedly tagged along when he heard the words 'clothes' and 'shopping'.

"That is really cute," you took the teal dress that Zoey was holding up, smiling because the colour matched Baby's hair exactly. The little skirt was also too cute to just brush over. "Yeah, definitely this one."

Rumi had somehow found a romper with the words 'I love the Saja Boys' on it, which you found a bit funny and immediately agreed to get.

You ended up with several bags full of baby clothes, mostly because of Rumi and Zoey who really had gone a little bit crazy. And this was on top of the gender-neutral clothes they'd gotten before they knew the baby was going to be a girl.

Now you were walking home, Mira letting you lean on her as you went while Romance carried all the bags and Rumi and Zoey made sure your path was clear.

Your water chose that moment to break.

"Mira," you gasped, your grip on her arm tightening. Your entire body went rigid as liquid pooled around your feet. Zoey instantly called Baby.

The teal-haired rapper appeared within seconds, looking worried.

"Baby," you choked out.

"I'm here," he reassured you, stepping closer to gently grab your arm.

"No, not you Baby!" You cried. "The baby is coming!"

His eyes went wide, "Oh...OH!"

He quickly lifted you up into his arms and disappeared with you, reappearing at the hospital and hurrying inside to the front desk.

The poor demon witnessed the real strength of a hunter that day.

During the birth you almost broke his arm, twice, almost took away his ability to give you another child after this, and gave him a nosebleed. Both of you knew it wasn't going to be an easy birth, but Baby did not expect to be so gruesomely assaulted in the process.

At the end of it, though, it was worth it.

Once you heard the crying, your heavy breathing and panting slowed. Your head stopped spinning, your vision cleared, and your heart raced.

You saw a tuft of teal hair and melted.

"Nine months of being in your mother's stomach," Baby was saying to your newborn, carefully cradling her in his arms, "And you still come out looking like me."

You choked out a laugh, "You have strong genes."

Baby looked up at you, his eyes glassy, "She's a mini-me. Demon form and human. She better have your personality or I'm demanding a refund."

You laughed even more and smiled as he brought her over to you, "I think it's adorable. A mini Baby Saja? She's perfect."

And when you laid eyes on her, you knew you meant it.

Soft, (skin colour) skin that turned purple every few seconds and glowing purple patterns adorning her face, neck and tiny, tiny hands. Teal hair crowning her little head.

"She's so small," Baby murmured, "So soft."

As the two of you marveled at the bundle of love and joy you'd made, the others tumbled into the room chaotically. And by tumbled, they fell in one on top of the other. Just the boys, though, the girls had opened the door and now looked mildly annoyed.

Which changed as soon as they saw your daughter.

They abandoned helping the guys up - which left Abby to fall back on top of the others - and rushed to your side. Shoving your husband out of the way in the way in the process.

"Oh my god, she's so cute!" Zoey gushed.

"That is one adorable baby," Mira cooed, her smile gentle.

Rumi's bottom lip trembled as she looked at the little girl in your arms, her eyes shining with emotion.

You smiled softly, "Wanna hold her?"

The purple-haired hunter nodded, gently taking your baby from you, looking down at her with much more love than you thought she was going to.

"Hi, sweetheart," she cooed, brushing her fingers over the baby's tiny cheek.

"Have you named her yet?" Mira asked, as she and Zoey went to stand on either side of Rumi. All of them admiring and swooning over your sweet little child.

"We were thinking of 'Aera'," you smiled at Baby, then at your friends, "Because it means 'love'. And she's a symbol of love, not just between me and Baby, but like you, Rumi, she's a symbol of love between a human and a demon."

"It's perfect," Rumi actually started crying.

The boys finally gathered around your bed, each one having a turn to hold Aera. Baby watched each and every one of them like a hawk, hovering nearby like he was ready to snatch her out of their hands.

Abby also cried.

Romance sobbed.

Jinu looked like he'd never seen a baby before. Then smiled like he'd just seen the purest, sweetest thing in the world.

And Mystery...he exhaled loudly, then muttered something softly.

You looked at Baby.

"Something like a blessing," your husband explained, nodding along to Mystery's words.

"Something like?!"

tag list - @queensnowlake-wof @just-a-blue-nerd @heartsforjiyuu @katsukiisshawty @luluprincess230lp @kimyeosinah-reum @1-800reki @arieslucy @justanotherreader658 @ch3rryjampi3 @yuriekochou @angestrawberries @m35kbl @yoongles2025

[throatgoat4u]

vlogs

in which... pearl and ser talk about their land boys

word count: 1k

a/n: just a little something just cause. also, pearl is not my character by the way! she completely belongs to @snoopychris in her au for cgs!chris x mermaid!reader. you can find her works here (she's amazing so why don't you click on it). hope yall enjoy!

a/n #2: i wrote this 4 months ago. also watch this flop 😔

you and pearl sat on the sun-kissed sand, the grains warm against your skin as the waves rolled in, cresting and crashing with a rhythmic lull. the salty breeze tangled in your hair, carrying the distant calls of seagulls and the soft hum of the ocean. you lifted your camera, capturing everything—the foamy waves melting into the shore, the easy flow of your conversation, the way the golden light danced in pearl’s eyes. most of all, you recorded her laughter, bright and full, a sound you never wanted to forget.

“ser like… he’s just so, i don’t know. like the way he cares about the ocean and the animals, the way his eyes always light up when someone actually shows interest in the stuff he likes, the way his eyes pinch shut when he laughs. he’s so adorable ser. i just… i really hope he likes me. do you think he likes me ser?”

you laugh at her little rant about chris—the boy who seems to be occupying far too much space in her mind lately. “do i think? honey, i know he likes you.”

she looks over at you, laughing when you shove the camera directly in her face. “okay, stop,” she says through a fit of giggles, swatting at the lens in protest. but you only grin, keeping the camera steady as you capture her flustered expression, the way her laughter melts into something softer.

“i just… how do you know?” she finally asks, shaking her head. “i mean, maybe he’s just overly friendly, or like he—”

“are you serious? overly friendly?!?!” you cut in, staring at her in disbelief. “pearl, he talks about you all the time! i mean, i don’t remember a single conversation we’ve had that wasn’t about you. it’s always, ‘do you think pearl would like this?’, ‘how’s pearl today?’, ‘did pearl talk to you about me?’, ‘did pearl like the flowers i sent?’, ‘why isn’t pearl here?’—it’s always ‘pearl, pearl, pearl’ with him. baby, he’s utterly obsessed with you. and maybe he does think of you as a friend, who knows. but one thing i do know? he really, really cares about you and what you think.”

“i guess…” she mumbles, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “but it’s still not really reassuring that he likes me.”

you exhale, shaking your head before leveling her with a serious look. “pearl, i want you to tell me something, and i need you to be super honest, okay?”

she nods, looking at you curiously.

“has that man ever said no to you? tell me, when’s the last time you opened your own doors since you met him? when’s the last time you paid for your shopping sprees or even your own food? when’s the last time you didn’t get a ‘good morning,’ ‘have you eaten today?,’ ‘just checking in!,’ and ‘good night’ text from him?” you lean in, pressing your point. “i mean, gosh, pearl. you can’t sit here and tell me he doesn’t like you!”

she huffs, rolling her eyes. “okay, and matt does the same with you!”

“yes, but his intentions are malicious. he wants to sleep with me. when he looks at me, he looks at me with lust. when chris looks at you, he looks at you like you’re the most…”

you pause, the frustration in your voice giving way to something softer. your gaze flickers to her, then back out to the waves, as if the ocean might spell it out for you.

“like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room,” you finally say, your voice quieter now. “like he wants to memorize every little detail about you. it’s different. it’s… real.”

pearl looked out at the horizon, watching the golden rays of the sun glimmer against the ocean as it set. “i’d hope. anyways, enough about chris. matt’s little diner drop in. how did it go?”

you set the camera down at just the right angle, making sure it captured both of you before pulling your knees to your chest. the salty breeze brushed against your skin, and the distant crash of waves filled the brief silence between words. you ran your fingers through the sand absentmindedly, letting the grains slip through your fingertips as you tried to put your thoughts into words.

 “i mean, it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t bad at all. his presence was just so, aggravating. and he kept flirting with me. i’m not a big fan of that at all. if he didn’t treat woman like-”

“like they’re all just temporary?” pearl finishes for you, raising an eyebrow.

you nod, letting out a sigh as you pick at the hem of your shorts. “exactly. he’s the type to say all the right things, but there’s nothing behind it. he doesn’t mean it. he just likes the game, the chase, the idea of winning someone over. and i can’t stand that.”

pearl hums in agreement, drawing little shapes in the sand with her finger. the waves crash in the distance, steady and rhythmic, filling the silence between you.

“but chris isn’t like that,” she murmurs after a moment. “he’s... different.”

you glance at her, catching the way her expression has softened, the way she suddenly seems deep in thought.

“oh?” you tease, nudging her with your shoulder. “so you do think he likes you?”

she groans, flopping back onto the sand dramatically. “ugh, i don’t know! i just—i mean, the way he acts around me, the way he listens, the way he—ugh! it’s confusing!”

you can’t help but laugh at her frustration, shaking your head. “pearl, it’s not confusing. it’s obvious. the man worships the ground you walk on. you’re just scared to admit you like him back.”

she sits up abruptly, pointing a finger at you. “okay, rude.”

you smirk, holding your hands up in mock innocence. “am i wrong, though?”

she opens her mouth, ready to spit back a response, but nothing comes out. instead, she huffs and flops back down again, staring up at the sky.

you grin, reaching over to flick a bit of sand at her. “that’s what i thought.”

taglist: @snoopychris. @mattsturnenthusiast. @isabellewhatt. @milo-the-dog. @faiyaz555. @sturns-mermaid. @chrissysturnzz. @bluestriips. @tsqnflog. @oreocheescake-12. @courta13. @chrattho1. @miguelspvssy. @muwapsturniolo. @alexturnersgooch. @surfer-sturn. @angeliolo. @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni. @mattscherries. @freshloveee. @sturniqlo. @abysful. @hesvoid34. @welovestromboli. @h3arts4harry. @leoslaboratory. @oopsiedaisydeer

[silverhalla]

neve came back and I IMMEDIATELY started crying

[snazzyscarf]

OWNING BOOKS IS SO FUCKING BENEFICIAL I LOVE OWNING BOOKS MY OWN COPY OF BOOKS. I LOVE BEING ABLE TO READ LANGUAGES THAT ARE NOT ENGLISH BECAUSE THAT MEANS WHEN BOOKS DO NOT GET ENGLISH LOCALIZATIONS I CAN STILL READ THEM. HYPE IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY ME FINALLY GETTING A COPY OF THE HAIKYUU FINAL GUIDEBOOK (CHINESE) AND DISCOVERING THERE IS AN ENTIRE PAGE DEDICATED TO GOSHIKI’S PLAN ON BECOMING THE ACE. MY BELOVED FAVORITE DARLING BOY HAS HIS OWN PAGE. GOSHIKI TSUTOMU’S PATH TO ACEDOM. I LOVE YOU.

[witherby]

The Littlest Wayne

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

Platonic!Reader and Batfam

"Bruce."

"Don't freak out."

"Bruce."

"You're freaking out. I can see it in your eyes, but don't do it."

"This is a problem. This is an actual addiction and you need help."

"You're overreacting. I need everyone to take a deep breath, in and out, and not freak out."

Dick crossed his arms and glared at his father, narrowed eyes shifting up and down in an extremely pointed manner. Tim and Jason were wearing similar expressions, looking either at Bruce himself or the bundle in his arms.

Damian walked across the room and peered down at the bundle, expressionless.

"Father, come on."

Bruce carefully brushed the edge of the blanket away from your face. You scrunched your tiny nose, disturbed, then settled back down without issue. The billionaire had found you abandoned outside the garage doors of the Gotham Fire Station, left there by some overwhelmed mother no doubt. Unfortunately, that particular station was closed on the weekends, because of course this damned city couldn't staff a fire station 24/7, and if he hadn't found you on patrol, you would have frozen to death on the ground.

"They were in danger!" Bruce insisted firmly, but kept his voice soft so as not to frighten you. "Look — they don't have black hair or blue eyes. You can tell I didn't do it on purpose."

"Why not take the baby to the GCPD, then? Or a hospital?" Jason piped up, unamused. "B, cut the bullshit. You can't keep 'em."

"I brought them here first to ensure they didn't need any immediate medical attention."

"Which is something a hospital could do," Tim said.

"An overcrowded and understaffed hospital, that doesn't have the time to spare to give them direct and undivided attention?" Bruce argued. "The med ward in the Cave is just as efficient as an emergency room, if not more so."

"And the fact that you aren't down there with the baby — the baby you are not keeping," Dick chimed in, holding out his arms for you, "means that they're perfectly fine and can be transported safely somewhere else."

"They're sleeping right now," Bruce said, completely deadpan, and made no move to relinquish his hold over you. "We can't put them in a noisy car and upset them. We can drop the baby off in the morning."

"He's getting dangerously attached," Dick hissed to his brothers. "We need the big guns."

"I'll alert Pennyworth," Damian declared, already ducking out of the room. Bruce scowled, aware the battle was quickly turning against his favor. But he could play dirty, too.

He dropped his shoulders and the furrow of his brow turned slightly down, weary and forlorn. He stopped looking at his boys and instead studied all your tiny features, tracing a finger down the bridge of your nose, gently across your lashes, and over your plump little cheeks. You were absolutely adorable. He was already thinking of names for you in his mind.

"You know, I never got to raise any of you from infancy," he stated, not in any pointed manner, just as objective fact. Just quietly enough that they could think Bruce hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Not that I would've wanted to steal that experience from your birth parents. I would never. But...I don't even know what Damian looked like when he was this small."

Dick's eye twitched. The glare was still in place, but his frown was less severe. One down.

"I'm sorry, boys," he sighed, acting as though he were giving in. "The Mission has taken up so much of my time, it's hard not to wonder what I would have been like as a normal father. Just the formative things, like... like changing diapers, and doing Tummy Time, and helping you guys learn to walk."

Tim's eyes grew distant, likely thinking of his own parents and the loneliness he felt growing up in Drake Manor all by himself. He was no doubt recalling how much he wished his mom or dad had been around, to play or to talk to or just to physically be there with him, instead of off traveling the world and leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Two down.

But Jason, despite all that had happened over the years, despite the strain on his relationship with Bruce, had always been the most emotional of his children. He would not be hard to win over.

"This would be a mistake," Bruce stated, looking his second oldest right in the eyes. "They'd be happier somewhere else, somewhere normal. Maybe...maybe one of you could hold them and I can go start the car? I can feel myself starting to get attached, and that's not fair to you, boys. I didn't mean to stress you all out. I wasn't thinking."

Jason huffed, lowering his feet from where they'd been propped up on the coffee table, and stood from the couch to come take you from Bruce. His arms carefully held you to his broad chest, your weight settling against him pleasantly.

He made the mistake of watching you scrunch your face and whine softly, itty bitty hands poking out from your blanket and gripping onto his shirt sleeve with all the strength your small body could muster.

Jason's expression dropped immediately, and he practically melted as he tucked you closer.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Damian and Alfred walked into the living room to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, and Tim all cooing and fawning over you, and the war was lost.

Welcome home, Littlest Wayne.

[cxffecoupx]

seungcheol's mad. the members know just how to calm him down.

"YN! yn! you need to come to the practice room right now. seungcheol's furious!"

that's all you need to know before you leave your office in the pretext of grabbing lunch and head towards seungcheol's company building. even in the crazy traffic of the afternoon, the only thing running in your mind is the image of your angry boyfriend, eyes wide and lips pouted in annoyance.

which is exactly what greets you when you reach the boys' usual dance practice room that seungkwan called you to. you push open the door and see a few of them sitting down, faces pale from exhaustion, a few scattered doing some random tasks, and jeonghan standing next to seungcheol, chewing on his lips.

but seungcheol doesn't notice anything: he doesn't notice the way chan gently tugs at his shirt; the way his teammates take tense, heavy breaths in worry; the way jeonghan now pats his back, and certainly not your arrival into the room. you sidle over to seungkwan, who's face melts into relief at seeing you. he pulls you aside to brief you about the situation.

"the thing is, last week, we were told that we could take tomorrow off. but then they came in a few minutes ago, saying that we'd have extra practice tomorrow, since they pushed the broadcast recording a week earlier," he takes a moment to pause and looks over at seungcheol, who's still very unaware of everything around him.

"hyung's losing his mind because we'd all made individual plans for tomorrow. some of us were gonna go home for the weekend..." seungkwan's lips turn into a pout as he becomes aware of the fact that now he won't be able to. you turn around to look at your boyfriend.

"i want you to tell us why you preponed the date without consulting us first. it's not the extra practice we're worried about. it's the fact that you didn't care to ask us in the first place! aren't we the artists- no, i need you to listen to me right now- don't tell me to calm down!"

your lips press together in concern as you walk over to him. he doesn't see you even when you're standing right beside him, more intent on getting his point across.

"we've been working overtime since last month..."

"seungcheol..." you call him.

"...and yet, we haven't gotten a single break day-

"seungcheol."

"-and then you expect us to do our best and get more wins-"

"love..."

you hold his chin with your hand and gently turn his face towards you. the sudden shift in his glance is noticed only by you. the angry, outraged expression of his turns into a soft, meek look with just a single touch, sparkles automatically forming in his eyes as they focus on you. the staff beside you bows and leaves the room. your eyes follow them until they shut the door before moving back to his.

he slumps into your hand as you lean in to press a kiss, and wraps his around you, body feeling heavy. jeonghan nods and you lead seungcheol out into the breakroom.

his face still hangs low, lips losing their pout only when you press your lips to them. his frown turns into the smallest of smiles.

"thanks for getting me out of there. i was starting to lose my mind."

"kwan told me you were furious. i had to come running," you hold his cheek and he leans into your touch. his stomach grumbles in response.

"you might have been a little hangry back then. come on, let's get you some food," you drag him out of the building to a cafe nearby you often visit.

"sho you mean to shay you'd alwaysh come for me?" he mumbles through a mouthful of the hideously large croissant he'd ordered, a few crumbs and some chocolate filling dusting his lips.

"i don't like to be rushed..." you lean forward to wipe it off with your thumb with a fond smile, before licking it off.

"...but for you, i'd always come running."

inspired from this video on twitter (that completely, absolutely destroyed me because LOOK AT HIM?! adorable pouty cutie pie

[blooddlusts]

HOW CAN I SNOOZE ⋆｡°✩ ot7

( I CAN'T LOSE WHEN I'M WITH YOU ) ── sleepy boys want to stay in bed with you

enha x fem! reader (established relationship, fluff, kissing skinship, suggestive comments, them just being clingy boyfriends and just wanting to stay in bed while cuddling you)

word count: 1.23k

kiara yaps: taking nine credits in the spring semester was NOT a good idea, definitely regret cramming in a four month course work into two months lmaoo —this has been in my drafts for a minute and i apologize that i've been offline :(

LEE HEESEUNG

as soon as your alarm goes off that man has you in a chokehold. well, not literally, but it might as well feel like it. heeseung has his arms around your neck, his legs wrapped around your torso and he's putting his whole body weight on you. there's no escape from his grasp as he's placing kisses on your cheek and begging you in his morning voice to stay with him bed. it's adorable, it's cute. and you can't help try to pry his arms off of your body; not like it works, he's only going to hold you tighter. and while he's holding you into his arms, pressing his body against yours begging for you to stay —he's whispering the most dirtiest comments in your ear to make you blush. heeseung may not be fully awake, but he knows how to press his lips to your neck and just beg for you to stay in his arms.

"heeseung please, i have to go to work,"

"just five more minutes,"

PARK JAY

you don't even have to touch your alarm because jay is already turning it off. he's grabbing your phone and already calling the number of your boss from muscle memory so that you can stay home. don't even think about trying to protest and trying to snatch your phone back. he's literally going to wrap one of his arms around you, place a kiss to your forehead and tell you to go back to sleep. putting up a fight with a man who could shower you with all of the gifts you want in the world is pointless. the only reason why he dares to be extra is to secure more hours with you in bed. once he calls your boss, it's game over. your boss is afraid of jay to even say anything back (he threatened to buy the company), which means there's a smile lingering on his lips. you can whine, you can beg to go to work, you can plead with him to let go and get out of bed —but jay is going to hold on to you like you're the only person in the world.

"jay what did you say to my boss?"

"don't worry about it, my love,"

SIM JAKE

once your alarm goes off, he's burying his face inside the nape of your neck while begging in his morning voice for you to say in bed. if that doesn't work, he's going to start placing kisses down your neck in hopes that it will make you stay. and if that isn't convincing, consider his thumb stroking your cheek while he plays with your hair as his next attempt to make you stay in bed. most of the time, just burying his face in your neck is enough for you to smile and lean into his arms that beg for an embrace. there's something adorable about turning around and seeing him give you a sleepy smile before kissing you on the lips. you have to give jake some credit in how convincing he is for you to linger in his arms just a little longer. work can wait, seeing the corners of his lips break into a smile as he falls asleep holding you makes everything better.

"you're lucky i love you, jake,"

"just shut up and let me hold you,"

PARK SUNGHOON

he's already not a fan of alarms. much to having a punctual schedule and being on time to things, sunghoon is willing to make that exception when it comes to you. he thinks the alarm you have set every morning is aggravating —like it actually pisses him off. consider it a diabolical act, but once you're already asleep, he'll disable your alarm. which means he gets as many hours as he wants with you the next morning since you'll sleep through the "alarm" you've set. okay, maybe it's a little mean. but he'll at least make sure that you're up so you have enough time to come to work without being horrendously late. the way he groans in the morning when you wake up, how he immediately wraps his arms around your waist and tells for you to stay —he just wants you to linger just a little bit longer.

"sunghoon, did you turn my alarm off again?"

"i don't see you complaining,"

KIM SUNOO

when your alarm goes off, sunoo gets grumpy. like his hair is all messy, he's squinting because the sun is in his eye and more importantly he doesn't want you to leave. instead, he grabs you by the wrist, and pulls your hand up to his hair. consider yourself screwed because there's nothing that boy loves more than you playing with his hair. sunoo has no filter in the mornings, he'll say things as it is which means you have to snatch your phone away from him before he cusses at your manager for making you go to work. he's so stubborn that he's going to be holding you in his arms, planting kisses down the side of your face with such tenderness that you're just melting in his embrace. consider your efforts to go to work wasted —you can't win the battle against sunoo.

"how long are you going to keep doing this?"

"when you quit your job and decide to stay in bed with me,"

YANG JUNGWON

he doesn't like being reminded every morning that you have to go to work. as soon as you sit up in bed to stretch your arms or try to process that you're awake —he's taking you down. no, like literally. somehow jungwon has secret wrestling skills that you don't know about because he has arms wrapped around your waist and throwing you back into bed. and that's how it's going to stay, his arms around your waist, him resting his head on your chest as he cuddles up to you in bed. all you can do is accept your fate and run your hands down his back as he holds you tightly in his arms. if you're lucky, he'll give you some time to get ready for work. but if that doesn't happen, just accept the fact that there's going to be a cheeky smile on his lips as he's humming tunes in his morning voice.

"you really have to stop tackling me, babe,"

"then stop going to work,"

NISHIMURA RIKI

oh you are so screwed. consider yourself in one of those "escape horror" video games that gave you nightmares when you were a kid. niki is not one to be trifled with when it comes to waking up to your alarm early in the morning. there's something about that glare that he gives you that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. but the fear is immediately replaced with giggles as he throws his whole body weight on you. that man is laying on top of you like you're his personal pillow. there's no escape, just him laying on your chest, wrapping his arms around you and literally snoring while you just lay there trying to shimmy your way out to get to work. of course, you give in and press a kiss to his head while you start to stroke his hair. you have to give him some props when it comes to making you stay in bed with him —even if it means becoming a human pillow.

"niki, can you get off me now?"

"let me think about it —no."

reblogs, feedback, likes & comments are appreciated!

[nightingale-prompts]

Nightwing gets a sidekick introducing: "Batboy"

Continuation of this post: "Danny has Bat wings"

|Next|

Dick tries to tell himself that he's better then Bruce. He's not going around taking young orphaned boys with unique abilities willy-nilly. No, he very careful. Besides this is first- well second sidekick.

He's doing a public service anyways. You can't have a kid with giant bat wings just falling from buildings. If Nightwing hadn't stepped in to stop those goons trying to catch the kid and sell him then who knows what would have happened. What if they tried to cut off his wings and turn the boy into a bloody trophy for the Bats?

There are many villains in Bludhaven who'd take the boy out or take him in. Dick already had a sinking feeling that Heartless would try his hand at killing the kid after all he targets the weak and helpless like a coward.

It was easy enough to convince the boy to be his friend. Dick did have natural charm and charisma after all. All it took was a meal from batburger and a fruit cup to get the kid to open up.

Danny (apparently his family gave him a normal name) didn't live with his family anymore due to ideological differences. That difference was that they thought he shouldn't exist anymore and wanted to turn him into an experiment. Poor kid didn't even get to finish his freshman year of school before he had to leave. He was a small town vigilante for a few months before the incident.

Dick saw an opportunity but was subtle about it. He invited the kid to live with him until he got his education. Its also totally ethical because the kid was a vigilante already.

Everything kind of went by quickly. Dick had done everything possible to hide Danny until he could come up with a plan of how to tell everyone.

True Dick didn't "need" a sidekick but come on, look at him! He's a boy with bat wings! Dick could put a little cowl on him and dress him up like Batman. I mean he's not a dog but it would be funny. The irony there, the bird-themed hero now had a bat-themed sidekick. That is the universe's way of sending a message.

After training Danny Dick learned that the kid had an endless supply of energy and ADHD that rivaled his own at that age. The kid also couldn't fly, it was actually closer to gliding which was still useful but he kind of looked like a flying squirrel when he jumped off ledges.

The term issue with taking Danny in was that Dick was still a Wayne and while he could hide the kid while he was swinging through Bludhaven, Dick Grayson could not.

Danny could hide his wings like they weren't even there whenever he wanted to look human. Which was a start, next he needed a new identity. One that wouldn't tip anyone off.

Dick needed to pull some strings without alerting Barbara or Tim. A new name was forged: "Daniel Nightingale" (Dick patted himself on the back for that one).

With that Dick was ready to let Danny out in the field. For the most part, Danny was as reliable as any Robin if not a bit crazy. Danny was way too charming for his own good but also completely feral. The public adored the domino-masked kid in his green and black costume. Danny didn't wear a cape because of his wings so he used them as a cloak.

When citizens saw them in public they'd offer the kid fruit cups and candies just to get close enough to see his wings. The people of Bludhaven were also excited to have their own version of Robin since Gotham had so many. Also, the kid was so marketable. Look at the way his wings flapped when he was excited.

Danny's or more specifically "Batboy's" presence would not go unnoticed.

Well, this can't end well.

Welp. Dick should have expected this. He couldn't even be upset. He doesn't regret anything that he's done.

Danny was still in bed, actually it was a hammock which was more comfortable for a bat. Dick wondered if he could sleep upside down. The kid was comfortable here and probably better off here than in Gotham. Once the adoption goes public however things will get complicated. Danny may end up Bludhaven's sweetheart or outcast. He'll probably end up fine...probably.

[sincerelyneo]

“slut!” | l.jn

“everyone wants him that was my crime”

💿now playing: “slut!” by taylor swift

❯ summary: Jeno’s always been yours. You were the one too scared to be his, actually. But not anymore. Not tonight. Not now that you’ve decided being called a slut might be worth it, so long as it means they know he’s yours.

❯ pairings: idol!jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, idol!au

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, mentions of online hate, secret relationship, insecurities, mentions of alcohol, possessiveness, fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex, pull out method (unreliable!), dirty talk, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, literally just jeno being a 'gentleman' in a world of boys.

No matter how many times Jeno tries to deny or convince himself otherwise, you can tell—he hates being in a secret relationship. He hates being your secret. And who could blame him? No one wants to feel like they’re being hidden by the one person who’s supposed to love, cherish and adore them completely. 

But that’s just the thing. You’re not the only person who loves Lee Jeno.

Not when he’s up there on stage, night after night, basking in the roar of thousands who love him too. He’s adored by strangers, worshipped by fans, and wanted by everyone.

And yet—he chose you. He still chooses you.

He kisses you in elevator corners when it’s just the two of you, and pulls you into janitor closets like you’re back in high school. He makes little gestures on camera only you would catch—a tilt of his head, a thumb brushing his lip, a tap over his heart. As if to say still yours, still here, still love you. And you bask in it all. 

You know—despite his options and his fame—he loves you. Only you. There’s never been a doubt. Not when you still remember the endless months he spent pining after you like a love-sick puppy. Back when you told him you couldn’t give him more. That he’d only be wasting his time by pursuing you. 

He didn’t care. 

Maybe that’s why he agreed to this mess in the first place. The secrecy. The ache. Because for him, having you—even as a secret—was enough. He’d take you in pieces if that’s all you could offer. He’d take you quietly, behind closed doors. Because all he ever really wanted, was you. 

But you see the cracks now.

The way he deflates every time you say no to dinner in public. How his fingers twitch when you pull your hand away before anyone sees. How he stares a little too long at your unadorned ring finger after offering you a matching one. And the last one—the most recent wound—you saw it in his eyes when you turned down the invite to the award show.

He thought you’d come. Thought that maybe since Mark had started bringing his new girlfriend to events, you’d be ready too.

But you weren’t.

Truthfully, Mark’s girlfriend had only made things worse. Not her personally, but seeing the thousands of comments attacking her made you upset. You weren’t sure you were strong enough to survive that kind of hate if you were in her position.

What upset you more, though, was overhearing Jeno with Hyuck last week.

“I really wanted her there, man. But I know the cameras would freak her out. I just… I hate that she has to stay away. She deserves to be there with me, you know? Without feeling like everyone is going to tear her apart.”

Hyuck said something back but you can’t even remember what. Your heart was beating too loud to process everything properly. The only thing you remember is how tired Jeno sounded. How frustrated. And worse, hurt. Because of you. Because of this.

You hated that he had to hide those feelings. 

And that’s why you’re sitting in front of your vanity on the night of the award show, debating which shade of red lipstick would look best with your outfit. The dress—long, silk, red—is the one you’ve avoided for months. Too bold. Too bright. Too seen. But you slipped into it anyway.

It’s a reckless plan. You know that. It could blow up in your face. Go viral in the worst way. But still—you made the decision. Tonight, you’re done hiding. Tonight, you’re done keeping him a secret. Tonight, you’ll step into the spotlight for him. Because you love him. And more importantly, because he deserves it.

“Baby… can you help me with my tie?”

Jeno’s voice filters in from the hallway, slightly distracted, but then he sees you. 

His mouth parts, and his entire body goes still. His eyes drag over you quickly as if he doesn’t trust them. Then he starts blinking rapidly like he’s trying to make sure he’s not hallucinating.

“You—” he starts, but the word breaks in half. He clears his throat. “You look…”

You glance at his reflection in the mirror. He’s red and flustered. Completely undone. The tie he needed help with is now tangled between his fingers.

“Wow,” he finishes.

A slow smile touches your mouth. “Wow, huh?”

He lets out a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Wow.”

He takes a hesitant step closer. Then another. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too quickly. And truthfully? You might. You’re still half a breath away from backing out, clinging to this idea by a thread. 

But then he’s standing behind you. His gaze catches yours in the mirror as he runs a soothing hand up and down your arm. 

“You look a little…overdressed for a night in, baby.”

You hold his eyes. “That’s because I’m not planning on staying in,” you whisper. “Not tonight.”

“Wait—does this mean…?” His voice falters, and his hand stops on your skin the exact moment it hits him. The realisation softens the edges of his face, but it also brings something more cautious. “You’re—are you sure?”

You turn to face him.

He looks gorgeous, of course—hair perfectly tousled, dress shirt still half-buttoned, tie crumpled in one hand. But his eyes give him away. That’s his tell. He’s nervous. Not for himself. For you.

You nod, then you rise to your feet. Jeno doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around your waist, hands sliding down to your lower back, anchoring you there. 

“I mean it,” he says, barely above a whisper. “If this is because of me, or because you think I need some kind of grand gesture—don’t. I don’t want you to do this unless you want to. I don’t want you walking into that room and regretting it five minutes later. I don’t want you overwhelmed or scared or…” He swallows, hard. “I don’t want you to end up resenting me.”

His voice cracks a little on that last part.

You could cry. 

Because this is the boy you fell for. Not the one on stage. Just the boy who would’ve waited forever to be claimed if that’s what it took. Just your Jeno. The boy who compromises first, always. The boy who puts your wants before his own—every time.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you say. “Well, not just for you. I’m doing it because I want to. I’m tired of hiding. I love you. And I want to be seen with you.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh—and it’s the kind of laugh that makes your eyes sting, because it feels like relief, like safety, like everything might actually be worth it if it means he’s the one standing beside you.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. To really look at you.

“You’re sure, baby?” he asks again, but this time softer. Just to be certain. Just to make extra sure.

You nod again, firmer now. “I’m sure.”

And that’s it. The switch flips.

Because now that he knows—really knows—you’re in this with him, he changes. The nervousness melts away. The sweet, steady boyfriend evaporates and in his place is his other side. The menace. The flirt. The boy madly, stupidly in love. 

His eyes drop to your dress. He whistles, low.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure I want anyone else seeing you like this,” he says, one hand trailing down the bare skin of your back. “I mean—fuck, baby. Look at you. You’re unreal.”

You snort. “I thought you wanted people to see me.”

“I do,” he hums. “But I think your first public outing as mine should involve an I love my boyfriend t-shirt. Preferably with my face on it.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already smiling. “Right. Because I’m the one causing competition in this relationship.”

“You are.”

He grins and spins you slowly so you’re facing the mirror again. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his hands roam a little—just enough to make you squirm. 

“I’m serious, babe. I’m gonna have to walk three steps behind you tonight,” he says, eyes fixed on your reflection. “Otherwise I’m gonna end up in a fight.”

“Jeno—”

“No, really. One guy breathes in your direction, I’ll knock him out.”

You shake your head and scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m very serious,” he doubles down. “You’re gonna break the internet. You’re gonna have guys in your comment section and DMs—fucking gross.” He winces, eyes squeezing shut like the thought physically pains him.

You laugh. “Welcome to my world.”

“Christ, baby, how do you do it?” he groans, head tipping back dramatically. 

You glance at him in the mirror, raising a brow. “You’re such a drama queen.”

He kisses your shoulder. Then your neck. Then behind your ear. 

“Yeah, well,” he murmurs. “You’re worth the drama.”

And you know that he means it. Because that’s exactly how you feel about him. At least, you do tonight.

You’re still giggling when Jeno unlocks the door to your apartment, one arm curled tightly under your legs, the other around your back. The hallway spins slightly, or maybe that’s just you—hazy from all the champagne you and Mark’s girlfriend downed while your boyfriend and his bandmate were on stage accepting an award.

The night was good. Really fucking good. Jeno looked at you with so much pride—like having you there, dressed up and laughing beside him, was somehow better than any trophy he won that night. Claiming you in public had lit something in him that his career could never give him. 

“I’m not drunk,” you whine into his neck, breath warm on his skin. “My feet just hurt.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, “That why you nearly fell face first getting into the cab?”

“No,” you huff, pouting. “You try walking in these heels and staying balanced all night.”

“I told you to wear the other shoes before we left,” he mutters, whilst grinning. “But nooo, someone was determined to look sexy tonight.”

He’s right, that was your goal, but still, you hum anyway. “You liked it.”

“Damn right I did.”

The door clicks shut behind him then, and he kicks his shoes off, still holding you like you weigh nothing. He sets you down gently on the edge of the couch, his hands lingering a second longer than necessary on your waist.

“I’ll get you some water,” he says, brushing a kiss against your hairline. “And maybe some painkillers, yeah?”

You nod and he disappears into the bathroom. Sighing, you let your head fall back against the cushion. Your ears are still ringing faintly from the music and cheering. But you feel… lighter. Like something that had been pressing down on your chest finally cracked open and let you breathe. And it has. Because tonight, you were his—and it wasn’t a hidden secret.

You touched him. Kissed him. Supported him. Loved him. Out loud.

Your fingers itch on that thought. You reach for your phone, just to check. Are they talking about it? About you? About—

“Hey.”

Jeno’s voice. 

You freeze, phone halfway unlocked.

“Put it down,” he says softly, stepping into view. He’s changed—his shirt half untucked. He’s undone the top few buttons, disregard his tie, and rolled up his sleeves to reveal the veins running along his forearm. 

Your eyes meet his.

“Why?” you frown.

“You know why,” he says, walking over. “You were so fucking brave tonight, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m not letting those vultures who don’t even know your name upset this—upset you—not tonight.”

He plucks the phone from your hand and sets it down without looking away. Then he drops to his knees in front of you.

Rough palms skim up your thighs slowly. You’re still in that dress, red silk with the slit high enough to tempt his restraint. His hands slide higher, until he’s parting your legs with firm fingers, settling between them like he belongs there.

Because he does.

“We can check it tomorrow if you still want to, baby,” he offers, mouth ghosting over your knee. “But right now? Focus on me. Focus on us. Please?”

You chew your bottom lip, a full-body shiver following the path of his rough palms as they trace the length of your upper leg. God, you love looking at him like this—down on his knees, eyes wide and soft but still dark. That familiar, dangerous sweetness on his face—the kind that makes it impossible to say no to him.

So, you just nod a quiet: “Okay.”

“Good,” he grins, a little wicked now. “Because I just spent an entire night trying not to touch you,” he says hoarsely. “And I fucking love this dress on you, baby.” 

“I picked it with you—”

“Take it off.”

Your lips part of their own accord because you don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice drop like that. It has your fingers fumbling to the clasp behind your back, trembling as you unhook it. Jeno watches like you’re putting on a show just for him. You don't think you’ve ever seen his eyes so heated before either. 

The silk slips from your shoulders, pooling at your waist. And then he’s there—his big hands covering yours, helping you peel it the rest of the way down like he’s unwrapping a gift.

He looks at you in pure awe—like it’s the first time he’s seen every bare inch of your skin, even though it’s not. 

“No fucking underwear, baby?” he asks, thumbs pressing into the soft dips of your waist. “You looked this fucking good all night with nothing on underneath?”

You blink, breath catching.

“I was irritated before,” his jaw tenses. “But now I think I’m mad.”

“Irritated?” you echo.

“Yeah,” he huffs a breath, eyes flicking over your tits straight to your parted lips. “I had to sit there and watch you. Watch you laugh, drink, make every person in that room fall in love with you. And the whole time, you were like this wet and bare—and I didn’t even know.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks—and between your legs.

“I should’ve pulled you into a bathroom stall and made you cum on my fingers just so you’d stop smiling at everyone else.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily. The heat between them is molten now.

“Well,” you whisper, eyes locked on his, “you don’t have to watch anymore.”

He kisses you then and it’s greedy. He’s been holding back for hours, but now, you’re his again—just his—so he doesn’t want to be gentle anymore. He doesn’t have to be.

He pulls you up from the couch, hands sliding down to grab your ass as he walks you backward toward the bedroom, lips styling looked onto yours like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

You tug at his shirt, and he shrugs it off without a second thought.

“Lie down,” he commands softly once you reach the bed.

You obey, spine sinking into the mattress, hair fanning across the pillow as your chest rises and falls rapidly. Jeno climbs over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other slowly moving down the curve of your waist until he’s back to his favourite place—between your legs.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then your thigh. Then higher. All without breaking eye contact.

“You’ve been dripping like this all night?” he breathes, lips fanning the skin just above your pubic bone.

You nod as a whine escapes you because of how slowly he’s moving. He’s taking his time, and it’s excruciating considering how much you need him already.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Been wet all night.”

He lets out a low whistle, then leans in closer, blowing soft air against your bare slit. It’s torturous. Delicious. Cruel.

“Fuck, baby,” he coos, eyes locked on your cunt. “This looks like it aches. What’s got you so worked up, hmm?”

“You, Jeno,” you whimper. “Always you. Please.”

He smirks then. A real, filthy grin. “Good.”

He doesn’t move right away. Just watches. Watches the way your thighs twitch. The way your chest rises faster. The way your lips part like you’re about to beg again. 

He likes that. The anticipation. The way you’re already wrecked and he hasn’t even touched you properly. Then finally—finally—his mouth is on you.

It’s slow at first. A single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, so gentle you barely feel it. Then he sucks. Hard. Tongue flicking over you in the most heavenly way because he knows your body better than you do.

You gasp, hips lifting—but his hands are already there, pinning you down to the mattress with a strength that makes your toes curl.

“Don’t run from me,” he hums against you. “Take it, pretty girl. You deserve it.”

You whimper his name, one hand fisting the sheets, the other reaching down to bury in his hair to tug at the ends whilst he devours you. And when he adds a finger—slips it inside without warning while his tongue flicks fast and precise against your clit—you arch off the bed completely, moaning so loudly it echoes.

“That’s it,” he groans, curling it just right. “So fucking hot.”

You clench around him, and he grins against your skin. Telling you—demanding you—to let go. Which you do, with a cry and a shudder. He doesn’t stop licking until you’re shaking, until you’re whining his name in that breathless, broken way that makes his cock throb behind his zipper.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been moaning his name before he eventually pulls back and reaches for his belt. You reach for him and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles as you help him free his cock from the layers of fabric. 

Then he lines himself up, bare, and sinks into you with a groan that rips straight from his chest. The sound alone sends another shudder through you.

His head falls forward until his forehead rests against yours as he anchors your hip. His breath fans hot across your lips, leaving delicate pecks as he eases into you carefully. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, the curse trembling. “You feel so good. So fucking good, baby.”

And then—he moves. He fucking moves. Deep and steady. Claiming. 

His mouth hovers near yours. Catching each gasp, each moan, each quiet, desperate, whispered plea of his name from your lips. He wants everything. He wants it all. 

He pulls out slow, just to taunt, and then thrusts back in harder and you groan, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You like being full of me, don’t you?”

You nod, breathless. “Yes—fuck—yes, Jeno.”

“Been thinking about this all fucking night,” he breathes against your lips. “About getting that fucking dress off you. About making you squirm. Hearing you make all those pretty little noises for me. Taking everything I give you like such a good fucking girl.”

You clench again at his words, and he feels it. 

“Fuck, baby—already close again?” he smirks, biting softly at your jaw. “You’re so fucking easy for me. So wet. So perfect.”

You moan, your legs tightening around his waist. 

“Say it,” he growls, voice cracking now as his thrusts pick up pace. “Say who you’re perfect for. Who this sweet little body was made to take.”

“You,” you cry out, head falling back. “Fuck, it’s only ever you.”

“Damn right,” he grits, snapping his hips harder. “And now the whole world knows, don’t they? And now I get to show everyone who’s got me wrapped around her fucking finger.”

You whine, nails dragging down his back as your body starts to seize again, overwhelmed by the force of him, by his words. He hisses then, and you know he’s just as close as you. 

“Be good for me, baby. Cum on my cock—show me how fucking mine you are.”

Your pussy pulses around him, mouth opening in a loud moan as pleasure rips through you and you can do nothing but clutch at his bare back. The lines of nail marks reddening.  

“Fuck—there you go,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”

His own hips stutter, rhythm breaking to a languid pace as he chases his own orgasm. He buries his face in your neck, teeth scraping just enough to nip and suck and leave his favourite kind of purple marks. 

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he snarls against your skin. “Fuck—you feel too good—I can’t—”

He pulls out fast, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. But your mind doesn’t have enough time to process that ache because your eyes lock with his—dilated and heavy-lidded—and you forget to breathe.

His hand wraps around his cock, pumping hard, fast. Just a few strokes before he’s spilling all over your stomach, jaw clenched, your name a growl on his tongue.

The sight alone makes your thighs tremble all over again—because he looks so fucking beautiful like this. Chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, eyes half-lidded and burning only for you. You don’t even care about the mess he’s made on your skin—because tonight, he wasn’t just your secret. He was yours. Publicly. 

And you’re both okay with paying that price. 

[suiana]

yandere! golden boy who is your loving boyfriend and... surprisingly loves listening to you talk about your interests! yes darling, talk about your games and novels and silly plushies! he loves seeing how interested you can get about things you're passionate about and it just makes him feel so warm on the inside.

you might even go as far to say he ENCOURAGES your interests. buying you plushies, taking you to exhibitions/places you want... you don't even have to ask, just one look with your eyes and he's taking out his card. yeah, it doesn't matter if you have an unhealthy attachment to that fat cat pusheen or whatever. you seem to really like it so he's buying that 400 dollar plushie for you.

on the same note... he can't help but get jealous when you're gushing over attractive fictional characters. SPECIFICALLY that ONE dude that you seem to have EVERYWHERE. on the wall, on your phone cover, lock screen, profile picture, fuck, even on your bed as a plushie! and all he gets is a meager nickname on his contact?!

"sweetie, must you... really have all these... THINGs of HIM?"

"he's my first husband, you're my second. of course i have merch of him. plus I'm not gonna just throw all these away, i spent big money on these ya know 💀"

he knows it's petty! he knows that it's just a fictional character and that he shouldn't be jealous but dude! you don't even have him in your wallet! it's that freaking guy!

so he does what evey sane boyfriend does and replaces some (not all just some!) of your merchandise with pictures of him and you. how adorable, right?

no.

"bro where is the portrait of my MAN🤬🤬🤬"

"i replaced it with a nice picture of us together darling☺️ look at how cute-"

oh. and you...you just put another photo of that guy again... oh... and you're ranting on reddit/instagram about how he's being mean... you also removed him from your close friends list... oh you... you also decided to kick him off the bed and onto the sofa... oh...

well no biggie! he has lots of patience and he will sneak in his presence into your stuff. he's determined.

"best friend I'm going to need you to cosplay as my favorite character please ☺️"

damn!

why didn't he think of that sooner? if you can't win the normal way, you should do it another way, right? he can just get you to see how much better he is and you'll eventually replace that fictional man for HIM!

...

yeah, that didn't work out as planned. now you're even more in love with that character and you're asking him to cosplay every other day. erm... at least.. your wallpaper is a picture of him cosplaying the character??? he'll take what he can get.

"lol best friend, did you see that video i sent you. it's so stupid."

"for the last time, sweetie. we're dating, call me boyfriend. and which one? I can't watch every single one of the 99+ reels you send me."

"a real best friend would watch them all..."

being with you has singlehandedly changed this man. for the worse or for the better, he doesn't know. but what he does know is that you DON'T know how to dress.

"sweetie, no. you can't just go out in a shirt and shorts! you look like adam sandler!"

"clothes are clothes 🤬"

at least he has a fun time dressing you up. you're like, his cute little rat! his very own personal dress up rat! oh how he wants to just keep you in his pocket and pick out pretty clothes for you, making you look like the cutest thing ever! sure you might take them off and just wear what you want but... at least he's got the photos and the sight of you in a pretty outfit ingrained into the folds of his brain already ☺️ and he'll take every chance he can get to put you into another pretty outfit again. that i assure you.

he... has ALSO found out that you are living on instant noodles, sandwiches, and the occasional takeout. you don't even open the curtains! how can you see in such a dark home? and why are you sleeping until midday?! dear oh dear. you really are a rat, huh?

"darling get up! it's 12 in the afternoon already!"

"i slept at 3 just let me sleep more..."

that simply won't do. he will not be allowing you to lead such a horrid lifestyle! not if he can help it! especially because... well, he's also your boss. from part 1, remember! yeah, you guys didn't break up at the end haha! you were just joking, obviously! not like you'll ever be able to break up. it's in the contract, silly.

"come on, get up. you need to have a healthy lifestyle. I've already gotten my personal chef to cook up a healthy meal for you."

"who's gonna stop me from living like this? you? 😂😂😂"

"yes, me. in our contract, remember? i will be responsible for your health from now till we die."

don't worry. he'll be by your side every step of the way. and hey, who knows? maybe you can even teach him a thing or two about gaming or something else you like! he's open to learning about the things you like.

and he won't even have to worry about you finding another REAL person to like because... well, let's just say you don't even like going out for dinner. we'll keep it at that ☺️

[chrlisangels]

✧ ྅ ˚ . ᯇ * clark kent as a bf

very overly scared of your safety i mean he sees so much danger and hurt in the world as superman, he never wants to have to see you hurt like that to, so when he does see you like that hes the most panicked you’ve ever seen him.

“are you okay?!? i mean gosh that guy has a gun! he could have killed you or anyone in that shop.” clarks voice panicked as he rambles on “yes im fine clark-” a giggle slips from your lips cutting of your words “im fine perfectly fine i mean superman- you came and saved the day before that guy could even shoot one shot!”

“i know but what if i didn’t come fast enough..what if- what if something happened to you cause i was too slow?!?” his words make you melt cause i mean you have the six foot four man worried just cause some guy tried to rob the store you were in.

the sweetest boy ever! im talking buys you flowers every week and makes dinner for you every night just like his ma and pa taught him too.

babysits krypto for kara just because you like having the dog around the house, i mean he’s so adorable who wouldn’t wanna have him around!! (clark is who doesn’t want him around)

“awhh whos a good doggie?” your laugh strong as you give krypto a dog treat which he takes cheerfully, “ya know i seriously dont know why you like having him around so much, i mean he destroys our apartment everytime!” clarks words has you pouting.

“he’s so cute though! look at his cute face and tell me he’s not the most adorable doggy you’ve ever seen.” clark rolls his eyes at your words but a smile still appears on his face “not cute enough to let him break all of our things.” “you broke our counter last week, does that mean i shouldn’t keep your around our apartment?” your tease him.

“i broke our counter for good reason! he just breaks things cause he doesn’t know how to control his strength.” you shake your head at clarks words “you broke it cause you wanted to have sex!” “yeah thats a good reason!!!”

had a whole date planned for when he told you he was superman. he desperately needed it to go perfectly cause he was terrified that you wouldn’t like him anymore because of his secret identity :(

biggest cuddler ever! honestly its not even cuddling after awhile its just him laying his entire body weight on you while he calmly sleeps against your chest.

“clarkkkkk!!” you groan while trying to push him off you “your crushing me honey.” your words fall on deaf ears as he sleeps soundly without moving a inch.

you continue trying to push him off for a few more minutes before realizing its absolutely useless, unfortunately having a boyfriend with super strength means you cannot push him off you even when he’s completely crushing you.

speaking of him crushing you with his entire body weight, he does the exact same during sex! he just gets to overstimulated and full of love he cant do anything besides just collapse on you while rutting into you.

lei lei’s notes: this is like my bob one but for clark cause its easier writing hc and short sentences than a fic😔 IM SORRY OKAY? I AM EXPERIENCING SEVER WRITERS BLOCK anyways like my bob one this got just a lil nsfw at the end but thats all

[bobbiereynolds]

The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

[buckiverse]

☆ warnings: mdni, this is literally just a description of how caleb, zayne, and sylus jerk off and if they watch porn

☆ a/n: I have officially decided all the boys are virgins, so i feel it's only right to write about them yearning for you but also being overcome with guilt <3

☆ Caleb

Caleb has spent so long secretly admiring you, adoring you. All he wants is for you to like him the same—but Caleb is patient. Caleb understands long-suffering and is willing to wait for you. He won’t force you to come to him. You have to want it—this, as he does. With this being said, for a long time, he will not watch porn. He’ll feel bad like he’s betraying you—like you’ll know he lusted after another person. 

When you both go to college, he’d spend more time away from you for the first time, and he wouldn’t even dare to think about letting another woman touch him. He’d even have you act as a liaison, discouraging others from approaching him romantically. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t heard stories of what his friends were doing in bed, the fantasies they were living out—now he was curious. 

He’s not a boy anymore, and this is different—it’s educational, he’d tell himself. When the video loaded, a woman, blindfolded, a vibrator pressed between her folds. Teasing her clit gently. The blush spread on his face furiously as he felt himself getting hard. He watched as she writhed against the toy, but not daring to close her legs as her partner commanded. He could feel the heat spreading across his neck—taking mental notes. He would love to do this to you.

Though he had no experience, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make love to you so good you’d never want to leave. He’d read books and look at fanart, especially of things you like. If you tell him about the latest manhwa you’re reading, best believe he's going to study that shit like no other. You read romance? Well, now he does, too. 

He might even have a whole notepad. Seeing what works, what he likes, what he thinks you might like. He knows you well enough to guess, though he’d definitely ask you directly. 

But when Caleb touches himself, he’d do it with a stolen pair of panties. Sometimes, the washer would eat your socks, underwear, and towels, which was nothing new.

Now, speaking of guilt, he knows this is horrible for him, but he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. But when Caleb saw the pair, unwashed and forgotten in the washer, he couldn’t help but pick them up and stuff them in his pocket. Now he closes his eyes, stroking himself slowly, the underwear in his mouth to muffle the noises from his lips, hoping you wouldn’t hear him. He decided this would do. Using little pieces of you to get himself off. 

He would think of the times before college when he could hear your muffled moans and breaths coming from your room late at night and secretly press his head against your shared wall, trying to listen to you better. He couldn’t wait to use his newfound knowledge on you. He’s just eagerly waiting. 

☆ Zayne

Zayne wants to be romantically involved with you. He desires—yearns for it. But he knows that's not the current state of your relationship and will respect the pace at which you want to take things. His busy life keeps him occupied. He almost relies on it to monopolize his attention since he can’t give it all to you. But it doesn’t stop the guilt he feels—watching porn. 

It takes a lot for him actually to touch himself. He won’t do it often. Yet. It would be an actual internal conflict for him. When he finally decided he was going to watch porn, he would make it quick. The cold metal of his phone in his hand, the dark screen reflecting at him, would almost snap Zayne out of it—but he’s currently wrapped up in his lust. Even so, he still feels like he’s being unfaithful to you—the idea of you more accurately. 

He’ll decide only to watch one while allowing the video to load. He’s just desperate to get off at the moment. It’s almost painful, the way his cock is straining against his slacks. Lately, waiting or sleeping it off hasn’t been working. He’d been so pent up that Zayne stayed hard the whole drive home, and now he gave in. 

It's a short video, but fuck it was hot. The woman squirmed underneath her partner. And Zayne’s pupils blew wide when he saw him suck on her clit, and he could hear the *pop* of his lips detaching from her folds. The groan that fell from her lips when he pushed his tongue inside her—how his arms kept her legs pinned down, though her hips bucked upwards. 

He wanted to do that to you badly. So bad that he closed his eyes, his head thrown back, his lips parted as he leaned back in the chair, jerking himself fast. He had to have you—he couldn’t take it anymore. And he came so fucking hard, and when he finally opened his eyes, he saw the come all over his slacks.

But the guilt was quickly spreading through his chest. It almost feels like he has desires towards the people in the video, but honestly, all he wants is you. He’s never even touched another woman—but still, he felt mortified at the idea that you’d look at him and know what he was doing late at night, imagining it was you there.  

He would never touch another woman. You are all he has wanted since he was a child. Even back then, he only wanted to be connected to you, keeping other girls at a distance even into his adulthood. But maybe now that was catching up to him.

☆ Sylus

Sylus is patient—but only with you. He’d been frustrated for a while. Between your apparent hatred of him and the chaos in the N109 zone, it was slowly eating away at him. Still, no matter how adamant you were about holding your grudge, he’d never be angry with you. Disappointed? Maybe. But never angry.

He loved the game you were playing but wanted—needed—more of you. You were bonded to him, whether you realized it or not. Fated. And the longer you pretended to hate him, the more amused he became. Sylus knew your walls were crumbling, piece by piece.

Like the patient man he is, he waited. Even as you kept those walls standing, even as you unknowingly softened him in ways he never expected—he never sought out distractions. He wouldn’t watch porn. He didn’t need to. First of all, he was busy. Running a city, being a crime boss. You know, important stuff.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t come home late at night, exhausted, missing you. That he didn’t lie in bed on his stomach, the ache of longing settling deep. He might even pull a pillow beneath him, letting it fill the empty space—imagining it was you.

He’d press his weight into it, wishing it were your body beneath him instead. His breath would hitch, a flush burning its way across his cheeks as he rutted against it, slow at first, then more desperate. His fingers would twist into the sheets, knuckles white, your name slipping past his lips like a prayer.

He just felt so desperate. The need for you—your touch, your claim—clawed at his chest, leaving him raw. And when he finally came, hips stuttering in one last, shaky grind, a tear would slip from the corner of his eye.

Sylus doesn’t cry often—if at all. But the thought of you never choosing him? That breaks him.

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

the highly requested expansion on this post, in which your neighbour clark kent is so helpful, and so adorably awkward that you can't help but tease him.

mildly suggestive, mdni

part one! part two!

Your parents decided to move out of the city to this small, unknown farming town for whatever reason. You're in a new place, no friends, nothing to do. Then your mother sends you to pick up a food order from a nearby farm. Thinking about Mrs Kent calling for her son Clark to come help you with all these heavy boxes and bags and this gorgeous 6-foot-something boy comes out all tall and muscular with the sweetest smile. He's in that tight white t-shirt and jeans with a belt combo, tied together with that boyish charm that has you nearly swooning as he comes over. 

“Hey, mom.” 

“Can you help carry all of this? I don't want her struggling all the way home.” 

You think that a long walk like that with someone as pretty as Clark Kent might kill you. “Oh  really, Mrs Kent-” Mrs Kent gives you a look “- Martha, it's not a problem. I don't live that far, I think I can do it.” 

“No, no, I insist. Clark will help you.” 

You look to Clark and offer a smile which he returns. Oh, he's far too cute. You're pretty sure your heart is close to bursting out of your chest. Damn the Kents and their hot-as-hell farmboy son. Damn Smallville for thrusting this man upon you. Damn the powers that be for dangling him in front of you, teasing you with his existence. 

“Thank you, Martha,” you say, and she nods with a smile before heading back inside with a goodbye and a well-wish. 

Clark bends down to grab the crates, which he stacks on top of each other, ladening his arms with bags as well, leaving a very small percentage of the order to be carried by you. “Uh, I can take some of that if you-” 

“No, totally fine. It’s not that heavy.” 

Your eyebrows raise, eyes briefly flitting down to look at his biceps, now flexed and really pressing against the confines of his sleeves. Then you blink back to reality and bend down to pick up the other bags, beginning the walk with Clark at your side. 

“I’m Clark, by the way,” he introduces himself, and you give him your name. “Right, you guys just moved here from Central City?” 

“Yeah, how did you-” 

“Not much really passes for gossip around here. So, how are you liking Smallville?” 

“Oh, it’s great. Real party town. Cream corn capital of the world, I hear,” you remark sarcastically, and Clark chuckles, shaking his head. “No, it’s definitely a change of pace. Not exactly a totally welcome one, but I don’t think it can get much worse.” 

“Are you not settling in?” 

“Oh, I’m settled. Totally. Just that it’s not really easy being in a new place and knowing nobody.” 

“Well, now you’ve got me.” 

“Oh, do I now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I could be a horrible person, Clark. You can’t just go around letting total strangers into your life like this.” 

He shrugs. “You know, I think it’d be a little more obvious if you were evil.” 

You hold up a finger. “I didn’t say evil, just horrible.” 

“Well, I don’t think you’re horrible either. I’d like to think I have a pretty good sense for these things.” 

“Yeah, well. You can never be too careful around complete strangers.” 

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself if you turned out to be a serial killer or a bandit or something,” Clark says. 

You eye his physique again. “Yeah, probably. I mean, what do you bench, a tractor?” Clark laughs a little awkwardly, and you feel yourself turning hot with embarrassment. “Sorry. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I wasn’t checking you out or anything. It’s just that you’re very noticeably strong.” 

He gives another one of those charming smiles. “Don’t worry, you’re okay.” 

Somehow, it seems Clark is more embarrassed by the situation than you are. 

And when you finally reach your house, and Clark helps carry everything inside, you decide to test something. 

You’re putting away something in a low cupboard, bending at the waist, ass right in front of him, and when you stand straight and turn around, Clark has turned a bright shade of red and avoids eye contact as best as possible. 

And before he leaves, you voice your gratitude, going above and beyond to tell him that you’re so grateful for him being there to help. “Thank you so much, Clark. You were so helpful. Just let me know how I can return the favour, I’ll help any way I can.” 

And then you’re giving him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and a happy goodbye, watching him leave with empty crates and a blush on his cheeks. He’s far too cute. 

You like Clark Kent. Not just because of his smile or his biceps or eyes or hair. Because he’s kind, funny, and oh so helpful. It doesn’t hurt that you also like how he turns red. 

[alinathinkstoomuch]

CLOCKED IN

pairing: aaron hotchner x fake!fiancee!reader summary: hotch is trying his hardest to keep it together when your so-called friends crash the night out, good thing the bau are world class shit stirrers, based on this request. warnings: fluff, protective hotch but also protective bau!! brief reference to them meeting which can be read here word count: 1.3k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

Hotch was, against all odds, and probably his own expectations, actually having a good time. Shocking, really. But he knew exactly why, it was you. You sitting under the glittering mirrorball light, talking with your hands mid-explanation. 

It was your first official time meeting the team, and he wasn’t even a little bit surprised by how quickly you charmed every single person at the table. You had that effect on people. It was something he’d always admired about you, and okay, maybe envied a little too. He wasn’t exactly known for being warm or approachable. His voice didn’t magically pull smiles from strangers. Yours did.

And yet somehow, you—completely out of the blue—had walked into a bar similar to this one and asked him, a total stranger, to pretend to be your fiance for the night. Still one of the most absurd things he’s ever heard and he deals with absurd for a living.

Maybe that bit of envy came from a selfish place, though. Because he liked to think that the effervescent side of you was something you saved just for him, but it wasn’t because you were like that with everyone. All grins, all giggles, all theatrics because that’s who you were. And it made him furious inside to imagine anyone taking advantage of that. Like those awful friends who made you feel like you had to lie in the first place.

Still, in a roundabout, slightly messed-up way, he guessed he owed them one. Because their cruelty had delivered you straight to him.

He was mid-sip of his drink when he caught the way your smile wobbled. And when you did a double take towards the front door, his eyes were inclined to follow to see who or what he was going to have to glare at for sucking the light from your face that fast.

He didn’t even try to hide the exasperated sigh that left him.

“Oh boy,” you muttered, eyes still on the door.

“Do you know them?” JJ asked, leaning forward over a cluster of empty cocktail glasses. “Because they’re pointing.”

“And coming over,” Morgan added, eyebrows raised.

You straightened in your seat. “That’s…the quarter of the group responsible for me meeting Aaron.”

“No!” Penelope gasped, hand flying to her chest. “You mean those friends? The ones you had to lie to? The whole fake-fiancé saga?”

“In the flesh,” you confirmed, grabbing your drink and taking two very necessary gulps as Aaron braced himself for the evening to dissolve into performative lunacy. 

You shifted in your seat beside him, shoulders going stiff in that I’m fine, this is fine way that meant the opposite. And yeah, his jaw clenched. Because the idea of you having to perform just to feel safe, or liked, or respected? Made his blood run hot. Especially when you were surrounded by people who actually saw you—really saw you—and didn’t need a single performance to adore you.

“Oh my god! Okay! We all have very important parts to play,” Penelope whisper-yelled at the table.

“Just don’t make it weirder than it has to be,” Emily muttered, toying with her paper straw.

“You want another drink?” Rossi nudged Aaron who just glared at the older man. “Come on, lighten up. I didn’t get to see you in fiancé-action last time.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Hotch said dryly, reaching over and resting his hand over yours in a squeeze.

You turned to face him and the panicked look on your face made his stomach knot. “I’m sorry for this. I had no idea they’d be here, I haven’t even spoken to them in months.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, just like you don’t owe them a damn thing.” His tone softened. “But if you want an out, just say the word, I’ll make up an excuse and we’re gone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but it was too late.

“Wow,” came a voice you knew all too well. “Look who it is.”

“Veronica.” You offered a perfectly polite, perfectly fake smile. “Dani,” you added, glancing at her tagalong.

“Mind if we sit with your fiancé and friends?” Veronica asked, already pulling a chair over from the table behind because she wasn’t actually asking or waiting for permission. She wedged herself in between you and Emily.

Dani copied her motions, plopping herself down between Penelope and Spencer. The poor genius looked like he was calculating the fastest way to disassociate, especially when Dani’s manicured hands rested a little too close to his drink. 

“So,” Veronica said, all teeth. “Are you going to introduce us?” She glanced around the table. “How do you all know the happy couple?”

“We work with Hotch,” Morgan answered smoothly, lifting his glass. “FBI.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s… intense.”

“Depends on the day,” Emily chimed in, “But yeah, keeps us busy.”

Veronica’s icy gaze slid to you, her mouth twitching. “Must be nice. All that… structure and stability. Probably pays off a little more than fashion, huh?”

You barely had time to get a word out before Penelope jumped in for you. “Oh, sweetie. One campaign of hers pays more than my entire annual salary. And I’m not exactly working for peanuts.”

You let out a sheepish laugh, just as Aaron’s thumb pressed gently against your hand, as if reminding you to breathe. 

“Anyway,” Dani piped up, suddenly remembering she had both a voice and a personality, “how’s wedding planning going? You must be deep in it by now, right?”

“Weren’t you just looking at venues?” Rossi added with a grin, like he’d been personally waiting for this moment. Hotch made a mental note to get him store-brand whiskey for his next birthday.

“We were,” Hotch replied as casually as he could manage. “She wants a beach wedding. I want one where her dress doesn’t blow into the ocean.”

Morgan snorted while JJ shook her head, trying and failing to hide a smile. 

“Tell the truth,” Emily grinned. “You just don’t want sand in your shoes.”

“I don't want sand in my everything,” Hotch said flatly, taking a sip of his drink at the involuntary conversation. 

“Fair,” Morgan laughed, tipping his glass towards him. “Sand gets everywhere. Man’s got a point.”

“Well, the guest list must be pretty large then,” Veronica went on, smiling just a little too sweetly. “Half the FBI, and of course us, your best friends. You’ll need something that can accommodate everyone.”

“We’re keeping it small,” Hotch almost snarled, his tone landing somewhere between polite restraint and you’re not fucking invited. Not that there was an actual wedding, but if he ever did marry you, those two would be the last names on the list.

“Oh! But you have to have bridesmaids, right?” Dani pressed on, gesturing between herself and Veronica. “I mean, you’re probably thinking of us, your best friends—”

“We haven’t gotten that far,” you cut her off.

“Besides,” Emily added with a shark-like smile, “it’s so hard to find dresses that don’t clash with fragile egos.”

Your eyebrows shot up before you could stop them. Morgan was grinning like a man thoroughly entertained. JJ stifled a laugh behind a cough. And Spencer? He just looked politely baffled, having subtly nudged his drink as far away from Dani’s claws as possible without making it look like he was giving it to Rossi. 

Hotch, meanwhile, added a new line to his growing mental list: whatever bottle Emily wanted for her birthday, she was getting the top shelf version. Hell, maybe two. 

Some of the tension in his chest eased a little and he hoped yours had too. Because if there was one thing his team excelled at, it was rallying around someone they’d decided was theirs. And judging by the grins, side-eyes, and Emily’s very intentional lack of filter, the BAU had officially clocked in.

Not for a case. 

For you. 

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