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wholoveseggs · 3 months

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Small Victories

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} After a tourney in which Daemon places second, he seeks solace from his loss and finds it in his little northern maid.

♡♡ Hello darlings! I'm branching out slightly and writing about a new character {Don't worry, I'm still writing Elijah} xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smutt, size!kink, rough sex, dom!daemon, slight choking, virgin!reader, northern!reader, servant!reader, pre-dance Daemon, huge power imbalance...

♡♡ Hey! I didn't tag anyone because I'm unsure if you want to read Daemon content. If you wish to be tagged in future Daemon let me know ♡♡

You didn't like the Red Keep, it was too grand for your liking. Even with all of the people in it you still felt alone. At night, you could hear voices echoing throughout the halls, sometimes they were singing or laughing and other times they were screaming or moaning.

You could never tell where the sounds were coming from, it gave the place an odd feeling of being haunted. Ghosts weren't something you put your faith in, but that didn't stop the hair from standing up on the back of your neck whenever you heard a strange sound.

If it was up to you, you wouldn't live here. You would be back in the little cottage you grew up in, far into the north and as far away from King's landing as you could possibly be. It was a funny contradiction, that such a grand place in a warm environment could feel so cold, while a small house in the cold north could feel so full of warmth.

The last thing your mother said to you, was that you should be grateful. That your place in the Red Keep was the highest honor your family could ever hope to receive, and that you should do anything to stay here. To be a lady's maid to the queen, was the highest achievement a low born could achieve.

You tried to be, even though your heart yearned for the snowy landscape of your childhood. You wanted to be happy, you were thankful, but you couldn't help the way you missed the north.

So to try and capture just a bit of personal freedom, you would walk the halls at night. It was the only time you could pretend to be somewhere else, even if it was only for a moment. You would close your eyes and imagine yourself somewhere new and exciting, and when you opened them you would be reminded of where you really were.

Tonight you were in a particularly adventurous mood, there was a tourney the next day for Prince Viserys and his wife Aemma to celebrate their wedding. The Red Keep would be full of guests and it would be loud and full of life, you were sure to be very busy, and so you decided to stay up late and postpone sleep for a few more hours.

There was a room in the library that had a view of the city, one you liked to frequent often. It had a large window and a balcony that was rarely used. It was a nice place to go to clear your mind and think about home.

When you entered, nobody was around except for a cat that was perched on the windowsill. She was a lovely thing with black fur and bright green eyes, the perfect color of a dark forest at night.

"Hello, beautiful." You greeted her with a smile and a light stroke along her back. You looked out the window with her at your side, watching the moon reflect off the ocean and the waves crashing against the shore.

The sound of footsteps behind you made you look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on a man with a face that made you stand up straight and bow your head.

"Prince Daemon." You greeted him, not looking up from the floor.

"Young maidens like yourself shouldn't be out so late." He said, stepping closer to you. You didn't dare move or even breathe, his presence made you feel like you were caught doing something wrong.

"I couldn't sleep, my lord," You answered, not meeting his eyes. This was your first real meeting with the prince, but you knew the rumors that surrounded him.

He didn't respond to your answer, instead, he turned his attention towards the view. Leaning against the window, his posture was dismissive, as though you weren't there. He gave you a side glance that read, 'leave,' and so you did, not wanting to get in his way.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude." You said, walking past him, heading towards the doorway.

"You are from the north," he spoke, still looking out into the water.

"Yes, my lord," You answered, stopping when he started speaking.

"How did you find yourself as a maid in the south?" He asked, looking at you, his eyes piercing through you.

The truth of the matter made you feel shameful, even though it was beyond your control. So you decided to tell him what you've been telling everyone.

"I was given as a gift for our new queen," You said, looking down at the floor.

"Is that what they call it?" Daemon laughed, his laugh was as harsh as his voice, the kind of laugh that could cut you open if you let it. "I heard you were given away as payment for a debt."

Your cheeks reddened and you looked at the ground, your throat closing up at the mention of your family's failure. Pride wasn't something you could afford anymore, but you couldn't stop the words that came out of your mouth.

"I didn't realize that princes were so fond of gossip." You said, meeting his eyes, your words were meant to cut, and they did.

He stood up straight, his expression unreadable as he closed the distance between the two of you, towering over you.

"Ahh, so they did sell you." He smirked, looking down at you. "Whoring can make you better coin… recover a debt quicker."

Your hands balled up into fists and you took a step closer, a defiant glare on your face.

He chuckled and tilted his head, he reached out and touched your chin, his hand was soft but firm as he turned your face to look at him.

"With a pretty face like yours, I'm sure you would make quite a bit of coin," His voice was a purr, a seductive growl that made your insides feel tight. "I could show you a better use for those lips."

His words were shockingly vulgar, his voice was rough and commanding and his eyes were hungry, but you didn't move away, you stayed still. You knew the dragon prince was a scandalous man, but you didn't think he would ever be so bold.

"There is no honor in a whore's coin." You answered, pushing his hand away from your face.

"Is there honor in emptying the queen's chamber pot?" He retorted, grinning slightly at how red your cheeks had become.

"Not all of us have the opportunity to choose what sort of honor we can acquire,” You said, standing your ground as best as you could.

He towered over you, his tall frame casting a shadow that almost completely covered you. He wasn't like the king or queen, who were kind and generous. There was something dark and malicious about him, as though the great beasts of his house lurked just below his skin, waiting to come out.

"You have a smart mouth, little northerner." He mused, his eyes drifting down to your lips. "It's a wonder that the queen has not put a gag in it."

"It's a poor quality I have yet to overcome." You responded, pulling away from him and putting some distance between the two of you.

He watched you move away, his eyes following your movements and the shape of your body, making you feel hot.

"I will think of you when I win the tourney tomorrow." He said, his tone smug and confident. "A sweet northern flower to bring back with me."

"You will be bringing back nothing, prince Daemon." You said, your voice a warning.

He laughed and looked at you, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"We'll see about that."

And with those final words, he left the room. You felt flustered and annoyed, a strange mixture of feelings that confused and angered you. You didn't like the prince, but he made your heart race, his voice and his eyes made you feel a strange sense of heat.

You wanted to be disgusted, and yet all you could think about was seeing him again.

It was a hectic morning, with all the knights and guests arriving, and you were late. Your tardiness had earned you a sharp reprimand from your head maid, but you were too distracted by the upcoming event to care.

The prospect of seeing the prince again was something you weren't sure you wanted, but couldn't stop thinking about.

You didn't like the way his eyes lingered on you, or how he made you feel things that shouldn't be felt. The rogue prince was indeed a fitting title, he was a scoundrel and a liar, a man of dishonor.

You thought that maybe he was the sort of person that the south created, perhaps they took people like you and turned them into someone like him. But then again, he wasn't really a southerner, no, he was a dragon.

The sound of cheers and laughter outside made your ears perk up. The queen was already seated with the other royals in their viewing box, and you were in a nearby tent, preparing more wine and food.

The tourney had just begun, and so far the knights had all performed well. You had only been paying a bit of attention, trying to do your job and keep out of the way.

The head maid was a cruel, vindictive woman, and she had been taking out her frustration on you all day. Her temper was short and her hands were rough, she was the kind of woman that would slap your hands or pull your hair if she was upset. But today she decided to simply make your life miserable with her words.

She gave you the worst jobs and the heaviest items to carry, and when she did allow you to stand and rest, she would hit your feet with her broom and tell you to get back to work.

"Once you are finished pouring wine, I want you to go to the prince's tent and serve him." She ordered, her eyes were sharp and her words were harsh.

"The prince has a squire to serve him." You protested, the idea of facing Daemon again made your cheeks turn red.

"The prince requested a woman's company,” She smiled, her eyes looking at you with an almost wicked satisfaction.

"I believe what the prince is looking for can be found on the street of silk, not among the ladies maids." You countered, hoping to change her mind.

"It's an honor to serve the prince, and he has specifically asked for a northern girl." The head maid was adamant, not willing to let this go.

You clenched your jaw and took a deep breath, biting your tongue as you looked at the floor.

"Very well, madam."

You held back tears as you climbed the stairs to the viewing box, pouring wine into the cups. Keeping your eyes low and only lifting them when absolutely necessary as you made your way down the line of royals.

Everyone began to stir and chat as the final round was announced. You turned to face the arena, watching as the prince mounted his horse, the sight of him made your heart flutter.

He was a handsome man, there was no denying that, his long blonde hair was braided and tied back, and his purple eyes were focused and determined.

His horse was a massive stallion, black as night, and he rode him as though they were one. He moved with a grace and confidence that was captivating.

The final round began, the two men charging at each other. You were nervous and excited, not knowing what to expect.

The clash of steel was the only sound in the air, it echoed throughout the entire arena. The crowd was silent, their eyes locked on the scene before them.

The two men passed each other, once, twice, three times. The tension building with each near miss, until finally the two knights clashed again.

Daemon's opponent had a slight edge over him, being bigger and stronger, but Daemon was quicker. But on the fourth pass, his opponent managed to catch him off guard, sending him flying into the dirt.

The crowd gasped, their hands covering their mouths as the prince's horse bucked and ran, leaving him in the dust.

You winced at the sight, it wasn't a good fall. He landed on his back, hard, and he lay still for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he caught his breath.

Only when the head maid cleared her throat did you realize you had been holding your breath.

"You are needed in the prince's tent, girl." she commanded, grabbing the jug from your hands and giving you a stern look.

You nodded, taking the tray of food and wine from the table and heading out of the box. Your heart was racing and your palms were sweaty, the thought of seeing Daemon after such a public humiliation was not something you were looking forward to.

The air was alive with the roar of the people, and the thumping of their feet sounded like thunder. They were chanting for the champion, something that would surely upset Daemon even more.

When you got to his tent, you hesitated, taking a moment to calm your nerves. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the noise of the crowd fade away.

You stepped inside, finding him sitting in a chair, his shirt was off and his squire was cleaning a nasty gash on his arm.

"I'm sorry for intruding, Prince Daemon." You said, placing the tray of food on the table and pouring a cup of wine.

"Leave," he barked at his squire, his voice was gruff and his jaw was clenched.

"But my prince-" his squire protested, looking up from the wound he was treating.

"Now."

The boy left quickly, leaving you alone with the brooding prince.

"Would you like some wine, my lord?" You asked, your voice soft and timid, the last thing you wanted was to make him even more upset.

"No," he hissed, his voice sharp as a knife. "Bring me a new shirt."

You did as he asked, walking over to the large chest in the corner. It was full of clothes, the colors and fabrics were fine and beautiful. You selected a clean white shirt and brought it over to him, your eyes focused on the ground.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice was quiet, but it was a demand, not a request.

You lifted your eyes, meeting his gaze. His eyes were cold, the same shade of violet that had captivated you was now a glare.

You did very well, my lord," You tried to reassure him, your voice soft and comforting.

"Is that meant to be comforting?" He asked, his tone was harsh and his expression was a scowl.

"Fine. I have never seen a worse display than the one you put on today," you said, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

He smiled, then laughed, his shoulders shaking as his amusement grew. Only his brother the king would ever talk to him this way, and here you were, a young low born northerner, mocking him. He didn't know why he enjoyed it coming from you, perhaps it was because your words meant nothing. You were no one, and he was the prince, and yet he found himself intrigued.

"That was quite a show, wasn't it?" He chuckled, the sound was hollow, not at all humorous.

"It was humiliating," you answered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"Careful," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky I find your insolence amusing."

"I thought it was why you had asked for me," you retorted, setting the shirt on the table and taking a step back.

He stood up from the chair, closing the space between the two of you. The air was thick with tension, his eyes boring into yours, his face was inches from yours.

"I didn't lose the tourney," he stated, his voice a low growl.

"You didn't win either," you countered, your cheeks flushed red, your heart racing in your chest.

He smiled, the gesture was almost predatory, he reached out and grabbed your face, his hands were rough and his grip was tight.

"You are quite the mouthy little wench," his words were a harsh whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

You didn't answer, afraid of what he would do if you spoke. He seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes dancing with amusement as he stared at you.

"On your knees," he ordered, his tone demanding.

"My lord, I-" you protested, trying to pull away.

"Kneel," his voice was louder this time, and you knew that he was not going to repeat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, but he was the prince, and you couldn't disobey him. So you lowered yourself onto your knees, looking up at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

"Is it true that northern girls can take a cock better than southern ones?" He asked, his hand still holding onto your chin.

You didn't know how to respond, his words making your cheeks burn. You could only stare at him, your mind reeling as you tried to figure out what he wanted.

He smiled, and the look in his eyes made your heart race. "Open your mouth, little northerner."

You did as he commanded, your eyes never leaving his. He pushed his thumb past your lips and slowly pressed down onto your tongue, rubbing it in circles before slowly dragging it out.

Your lips parted and your breathing became heavier as he traced his wet thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes fixated on the movement.

"Beautiful." He whispered before sliding his thumb back into your mouth, pushing it all the way into your throat, causing you to gag.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and wiped the spit off on your cheek before grabbing you by the arms and lifting you up, turning you around and pushing you face first into the table.

"My lord," you gasped, struggling against his strong grip.

Daemon laughed at the look of shock on your face, his cock growing harder at the sight. "See? I knew you would make a great whore," he smirked, his words bringing a flush to your face.

He pulled your dress up, exposing your ass and legs. His hands were rough as he groped you, squeezing your thighs and your cheeks.

You pushed against him, trying to free yourself, but his grip was too strong. He pushed your thighs apart, his hand trailing up to your cunt, his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you.

He softened at your defiance, a smirk crossing his lips. "I enjoy you, little northerner. Perhaps I should keep you," he mused.

He slid his finger into your cunt, his touch gentle and slow. You whimpered, pushing against him again.

"You would be my little northern flower," he murmured, his finger moving in and out of your cunt, the pace becoming quicker. "A blue rose in my garden."

You were ashamed of how aroused you were, the prince's touch was intoxicating, and you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his hand. You had never been with a man before and the pleasure he was giving you was beyond anything you had ever felt.

He slid another finger inside of you, his movements quick and rough. You moaned, biting your lip as you felt yourself getting closer to release.

He suddenly pulled away, the sudden absence of his touch made you whimper. He spun you around, knocking objects off the table and pinning you against it. Your hands went to his chest, pushing him back, but his grip was too strong, his eyes filled with lust.

"You're a feisty one," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands gripping your ass, lifting you up and pressing you against his hips. "I guess it's true that the fires always burn hotter in the north,"

You shivered as he sucked and bit at the skin on your neck, his teeth scraping across your sensitive flesh, leaving red marks behind. You couldn't help but moan, the feeling was so intense, and the sounds were so sinful.

"My prince... I..." You stuttered, trying to find the words, but he cut you off with a kiss.

The feel of his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his cock hard against you, was intoxicating. You had never felt this way before, this desire, this want. He made you feel like you were drowning in the fire of his touch. He was a dragon, and he would take what he wanted.

You couldn't resist, you gave in, kissing him back, letting his tongue explore your mouth. He smelled of blood, dirt and sweat, a combination that shouldn't have been appealing, but was.

You could taste his lust on your lips, and it made you hungry for more. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pressing yourself closer to him, and he moaned, the sound rumbling in his chest. He was so much larger than you, so much stronger, and you felt so small in his arms.

His hand trailed down your chest, slowly untying the strings that held up your dress, his fingers tracing over the fabric, teasing you.

"Sweet little northern girl," he teased, his voice a low growl. "Are you going to give yourself to me?"

"Yes," you whispered, your cheeks flushed pink.

He kissed you again, his lips rough and demanding, his hand pushing your dress down, exposing your breasts. "You've never touched yourself before, have you?”

"No, my Prince," you whispered, your little hands curled into his chest, your nails digging into his skin.

"That's alright, I'll show you how it's done."

His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers trailing up, his touch light and teasing. You let out a gasp as his fingers brushed over your cunt, touching a spot that made your body tremble.

"This little spot right here," he said, rubbing his thumb against it, "is the most sensitive part of your body. The more pressure, the better."

You nodded, gasping and moaning as he pressed his thumb against it, circling it. You could feel the heat rising within you, the pleasure building.

"Feels good doesn't it?" He whispered, his voice husky, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Y-yes," you stuttered, your hips moving, grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

"Do you like being my little whore, hmm?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, his kisses hot and wet.

"N-no," you moaned, pushing him back, trying to fight against him.

He laughed, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "Liar," he whispered, his tongue licking over the marks he'd made.

His hands reaching down to his waist, undoing his breeches and pulling them off, his cock springing free. You gasped, your eyes wide as you took in the size of him.

He took your hand and placed it on his cock, his eyes burning into yours. "Go on, feel it," he whispered.

Your fingers curled around his cock, your small hand barely able to fit around him. You moved your hand, sliding it down the length of his shaft, his cock thick and pulsing in your hand. His skin was so warm and smooth, his breathing deepening as you began to move your hand up and down, stroking him slowly.

You could see the scars from battle stretched across his chest and torso. Small claw-like marks around his pectoral and a deep line that stretched down the left side of his rib cage. He was a hardened warrior, and you could tell by his scars, he had been through much to get where he was now.

You squeezed his cock, moving your hand up and down, his breathing deepening and his eyes growing hazy. He watched you, his gaze following every movement you made. You were starting to get more comfortable, taking pleasure in watching him, in making him feel good. You found the nerve to press the pad of your thumb against the tip, feeling the moisture leaking from him.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice low and husky.

You felt a wave of pride, knowing that you were pleasing him, that he liked the way you were touching him. You continued to stroke him, squeezing and pulling at his cock, watching his face, seeing the pleasure on his features.

He groaned, his eyes closing and his head tilting back, his breath catching. You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand, and you knew that he was getting close.

He let out a low growl and grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. "If you keep that up, I'm going to spill my seed all over this pretty little dress of yours," he said, his eyes full of heat.

"Is that so, my lord?" You asked, unable to hide the hint of amusement in your voice.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you under him, his body caging you, trapping you beneath him. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his cock hard and resting on your stomach. His eyes burned into yours, his gaze intense, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

You weren't talking back anymore, he could see the fear in your eyes, the hesitance, and that only made him want you more. His hand went to your throat, applying gentle pressure, a silent warning.

He could feel you trembling beneath him, and he tightened his grip, a primal, possessive urge rising within him. Your small hands pushing into his chest, clutching at his heated flesh.

"Open for me," he growled, his eyes fixed on yours.

You parted your thighs, allowing him to press closer to you. He growled, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, his cock brushing against your cunt. He felt you tighten, your eyes widening with trepidation.

He chuckled, loving how terrified and eager you were at the same time. He gave you a moment, and then he slowly pushed into you. You whimpered, your nails digging into his back, your eyes closed, your face twisted in pain.

"Breathe," he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek, "it will hurt for a just moment and then I will make you feel good,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you felt his cock hit your maidenhead.

"Are you ready, little northerner?" He whispered.

You gripped his forearms and nodded.

He pushed in slowly, breaking through your barrier. You cried out, the pain was intense and immediate. He groaned, the feel of your tight cunt was intoxicating.

He stayed still, giving you time to adjust. Your nails dug into his arms, leaving deep scratches in his flesh.

"Such a pretty, tight little cunt," he growled, nipping at your neck.

You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on his words and not the pain. He began to move with slow, deep strokes, his cock stretching you, filling you. He was bigger than he felt in your hands, and you swore you could feel him everywhere.

He moaned, his hips rocking into you, his hand still on your throat, making you feel lightheaded. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. You felt so full of him, stretched open, the pain and pleasure mixing into one.

He watched your reaction with a smirk, amused by your shocked, satisfied expression. He was moving slowly, enjoying your warmth and the feel of your cunt clenching around him. He knew you were enjoying it, too, your eyes half-closed, a soft moan escaping your lip. Your small frame was arched to his body, your hands holding on to his neck.

You were surprised at his gentleness. You'd heard that the dragon prince liked to rough up women, but he was being as careful as if you were made of spun sugar. You felt so small and helpless underneath him, his large body nearly engulfing yours, and yet he wasn't hurting you. His touch was delicate, reverent. The way he spoke to you, calling you pet names, made your heart skip a beat.

You arched against him, a soft cry leaving your lips as his strokes got faster, deeper, hitting a place inside you that sent a sharp, hot pleasure through you.

"Does my little northerner like her prince's cock?" He said, a laugh in his voice, he began to pick up the pace, pounding into you.

You squeaked and pushed on his chest, the sensations becoming too much. He grabbed your hips and held you still, fucking you hard and fast, his eyes full of fire.

You felt your release rising up inside you, the tension in your body winding tighter and tighter. You could feel yourself clamping down on his cock, the pleasure almost too much, the sweet pain sending you over the edge.

He groaned at the sight of you coming undone, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you shattered around him. He could feel the tension in your muscles as your climax tore through you. He slowed his movements, easing out the last waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you were a shuddering, moaning mess.

He was close behind, his thrusts erratic, his breathing harsh. He pulled out and spilled his seed across your stomach, his hips bucking. He pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a contented sigh leaving his lips. At least he had one victory today.

Your face was hot with shame, your mind unable to comprehend what just happened. The prince's seed was cooling on your stomach and chest, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Your hands went to your face, covering it as tears came to your eyes, you had never felt so good and so embarrassed at once.

He moved off of you, his eyes locked on yours, a smirk crossing his lips. He looked satisfied, his gaze wandering over your body, lingering on the wetness between your legs, the mess he'd made of you. He tossed you a cloth to clean yourself with. You wiped his seed off your skin, watching him dress, his blonde hair still braided back, his purple eyes full of lust and desire. He was a warrior, a dragon, he was beauty and strength, power and masculinity. He was everything you wanted and feared, a beast who could destroy you.

He gave you a side glance, his eyes full of amusement. "You may go," he said, shooing you away with a hand.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as you took a shaky breath. You stood up, gathering the pieces of your dress and your underclothes. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt weak, sore, and full of shame.

"Yes, my prince," you said quietly, looking at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, the sound of his voice making you shiver. "Don't be so timid, little northerner. This is the beginning, not the end," he said, his words sending a jolt of fear and excitement through you.

He was right, this was only the beginning. You were his servant, and he could do with you as he pleased. He would have you come to him whenever he chose, on the warmest summer nights and the coldest winter days. He would take what he wanted, when he wanted.

He was a dragon, and his will was as strong as his blood.

And deep down, you knew you would enjoy it. He was the perfect thing to distract you from the mundanity of your life, the endless monotony of serving others.

Perhaps the Red Keep wouldn't be so terrible, not if it meant serving him.

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holysupesbatman · 2 months

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SuperBat Fic Recs

Woaaaah boy. I was in the Superbat tag and saw someone asking for recs and I got about 5 fics in before I realized that wouldn't fit in a reply and decided I should just make a whole post. I feel like I've read half of the Bruce/Clark tag on ao3 at this point and yet I still find more every time I look.

As a note, this post is heavily editorialized. These are all fics I've personally read and are here because I liked them and they come from my ao3 bookmarks. If you want better details about the fic, follow the links and check them out 🤷‍♀️ I'm a picky reader so the fact that it's on the list says a lot, though our tastes may vary.

Onto the recs! I'll organize them by ratings and then by length for simplicity and at the end I'll recommend some of my favorite SuperBat authors for further reading!

🦇

Rated: G

Uno Reverse by WixenBurr (~7k rated G) is really cute and fluffy

Summary: The batkids are trying to set Batman and Superman up. Unfortunately Bruce Wayne wants to date some rando news reporter named Clark Kent.

Rated: T

Know You Better by rotasha (~6k rated T)

super fluffy and cute. I adore this fic. Summary: Clark asks Bruce on a date, not knowing he’s a famous billionaire. Bruce says yes, because this is the first time this has ever happened to him.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173 (~13k rated T)

This one is SO much fun – Nobody believes Clark after he meets the supposed "flirty, stupid, entitled drunk" playboy billionaire Brucie Wayne when he says he's actually "clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive."

Saudade by liodain (~20k rated T)

OK THIS ONE MAKES MY HEART MELT IT'S SO FLUFFY AND SWEET I CAN'T. Like put this on your re-read when you're sad and need to feel like love and goodness exist list. Bruce breaks down in Kansas in 2006 years before BvS and meets young Clark.

fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace by Resacon1990 (~23k rated T)

It's just 20k of Clark simping for Bruce. That's it. That's the fic. He's a golden retriever and he's in love, Your Honor. Bruce is not unaffected, but the pining is glorious.

summary: Or, five times Clark finds himself falling for Bruce, and the one time he does something about it

Mr. Romantic by Pandamomochan (~24k rated T)

ft Established Relationship SuperBat. Summary: Clark gets tasked to write a Valentine's Day article. The end result has every single women throwing themselves at him. Clark has always been patient with the drove of Brucie fans. Will Bruce be as mature with Clark's sudden popularity?

How to Date a Superhero by @solomonara (~25k rated T)

Technically a series of fics. Pure fluff. 1. Someone spots the Batman kissing Mild Mannered Reporter Clark Kent. Hijinks ensue. 2. Superman kissed Bruce Wayne in full view of several dozen phones. Now the whole world, including Lex Luthor, knows Superman has a boyfriend. But that's okay. Batman has a plan. 3. Deleted scenes from the How to Date a Superhero series, ruthlessly cut in most cases to prevent the Robins from taking over.

In every sense of the word by froggy-o (bobafiend) (~29k rated T) From the author's summary: Alternatively titled "Why Wonder Woman is on the verge of losing her fucking mind."

I swear this fic is just Diana's eyebrow twitching as she watches Bruce and Clark start dating and she's let in on both their civilian identities meanwhile Superman and Batman are on the watchtower arguing and disagreeing about basically everything on the daily. In the name of Justice, of course. The identity porn is on a whole other level and it was done so well.

Get Over It by rotasha (~32k rated T)

heh this one has plenty of identity hijinks. Sooooo funny. Summary: Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish (~96k rated T)

hehehe... the batkids set up a dating profile for Bruce and catfish Clark. It's more of a blind date for Bruce (not that he had any idea he was going on a date at all), but who has Clark been texting for the past several weeks??? Oh yeah. The kids. What follows is as follows. Still with capes!

Rated: M

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus (~22k rated M)

Summary: There's something wrong with Clark Kent. He has to be a villain, right? A threat? He doesn't behave like a normal person, no matter how handsome or clever he may seem.

grasp his heart (once and for all) by liodain (~32k rated M) soulmate AU fic. Pretty emotional LOTS of identity issues going on there like so much. Kinda high on the drama and angst there honestly but it was a cute read. Summary: Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in fate.

tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter (~33k rated M)

love me a fake dating AU. Summary: It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia (~63k rated M)

ANOTHER soulmate AU! This time feat. Kryptonian Biology hehehe. Summary: Clark Kent thought he was straight, until Batman kick started something. The question is what did Batman start? Is Brucie Wayne able to explain it to him?

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat (~77k rated M)

OK NO LISTEN this is one of my all-time favorite fics EVER. It's so meta and so funny. Clark is us. We are Clark. Clark is writing RPF for the Bruce/Batman ship and he's very convinced it's real EVEN THOUGH he has a huge crush on the Batman... let the hijinks BEGIN.

Rated: E

Embracing Destiny by Mithen (~8k rated E)

This one is just really really cute. Summary: As a member of the Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st century, a teenaged Clark learns a stunning secret about his own future: he and someone called "Batman" will be legendary lovers.

perfect strangers by susiecarter (~15k rated E)

like. bruh. susie did it again. This tag says it all: communication failure. I love this one though. Summary: Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping.

Relinquishing Control by foxyk (~25k rated E)

afsfwsdfhishdfksj no words. Read the authors summary and then just go read the fic:

Superman worries that if he lets go he'll injure his partner. Batman knows better. Batman worries that if he lets someone else in, he'll hurt them. Superman knows better.

Picture Perfect by TheSaltiestDog @the-saltiest-dog (~26k rated E)

this one is cute and then horny on main but also just so fluffy. Clark sees Bruce in a new light through candid shots, then proceeds to take lots of candid shots as they begin a relationship. Cue schmoop, fluff, smut, and – you guessed it! –Miscommunication!

A Night Off and sequel A Day Off by Mawiiish (~37k combined; first part is E, second is T)

One of my all-time favorites. My bookmark says 10/10 would read again soooooooo... 👀🤷‍♀️😅🥵

Bruce is enjoying one of his few nights off when a very persistent young man offers to buy him a drink. At first he's apprehensive; he's just here for a good time and this Clark seems to be looking for more than that. Then again, what harm can one drink do?

Clark wakes up to an empty bed and despite Bruce being honest from the start, he's still disappointed.

The Downsides to a Secret Identity by liodain (~42k rated E)

I'm currently reading this one – the summary from the author says it all, it's so good but sooo drama:

Bruce Wayne has taken a shine to Clark Kent, but Clark is more interested in the Bat of Gotham. The Bat, however, has it in for the Superman in a big way. Clark should probably have considered that before falling quite so hard. They're working together to track down some missing Kryptonian weaponry, after all...

50 Shades of Wayne by susiecarter (~161k rated E)

No but listen, this is actually so full of plot and emotional depth and not as much smut as you might think. It's a full-scale retelling of Batman v Superman but without them knowing each other's secret identities. I read it in one go... the reveal? Maybe the best I've ever read. Soooo many emotions. It's one of the few times I've read BDSM in a fic and it actually felt in character. I wasn't sure I would read it when I started, but it was a compelling read and extremely well done. Honestly, I'd read it again.

SuperBat Author Shoutouts:

susiecarter @susiecarter

liodain @liodain

Resacon1990 @sassyresacon1990

shipyrds @burins

Mawiiish @superbattrash

rotasha

Mithen

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thesharktanksdriver · 4 months

Text

The strongest star (platonic)

This is determination from Whitebeard’s point of view when y/n met him and his crew. I decided to make this to flesh out my first post and also thought it would be fun since y/n is kinda an unreliable narrator in their own way due to forgetting a lot of details and events.

Master-list for the series here

Tag list: @peachsuka28 @emptynessinmyworld @badluckinfrench @j-s-l-m @tigerfang-rage @madokamagicaa @rymtea @angstylittleb1tch @badluckinfrench @emmbny @kenkenmaaa @yunho-leeknow @chibiduck

for as long as Edward Newgate could remember, he wanted a family

As unconventional as it had seemed he had always dreamed of a family of his own

That was his dream that led him to the sea all those years ago

The freedom to pursue and accomplish this with the oceans cruel and caring waves

He’s old now, a man accomplished and still having his family grow

So when Marco brings a small child aboard Newgate can’t help but be a bit giddy

It’s been years since the Moby dick had such a young one aboard its old planks

He remembers like yesterday it once did

Children he found bruised and starved, cold and alone with eyes begging for warmth and comfort despite how scared they were

He was once like that, and he swore he’d not abandon those kids like others did for him

Those children grew up now to be some of his many kids

Years heavy on them as they are for him

He watched them grow from scared to proud and strong

And most of all he watched them grow to be happy with the family harboured on a couple planks of wood on the high sea

Each night rocked by the waves with full bellies and a smile on their faces

So it’s safe to say he is hopeful when Marco marches up, carrying a small child of about 10?

The youngest on the ship as of now was Ace and a few from the spade pirates that assimilated to his crew

But he hadn’t raised them, Moreso taken them in and not having the opportunity to truly nurture them in the way he had wanted

They were teens, a fraction of their lives already lived which meant he missed out on significant moments of it

He hadn’t been able to meet Ace’s brothers or be sure to in-still in him that he’s loved

Hadn’t been able to convince spade that he was more than what everyone in his home thought of him

As an old nostalgic man Newgate missed the feeling of being there for something important like that again

And he thought for a moment he could have that again until he noticed your eyes

He’s seen the terrified, angry and hopeless that looked up at him once before

Most of his sons whom he took under his wing had a variation of that when meeting him

But yours are….something else

He’s reminded of the night sky

A sight that he’s been more than familiar with his entire life as he looked to the stars and wished for people to call home

Despite just being eyes he sees more

Bleak empty darkness, swirling with the unknown with the distant twinkling flecks of stars

They are all encompassing and unassuming at the same time

Pits of dullness that shows the withered age that only a seasoned sailor could have amongst the cruel waves

A loss of innocence and all that a child should have

Yet at the same time somehow retains some of it despite it all

It’s conflicting and hypocritical all at the same time yet it’s there all the same

Those eyes stare up at him, no fear but instead apprehension fills its place

If nothing before could have convinced him that he wanted you apart of his family than this did

But he’s known from the moment you stepped foot on this ship he wanted you to have a home here either way

On the Moby dick you start off as a quiet presence that later grows into something bigger

Perhaps even bigger than yourself as the his sons and daughters seek out your company like moths to a flame

He can’t exactly blame them, not when he himself wants so desperately to grasp and hold that light

But he sees your apprehension when around him

The way in which you try to skirt around his presence as best as possible

Something you do exceedingly well

So Edward for your sake decides to take a seat back and watch what happens

Waits to see you ease up on your own time

God knows the amount of patience he has from dealing with Roger all those years ago and his rowdy kids

So he knows when to back down and let the stage set itself

Watch the act before his role is to come

And Edward does exactly that

He watches and waits

Eddie watches as you draw the crew in like a gravitational pull

It’s slow at first

Your cautious but you let your guard down

At first it’s with Marco

Being the one to take you onboard he decides that your his responsibility and take to it like the mother hen that he is

Seeing you inured stumbling out an alleyway really hit him hard

Perhaps harder than you had even noticed

It gets worse especially after you seem to brush off your injuries

He hovers around you a lot under the excuse of checking your wounds but you seem to know better

You always seem to know better

But either way you don’t say anything and simply grumble a bit about him

Moreso out of annoyance than actual disdain

But either or, Whitebeard watches as his first commander stays by your side

Eventually getting you to drop some of your barriers ever so slightly

Like the chipping in a wall that would lead to a crack

You talk and Marco listens

As do others who eventually join in on listening to some of your stories as you sit between the rails of the railing

Feet dangling through the gaps and swaying back and fourth as you tell stories

Everyone listens

Some even stop in their trail just trying to hear what you tell Marco as he similar sits beside you

Clawed feet of his half Phoenix form and firey blue wings tinged in gold crackling gently

The real breakdown comes when he offers to fly you around

Everyone can see something in you ignite at that

Genuine excitement only caused by child-like wonder

It’s one of the only times on your stay he had seen it

The child buried beneath whatever had happened to you peaking out from the brush

This was a good sign

One that Edward is glad to see himself as you soar with Marco

Blue flames giving you warmth even with the cold harsh winds

When you eventually land once more Edward can’t help but smile at the surpassingly content expression painting your face

That crack in your defence grows

The next to chip away at that metaphorical wall is Thatch

The cook quickly making his ways into your good graces when he has you help about in his kitchen

You seemingly can’t really stay still, mind always racing and wanting to do something

Never taking the time to relax

Thatch says you take to tasks quickly, finishing as quick as you started much to his surprise and exasperation

Whitebeard laughed at that at the time

So you were quick to pick up things

Knowing tasks like the back of your hand no matter how big or small

He’s also seen it, when you gave some of his sons tips in raising the sails or properly cleaning the deck quicker

Thatch won’t admit it to anyone but himself but Whitebeard knows he cooks more food for you than he’d usually would for someone on the ship

Even when Ace or Teach hound him for more food he angrily shoves them off

Then filling your plate once more

Thatch is the one who tells him of the time you cried eating his meals

Mumbling that it reminded you of her

Your mom

Apparently you don’t remember her anymore

Just the vaguest scent of her meals and a glimmer of a smile she would give when cooking

It….sticks with Eddy more than he’d like to admit

Forgetting was an unfortunate thing that came with time

Whitebeard considered himself lucky in not forgetting much over his years

He still remembers the loneliness of his childhood

The bloodshed and alienation on Rocks’s crew

Going off to make his family after the god valley incident

Recruiting his many sons

Finding some cold and alone while others sought him out as a father

Remembers when he first met the idiot he’d call a rival

How Oden would eventually become his little brother and hearing years later of his death by Kaido

The guilt still weighing on his shoulders even now

So in every sense of the word Eddy considers himself lucky in being able to remember

But you don’t have that same privilege

Your memory fraught with missing pieces

Leaving you trailing off for a moment as you regal a story that leaves everyone on deck listening intently

They all notice that you stare off quite often while doing something

Your mind wandering to whatever is it that your thinking of

Sometimes you even mumble to yourself

Though Eddy is never close enough to hear the mumbles others sometimes mention them to him

Names and places

Dates and times

Events and descriptions

But one thing brought up is something that raises his eyebrow

Things only the Roger pirates could’ve know or seen

He already suspected something when seeing the coat draped across your shoulders

You may think your slick in thinking he didn’t recognize that old thing but Eddie knows better

He’d known Roger far too long and arduously to not recognize his gaudy red coat (hypocrite a voice in the void cry’s out)

When his frien….rival was executed he had noticed the coat he wore was different

A darker red and cheaper material

But at the time he gave no thought to it

To wrapped up in a certain kind of grief to really think twice

But now that coat is on your shoulders

Pristine rose red contrasted with the cyan blue of your bandana and cloth sash

You couldn’t have known Roger, your too young to do so

Plus that idiot had two apprentices not three

So that option was x’d out the list

As him and his commanders talked

But you being a kid of one of his members was certainly a possibility

And the only one Edward could ever imagine Roger giving his coat to was Rayleigh and he had essentially dropped off the map years ago

So the conclusion that your maybe Rayleigh’s kid and that he was potentially dead was the conclusion drawn

It’s safe to say that it is something that weighs on not only his commanders mind but also Edwards

Because of the similar situation to Ace

The only other person you had tried to avoid on this crew for some reason

But maybe you somehow knew of his origin and that’s why? But even that seemed unlikely

Roger could keep his lips shut when the situation called for it

Something that he now praised his dead friend for

But on the topic of Ace…it was odd

You avoided Ace like the plague

Whitebeard understood why you avoided him, the giant who was named the strongest man in the world and feared in all blues

But Ace? He was practically a puppy vying for your attention after seeing you interact with literally everyone but him

He’d never thought he’d see his son who’d used to be like a snippy stray dog now practically begging for attention

But here he was

Well, more like they were since literally everyone else on ship it’s finding this all too hilarious

But also kinda sad

It’s not like they’d force you to get along with him if there had been a solid reason

But seemingly there was none

You just avoided him for whatever reason

Jittering in discomfort and leaving when you saw his signature orange hat

And they’d thought it would remain like this

But like all else Whitebeard sees things change

(Just as he saw the sea change when Roger died and ushered a new era)

The final piece to break down that barrier of yours is Ace

The one besides Whitebeard himself you had been the most barred against

It starts with a small conversation

And then on deck he sees both you and ace talk more

And more

And eventually Ace is placing you on his shoulders with his hat on your head

Or taking you out on striker as the smaller boat races around the Moby Dick

It’s a sight for sore eyes

Ace once again lighting up like a bright flame

The same happiness restrained for when talking of his brothers

Or of that person who had given him the small charm he covets as if it were the greatest treasure

Something he had been initially teased for until revealing its story

The small worn down little sun dangling from his wrist representing someone who he wanted to find once more

To thank for caring for him despite his bloodline

Because Ace saw himself as a blotch on the world rather than a blessing

It was something that Ace had hid well but as his father Edward could see the conflict in his eyes

He Tried his best to resolve it but it had yet to go away

But when Ace talks of the Brothers made over a sip of sake, a small sun charm and now seemingly you

It seems for a moment to melt away

Like the strongest of metal being smelted before hardening once more

So Edward watches in amusement as Ace lets you hang from his arm

Or how his son tries his best to seemingly impress your young eyes with tricks of blazing flames

Ace doesn’t seem to notice though that anything he seems to do leaves a proud look in your eyes

But Eddie does

Whitebeard can’t place as to why but he decides to leave it

Simply enjoying his new child and Ace bonding as if they had knew each other for years

The flame brazen boy igniting excitedly like a match as your smaller hands find his and dance to the drunken shanty music

Singing songs you seem to know and regard with an almost melancholy smile as Binks Booze begins to play

Only giving more evidence to your possible heritage

And then you eventually approach Eddie himself

The fearless Whitebeard, strongest man in the world

Golden yellow eyes staring back down towards yours that reflected a starry night

He asks you about your family in which you answer vaguely

Though he expect no less of an answer he notices that the way you explain it is practiced

And despite how practiced it is it leaves him dealing down worry

You’d been on your own for a decent amount of time now

Just seemingly drifting from how you described it

No one but yourself and the sea to keep you company

Only the clothes on your back and small mementos from travels to carry on with you

Whitebeard ponders who the “friends” you’d made along the way but you don’t say names often

Just nicknames

Sneaky but he’s raised enough rebellious boys to see past all the tricks

You change conversation but Edward allows it

Instead you ask him questions, something no one would usually dare to do when being questioned from him

He’d have to admit you have some guts for a kid

Typically he’d call people who did something like that a brat but he lets it slip this one time

And he answers your questions

If only to try and ease you into seeing that he is more than just the epithet of strongest man

That first and foremost he’s a father and perhaps he could be one to you

But instead you inquired about Roger

Another itch to prove your perhaps Rayleigh’s child

So Whitebeard answers truthfully talking about the man he once considered friend

To be honest Edward never really knew how to quite characterize his and Roger’s relationship

On one hand Roger was a man that Edward had respected deeply. Someone who was not only equal in power but also in kindness

God Roger was so stupidly nice to just about everyone as long as you didn’t somehow anger him

But On the other hand Roger was one of the stupidest men alive

Running head first into a battle with nothing prepared

Roger and him were both Friends and Rivals all at the same time

Along with being two sides of a coin

Men who loved more passionately than anyone else

Men who’d do anything to protect all that they loved even if it killed them

In some sense Whitebeard knows he should be happy in being the “victor” in their rivalry yet he’s not

Because they never did settle a score because there was no score to settle

And Eddie no matter how hard he’d try to deny it missed that goof

For as annoying as he was he was equally charming

Something that was infuriating

Because of course Eddie had to become friends with that man

Of course Roger had to go and get himself killed

And it’s Eddie who’s left to mourn

Eddie who’s left to watch the world change and grow old

Eddie is always the one left standing

And it’s there with that you ask him about mourning and how he deals with it

And Edward can’t help but give a pitied stare

A child should not know grief

A child should not know how to mourn

And yet you do

You always seemed to know something your not supposed to

A thing both equally dangerous to you as it is others

……geez you really must be Rayleigh’s kid

Whitebeard smiles, looking down to the coat hung heavy on your shoulders

For a moment he sees Roger there, smiling at him as usual

He tells you that even when someone is gone they leave bits of themselves in the world

Eyes subtly glancing towards a distracted Ace and Izou who listens nearby

Their presence still lingering in all those that they touched by literal and metaphorical

Because when someone leaves you they never really do

They change you

Mold you into the person you are and could become wether that be good or bad

Because Whitebeard despite knowing Oden and Roger are gone can still feel their presence on this ship

The splinters from when battling Roger as he was flung onto the Moby dick

The room in which Oden carved his name in the wood along with Toki’s within the shape of a heart

Sees glimmers of Roger shining through Ace and his firey temper along with his compassion

Watches Izou mumble under his breath about how Oden would have loved to have been on this adventure

Those 3 sake cups still sit in Edwards office

Below a collection of objects and photos of all his lost children

He still mourns them

As any father would

Still wonders if they would forgive him for falling them

But when he does so he remembers their still there

Their fingerprints engraved on a old grizzled heart

At hearing this you nod, pulling that old coat on your shoulders closer

As if someone was hugging you through its luxurious red cloth

His words have seemed to have comforted you and he’s glad

Perhaps even lifting some of the grief off your chest

If so Edward is happy

Because a child should know no grief

And he’d like to change that

Would like to remold your melancholy little heart back to what it should be

That of a happy child

He and his children itch to ask you to stay

But even when Marco offers you a room here

Or when Ace just straight up asks you to stay

You always reply the same way

That like the sea herself you are untethered

Maybe one day you’d find a place but for now you must keep drifting

You have people to meet

Friends you call family to see once more

Everyone here wishes for you to stay

Some ask their father to perhaps to pull the same thing they had pulled with Ace

But Whitebeard doesn’t relent on wanting you to join by your choice

Even when he feels his will want to crack when one night after talking with you under the starry night you fell asleep in his palm

Curled up and small as he feels small tears drip down and pool beside you

Or when it wants to crack even more when he catches you one night in the crows nest singing

The almost haunting sound echoing and reverberating across the ship

The Moby herself sitting at your side, her Klabautermann joining you in song

Or the almost final blow when he realizes that you breath new life in the ship without even knowing it

It’s unseen by your eyes but Whitebeard knows his sons and his ship enough to know when it’s more lively than usual

How your words capture them

He’s watched as you sat atop a barrel telling tales and seeing everyone huddle around you like ducks

Pausing in their duties or even sitting down to ask questions or for you to elaborate more

Grown men and women enraptured by stories of the sea and all its beauty

Even he himself couldn’t help but find himself entranced by your words

The way in which you tell them all are too detailed as to not be true

But Whitebeard does not relent

Does not stop in his judgement no matter how hard it will be to let you go back on that dinky little ship you called your own

It’s sail made of spare sheets with sewn in patches giving it splatters of colour

But when that happens Whitebeard promises to throw you a grand goodbye

Promises that when you do come back they’d have a room ready

That Thatch would make food that reminded you of a once lost home again

That Marco would tend to your wounds and let you scrape the sky

And that Ace would light up with a flame of a stars intensity

But they never were able to throw that goodbye party

That party would be the next one after the one that was meant to just enjoy being with you once more without having to say goodbye

But then you decided you’d help Thatch after seeing he could barely walk in a straight line, so you paused the celebrations for yourself and went to that kitchen celler

Going to place that damned devil fruit to be locked away

But then minutes ticked by

And so Ace decides he’d go find you, saying he’d have to convince you to tell Eddie of your story about the island in the clouds

The joyful atmosphere continues

And then comes Ace’s horrified scream for Marco

Cutting through the atmosphere as the usually chipper boy runs out the kitchen with you in his arms

Bloodied little you

You sit there in Ace’s arms

Bleeding heavily from a large slashing stab that has your blood practically gushing out and into the ground along with Ace’s arms

Despite that though

Despite the pain you should be in Edward spots an oddly content look on your face

Eyes looking up towards Ace but instead of tears filling them it’s a bittersweet look

The look of I’m sorry

Ace and you sit in Edward’s palm

Your small form cradled by his sobbing son who pleads for you

Blood still fresh on his hands and now smeared across Edward’s as well

A child should never die

Let alone in someone’s arms

For they shall carry that weight of them in their arms forever

So he tells ace to lay you down in his Palm

And Ace can only do so reluctantly

Ace turns to run to Marco who’s dashing across the ship but you stop him grabbing his hand

Making his son pause

You smile despite it all, a bright and beautiful smile that rivals the sun and all stars in the sky

Then looking to his charm as you pull out a similar one nestled in that coat pocket of yours

“You found me” it comes out as a pained rasp that makes Whitebeard’s heart ache

It aches more seeing Ace’s expression

Pure grief

Just utter pure grief

Ace clutches you

Begs you not to leave

To please not leave him after finding you

To tell him who did this to you

Your eyes squint as if trying to remember, but then light up with recognition

You give a small laugh, one that makes Whitebeard go still as does Ace

“Zehahaha”

Teach….thats why he wasn’t on deck

As that happens pieces of you shatter

A bright shining gold flashing in the night sky

Sparks of starlight and stardust congregating in the air

Scattering somewhere into the sky

In a fevered state you utter a last word to Ace

Sunshine

When your gone everyone is in a stunned silence

Because what just happened

But then Whitebeard thinks

He thinks all the way back to Roger

The last time he saw Roger the bastard had gotten suddenly silent asking Eddie if he knew of a song, a myth

A star that once dead formed back once more in a new part of the sky

A song was made about it once, something from the Rumbar pirates that had long died among the waves

But then he thinks back further

Back to those 3 days and nights they had fought on that abandoned island

And then he remembers

As Roger sent him flying with a punch Eddie skidded by the Oro Jackson

And for the briefest of moments he thought he spotted something shining in the darkness of a cracked open door

More rather the peering shining eyes of someone

At the time he tried to question Roger but he was as unmoving as a stubborn horse so Eddie had left the topic

He had forgotten of that experience years later

But now it comes rushing back

As does that myth of a undying star

It seems Roger was hinting at something all along

Sly bastard

Seems you weren’t Rayleigh’s kid after all

Maybe you were more Roger’s kid than anything

But….Eddie had taken in one of Roger’s brats before

His sobbing son is evidence of that

And perhaps he will do so again

“Hmf….sly bastard. Their out there, we’ll find them again” his words are spoken with conviction as a sobbing ace looks up to him, his golden eyes soften at his sons expression “their still alive Ace, just displaced when they die. Roger rambled to me a myth about it the last time we met. A star that never died and reappeared in the sky, I thought it was nonsense but maybe he was right”

“But how-“

“Think my boy. How could they be the one who had cared for you all those years ago when they’re that young? My best guess is a devil fruit” he sees the emotions swirl in Ace’s eyes as his sons nods shakily. Hands clutching the sun charm of his bracelet and scared to let go. Edward’s eyes travel from his son to his other children, the gold that was once softened now hardening once more as anger replaced it. Teach….a son now a traitor had to be delt with.

#determination!#platonic #one piece #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates x reader #whitebeard x reader #edward newgate #Edward Newgate x reader #thatch x reader #ace d portgas x reader #marco the phoenix x reader

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frail-and-freakish · 1 year

Text

today, april 11th, is the anniversary of Mel Baggs' death. Mel Baggs was one of the early founders of the neurodiversity movement and believed that no one was too disabled for human rights, something that modern nd movements fail to understand to this day. sie was so instrumental to my understanding of literally everything. sie died from medical ableism and neglect during the beginning of the pandemic. we would be nowhere fucking near where we are now without hir. i've decided to make a masterlist of some of my favorite posts of hirs, organized into different categories.

(some of these are listed in more than one category because they overlap so much)

here are some of the "essentials" (what you might have already read by hir/should read first):

hir memorial site hosted by ASAN:

In My Language

the oak manifesto

There is ableism at the heart of your oppression, no matter what your oppression might be

Getting The Truth Out (many pages, parody of bad autism awareness campaign called "getting the word out")

the meaning of self-advocacy

what makes institutions bad

aspie supremacy can kill

here are some of hir beautiful writings on perceiving/communicating with hir environment as an autistic person, and on communication in general:

up in the clouds and down in the valley: my richness and yours

distance underthought

the naked mechanisms of echolalia

empty mirrors and redwoods

the fireworks are interesting

hir tumblr tag #sensing (@withasmoothroundstone)

on personhood and who has the authority to take it away:

being an unperson

what it means to be real

empty mirrors and redwoods

on institutions and the I/DD service system:

caregiver abuse takes many forms

"i don't know that person's program"

what my home means to me

dd service system tag

god help the critic of the dawn: glamour and its fallout

what makes institutions bad

post on the JRC

outposts in our heads

on online social justice communities/their inaccessibility:

Your politics have a problem when they contradict the real-life experiences of the people they're supposed to be about.

politics, ethics and mental widgets

hir tumblr tags #outside the wall and #little packages (@withasmoothroundstone)

misc:

The Bones My Family Gave Me

Please violate only one stereotype at a time

My sort of people, just as real as theirs.

Reviving the concept of cousins

gender tag

this is hir poems and creative works:

this is hir writing on autistics.org:

may hir memory be a blessing/revolution.

1K notes · View notes

bratzforchris · 6 months

Note

Can you do dad headcanons for Nick? (Obviously not female reader I was thinking adoption or something)

Or uncle headcanons for any of them!

-🎀

Dad Life

Dad!Nick headcanons because this fandom is SEVERELY lacking dad!Nick content :) There are two parts here: one of dad!Nick to younger kids, and one of dad!Nick to older kids because I feel like he would be the type of person to foster/adopt teens. No warnings!

Dad!Nick with younger kids ♡

☆ when nick decides that he wants to have kids, he genuinely does so much research and makes a well informed decision!

☆ whether through adoption or a surrogate mother (remember, there are different ways people can have kids <3), he is genuinely so excited to meet his baby and falls in love with them immediately

☆ the "newborn scrunch" his baby does on his chest the first time would definitely make nick cry

☆ matt and chris are always willing to help out during the first few months of the baby being home

☆ "oh my god, how did your blowout get through your onesie?"

"welcome to fatherhood, man"

☆ once he gets the hang of it, nick is genuinely the baby whisperer. whenever baby sturniolo wakes up in the middle of the crying, all it takes is some funny faces and an ariana grande lullaby in the rocking chair to get them right back to sleep

☆ nick leans more towards girl dad, but he would be happy and love his child any way <3

☆ even when the terrible toddler phase comes along, he always keeps his cool and makes it a point to never shout/get overly angry, which is a large contrast to his youtube days

☆ genuinely one of those dads who is always doing cute little handprint crafts with his baby

☆ "i'll give you a dollar if you tell your uncle chris he has a big forehead"

☆ nick's kid(s) know how to stand up for themselves. their daddy teaches them to always be kind, but not let people walk all over you. no one is bullying them off the swings

☆ he loves to play pretend with his kids because he usually ends up laughing too. pirates, princesses, you name it

☆ "daddy! i'm a princess locked in a class, save me!"

"weren't you just a ninja, honey?"

☆ running after his kids is 100% a full time job, because they take after their daddy with sassy mouths and chaotic behavior

☆ on a serious note, nick never shies away from hard conversations. he's always honest and explains everything as best as he can to his babies

Dad!Nick with older kids ♡

☆ nick gives off foster/adopt for teens, mostly because he knows teens can feel excluded since a lot of people want babies, and that's just unacceptable

☆ he's actually so accepting of all the kids that come into his home, no matter what

☆ he makes sure they have everything they need to feel confident, because he knows how hard high school can be

☆ always makes sure they get their driver's license if they want, have a working cell phone, and have money to go out with friends

☆ "dad, this guy broke up with me because i 'wear too much makeup'"

"honey, looking like THAT...he should be trying to learn from you"

☆ as much as he tries not to be, he's the parent that cries ar every homecoming, prom, graduation, etc

☆ definitely lets his teens have their style (within reason). he'd definitely be okay with fun hair colors and certain piercings

☆ nick loves to be of homework help where he can. it's an easy in to get his teens talking to him about how they feel

☆ overall, nick is just genuinely the best dad anyone could ever ask for, no matter how old his kids are <3

tags ♡: @aemrsy @jake-and-johnnies-slut @mattsfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxyz @ilovejohnnieg @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @bunny-cotton @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @dumpling-to-eat @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @not-phone-guy @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @strnlvr @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @mayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @idek3000hi @runasvengence

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my tag list, click here <3

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lailawinchesterr · 30 days

Text

remedy (iv) — sam winchester

> prev , series masterlist

summary: maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to go back to sam’s place. or maybe it’s a good thing you did — tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing, mentioned praying, canon divergence.

There’s a man, a very beautiful one, sure, standing in Sam’s apartment. His eyes are hungry as they glide over you. His… eyes. That seem way too similar to those the man next to you owns yet so different. His are a bright green for one, you’re scared to stare too long in them incase they grow trees. Cliche? Doesn’t matter, it’s the truth, they’re so green.

You can’t hear what’s going on, but him and Sam seem to have a full on conversation with no words. Maybe the other guy won because he takes the step forward as Sam sighs and shuts the apartment door behind you guys. You keep your hand close to your purse and you can feel it vibrate vigorously, you’re sure it’s Jess wanting information on what the fuck you’re doing at Sam’s house— which great question, what are you doing here?

Cause you were thinking talk, eat, make out, not particularly in that order. Now it seems ‘talk to random guy while you try not to have a panic attack’ has been added to the list. Well, too bad, the list is exclusive. “Now who are you?”

Sam says your name through gritted teeth, “this is my brother Dean.” You swallow your fear and nod once. Introducing yourself despite Sam having done it a second before. “What are you doing here, man?” Sam walks away from the door to throw his car keys onto the counter, a few feet away from you, closer to Dean.

“Doesn’t matter now, seems like you’re busy,” and he’s actually smirking. At you. Why is it kind of attractive— no, focus! Focus on your surroundings, and count to ten so you don’t explode. “Of course, I wouldn’t dream of taking him away from you, sweetheart.” Dean says so sweetly that you actually believe it’s for your own benefit, he’s closer now, both hands hovering over your arms but not exactly touching which you’re grateful for.

You smile tightly and look up at Sam in a silent call for help. “Why are you here, Dean?” He repeats sternly and crosses his arms at his brother. You’ve always noticed how small Sam makes himself when he’s talking to other people, mostly girls, like he doesn’t want to overpower them when he easily could, it helps calm you down, for sure, but when he’s doing it with his brother, it’s different.

It’s out of love, devotion, trust. And it’s scary to see because you feel like you’re watching a scene that’s not yours to analyze. But he’s letting you. Dean winks at you once before turning around to face Sam.

“Let’s talk. Privately.” Dean clicks his tongue in the direction of Sam’s room and he agrees, moving over to you again, putting both hands on your shoulder. It has the opposite effect that dean’s had on you. It’s calming— sedating.

“You stay in my room, I’ll come get you.” And then he steals glances around your whole face, like he’s studying your features, “do you wanna leave? I can drive you home.”

You open your mouth to protest before shutting it again. Does that mean he wants you to leave? Is it an indirect un-invitation? He looks sincere though. “I’m askin’ ‘cause I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. Nothing else.”

You take a breath before shaking your head, then decide to use your voice like the big girl you are— because otherwise you’re a toddler, scared by her fathers side at the mall. “Yeah, I’ll stay in your room. But if you want me to leave, Sam—.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He gives you a half smile but it’s enough to melt your insides. “You can use whatever you want in there, and the Wi-FI’s password is written on the wall.” You all but run into his room and away from the two brothers, shutting the door with a loud slam.

This is super normal and not at all worrying. You should text your mum in case it’s the last time. Hold that thought— Jessica first.

As promised, the password is on the door, written in a paper stuck on the back of it. You put it in then text Jess back.

Jess: What is happening!!!!

Jess: What’s happened to ‘never gonna happen’.

Jess: Are you fucking? Don’t tell me.

Jess: Don’t fuck him!!!! He could be not single.

What. The. Hell.

You: What?

Jess: Thank fuck. You’re not having sex, right? Or did he finish already? Jess: He used to be better at it.

You: What do you mean he’s not single?

Jess: Not saying he isn’t but Gen says he’s been talking to some girls, it’s why she was worried about you going out.

Jess: We don’t know if he’s just friends with these girls or not but she says he’s been texting + going out with Lily.

You: Oh but they’re project partners.

Jess: Yeah they just got assigned today. They’ve been going out alone for a few weeks now.

You: Before or after the party?

Jess: Since before. They didn’t stop after the party either.

God, you’re going to be sick. Great so he’s dropping off the face of the earth with his brother, but before he does that he’s breaking your heart. ‘Cause why the fuck do one when you can do both?

And the worst part is you have no reason to be upset about any of this. He doesn’t owe you an explanation about Lily or Dean or whether or not he’s taking the semester off or if he’s staying after graduation— it’s all a lot. You thought this would be the beginning of something. Something worthwhile, and he was having fun, just passing the time.

You enter the bathroom to make sure your makeup is still intact. It isn’t, but you did it up quite quickly and have enough time to snoop around. You can cry over a man when you’re alone in the comfort of your room, not his. Even the room is so perfectly him. There’s pictures almost everywhere and you remember hearing him or Jess mention how much he’s into photography, took after his mother. He’s in only two of the pictures.

One of them has Dean and an older man you assume is their father. The other is him and Jess, back from when they’re dating— other than that it’s mostly scenery and his friends. There’s even one of Jess and Gen with your best friend laying her head on Gen’s lap.

You’re about to ruffle through the desk when you hear rustling and a loud groan from one of the boys. Then another and— oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck, are they fighting?

When you’re mother first equipped you for America she had two rules:

Don’t speak to strangers.

Hold rocks in your purse to hit said stranger if they want to fight.

That’s really all, and you’ve held up your end of the deal. But she never really told you what to do when the stranger isn’t a stranger and you’re actually in their house and he’s fighting his brother.

You peek through the window and— nope, you’re on the third floor. Too far away to jump. Maybe you should try to rummage around here for a cigarette? Yeah, that’s a good idea. You desperately go through drawers without actually going through them— you don’t want to invade his privacy, just find the damn pack you know he has around here— oh, a disposable. Okay, pOtato, potAto.

You take a second to pray that it’s not dead before taking a drag and, thank God, blueberry. Huh, seems like Sam has a preference. Maybe he asked Jess to bring blueberry cigarettes last time, now that would be a turn of events. And it would also mean he lied to you, how are you supposed to feel about that? About the same way you feel about him hanging out with Lily? He never mentioned it. And back at the mall he said ‘I don’t wanna leave you’, what, did he say that to Lily too? Is he trying out to become an anchor?

You take three more drags before the door is thrown off its hinges and Sam stomps right through it and into his bathroom. Oh. He doesn’t even spare you a glance and you find yourself looking for dean. He’s right there, breathing just as heavily as Sam was, but that didn’t stop him from sending another wink your way, a little slow and lazy.

For the first time in your life, you decide to muster up enough courage to walk over to him, offering his brother’s vape to him. Look at that, your mother did teach you manners.

He shakes his head and takes a step back to lean on the kitchen counter. The support is welcomed by his whole body as he almost collapses into it. “We didn’t scare you, did we?”

Fuck yeah, you’re scared. Who does this dude think he’s talking to? An FBI agent? You’re a college girl studying Med, hearing police sirens while you’re walking at night creep you out.

But you shake your head anyways because, again, manners. “Are you okay?” You ask with genuine concern. You step a little closer to examine the bruise on his head, right below his hairline.

Does that mean that Sam had a matching one? Should you go help him?

“Sam’s fine.” Oh. That’s good.

“But you’re not. Do you know where he keeps his first aid kit? I can clean it up for you.” Dean adamantly shakes his head, making you frown. Wasn’t he hitting on you minutes ago? Now he doesn’t wanna touch you? “Dean, are you sure? You should really clean that up. It might get infected.” Highly unlikely but it’s not good to keep it unsterile anyways.

“I’m fine,” he grits out, but it’s not as harsh as you expect. He’s just overwhelmed, maybe, or angry. At himself? At Sam? At you for intruding? And then he sighs, takes an incredibly deep breath like it’s taking everything in his soul and mind to say, “‘fine, yeah, you can do it.” As if you offered to blow him or something. Grow up, man, you were just trying to help.

Again, manners. So you keep your polite tone as you ask him again for the first aid kit and he says this is his first time here. Great, you’re both strangers in Sam’s home but at least one of you was invited, Dean.

“You don’t seem to like me very much.” He says quietly as you keep opening and shutting drawers. Sam’s a responsible guy, he must have something lying around.

“I don’t not like you. I just don’t know you. And Sam is my friend who you just beat up so I’m not exactly fond of you at the moment, no.” Honesty’s great. Yeah, give it right to the man who’s a couple inches taller than you and packing on more muscle than you can imagine yourself having if you workout for ten years straight. Smart ideas all around, really.

You take another longer drag this time. The buzz is worth it, it’s helping you relax enough that you’re not about to blow your head off about being in Sam’s house with Dean.

Another hit: from both the vape and Dean, “He hit me first.”

“Did you provoke him?” Dean shrugs like a child trying to feign innocence. It’s obvious this is all Dean’s fault and he knows it, you just wish you knew the reason. “Why, though? What happened?”

He hesitates then shuts his mouth closed. Now he chooses to be a good brother?

You find the first aid kit under all the drawers (which, fuck you, Sam, why would you do that?) and ask Dean to sit on one of the chairs. He obeys and you start to take out the rubbing alcohol, “this part will sting a little, so try to hold on to something— not me!” You shriek when his hands land on your waist.

“Closest thing,” he shrugs like it’s nothing and you take a deep breath, applying more alcohol to the cotton. He can take it.

He doesn’t groan out when you pat the cotton onto the small wound, just hisses. The man hisses like he just got cold coffee spilled on him, the wound isn’t massive or anything, but really? How high is someone’s pain tolerance to be able to do that?

You don’t want to think about it because tolerance is built. And that’s just… not a fun thing to ponder on. You try to finish as quickly as possible and half way through his hands on your waist don’t bother you anymore, a minute after, he eases them off. Dean doesn’t seem like he wants to cause issues, he’s just… troubled. Though you’re sure he’d deck you twice as hard as he did to Sam if you mention that.

Speaking of the devil, he’s out of the bathroom with fresh clothes but it’s apparent he didn’t shower. Just in his home clothes. Cute considering you’re not which means you’re overdressed between the three of you. You finish Dean up and place a bandage on the bruise. “There!”

You smile as you examine your work and move back. Your first ever patient! It’s exciting to think you did so well without any guidance even when your hand was shaking the whole time. “Thanks, angel, where’d you learn that?”

“Angel?”

“She’s in Med. What are you still doing here, Dean?” Sam’s voice is rough, like he’s been shouting. Were they yelling? How did you not hear them?

Oh, the buzz. Would giving Sam the Dispo now be rude? Come to think of it, taking it was rude. Oh, God, is this what stealing feels like?

“Hey,” Sam calls your name and you snap out of it, whipping your head back to face him. “You okay?” He’s wearing a black shirt. Just plain black, which is tight in all the right places, and grey sweatpants. Grey sweatpants. Who on this earth sold this man grey sweatpants? What were they thinking? They weren’t obviously, but you are. You can see it clearly now: College Girls Drop Dead At The Hand Of A Sam Winchester. Reason Of Death: The Sweatpants.

“You okay?” Why is he asking again? Were you staring?

“I’m fine. Are you?” You walk away from Dean and his magnetic hold on you to check Sam out. Last time you touched him was— never. He’s always touched you first. So… here goes nothing. You had your hands up for a second, asking for permission, consent, whatever, and his gaze switches from your eyes to your lips then back again so you take it as a yes and move his hair from his face.

There are no injuries, you’re sure of it, but maybe you should run your hands through his hair just in case. For his safety. You drop your hands like it’s on fire before you actually do it and smile up at him. “Good, you’re okay.” He nods and looks past you, probably at Dean and you sigh. Okay. Night ruined.

“Okay, so, I’m gonna go and I’ll see you—” Sam furrows his eyes brows and shakes his head placing his hands on your shoulders. Again.

“No, no, you said you stay. We agreed to it.”

“Right, but that was before I knew your brother was staying over—”

“He’s not. You can still take Gen’s room. Don’t worry. He’s just leaving, right, Dean?” He bites out and your eyes widen.

“No, no, Sam, seriously, not a big deal—”

“Do you wanna leave?” How is that relevant! You don’t, honestly. After hearing what Jess had to say about Sam and now Dean’s beat up face, Sam wanting to leave, it’s a lot to process. And you were fine with processing it next to Sam as long as you guys could talk about it but he seems on edge now, erratic, you don’t want to mess with him, or stay in a house alone with him when he’s like this.

He doesn’t seem like he’ll hurt you, infact, his face softens the second he looks at you, but you can’t risk it. “Sam, it’s not that I don’t want to…” He raises his eyebrows for a second before scoffing letting go of you. “It’s not… it just seems like there’s a lot for you right now, I don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

“I want you in the middle of it.” Is someone escorting Dean out or will you have to confess your feelings in the middle of the crowded kitchen/living room? “But if you want to leave then I’ll drive you, it’s fine. I just need you to know that I want you to stay.”

And with those eyes? Those eyes and that hair falling over those eyes? How can you say no? You let out a shaky breath before throwing yourself into his chest and he easily wraps his arms around you. This is probably the second time you’ve hugged ever, but it’s worth every second because Sam’s so much taller than you in a way that’s comforting beyond belief. Not just because he tries to make himself smaller, but because he carries himself that way too. Small equals ‘there for you’ and ‘your wall’. And he kind of is. His arms are solid against you back and you feel a strand of your hair get caught in between his fingers.

It doesn’t take a few seconds for you to pull away— both out of respect for Dean and because you don’t want to overdo it with Sam. “I’ll stay. In Gen’s room.” He nods like it’s the end of it but you add, “If you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t kick me out.” He frowns. You take out the vape from your back pocket, “I found it in your drawer. Sorry.” He smiles and leans down to your ears, “what’s mine’s yours, sweetheart.” He’s saying it to be kind, whatever, but it still makes your heart flutter to hear.

He points to the room behind his, the only other door in the apartment, says it’s Gen’s room and that the sheets are clean. Which translates to: ‘go inside and I’ll get rid of Dean’.

True to his unspoken words, Dean is gone in less than fifteen minutes and you’re kind of disappointed you didn’t say goodbye. Sam comes into the room to find you on the bed, vape in one hand, phone in the other, texting.

“What’re you doing?” He shuts the door behind him and your eyes skim your surroundings. Alone in a room with Sam.

“Texting. Jess. She’s been worried the whole night and I didn’t want her to freak out.”

“Oh, why’d she be freaked?” Fuck your brain and your oversharing tendencies and fuck you Sam for being obversant.

“Just— you know—”

“I don’t.” Well, duh, or else you wouldn’t ask, but the answer isn’t one you’re willing to give so you shrug and lean into the bed further, still above the sheets. You can’t believe you’re sleeping in jeans just to stay over at Sam’s. The things you do on low sleep, man. “Are you comfortable?” At least he isn’t a dick that insists on your answer.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just, you’re wearing jeans.”

“That’s what I came with, yes.”

“Do you wanna change? I can get you something else to wear? Besides, aren't you cold?” He’s right, the only thing that was keeping you warm was the green jacket you had on which was discarded on the chair, leaving you in a tank top. You’re cold, sure, a little uncomfortable, maybe, but enough to take Sam’s clothes… yes, you’d take them even if you weren’t freezing your ass off.

“What do you have?” You smile a little before he points to Gen’s closet and oh. Right. The other girl that lives here. “Sam, no it’s fine, I don’t want to intrude on Gen.” Rummaging through Sam’s thing while he’s in the room next to you is fine, using Gen’s clothes while she’s in another house? Not respectful.

“She wouldn’t mind—”

“Honestly, I’m not that cold.”

“You’re shivering.” Not to sound like a three year old or anything but someone could practically blow on you and you’d shiver. It's not that serious. But when you tell him that he shakes his head and walks out of the door. Is he pissed off? Like actually genuinely pissed off? Should you look through Gen’s closet for something to wear so he’d be okay? That seems wrong but… it’s his house, his rules.

You’re still heavily overthinking it by the time he comes back and you let out a breath of pure relief. He can’t be that mad if he’s back. And he’s handing you clothes. “Here, mine. So your moral obligations can rest.” You smile and shake your head, getting out of the bed. His hand’s extended so you take it anyways.

“Sam, I’m fine like this—”

“I’m not letting you sleep in jeans, and you can’t convince me to.” You notice his dimples for the first time. Sam is all smiles whenever he’s around people, but you’ve never actually noticed his dimples before, and they’re just as perfect as the rest of him that you’re jealous. And in love, just a little.

“Sam,” you call out as he turns to walk out. He knows what’s coming. You know what’s coming. Your sister knows what’s coming (you found time to fill her in). “What happened with Dean out there? I thought you said he’d want you to leave. Didn’t you want to go with him?”

His shoulders deflate and he turns around. “It’s nothing, just got rough.”

“Meaning? Come on, he was the whole reason we went out tonight then you find him at your house and you’re not freaked? Tell me what happened.” Pushy is one word to call what you’re doing. Another is fucking annoying. You won’t even say the third.

“Dean’s— Dad. Our Dad is… he’s gone or he’s hiding or something and Dean wants me to look for him.” His dad is lost… as an exterminator? Okay…

“Why aren’t you guys freaked out?”

“Because he’s usually just takin’ a break from Dean or something but Dean says he’s sure that he’s actually gone missing—”

“Then call the police.” You say obviously and Sam purses his lips. He’s not irritated, but he looks like he doesn’t want to explain the situation to you so you back off. “I’m going to change.” You say as you head for the bathroom door, “but look, Sam, talk to me, okay? If you want. Or Lily or Jess but talk—”

“Lily?” He interrupts with a scowl, a hand coming up to tame his slightly messed up hair.

“Yeah, you know, your friends.”

“Me and Lily aren’t like… friends friends.”

“I don’t know, people say otherwise,” okay now he’s irritated, “but anyways, none of my business obviously, I’m going to change.”

“Hey, stop doing that. Stop avoiding something the second you say it! Why would you bring up Lily?”

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth and shrug, the clothes suddenly feeling twenty kilograms heavier in your hand. “Jess said you guys have been going out for a while now. Which, you know, I don’t know how she’d feel about me staying over—”

“I told you she’s my presentation partner.” His voice isn’t raised, just seems like he’s trying to understand where you’re coming from and you sound like you don’t want to be having this conversation. Because you don’t.

“Yeah, but Jess said you’ve been hanging out even before Lily’s birthday party and I just didn’t want to assume or anything, I guess.” He steps closer to you and you contemplate taking a step back but he’s already close enough to touch you now. He takes the clothes in your hands and placed them on the chair next to him. “Sam, it’s fine, obviously, I just don’t want her to be mad.”

“I’m not with Lily, and we’re not dating or anything. We study together sometimes, we’re friends and she’s cool but we’re just that. Friends.” You nod and take a step back to help you breathe better, “I’m not just saying that. We are.”

“You don’t have to convince me of anything, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t want you thinking that I like anyone that way,” he says the last word as he moves towards you. You’re trapped between his body and the bathroom door behind you.

“Like a relationship?” He nods and you consider asking if he thinks of you like that but you couldn’t handle the rejection if you tried.

You turn the knob around and slam the fucking door in Sam’s face.

part five; smear the innocence of my lips.

title: beautiful boy by esha tewari

main masterlist

have no idea how I finished this in one sitting. 4k worlds in one sitting is my new record. hope you guys liked this one, I like where it’s going right now but I’m racking my brain for an ending soon if you have ideas tell me.

and if you wanna be tagged for future chapters, comment!

Tag list:

@angzls @chxrrybomb22 @pinkpantheris @ang3ldool @iloveragdollcats

@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #sam winchester #sam winchester x oc #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #sammy #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

81 notes · View notes

tosuckmyweenis · 1 year

Note

Just wanted to share a thought but infinite darkness older Leon is 100% the kind of man to buy his girl those vibrating panties as a “romantic” gift and also take full advantage of the fact that he has the remote for it and abuse his power

That is all

Anytime!! Anywhere!!! Absolutely!!

I tried to write a full fic, but I had a few ideas and couldn't decide; the worms aren't worming yet, so enjoy these bits and bobs for now Anon 💕

It's in a slightly weird formatting, but I hope it doesn't bother too much. I'm kind of on the fence about these because i read them over too much but fuck it we ball.

In public while doing mundane tasks?!

The only day Leon is home is, of course, the day you chose to get all your errands done; he only tags along once he convinces you that today would be the perfect day to test out that little gift he got you, wagging the remote in one hand and the black lace in the other. After all, he sounded so convincing, and with that smirk plastered on his perfect face, you weren't going to say no.

Starting off with just the lowest setting on the way to the first store with the reassurance that he'd be on his best behaviour.

Staying close behind you, staring shamelessly at your ass while you're pushing the cart in some grocery store, making your way through the isles trying to grab the box of cereal you needed off the top shelf, he refuses to help.

Waiting until you're on your tippy toes before cranking the power up to max. He loves how your body jerks in shock at the sudden intensity and clamping your hand over your mouth and the inside of your cheek to stop a moan from slipping out. Then, he takes the opportunity to press himself against you to grab the item before leaning down and whispering into your ear.

"Careful, Sweetheart, You wouldn't want to cause a scene, would you?" Finally lowering it once he tosses the box in the cart, continuing to do the same thing for every item you reach for over and over, never letting you cum though

"Why should I risk letting other people see your pretty face? It's meant for my eyes alone. Although, you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?"

Finally, getting everything you need and checking out, loading everything into the back of the jeep.

He'd just hand you a bag, and when you bend over to put it away, smack your ass, and when you turn to yell at him, he's just leaning on the side, holding the remote and turning it up with a shit-eating grin.

"Leon, please," shamelessly begging him at this point, your legs finally giving out.

"Sorry, what was that? Please, what?"

"Please let me cum, s'too much; I need to"

"Since you asked so nicely, I'll give you what you want."

Deciding to go early in the morning before rush hour was the smartest decision you made that day.

At home while you do chores?!

Doing chores was at the bottom of your list of things you wanted to do today, but things needed to get done, and you refused to ask Leon for help; the poor man works enough as it is and deserves to relax a little.

You were grumbling about it until he brought up a little positive reinforcement, which is how you ended up with a death grip on the edge of the kitchen sink.

You lost count of just how many times you came so far, panting like you just ran a mile, legs trembling, barely able to hold weight anymore.

Staring at the back of his head while watching a movie, his arm lazily tossed over the back of the couch, his thumb mindlessly moving the controls around in no particular rhythm, periodically stopping to give you a break before resuming.

"I don't hear any dishes being washed."

Rinse and repeat until you're just a crying, overstimulated mess.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #slight mean leon #anon asks #TSMW #leon x y/n #leon x reader

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vhagarlovebot · 1 year

Text

NO ONE HAS TO KNOW. — STEPDAD!AEMOND.

summary: getting stuck in the middle of a storm and having to share a bed with your stepdad was definitely not in your plans.

content warnings: 4k words. 18+, fem!reader, dark content, age gap (aemond is 38 and reader is in her early 20s), stepcest, dubcon, somnophilia, thigh riding, daddy kink, unprotected sex, choking, fingering, praise kink, one bed trope.

note: you can block the tag “★. dark themes!” if you don’t like this kind of content. for those who were asking about this fic, here it is. finally. hope you like it!

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

YOU CHANGE THE RADIO STATION making aemond groan in frustration.

“your mother wants us there.” he sighs, turning down the volume and giving a quick glance in your direction.

“i had plans.” you try to clean the window with the back of your hand to look outside, but the heavy snow doesn’t let you see anything. “are you sure we should be driving with this weather?”

your mother loves when both of you go to her conferences, she always says you’re her lucky charm, but you really didn’t want to leave the city this weekend. you’re sure your mother would’ve understood but aemond dragged you out of the house before you had time to message her.

“we’ll have fun.” he simply answers.

“sitting in a room full of people for five hours?” you look at him, raising your eyebrows. aemond glances at you once again and shrugs.

“you’re right. but we’re already two hours in, we can’t come back now. not with this weather.” he shrugs and you sigh, defeated.

aemond turns on the ac, humming along to the song currently playing on the radio. “what plans did you have?” he asks after a while.

“i was planning on… studying?”

“which translates into going to a party.” he chuckles, but then his whole demeanor changes. “why don’t you trust me?” his question takes you by surprise and aemond is quick to elaborate. “i know that me marrying alys must have been weird for you.”

you giggle, turning your whole body in his direction. “what makes you say that? it is, perhaps, the fact that you’re way younger than my mother?” you don’t mean to sound so defensive but you’ve never approved of your mother’s choices of partners. not because you don’t like them but because most of them have been barely old enough to drink. it was like having younger siblings. you were thankful when she started dating older men—older than you, at least.

“that’s exactly why i want us to be friends.” his smile tells you he’s being honest and, for a second, he looks younger than his age.

“aemond, that is exactly why we can’t be friends.” you run your hand over your face, exhausted. having this conversation with him wasn’t in the list of things you needed to do. “having you as my stepdad it’s weird enough, just… don’t make it weirder.”

neither of you says anything after that and a part of you feels bad for talking to him like that, but the other one knows you can’t lie to yourself.

hugging yourself, you try to sleep until the trip is over.

you have the same dream you’ve been having since that fateful night a month ago when you decided to go to the kitchen for some milk, and ended up listening to your mother and aemond having sex.

it wasn't your fault, really, you were just passing by when you heard it. you froze, struggling between keep walking or get back to your room when you saw them through a crack in the door. he was behind her, one of his hands on her hip while the other one tightly grabbed her hair, hips smacking against hers filling the room with obscene sounds.

you stood there until her moans became louder, his movements became sloppy and you felt your slick dripping down your thighs.

that night you touched yourself at the thought of your stepdad fucking you for the first time.

it was hard facing them the next morning. as soon as you saw your mother in the kitchen you felt guilty, dirty. what kind of daughter does what you did? then aemond appeared out of nowhere, startling you by grabbing your hips. you immediately pulled away, his touch making you feel even dirtier.

that night you humped your pillow thinking about him. you were going to hell anyway.

“hey,” you hear aemond’s voice and his hand caressing your arm trying to wake you. “we can’t keep driving, the roads are closed.”

“you have to be kidding.” you groan, rubbing your eyes. there’s a big sing in front of you telling you exactly where you are: a motel.

“we’ll have to spend the night here.” he looks apologetic and you soften your expression, he is not to blame. “i got us the last room available.”

“great.” you mumble, getting out of the car. “just great.”

going up the stairs to the room, your heart starts beating faster than normal, only then realizing you’ll have to spend the entire night in the same room. you and aemond. just the two of you.

you’re one second away from telling him you want to stay in the car when he opens the door revealing something you definitely weren’t expecting.

your heart drops to the floor when you see one tiny bed—just enough to fit two people—in the middle of the room.

“i’m going to take a quick shower.” aemond says, leaving his backpack at the foot of the bed.

you change to the only pajama you brought—a silk and very soft sleepwear dress—because you thought you were going to be spending the night in a hotel by yourself. definitely not in the middle of nowhere in a tiny bed with aemond targaryen.

you immediately climb on the bed, covering your body with the sheets, when you hear him getting out of the bathroom. you peek a little, and see him with just a towel around his hips, drops of water dripping down his toned chest.

you hide under the sheets when he loses the towel, all the blood of your body going to your face and between your legs.

aemond hops into bed with you, careful not to touch your body with his but failing; you still can feel his silk skin brushing against yours when he gets comfortable at a considerable distance.

you try to think about a bunch of different things. the cold war. the big pimple your friend had last week. how cold it is. your mother with a disappointed look on her face…

“do you have to breathe so loud?” aemond complains, turning around until he’s facing your back. you can feel his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine.

“oh if it bothers you i can just simply stop breathing, is that okay with you?” looking above your shoulder you see how his brows knit into a question as his confusion deepens.

“what’s wrong with you?” he sounds sad and hurt by your words. and for the second time in the day, you feel really bad.

“i’m sorry,” you say, closing your eyes. “this is not how i pictured my night and i’m cold. i get bitchy when things don’t go as i want them.”

aemond moves closer to you and your heart does a backflip inside your chest. he puts one of his big arms around your waist and without any effort moves you closer to him.

“wh—what are you doing?” you stammer. even swallowing is hard.

“you said you’re cold,” you don’t see him but you can hear his smirk. “and we don’t want you to catch a cold, do we? besides, i’m trying not to fall from this stupid tiny bed.”

you don’t say anything. instead, you try to regulate your breathing, once again thinking about the most disgusting things to keep you from thinking about the closeness between aemond and you, and how inappropriate it is.

after a while of thinking about the gruesome and injustice of the both world wars, you finally give up.

“i’m sorry.” you say softly. but aemond doesn’t say anything. you don’t know if he’s sleeping or not but if you don’t say it now, you would not say it again. “i didn’t mean to speak to you like that.”

“mmh.”

“i, uhm, would like that.”

“like what?” he asks, confused.

“to be friends.” you shrug, very, very aware of the closeness. “we shouldn’t hate each other.”

“i don’t hate you. never did.” aemond moves a little bit closer, his chest now in direct contact with your back. “we should get along… for the sake of your mother.”

you open your eyes, big with surprise and guilt. your mother who’s probably wondering where you are, if you’re safe, meanwhile you’re in bed with her husband.

“this isn’t right.”

“yeah, this bed is too small.”

however, neither of you tries to do something. in fact, you move closer. aemond slips his leg between your own, and you part them to give him access while your heart beats so fast you think you’re seconds away from throwing up.

you try to sleep but aemond’s closeness and arm wrapped tightly around your waist only helps to feed your fantasies. he, however, falls asleep in just a couple of minutes, and you try to ignore his slow, regular breathing on your neck and how that makes you feel, but you are weak. and a terrible person. because you can’t stop picturing aemond turning you around and taking you right there on the bed, calling you a good girl for taking him so well.

you know the thoughts you have about him are not normal but aemond hasn’t left your mind since the moment one of your best friends introduced him to you. you were mesmerized by his sharp jawline and smart ass, and to say that the long scar across his left eye didn’t make an impression on you is to tell a lie, because it only added to the growing attraction.

you had time to get to know each other a little bit, in the few occasions you bumped into each other at one of the many parties your best friend was hosting and who, you learned thanks to aemond, was dating jace—his nephew, before your mother came into the picture, and you were forgotten.

however, that doesn’t mean that the attraction you felt for aemond vanished, you simply ignored the weird feeling when you saw them kissing after he dropped her home one night.

you don’t know how they met, but you know aemond didn’t know you were her daughter until he visited your home for the very first time and saw you walking down the stairs. he tried to talk to you about it but you never gave him the chance, and eventually he stopped trying.

maybe it would’ve been easier if you had slept with him, that way he would be out of your mind by now. instead, you keep touching yourself at the thought of him and his grunts as he was fucking your mother, you keep replaying the way his hips were moving and smacking against her ass, you keep picturing yourself giving him that pleasure.

you try closing your legs but his leg between your own makes you wince at feeling the friction it creates. you slowly move your hips, trying to feel it again, and when your clit makes contact with his thigh you have to bite your tongue to hold your moan.

you close your eyes, guilt overtaking you. but only for a moment.

“aemond?” you whisper, looking over your shoulder to make sure he’s sleeping, and when he doesn't answer, you take a deep breath, cursing yourself for what you’re about to do.

you slide your hand down, spreading your folds and feeling how wet you already are. you bite your lips to muffle the moan threatening to spill from your mouth as you play with your cunt, barely sliding two fingers into your entrance. your other hand follows the same path, circling your clit with your middle finger, images of aemond’s face buried between your legs making you squeeze your eyes shut.

you try not to move too much but it becomes really hard with every passing minute, and as your desperation grows, so do your gasps and whimpers.

adrenaline courses through your body, something you’ve felt before—at night when you laid in bed, legs spread wide open touching yourself at the thought of him. but with aemond in the same bed, his warmth emanating from his body to yours, his arm around your waist holding you tightly against his chest… that is what pushes you closer to the edge, what makes you start moving your hips against his thigh seeking for something to give you more pleasure than just your fingers. it’s slow at first, afraid it will wake him up, but aemond seems to be a heavy sleeper because there’s no hair out of place, not even the slightest change in his breathing.

you roll your hips with more confidence, hands squeezing and pinching your breasts. but it is still not enough; you need him. carefully, you reach down and place a hand over his, moving it to rest on top of your breast. his hand is bigger than your own, and you wonder how would it be to feel his long, slender fingers in your dripping pussy or wrapped around your throat.

you drag your clit along his thigh, nearing your orgasm with every roll of your hips. you don’t notice you’re moaning aloud, until you feel aemond’s hand pinching your hard nipple, hot breath against your neck.

you shriek, immediately stopping. embarrassment and humiliation replacing the pleasure you were feeling just moments ago. you don’t move, you don’t talk, you’re not sure if you’re even breathing, too ashamed of yourself.

“so fucking greedy,” aemond chuckles, pinching your nipple again. “using me to get yourself off while i’m sleeping.” he grinds his hips against your ass, thrusting into you.

“‘m sorry,” you mumble, a shiver rolling down your neck. your whole body is on fire, a combination of shame and tingling pleasure.

“then do it,” his voice is low, and you can hear the smirk he’s wearing on his lips. aemond grabs your earlobe between his teeth, making you arch your back, a soft gasp spilling from your mouth. “use me just like you were doing before. want to hear those pretty sounds again.”

you swallow the lump in your throat, still not moving. you can’t. the voice inside your head keeps reminding you how wrong this is, how you shouldn’t have started something you shouldn’t be even thinking about. but your body speaks a different language, and aemond sees right through you.

“tsk,” aemond runs his tongue down your neck, and a new wave of goosebumps spreads all over your body. “suddenly you’re shy? or is that you like it more when i’m sleeping? hm?”

aemond presses his bulge into the plush of your ass, making you feel just how affected he is. you try so hard to listen to the voice inside your head but you are weak, as you’ve clearly demonstrated, and all it takes to shut that voice off is aemond’s hand sliding down, fingers expertly rubbing over your clit.

“it seems i’ll have to do all the work.” he nips at the soft skin of your thigh as his other hand makes its way to your neck, wrapping around your throat and squeezing ever so slightly.

“stop, please.” you blink repeatedly, trying to clear the haze from your mind.

“your mouth says one thing,” aemond spreads your folds, pressing one finger to your soaked cunt, making you squirm against him. “your body says another.”

your body betrays you while you’re still fighting against what you want and what is right.

“stop thinking about it.”

you really want to pull away, but your body screams for him. and you do it.

you start moving your hips, closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit as your pussy clenches around nothing. your hands go to your breasts, taking your nipples and pinching, moaning when you feel the wet spot on aemond’s clothed thigh.

“use me, fuck yourself on my thigh.” he moves his leg up adding pressure to your needing hole. “just like that… good girl.” you throw your head back, giving him access to your neck. he bites and kiss and licks, leaving marks behind. “can’t stop thinking about how perfect this pussy would feel wrapped around my cock.”

aemond pushes one finger inside you slowly and you inhale sharply, one of his fingers feel like two of your own, yet it’s still not enough to alleviate the ache you feel deep within you; so you desperately search for his wrist, digging your nails into his skin, silently asking him to go deeper, faster.

“what’s that?” he teases you, leaning in just a little closer to whisper directly against your cheek. “use your words, baby.”

“want more, p-please.” you whimper when he inserts a second finger, immediately curling them upward. aemond brushes that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars behind your eyes. but before you could let go, he pulls his fingers out, rolling you onto your back.

“want me to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, is that it?” aemond asks you, climbing on top of you and spreading your legs apart. when you don’t answer, he presses his clothed cock against your soaked cunt. “don’t you know it is rude not to answer when someone speaks to you?”

“so-sorry,” you don’t even try to hold back the gasp escaping your lips.

aemond grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “answer when i speak to you.”

“yes,” you exhale shakily, hips bucking furiously against him. “i want that… yes.”

“nah,” he gazes at you for a moment, then shakes his head. “be a good girl and use your manners.”

“want you to fuck me… please, daddy.”

aemond growls, pressing his lips against yours. it’s soft at first, both of you still insecure, waiting for the other to change their mind at any second; kissing feels a little too intimate. but when he thrusts into you, dragging the tip of his cock just right over your clit, making you wrap your legs around his waist, every coherent thought goes out the window.

he breaks the kiss, pulling away enough to get rid of his sweatpants. “you have no idea how much i’ve been thinking about this.”

your heart beats faster at hearing his words. knowing that you’re not the only one with those sinful thoughts makes you feel less anxious, it isn’t better for either of you but you’re already deep into some twisted shit, there is no turning back, so, at least, you can allow yourself to fantasize a little.

“you knew what you were doing when you decided not to use panties to bed, uh?” aemond looks into your glassy eyes, aligning himself with your entrance, gathering some of your slick before pushing inside, slowly and carefully, giving you time to adjust to him. “went to bed thinking about this.” he pants, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from thrusting into you.

it hurts, he’s stretching you to the point where you have to hold onto him, nails digging into his back while your mouth hangs open, moans falling from your lips.

“so big,” you gasp, following his gaze down where your bodies meet.

“you can take it, baby” he says, hooking your left leg up higher which allows him to slide in some more. “look at you, taking daddy’s cock so well.”

you feel so filled already, and aemond is barely halfway in.

aemond leans in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, warm and soft. his lips slide down until he’s kissing you again, tongue violating your mouth with such desperation and rudeness that your head is spinning trying to focus on two things at once.

he thrust into you fully, making you cry out. you feel him so deep inside of you, you are sure you can see the outline of his cock in your stomach.

you squirm beneath him, whimpering and moaning with his tortuous pace, the cold from the silver chain around his neck touching your cheek every time he slides his cock in, a welcome feeling against your hot face.

you can’t think about anything, you don’t remember why you were so anxious about or why you shouldn’t be doing this. there’s no thought in your mind besides how good he’s making you feel or how obscene the words he’s whispering in your ear are.

“tell me,” he grunts, pounding into you so hard you have to bite your lips to stop yourself from screaming. “since when have you been wanting me to fuck you?”

your eyes flutter shut, head thrown back in pleasure. “since-fuck! since the first time—” aemond pulls out, until only half of him is still inside of you, and then sinks back in, making you whimper. “we met.”

aemond lets out a loud groan, violently slamming his hips, fucking you harder and faster. he holds onto your hip with one hand, balls slapping against your cunt, as his other hand moves down to rub over your clit.

“you look so pretty like this.” aemond coos, leaning in to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “taking my cock like the good girl you are.”

“daddy,” you don’t even have time to warn him before you’re cumming all over his cock, walls clenching around him and legs shaking so much they fall open by his side.

you are so warm and tight around him, that his dick twitches inside of you as he approaches his own climax. he fucks you through your orgasm until his movements are sloppier and he begins to grunt aloud, face twisted in pleasure.

then, aemond pulls out, letting out a low moan as he comes all over your stomach, hot and white stripes painting your body.

he collapses next to you, pulling you in closer. you just stare at each other for a while, not a sound coming out of your mouths, just heavy breathing and panting.

“you okay, baby?”

the pet name sends shivers all over your body. “i’m alright.” you shrug, giggling when he looks at you with a frown on his face. “i’m more than okay.”

“good. because you need a shower.” he says, getting off the bed and taking you in his arms, making you yelp in surprise.

aemond steals a kiss from you as he walks toward the bathroom, both of you still so high and lost in the moment to worry about what this means.

when you wake up the next morning, the bed is cold and empty, and you can no longer feel aemond’s arm around your waist. but, at the same time, you still feel him everywhere.

you smile, fingers pulling your bottom lip down, images of what you did the night before flashing through your mind, but as quickly as they came, the anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach also comes back, erasing the smile on your face.

you’re fighting hard not to cry when the door opens, revealing aemond carrying two cups of coffee in hands. worry crosses his face when he sees your expression.

“what’s wrong?” he takes two big steps, leaving the cups aside, and sits beside you. aemond places a warm, comforting hand over yours. but you can’t look him in the eyes. “hey,” with his free hand, he cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “we have a long way back home, if you want to talk… we can do that.”

you nod, tears in your eyes as you finally look at him. he has a soft expression, reassuring you that everything it’s okay, even if he doesn’t believe that himself.

tags: @namelesslosers. @teamaemond. @abecerra611. @fleurriee. @vermithorn. @aemonds-fire.

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#★. dark themes!#aemond targaryen x reader #modern!aemond #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd imagine

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astermath · 1 year

Text

unexpected guest *ੈ✩‧

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve isn’t too pleased when you come home with a stray kitten. money is tight, you’re both working full time, and he was never too fond of cats to begin with. somehow, you manage to convince him to keep it anyways.

word count: 1.7K

tags: established relationship, steve and reader are living together in Indianapolis, normal sized font below the cut!

notes: been a little unmotivated recently but nothing motivates me like imagining steve harrington holding a cute animal tbh. he always struck me as a dog type, but I feel like he’d enjoy cats too. thanks to @inkluvs for helping me decide on a title and rambling with me <3

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further steve harrington related content! requests are open!

The pitter patter of heavy rain made for an eerie symphony outside the apartment you shared with Steve. The air is foggy, humid, and it usually wouldn't make him feel this unsettled. No, in fact, he quite likes the rain. When he's inside at least, cuddled up with you on the couch to inevitably watch whatever you wanted on the TV.

But the apartment is empty, at an hour when it normally shouldn't be. Steve's eyes find the faint red glow of the oven's clock; you should have been home an hour ago. Worry settles in his stomach at the thought of all the reasons you could possibly be late. Maybe you were stuck somewhere, kidnapped, or worse.

His socked feet tread along your hardwood floor, pacing with his lip caught under his teeth. Steve knows you’re a capable woman who can handle herself, but you’re never late. He knows you’re always getting home as fast as you can, having missed him and your lovely apartment all day.

He's already reaching for the phone to call you when he hears the familiar jingle of your keys behind the door. A feeling of intense relief washes over him when you open the door and he's met with your beautiful appearance. Wet, messy, and disheveled, but beautiful.

He wastes no time, strong arms winding around you as soon as your coat is off, face buried in your soaked hair.

You chuckle, awkwardly shuffling one of your arms from in between the embrace to rub over his back.

"You're late." He mumbles into the crown of your head, before pressing a kiss into it.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just got really held up at work."

Steve frowns at your excuse. Your boss is really nice, and you're usually never back late. Plus, it's a Tuesday, the café you work at couldn't have been that busy, right?

That's when he notices your other hand, clutching a bag filled with what at first glance seems like random stuff and a blanket.

"Whatcha got there, hm?" He pulls away slightly, head tilting to motion to your mystery bag.

"Oh, nothing," you try your best at a convincing smile, "just some leftovers from work." You swallow, and when you meet your boyfriend's eyes he's giving you that look. It's the same one he gives you when you ate the last bit of ice cream, or when you try to get out of running errands. You suck at lying, you're both well aware of that.

The silence is broken when a soft, squeaky noise erupts from the bag. Your feeble attempt at covering it up with a forced cough is apparently not enough, because Steve is now reaching for the bag, wanting to see for himself what you'd brought in with you.

"N-No, Steve!" You pull your arm away, careful not to shuffle the bag around too much. Whatever was inside was probably fragile, he thought. "It's a, uhm... It's a-- a surprise!" You try to sneak past him to head to your bedroom, but he stops you by wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Honey," he leans his head down so his lips are close to your ear. If you weren't so focused on covering up what was in the bag, you were sure your knees would have buckled at the sound of his sultry voice, "you're gonna tell me what's in the bag, alright?"

Your shoulders drop slightly, a defeated sigh emitting from you as you turn around. "Will you promise not to get mad?"

"Sugar..." His brows furrow, already worried about what's it going to be.

"I'm serious," you look up at him with puppy eyes, "promise?"

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He could never deny you anything when you were looking at him like that. "Fine, promise. Just-- Just show me, alright?"

You crouch down, taking off the blanket that was pretty much drenched from the rain to reveal a box. You're really careful, hands a little shaky, and Steve's curiosity grows by the second.

Finally, you open up the box. He has to squint for a moment, not sure what he's seeing exactly, so he crouches down across you to have a better look.

In the corner of the box is a tiny lump of black fur, mewling surprisingly loud for its small size. Its blue eyes are almost entirely overtaken by the size of its pupils, and it's shaking a little from what he can only assume to be the cold.

"Baby, where did you--"

"Side of the road." You reached out to run a single finger under the kitten's chin, and it wobbles a little from the contact. It couldn't be more than a few weeks old. "It was all alone, sopping wet and shivering." You sniffle, and Steve's heart nearly shatters at the sight of you tearing up over it.

"It probably wouldn't have survived if I didn't do anything," a stray tear rolls down your cheek, "so I took it to the vet for an emergency checkup, got some wet cat food, and-- I don't know, I just... Look at it, Stevie."

The small feline stares at him, not scared, just curious as to who this large creature in front of it is. Steve frowns, resisting the urge to pet it before he starts to grow an actual attachment to it.

"Honey, you know we can't keep it..."

"Why not?" You sound hurt, but you know all the reasons why. First of all, Steve doesn't even like cats. He's always been a dog person, wanting to live out his six children fantasy with a golden retriever as a pet one day. Second of all, money is tight. You both work your asses off trying to save up for a better place someday, an actual house, and a pet can bring a lot of unforeseen costs with it. Yet something in you remains hopeful. That something is also aware of the effect you have on your boyfriend, and how convincing you can be.

He gives you a thin lipped smile in an attempt to comfort you, but you're not meeting his eyes. You're too focused on the little blessing in front of you, that you've already secretly named; Olive.

Steve tries to lean in and hug you, but suddenly, the kitten jumps out of the box and onto his lap. He feels its little baby claws go straight through the fabric of his sweatpants, wincing slightly at the feeling as he attempts to capture the little rascal in his hands. To no avail, as little Olive keeps climbing up his lap and onto his sweatshirt. It's surprisingly fast, for how tiny it is.

"H-Hey, come on now, this is my favorite sweater! You're puttin' holes in it you little demon!" Steve seems a little frazzled, not sure how to delicately handle an animal this small. It seems so tiny and fragile, yet it’s jumping around like it’s Spider-man or something.

You watch as your boyfriend continuously tries to remove the kitten from clawing at his sweater, and though you’re trying to be serious about convincing him and all that, it’s kind of hard when you’re looking at just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You’re already so weak for the sight of Steve by himself, let alone accompanied by an adorable little cat.

Eventually he gets a hold of Olive, holding her up with his hands as it tries to gnaw at his fingers. “Oh you’re totally staying in air jail now young lady.” He glances over at you. “She’s a girl cat right?”

You nod, and he can tell you’re holding back your laugh.

“What?”

You snort. “Nothing, just— for someone who doesn’t want a cat, you already seem pretty attached.”

“Wha— I— Ow!” he winces when Olive starts digging her sharp little fangs into his thumb. He doesn’t let go of her though, still holding her up with a gentle grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m just— disciplining her for the next person to get her.”

“Mhm, totally.” You grin, reaching out to pet the little black lump of fur he’s holding. She seems to respond much calmer to your touch. “Maybe… You wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of fostering her then?” You look up with those same puppy eyes again, and Steve thinks this is probably the deadliest combo he’s ever witnessed. Not only does he have to deal with your pleading gaze, but it’s now accompanied by the cutest little animal too. He’s only human, after all.

He sighs, carefully setting Olive back down into her box. He just looks at her for a second, surprised at how full of life she is. He always thought cats were lazy and indifferent to their surroundings, but this little one was practically bouncing off the walls.

“No—“ he starts.

“But Stevie!”

“Uh uh uh!” he holds up a finger, halting your sounds of protest. “You didn’t let me finish, sugar.”

You huff, rolling your eyes.

“I was gonna say, no,” he reaches out a single finger to scratch under Olive’s chin, “because I have a feeling we’re just going to keep her anyways.” His eyes return to yours, and he can see the hopeful glint in your expression. “You really like her, don’t you?”

You nod, smiling warmly. “Do you?”

“Well,” he wiggles finger, watching how she tries to play with it, “maybe she’s growing on me a little.”

“You love her.” You grin.

“Well, what can I say, I got a lot of love to give.” He reaches out his arm to pull you close, wrapping around your shoulder and planting a kiss on your head. You both just sit there on the floor for a while, playing with your newfound pet until she gets all tuckered out.

“You know,” you speak softly, not wanting to wake her up, “I’m really glad you agreed to keep her.”

Steve smiles, eyes still watching Olive sleep so peacefully. The contrast to her previous hyper activeness is stark. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well,” You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I have a feeling she’s going to fit in here well. Like a little family.”

His heart swells with warmth at the word ‘family’. You know that means a lot to him, and in a way, he agrees. It’s a great first step to building something more akin to a home.

“And… Maybe I already got her chipped and registered at the vet before I got here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you did.”

“Love you.” you chuckle, knowing he’s going to forgive you for your impulsiveness either way.

He kisses your head once more. “Love you too.”

tag list <3

@palmtreesx3

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five-and-dimes · 18 days

Text

Every Hand to Hold

For the Dreaming Bingo prompt: Threesome

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Dream/Hob/Calliope

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Immortal Throuple, hurt/comfort, miscommunications, Dream's terrible horrible no good self esteem, happy ending

Summary: Inspired by this post from @cuubism (specifically her tags) that my brain then fully ran away with. Dream thinks it's wild that two separate gorgeous brunettes decided to start hooking up with him, but he's not complaining, even if he does get a little more heartbroken than he should when they both stop seeing him within a week of each other.

Read on AO3

It started with Calliope.

Dream had been wandering aimlessly in a small, secondhand bookstore when he had turned the corner and crashed into a woman with her arms so full of books she could barely see over them. Mortified, Dream had apologized and immediately began gathering up the books she had dropped, all of them either poetry collections or textbooks on the history of poetry. He had shyly inquired about her selections, and she had happily spoken at length about all of them, Dream immediately enamored with her passion and intelligence. She said her name was Calliope, and then she had dragged Dream into a small storage closet and pushed him to his knees.

And then a week later, he had met Hob. Dream had been sitting in the park, quietly feeding the birds, when a handsome man had sauntered over and asked if the seat next to him was taken. His boldness was startling, the way he sprawled next to Dream and kept an easy conversation going even as Dream fumbled. He had a warmth about him, a bright laugh that never felt like it was directed at Dream, and it had been a shock when, despite the long list of things Dream knew he had gotten wrong during their interaction, Hob had leaned forward and grinned.

“So. Your place or mine?”

Dream lived closer.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Dream was no stranger to the occasional one night stand, something quick and simple to ease his loneliness for even a moment, but never had he been propositioned by two beautiful people in such quick succession. And he’d certainly never had people want to see him again. He had been so flattered when Calliope had asked for his number, and even more so when she actually used it, asking if they could meet again, preferably in an actual bed this time. Hob had left his own number on Dream’s nightstand, and Dream had felt foolishly optimistic when he texted him to let him know Dream’s number as well, but he was glad he did when Hob texted back a few days later, wanting to fool around again. While he had long given up on the hope of ever being relationship material, he thought he could handle some simple hookups.

Apparently he was wrong.

Dream never had the courage to text either of them first, but at least once a week one of them invited themselves over and Dream would clear his schedule. They were both confident and clear about what they wanted, and Dream felt such relief at how easy they made it for him. He didn’t have to guess and worry about getting it wrong- all he had to do was go where their hands guided him. It was simple. He would bend over backwards to make them happy, give them anything and everything they could possibly want from him, because even if they never stayed long, it was enough that they kept coming back. He just wanted them to keep coming back.

After almost two months, Dream had been typing and retyping a message to Hob, trying to ask if maybe sometime they could grab a drink before going to bed together. Even if Dream wasn’t cut out for a romantic relationship, maybe he could at least convince Hob to a friends-with-benefits situation? He thought maybe he could be good enough to be called a friend. And Hob was so kind to him.

Before he has a chance to hit send though, Hob texts him first.

Hey, I’m sorry, but I don’t think we should meet up anymore. Thanks for all the fun times though!

Dream feels his heart sink.

Is everything alright?

What happened?

What did I do wrong?

Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you

Please

I don’t want to be alone anymore

He types, and deletes, and types, and deletes, and ignores the way his vision blurs.

Okay

He puts his phone on silent, but it doesn’t matter. Hob never responds.

A few days later, he decides that he must be brave quicker this time. So he steels himself, and texts Calliope to ask if she would like to join him at a poetry reading the local library was putting on.

As friends, he is quick to add on. He would not dare to reach for more than that. He does not think he is being unreasonable though. Calliope likes poetry, is a writer herself, and at a reading she will not even have to worry about dealing with Dream’s stilted attempts at conversation. They can simply sit silently together, and enjoy other people’s words, and she can put his mouth to better uses afterwards. It’s perfect.

I don’t think that’s a good idea

Dream wants to cry. He is mid apology, typing rapidly about how he did not mean to overstep, they could just keep their current arrangement, it’s fine, really. But another message comes through before he has a chance to send it.

I don’t think we should see each other at all anymore

He stares at the message for what feels like ages, his own rambling words still sitting uselessly in the text box. Finally, he deletes his reply slowly, typing a new response.

I understand.

He doesn’t though. He really, really, doesn’t.

It’s not like Dream isn’t used to being dumped- most people grew sick of him and his flaws eventually. But he had thought he was at least a good enough lay for them to stick around for a little longer. He had tried so hard not to let too much of his undesirable qualities show during their nights together, and they had always seemed more than satisfied with his performance in bed. So where did he go wrong?

Maybe they could just… tell. Maybe they could sense each time he touched them that he was putting too much of his heart into it, that he was too attached, too desperate, too hungry for more.

He recalls the way his sibling had laughed at him when he had stated that he had given up on dating.

“Please,” they had drawled, “You’ll always be going after someone. You bleed neediness. Sometimes I think you’ll stain my couch with it.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe Calliope and Hob had grown tired of having to wash off his desperation after each encounter. After all, it was just supposed to be casual sex, and here he was, nursing a heart broken twice over, proving them all right. He had no one to blame but himself.

It wasn’t a breakup. He hadn’t been together with either of them, not in any way that truly mattered. He couldn’t tell his sister, or one of his few friends, why he was even more morose than usual. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain that he kept checking his phone, didn’t want to make plans or go out just in case one of them changed their mind and contacted him, wanted to be available just in case either of them decided they weren’t done with him yet?

He allowed himself a few weeks to wallow, to mourn, and then, as much as a petulant part of him didn’t want to, Dream knew he had to move on. So when he receives an email informing him of an event at a local bar, he makes plans to attend. Galleria was a favorite of Dream’s, as they displayed pieces from local artists throughout their establishment. It was one of the first places to showcase Dream’s own art, and he has been a regular in their rotation for years now. As such, despite generally avoiding crowds, Dream always made an effort to support the shows of all the artists they featured.

So he would go. He would absorb himself in new artwork, have a few drinks, maybe throw himself into a one night stand that he would make sure actually remained a one night stand. He would distract himself. There wasn’t much else he could do.

It works, at first. The crowd is not overwhelming, but still a good turn out for the young artist greeting people by the door. Dream accepts a postcard with her information and then splurges on a nicer glass of wine to sip on as he meanders through the bar, weaving through tables to take in the newly hung paintings. He waves awkwardly at the managers who luckily know him well enough to simply wave back instead of starting a conversation, and Dream finds himself actually feeling alright for the first time in weeks.

And then he sees Hob and Calliope.

Together.

Not only together, but together. Holding hands and clearly a couple, each with a drink in their free hands as they chatted with another patron, their shoulders brushing as they leaned together to make room for the people moving around them. Dream can see their lips moving, one after the other, probably finishing each others’ sentences with the ease of two people who belonged together.

Dream feels like the scum of the earth. For all the love in his heart, he never wanted to ruin anyone else’s. He never wanted to be a home-wrecker.

He is so frozen in horror that he could barely move, the reality of the situation washing over him like ice water, so when Hob and Calliope finally turn and see him, he is still staring, wide-eyed. They stare back, and then look at each other, and Dream sees their mouths moving rapidly, everything coming to light no doubt, and Dream finally manages to get his body to move, to run. He put his glass on the first flat surface he sees and takes off, desperate to escape. But of course, he can’t even do that right, and he soon realizes that in his panic he has run in the opposite direction of the exit, instead standing pressed against the back wall. Trapped. It feels too risky to turn back, and so instead he flings himself into the thankfully single-person restroom, locking the door before leaning heavily against it.

Everything feels ruined, so much worse than it had felt even just a few hours ago. It had been bad enough losing both of them, feeling thrown away and heartbroken yet again. Now, even the memories are tainted. Seeing Hob and Calliope together had opened his eyes in the worst way. They had looked so right together, both of them so beautiful and shining and bright, glowing smiles and cheerful laughs. Of course Dream wasn’t good enough for either of them. He only hopes that he hasn’t inadvertently destroyed their relationship.

Dream presses his fists against his eyes, fighting back tears. He feels caught between sorrow and rage and shame. They hadn’t told him. He never would have taken either of them up on their offers if they had told him.

A swift series of knocks on the door makes him jump, and he quickly chokes out, “Occupied!” He just needs a little longer to pull himself together.

Unfortunately, a familiar voice calls back, “Dream?”

Hob’s voice is calm, no immediate rage or hatred, but it doesn’t make Dream’s heart pound any less. Especially when another voice joins him.

“Can we talk to you?” Calliope asks gently, “Please?”

She doesn’t sound angry either, but Dream can’t bring himself to trust it. Still. He knows he must face them. Whatever happens, he has been cornered and there is nowhere to go but forward.

His hands shake as he flips the lock, opening the door with resignation. In front of him, the two people he had grown so attached to- the two people who had, within a week of each other, cut him out of their lives- were smiling at him. Hob had an arm around Calliope’s shoulder, and they were both dressed nicely for the event. They were somehow even more beautiful standing together.

Hob grinned, “Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” he said teasingly.

Something about the ease in their posture, their casual smiles, Hob’s joking greeting, ignites a flicker of fury in him.

“Neither of you told me,” he snaps. They both blink, surprised by the outburst, and he struggles to continue, to get it all out before he either loses his nerve or starts crying, “Neither of you said you had a partner. So if- if you’re upset-… do not be upset with me, because I didn’t know.” He wishes he sounded more angry, but he can’t fully conceal his desperation, or the way his hands shake at his sides, “It’s not my fault.”

Please believe me, he doesn’t say, please forgive me.

Hob raised his hands, “Hey, no, Dream, everything is fine,” he smiled sympathetically, “Nobody did anything wrong, I promise. Calliope and I are in an open relationship. It’s all okay.”

Dream blinked in surprise, feeling the adrenaline slowly bleed out of him, “Oh.”

“We did not mean to keep it a secret,” Calliope chimed in, winding an arm around Hob’s waist and looking at him fondly, “we both have a tendency to get caught up in our… excursions. Sometimes we forget that details might be appreciated.”

Looking between the two of them, Dream thinks he finally gets it. Perhaps they had been attracted to the novelty of him at first. His sickly pale skin versus their golden tans. His sharp bonyness when they are both full and soft. But of course that novelty could only last so long, especially if each time they left him they were going home to each other. He never had a chance of comparing.

“I… am glad,” he responds slowly, awkwardly, “When I saw you both… I had been worried…”

“Understandable,” Hob replies, “And we really are sorry. Didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”

Dream shifts uncomfortably, “I apologize. For snapping at you.”

“There is no need,” Calliope reassures, waving the apology away, “We caught you off guard, and we should have told you about our situation from the beginning.”

“But, now that we’re all on the same page…” Hob drawls, rocking on his heels as he glances between Dream and Calliope, “I know I- or, both of us, apparently- texted you to call our whole arrangement off, but…”

He trails off, giving Dream a pointed look that Dream doesn’t understand at all. His mouth opens, but he has no idea what Hob is talking about, what he’s supposed to say.

Placing a hand on Hob’s arm, Calliope continues, “But now, the arrangement has changed,” she explains, looking at Dream intently, “Now we know that we both desire you, and our interests are aligned in a way we had not realized before. And so we were wondering if you might be willing to give us another chance. So that we might be with you… together.”

For a long moment, all Dream can do is stare.

“...Together?”

His voice cracks on the word, and Hob and Calliope nod eagerly, looking at him hopefully, and Dream feels lightheaded. He had been resigned to Hob and Calliope not being a part of his life anymore, and after weeks of wishing he could have at least had more time to prepare, now he was being given it. One more night, at the very least.

Surely that’s better than nothing.

“Okay.”

The word is barely out of his mouth when Hob nearly leaps forward to kiss him. Dream thinks he might have fallen to the ground if not for Hob’s hands gripping his hips as he kisses him deeply. It is hungry, biting, impatient. Hob must have been really aching for a threesome if he was this eager already, Dream thinks. When Calliope tugs Hob away to claim Dream’s mouth with her own, he wonders if she had been wanting this for a while, too.

“We don’t live far from here,” Calliope says, breathless, “Just a few blocks. If you’d like to come to ours this time.”

Dream nods obediently, still trying to catch his breath as Calliope takes his hand and Hob wraps an arm around his waist. They guide him out of the bar swiftly and efficiently, letting out little huffs of laughter as they speed down the sidewalk. Hob’s hand drifts down to squeeze his arse and Dream feels inexplicably nauseous.

They really do live quite close, and far too soon Dream is being led up a short flight of stairs, Calliope and Hob giggling at each other playfully as they disentangle just enough to tumble through the door of their apartment. Dream closes the door behind him mechanically, and when he looks, Hob and Calliope are kissing. It is heated, and passionate, and they move together with the practiced ease of two people who have loved each other for a long time. He thinks again of how right they look together. And it suddenly occurs to him how wrong he must look next to them.

And he should be grateful. He knows he should be grateful. He had thought that he had lost them forever, and yet here they were, inviting him into their home for a night of pleasure, a chance to be useful to both of them. He should be honored that out of everyone, out of all the people so much better than him, they chose Dream to be the toy they brought into bed to spice up their relationship.

“I can’t.”

His voice cracks on the words, choked out before he can think better of it. Hob and Calliope part, turning to look at him in confusion. Part of him wishes he hadn’t said anything at all, almost wants to take it back, but he can’t. He had done this before, had tried so hard to be what they wanted. But he couldn’t do this and not get his heart broken again.

“I’m sorry, I…. I thought I could…. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

His whole body is shaking, and he’s breathless, eyes downcast because he can’t bring himself to face whatever disgust is surely on their faces. His hand fumbles for the doorknob, ready to flee into the night, but soft fingers on his wrist still him. Glancing up through his eyelashes, he finds Hob standing before him, eyes shining with concern.

“Hey, hey… “ he soothes, running his hand up and down Dream’s arm, “It’s alright, dove, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want. But I’m a little uncomfortable letting you run off when you’re clearly so upset.”

Calliope steps forward, taking Dream’s other hand, “Will you talk to us, starlight?”

The pet names make it harder. If he closes his eyes he thinks he could pretend that they actually want him. And that’s exactly why he can’t do this.

“I…like you,” he admits, looking away in shame, “Both of you. And I know I should be happy that you find me good enough to, to even just have sex with you, but… I’m greedy.” All his previous partners had come to hate him for it. For always wanting and wanting and wanting. He was too romantic, too much, too high maintenance, yet somehow also too cold, too awkward, too distant. The best he can hope for now is to leave before they come to truly resent him. “I want… more. More than just sex, and. And I do not think I can do this and just walk away when it’s over.” He doesn’t want to hear them tell him to leave.

He lowers his voice to a whisper, “It is better that I just. Go now.”

There is a long pause, and he waits for them to let him go, perhaps call him stupid or express their annoyance at having brought him all the way here only for him to not deliver. Perhaps they will just shove him out the door and be done with it.

“Oh, Dream…” Hob’s voice is soft, and sorrowful, and he brings Dream’s hand up to clutch it between both of his own. When he glances up, Hob looks… shattered.

“We’re so, so sorry,” Calliope whispers, bringing a hand to rest on Dream’s cheek, “We should have been clearer,” she tugs Dream down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead so he can feel her words against his skin, “We like you too.”

Dream feels his breath catch in his chest. His eyes are wide with disbelief, but as Calliope leans back, Hob nods in agreement, “Apparently we were both being fools,” he smiles self-deprecatingly,“We have an open relationship, yeah, but the reason I called things off with you was because… I was catching feelings,” he admits softly. Then he laughs bashfully, “And I was too chicken to just talk to Calliope about it.”

Calliope shook her head, smiling sadly, “We truly are a pair, because that is the exact reason I put a stop to our trysts as well.”

“So when we saw you, and we realized we’d both been going after the same person, it all came out,” Hob continued. Dream can barely breathe, his mind racing as he thinks back to how Calliope and Hob had looked at Dream, and then each other, how they had leaned in to talk and gesture with each other. “When we said we wanted to be together with you, we meant together. We want you as our partner. We just… didn’t know we could have you like that. Until tonight.”

They want him.

Dream opens his mouth to say something- are you sure, thank you, you won’t regret it, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good- but all that comes out is a sob.

“Oh, oh our poor darling,” Calliope cooed, and then her arms are around him, pulling him close and guiding him to lay his head on her shoulder. She pets the hairs at the nape of his neck, her voice heavy with sadness as she whispers against his ear, “You came here with us, and the whole time you thought we were bringing you here to use you?”

Dream wants to rid her voice of the note of guilt he can hear. They did nothing wrong, nothing at all. But before he can get any words out to shift the blame onto himself where it belongs, Hob runs his hands up his back, massaging lightly as he leans in to speak into Dream’s other ear.

“You are far too important for that,” Dream feels his breath hitch, and Hob nuzzles against his neck, “We didn’t bring you here just to fuck you. We want to love you. Will you let us?”

It is everything Dream has ever wanted, and it hardly feels real. He shakes and shivers as he’s held between the two of them, surrounded by their warmth and the soothing sound of their voices as they comfort him.

Eventually, his breath evens, and he is able to pull away slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor. He can feel his face heat with embarrassment. He was making a scene, all because he had misunderstood what was being asked of him, and now as a result he wasn’t giving them anything.

He takes a few shuddering breaths, trying to formulate an apology, something that will convince them that they aren’t making a huge mistake. But before he gets a chance, Hob wraps his arms around his waist from behind.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hob drawls, his lips pressed to Dream’s neck but his words directed at Calliope, “but when Dream and I had sex, he was always so generous. Only wanted to focus on me and my pleasure, never his own. Got all shy when I tried to return the favor. I get the feeling it might have been similar with you?”

Dream feels himself flush as Calliope hums, running her hands up Dream’s chest languidly, “Hm, yes. So attentive, so eager to please, to do whatever I wanted. Never so much as mentioned his own wants.” Her tone is nearly scolding, and Dream feels lost and frozen.

Then he feels Hob grin, “Well then…” he bites at Dream’s ear, while the tips of his fingers dip beneath the waistband of his jeans, drawing a gasp from Dream’s lips, “sounds like it’s your turn now, Love.”

Calliope tugs at his shirt, stepping backwards as she guides all of them further into the apartment, “Will you let us take care of you? Show you how much we want you?”

Following helplessly, Dream blushes and stutters, so far removed from their confidence and surety. He wonders if this is a joke. They cannot truly want a foolish mess like him.

“Whatever you want,” he croaks, “You can do whatever you want.”

They enter the bedroom, and Hob flicks on some dim lights as Calliope takes Dream’s chin in her hand. She looks sad.

“That,” she states softly, “is not the answer we’re looking for.”

Dream fears he might burst into tears again at her soft chastisement, but luckily Hob steps in, lightly removing Calliope’s hand as he peppers Dream’s face with kisses.

“It’s alright, Love,” he smiles against Dream’s cheek, “we’ll work on it.” There’s a promise in his voice that makes Dream shiver. “For now, just know that what we want,” he cups Dream’s face in one hand to speak against his lips, “is to give you everything you want.”

Swallowing thickly, Dream bites back words about how he doesn’t know what he wants. He just wants them to stay. He wants to be good enough, he wants to be worthwhile enough. He wants them to stay.

But he is distracted from his thoughts when Calliope steals him away from Hob for a kiss of her own. She tilts her head back, offering her mouth for Dream’s tongue to explore shyly as she dips her hands beneath his shirt. Hob walks around her, standing at her back and brushing her hair over her shoulder as he unzips her dress. She moans against Dream’s mouth, biting down gently on his lower lip as Hob kisses between her shoulder blades. The dress falls easily to the floor, allowing her to step out of it gracefully, and even after all the numerous times they have slept together, Dream still finds himself staring in awe at her. Her bra and panties are a muted lavender colored lace, contrasting against her golden skin beautifully. In the dim room he can just make out the soft, dark hairs along her arms and legs, and he cannot resist reaching out to run his fingers along the edge of her panties, where he knows just below is hiding a thatch of dark curls.

Reaching out, Calliope covers Dream’s hands with her own, pressing them more firmly into the soft flesh of her hips. Behind her, Hob unclasps her bra, tossing it to the side as she steps out of her underwear. Once she is naked, she turns to Hob, smiling gently as she unbuttons his shirt.

Dream watches, enamored as Calliope kisses along Hob’s jaw as she unbuckles his belt, Hob nearly ripping his clothes off as soon as every button is undone. They are beautiful together, Calliope leaning up to press her breasts against Hob’s hair covered body as they kiss. He wants to paint them, to try to capture the way their beauty only enhances each other.

Then, they turn to look at him, and Dream feels frozen under the combined weight of their piercing gazes. A part of him wishes he could turn the lights completely off, could hide in the darkness to try to make his lacking less obvious, and he moves his arms jerkily to hug his middle.

And yet, as Calliope and Hob descend on him, their eyes are full of appreciation.

“We haven’t forgotten you, gorgeous,” Hob grins, leaning in to kiss at Dream’s neck as he slides his hands under his shirt. Dream gasps as his fingers ghost over his nipples. Calliope runs her hands along his arms, guiding him to raise them as Hob pulls his shirt over his head. They are so warm, and when he closes his eyes, he forgets for a moment how ridiculous he must look between them, getting lost in the sensation of hands running over his skin reverently. Before, they were always in a hurry. Either coming to Dream before work or an appointment, or at the end of the day before returning home. It was not uncommon for only the minimal amount of undressing necessary to happen, and certainly it was never a drawn out affair.

Neither of them had ever undressed him themselves, never unzipped his jeans like they were unwrapping a present, never smoothed their hands over his exposed skin like he was something to savor.

“Breathe, darling.”

Dream startles at Hob’s gentle reminder, gasping sharply because he had, in fact, been holding his breath. Hob smiles encouragingly, dragging his hands over Dream’s ribs to feel the way they expand with each breath, pulling him close and nuzzling behind his ear and inhaling happily. Hesitantly, Dream wraps his arms around Hob, letting his fingers trace the strong muscles of his back. His grip tightens when he feels Calliope press a kiss to the base of his spine as she slides his jeans and underwear down his legs, gripping his shins as she helps him to step out of them.

Even biting his lip cannot fully stifle the gasp as she stands, the soft swell of her breasts pressing into his back at the same time as he becomes aware of the heat of Hob’s cock sliding against his hip. His own erection is a distant thought, and it feels insignificant in comparison to the scratch of Calliope’s pubic hair against his arse, and the way Hob pulls him in for another kiss.

A soft whine escapes him as Calliope steps away, feeling cold without her warmth to blanket him. Hob hushes him gently, moving them both to follow after her, and when Dream turns to look, he sees Calliope moving onto the bed. She leans against the headboard, legs spread wide, and holds a hand out, beckoning Dream to her. Dream feels a brief sense of relief at the familiarity, moving to crawl between her legs, ready and eager to bring her pleasure. To earn his keep.

But before he can reach her, there is a hand on his arm, twisting him around until he is facing Hob. He grins, and pulls Dream into a heated kiss, his tongue exploring his mouth when Dream gasps. As he deepens the kiss, he presses forward, crowding against Dream until he begins to crawl backwards. Hob continues to guide him back, barely giving him a chance to breathe, and before he knows it his back is pressing against Calliope’s chest. She wastes no time gripping Dream’s waist, tugging him even closer as she mouths at his neck. Her legs bracket his hips, and her tongue is tracing the shell of his ear, and Hob still hasn’t let up his kissing, and Dream feels dizzy on their attention.

When Hob finally leans back, Dream is panting, and Hob has a look of pride at how worked up he’s gotten him. Dream feels overwhelmed, and they’ve barely even done anything.

Hob sits back on his heels, resting his hands on Dream’s ankles and smiling softly, “Will you open up for me, sweetheart?”

Dream didn’t even realize, but his knees were pressed together so hard it was nearly painful. Yet even with the realization he could not bring himself to spread his legs. This felt backwards. No matter what they said, it felt wrong not to be focusing on them. They were already giving him so much.

“You do not need to…” he choked out, pressing his legs together even harder and drawing them towards his chest, so afraid of asking for too much despite not having asked at all. “I… I do not mind- truly, I don’t, I-”

His words are cut off by the feeling of hands running up his thighs, Calliope’s chest pressing against his back as she gently brushed from hip to knee. At the same time, in unison, like the practiced couple they are, Hob drags his hands up Dream’s shins. They meet in the middle, Hob and Calliope lacing their fingers over Dream’s knees. And together, they gently pry his legs apart, until he is left open and exposed in front of them.

“There you are,” Calliope breathes in his ear, her hands slipping back down to stroke at his hip bones. Hob takes advantage of the distraction to slip his torso between Dream’s legs, peppering soft kisses up his leg. Dream shivers at the touch, Hob hooking one leg over his shoulder to stroke his flank as he kisses the inside of his knee.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Calliope purrs, running a hand through Hob’s hair to get his attention as she smirks down at him, “he always made the prettiest noises when I scratched at his inner thighs.”

Hob looks up, grinning mischievously, and before Dream has a chance to brace himself, he grazes his teeth across his skin and then bites, putting just enough force to leave the slightest indent of teeth. Dream slaps a hand over his mouth as he keens, his toes curling, and when Hob grins he can feel his teeth.

“So sensitive,” he says, clearly delighted, “but I didn’t quite hear you love.”

As he moves to Dream’s other thigh, Calliope takes Dream’s wrist and pulls his hand away from his mouth. She holds both his hands as she wraps her arms around his chest until his arms are crossed. With her gentle restraint, he cannot muffle his sounds as Hob drags his teeth all the way to where his thigh creases.

It is overwhelming, so much sensation all at once. Hob sucks and bites at his thighs, leaving a trail of little love bites behind, and Calliope loosens her hold as she begins to stroke at his nipples, an embarrassing squeak escaping him as she pinches just as Hob bites down. Trembling, Dream can’t help but shrink into himself as much as he can. Head bowed, Calliope’s arms preventing him from curling over as her clever fingers play with his chest, Hob’s body preventing his legs from snapping shut at each graze of teeth. It is so good. It is also so much, and when he feels Calliope raise a hand to his hair he flinches, bracing himself without meaning to.

Hob’s eyes dart up to look at him, and Dream does his best to exhale, to relax, to act normal for once. Pulling back just slightly, Hob rests his head against Dream’s leg, one hand petting his thigh softly. His other hand reaches out to tap Calliope’s knee, drawing her attention as he hums thoughtfully.

“He’d never admit it, but he doesn’t like having his hair pulled.”

Dream feels himself flush, eyes wide with embarrassment and looking at Hob with shock. He has no idea how Hob figured that out, he thought he hid it pretty well, and he feels a stab of betrayal at being called out. He feels Calliope suck in a breath behind him, and just knows she’s thinking of all the times she had gripped his hair harshly, twisting and tugging as Dream pleasured her, his discomfort hidden between her legs.

It was worth it, though. He would do anything for them.

Hob looks at him a little sadly, and Dream wonders how much of his thoughts are written plainly across his face. His eyes move to Calliope, smiling at her as he continues, “But if you just scratch his scalp lightly? He’ll melt under your hands.”

Calliope moves before Dream has a chance to respond, and he can’t hold back a shuddering sigh as he feels her manicured nails run through his hair, just barely grazing his skin. She does it again, and again, and Dream’s eyes close in bliss.

Tears sting at the corner of his eyes, and he swallows thickly as he forces himself to speak, “You… you can pull. If you want to.”

Calliope hums, but makes no move to stop her gentle petting, “I don’t want to, actually, thank you.”

He’s doing this all wrong, but the tears escape despite his best efforts. He feels his chest hitch and he waits for Hob and Calliope’s frustration, their impatience, their jeering mockery. It never comes. Everything seems to slow down for a moment, both of them just petting him, holding him, quietly giving him the chance to catch his breath.

Almost without noticing, he finds himself relaxing. Just as Hob predicted, Dream slowly melts back against Calliope as she continues stroking his hair, sinking against her chest as the rigid tension he had been holding himself with slowly bleeds out of him. His legs fall open a little wider, no longer pressed against Hob’s shoulders with locked muscles. The tears slow, his breath evens, and his eyes drift shut. Calliope presses a kiss to his damp cheek, and Hob nuzzles against his hip bone, and it feels good without feeling like he’s going to drown in it.

“There’s a love,” Hob whispers against his skin, “We’ve got you. No need to rush. We’re more than happy to take our time with you.”

Leaning up, Hob trails kisses up Dream’s stomach and chest, until he finally reaches his mouth and presses against him deeply. Dream sighs against his mouth, letting his head drop back onto Calliope’s shoulder as she claims Hob’s lips next. The overwhelming fire has calmed to a simmering warmth, and when Calliope turns her head to kiss him, Hob’s movement makes him gasp as their cocks briefly brush against each other. He hears Hob whine softly as well.

He is panting again when Calliope moves to suck at his neck, and he feels Hob grin as he places wet, open mouthed kisses across his stomach, chin just barely brushing against his straining cock. With the tension eased out of him, he finds himself unable to hold back the soft, desperate moan as Hob’s hands glide up his inner thighs.

Calliope reaches her hand around and, with practiced ease, grips a fistful of Hob’s hair in her hand, dragging his face firmly against Dream’s groin.

“I think we’ve teased him enough, my love.”

Dream sucks in a breath as he feels Hob’s moan against his skin. It occurs to him now, as he takes in the pleasure on Hob’s face as he’s manhandled, that Calliope probably treated Dream the same way simply out of habit. Her hands moved with confidence and familiarity, Hob’s eyes fluttering with arousal. He feels a sharp stab of guilt for daring to have different preferences than them, for not hiding it well enough, for disrupting their routine.

But whatever half-formed apology was on his lips dies when Hob parts his lips and Calliope guides him to take Dream’s cock. He has to bite his lip to muffle his cries, and his body trembles with effort to not thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of Hob’s mouth.

“I’m surprised he managed to hold himself back so long,” Calliope whispers against Dream’s ear, stroking Hob’s cheek reverently, her fingers tracing his lips where they’re stretched around Dream’s length, “A large part of why we opened our relationship was because he loves sucking cock so much. My strap-on just couldn’t quite satisfy him.”

Dream shudders at the words, whining when Hob hums, glancing up with bright eyes, looking like he would be laughing in agreement if his mouth wasn’t full. Calliope tugs at his hair, and Dream keens at the feeling of Hob’s tongue dragging across his prick as Calliope pulls him off.

Hob grins, licking his lips, “Didn’t want to scare you off,” he admits to Dream, “Didn’t want to push when I wasn’t sure why you wouldn’t let me reciprocate.” His hands move to Dream’s arse, squeezing gently before tugging him forward, sliding him down the bed just slightly until his head is pillowed against Calliope’s breasts and Hob can bury his nose in the crease of Dream’s thigh.

“Nothing to be afraid of now, darling,” Hob says, smiling, “So let go for us.”

He opens his mouth, and does not have to wait long before Calliope has his hair in her grip again, moving him to swallow Dream back down as she sets a gentle pace for them. Dream shudders and moans, his breath hitching when he feels himself barely brush the back of Hob’s throat. He tries to pull away slightly, but as he does Hob looks up at him, and Dream just knows he would be grinning if he could. He hooks his arms under Dream’s knees until his legs are over his shoulders, and ignores Calliope’s guiding hand in favor of pulling Dream close until his nose is pressing against his pelvis and Dream can feel him swallowing around him.

The cry Dream lets out is more like a muffled scream, his whole body going taut as he throws his head back against Calliope’s chest. When she laughs, it is not mean, or mocking. She just sounds happy.

“Someday,” she promises, “I will show you how to really fuck his face exactly how he likes.” Dream shudders at the words, and Calliope allows Hob another moment to choke on Dream’s prick before pulling him off. Hob sucks in a gasping breath, drool running down his chin, smiling and laughing even as Calliope turns her attention to him to chide him fondly, “But for now, we must be gentle with him, my love.” She wipes at the saliva on Hob’s face as she leans to kiss Dream’s cheek, “We have been too careless already.”

Whatever part of Dream’s brain that is still working wants to argue, but before he gets a chance, Hob is placing a kiss at the base of his cock, looking up at him warmly, “No argument here,” and then he is licking up the shaft and returns to the easy pace from before, and all Dream can do is whimper.

Heat curls in the bottom of his stomach as he watches Hob’s head bob steadily. He is so caught up in the sensation, in Hob’s tongue swirling over the head of his dick, and Hob’s hands massaging his arse, and Calliope still idly stroking his nipples, that it takes him a moment to notice that his voice is not the only sound echoing through the room. Blinking dazedly, he realizes that Hob is moaning around him, and his hips are rutting desperately against the mattress, a dark spot spreading on the sheets where his precome is leaking. Behind him, Calliope’s breath is panting by his ear, and he feels the knuckles of her free hand brushing against his lower back rhythmically as she fingers herself.

Hob’s face is flushed, his tempo faltering as he climbs towards his peak, until Calliope has to grip his hair again to keep him steady. As she does, Dream can hear the slick, wet sounds behind him as her hips start canting to fuck herself on her own fingers. Her movements jostle Dream, each thrust of her hips pushing Dream’s into a mirroring thrust into Hob’s mouth. Dream isn’t even doing anything, is simply laying at their mercy and writhing at every pleasure they wring from him, and yet somehow, impossibly, he is surrounded by the evidence of their pleasure as well.

Whining desperately, Dream moves one hand to grip at Calliope’s thigh, the other covering her’s over Hob’s hair, pushing back weakly, “I-... I’m going to-....” he tries to warn.

Calliope only grinds against him harder, her voice breathless as she keeps her hand on Hob’s head, “Go ahead,” she pants, “Let go, let him taste you, let us see you lose yourself with us.”

Hob hums in eager agreement and just like that Dream is coming hard. His fingers tighten on Calliope’s thigh and Hob’s hair, pressing them close as he throws his head back and keens, long and loud. Hob takes him as deep as he can go to swallow around every drop, and just as Dream is starting to come down, Hob lets out a strangled cry and Dream nearly shrieks in overstimulation. Calliope pulls Hob off and Dream realizes that he is coming too, his red, red lips hanging open and drool dripping from his chin as he moans, long stripes of come streaking between his legs. Finally, Calliope buries her face in Dream’s neck, her hand speeding up until Dream feels a puddle of wetness bloom on the mattress where their hips are pressed together.

For a long moment, all three of them simply lay together, panting and boneless. Hob has collapsed forward, uncaring of laying in his own mess, resting his head on Dream’s stomach. Dream feels like a ragdoll, limbs loose and limp as he leans back heavily on Calliope. She in turn is curled forward, forehead pressed against Dream’s shoulder, her hips occasionally twitching with little aftershocks of her orgasm.

Eventually, Calliope shifts, humming in contentment as she stretches an arm out to tug on a strand of Hob’s hair. When she has his attention, she crooks a finger still shiny with her own fluids at him, beckoning him to her. He smiles, and slides up Dream’s body languidly until they are chest to chest and Calliope can draw him into a deep kiss just over Dream’s shoulder. He watches with half-lidded eyes as Calliope licks into Hob’s mouth, and he can feel the way her chest rumbles with a noise of satisfaction.

“Oh, Dream,” she purrs, and Dream blinks in surprise at being addressed as she runs her tongue across Hob’s lips, “you taste divine.”

Dream thinks his face might be on fire, and even as he ducks his head to hide his face in Hob’s chest, he is certain Hob must feel the heat on his skin. But Hob is nice enough not to say anything, petting Dream’s hair softly as Calliope allows him to lick her fingers clean.

Hob runs his tongue over her fingers thoroughly, moaning happily at the taste of both his lovers mingling in his mouth, “Truly, I’m being spoiled tonight,” Hob grinned, his voice rough and rasping in a way that only made Dream blush harder, “I thought this was supposed to be about Dream?”

Shyly, Dream raises his head from Hob’s chest. He knows that Hob is teasing, but he still feels the need to make sure they know, “I am… more than happy with the outcome of this evening,” he whispers.

“Hm, good,” Calliope tilts his head, kissing him softly, nearly chaste, “Tonight was a good start, I think.”

Dream blinked in confusion, “A… start?”

“Of course,” Hob chimed in, placing a finger under Dream’s chin to tilt his face up, “We haven’t even taken you on a date yet.”

It only makes him more confused, even as his heart flutters with something hopeful, “But… you already have me?”

His fondness for romance was something that has long been beaten down in him. When he wanted to do something for his partner, he was too much, he embarrassed them, and it was still never enough to forgive him his flaws. When he wanted something from them, a sign or a gesture or even just time together to make him feel wanted, he was high maintenance, spoiled, unreasonable.

“We’re already dating,” they’d say with rolled eyes, “That shit is for when you’re trying to get someone,” they’d grin meanly, “You’re already got.”

Romance was for his books, not his life. And yet, Hob tilted his head in curiosity “And we would like to keep you,” and he says it so easily, as if he is not the first person to ever express such a thing to Dream. He must see it though, in Dream’s glassy eyes, because his expression softens, and he strokes Dream’s cheek lovingly, “We want to treat you right. Give you all the good things you deserve. And that includes dates, and gifts, and excessive wooing.”

“And it will be excessive,” Calliope warns, “Now that it is allowed, we will both be broken floodgates of affection. You must tell us if it is ever too much.”

Dream shakes his head immediately, “You could never be too much,” he chokes out, lowering his gaze, “You don’t… you don’t have to…”

He jumps when he hears a thud and two yelps, looking up to find Calliope and Hob both holding a hand to their foreheads, having collided in their mutual rush to kiss him.

“Excuse you,” Calliope glares, voice haughty and offended, “it is my turn!”

“It absolutely is not,” Hob pouts.

And whatever feelings were overwhelming Dream even a moment earlier evaporate as he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle his rasping giggles. He loves these two ridiculous people so much and he thinks- hesitantly, tentatively- that he might be allowed to.

This time, Calliope and Hob maneuver carefully around each other, each pressing kisses to Dream’s face and shoulders. When Dream’s laughter has died down and it feels safe to remove his hand from over his mouth, they carefully disentangle from one another.

“Come on, beautiful,” Hob says, and Dream flushes at the endearment, “Let’s get cleaned up. I’ll find some pajamas for you, then we’ll change the sheets and head to bed.”

Despite everything, Dream cannot help the words that bubble up in his chest. He just has to make sure, “I can stay?”

They look a little sad, but still don’t hesitate to both nod. “Of course,” Hob whispers, “We want you to stay.”

Calliope takes his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “And we will be here with you in the morning. And the day after that, and the day after that.”

“I’ll make you breakfast, because Calliope can’t cook. But she’ll make the coffee, because the machine hates me for some reason. And you can decide what we watch while we eat because neither of us can ever decide on a show and you always have good suggestions.” He turned to raise a teasing eyebrow at Calliope, “Am I wrong?”

To Dream’s relief and delight, Calliope only laughed, “It’s true, I have enjoyed all of his suggestions thus far. And left to our own devices, Hob and I will simply scroll for hours and not watch a single thing.”

Something in Dream’s heart blooms. He hadn’t even realized they’d been listening to him. Before, each time they’d finish, as they were getting dressed and making themselves presentable, Dream would recommend a show or a book or a movie. It was an easy script, something he could easily practice in his head beforehand and recite in the moment with ease. A little filler in the aftermath, a reassurance that Dream could talk like a normal person, a subtle implication that he thought of them outside of sex. Have you seen this show? Have you heard of this story? I think you’d like it.

But he hadn’t really thought they were listening.

Dream does his best to move with them as seamlessly as they do each other, but each time he fumbles and finds himself in their way, they merely take it as an opportunity to ply him with kisses. They wipe each other down with warm washcloths, letting their hands linger longer than strictly necessary simply because they can. Hob and Calliope replace the sheets swiftly while Dream changes into his borrowed pajamas. The oversized tee continuously slips off his shoulder, and when Calliope and Hob see him they immediately begin elbowing at each other in their haste to put their mouths on the exposed skin.

When they finally climb back into bed, they guide Dream into the center, slotting him between them as though he was made to be there. They pet his hair, and kiss him, and lace their fingers together over the dip of his waist. They fall asleep quickly, easily, as though Dream’s presence has not disrupted them at all. He stays awake as long as he can, savoring the feeling of their bodies surrounding him. He places his hand carefully on top of theirs, holding his breath. When they do not stir, he releases it slowly, allowing his eyes to finally drift shut.

Dream falls asleep, three hands tangled together, and thinks he might actually have a place here.

#the sandman #immortal throuple #dream the endless #hob gadling #calliope sandman #my writing #nsft #I have never written a smut scene this long it was a struggle lol #and with three people!! there are so many limbs to keep track of!!#I do want to write more for this universe someday though

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cactus-cuddler · 1 month

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Chapter 5: 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

Series' masterlist | previous chapter | epilogue

Word count: 1,7 k

Summary: last chapter, no spoiler!

Warnings: no one

Tag list: @mcira @robynanthonystark @sofiaavarga13 @julvrs @fanfictionreaderfan

You hold onto your cardigan while your other hand grips your phone, with Google Maps guiding you to Bucky's house. The cold air pinches your nose, and darkness has already settled in. You hear dogs barking in the distance, crickets chirping, and your heart pounding. The navigator shows that Bucky's house is about twenty minutes away. He used to walk those twenty minutes every day just to take you home, walking by your side as you exchanged a few words. You can't help but feel grateful to him for everything he does for you, so you feel the need to reciprocate what he's done for you.

A few meters away, you spot a shop that's still open—it's ten in the evening, so it’s a bit of a surprise. You decide to go in and buy something. This time, before leaving, you remembered to grab your handbag with your wallet inside! You know that showing up at his place in pajamas, with a cardigan and a handbag on top, isn't exactly a style statement, but who do you expect to see you? You admit that you regretted your outfit choice a little, but at that moment, you didn’t feel like changing, and the desire to see Bucky was stronger.

You buy one of the sandwiches you enjoyed earlier that afternoon, along with some drinks—you can’t show up at someone’s house empty-handed! You don’t know exactly what Bucky likes, as he’s never told you, so you decide to grab some chocolate and savory snacks to increase the chances of getting something he likes. Happy with your purchases, you leave the supermarket and head towards what should be Bucky's apartment. It’s an apartment building with many small studios. You look for his name on the intercom, and as soon as you see "James Buchanan Barnes," you can't help but stifle a laugh. He had never told you his full name, and discovering it like this probably wouldn’t please him.

The first time you ring, no one answers. The second time, you start to worry. The third time, you feel tears prickling your eyes, and by the fourth time, you’re about to cry when the door finally opens. Luckily for you, there’s an elevator inside the building, so you don't have to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his apartment.

You knock carefully on his door, number 546.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, opening the door just enough to not reveal the mess behind it. He's nervous, and you smell the alcohol on him. The scent hits your nostrils with force.

“To see you,” you reply in a whisper, noticing that he can barely stand. "I brought food," you add, trying to persuade him by showing him the shopping bag you brought.

“You’re too pretty," he whispers before letting you in. The living room is full of empty bottles of alcohol, and everything is out of place. Walking without tripping is a challenge. You notice that the clothes he wore on your last date are strewn across the sofa. I forgot to mention—he’s only wearing sweatpants. And that’s it. Needless to say, you’re transfixed by his muscular chest.

“Sorry about the mess,” he mumbles, trying to clear the couch for you to sit down. You place the shopping bag on the coffee table in the middle of the living room and then take off your cardigan before sitting down. He looks at you for a moment and notices you’re in your pajamas. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"At least I'm not shirtless!" you scold, pointing at his bare chest after noticing his reaction.

"I wouldn’t have minded," he chuckles, and you blush. Little by little, he’s regaining his usual way of approaching you, making his coldness melt away. He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. He thinks you’re there to tell him something. But as always, it’s him who breaks the silence.

“Sorry for leaving,” he says, looking away from your face to focus on his hands, which he now sees as stained with the blood of innocents. "But what that man said is true. I am the Winter Soldier," he admits in a small voice. You see his hands trembling, just like his voice.

“You were never him, you’re just Bucky,” you assure him, taking his hands firmly.

He wanted to cut ties with you. He didn’t want you to hang around a monster, nor did he want to involve you in moments like the one at the festival. He wanted to see you happy, and he didn’t believe that he could be the source of that happiness. He softly strokes the back of your hand, and your eyes lock. In his now-clear eyes, you see a person suffering from the pain others have inflicted on him.

“You don’t know how hard it is for me, Y/N, but I can’t condemn you to be with me,” he tells you. His voice is hoarse, tinged with suffering.

“It’s not a condemnation,” you tell him, taking his hands and looking him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t know what a monster I am,” he whispers. You place a hand on his cheek and gently caress it.

“There’s no monster inside you, Buck,” you reassure him, your hands warm against his skin. You reach for his metal hand and squeeze it gently. “There’s a beautiful person inside you,” you add. For a moment, you almost manage to convince him, but the memories of the Winter Soldier resurface in his mind. He shakes his head.

“I wish you were right, but there are things about me that you don’t know.”

"Tell me everything," you ask him, as if Megan hadn’t already told you the same story less than an hour ago. But hearing it from his lips might help him feel better. He starts by telling you about when he joined the Army during World War II. He tells you about being captured and the experiments they conducted on his body, and how he was supposed to die but woke up as the Winter Soldier. He recounts all the heinous things HYDRA made him do, and all the while, his voice trembles. The memory of his victims is still vivid in his mind.

“After all that, do you still believe I’m not a monster?" he asks. To answer him, you kiss his soft lips, placing your hands in his hair to pull him closer to you. "Is that enough of an answer for you?" you ask, leaning your forehead against his. This time, he takes the initiative and presses his lips to yours, making you sit on top of him to feel you closer. But even if you weren’t touching, your bodies would still be united by your hearts.

“You’re not a monster, Bucky. Okay? The Winter Soldier isn’t you, it’s HYDRA,” you console him, stroking his soft hair. He nods. Those were just the words he needed, and salty tears begin to fall from his cheeks.

"You're amazing," he says, his breath warm against your lips.

At a certain moment, Bucky gets up and makes you sit in his place. If standing, he is taller than you, now with him standing and you sitting, he feels like a giant before you.

“I want to show you that I am no longer capable of harm,” he tells you, and you smile at him.

“It’s not necessary,” you assure him, but he replies, "I have to prove it to myself too," so you let him proceed.

He caresses your face with his cold, metallic hand. You shiver at the touch on your warm cheeks. You close your eyes and surrender yourself completely to him and his hands. You feel his hand gently caress your chin, then move to your cheek where he traces small circles with his fingers, making you giggle. Then he touches the tip of your nose, making a soft "boop" sound with his lips. You open your eyes with a smile and see his eyes penetrating your soul. His clear eyes are locked on yours.

Thanks to his vibranium hand, he can’t feel your warmth; otherwise, he would sense just how much his cold touch heats you up. He smiles sweetly at you, but you’re still petrified by his touch. Your stomach instantly fills with butterflies. He then offers you his hand, which you take, and he helps you stand up. He places his hands on your hips, and you rest yours on his powerful chest. You gaze into each other’s eyes again, lost in them. You feel an irrepressible desire to kiss his perfect pink lips.

"I love you, pretty girl," he says, and then you kiss, standing there in his little living room. You kiss him with a primal desire you didn’t know you had. Your lips continue to meet, your tongues dance together, and your hands delicately explore each other’s bodies. You’re afraid of hurting one another, but the desire burning inside you is even stronger. You never thought you’d confess your feelings for Bucky in a room full of alcohol bottles—you were hoping for something more romantic, like under the moon or amidst fireworks—but this is probably even better. You met among the bottles, and having your first kiss among them makes it perfect. He is perfect.

“I love you too, Buck.” you could swear you've never seen a more beautiful smile than his right now.

“Can I ask you on another date?" he asks, breaking away from the kiss.

“Only if you don’t run away like Cinderella,” you reply, chuckling. He stares into your eyes for endless seconds, and you smile back at him. Then you remember what you had to say to get his address, and you blush with embarrassment.

'How am I going to go back to work knowing that my boss thinks I’m pregnant by his bodyguard?' you think. Bucky notices the terror in your eyes and starts looking at you with concern.

"What’s going on?" he asks softly, stroking your cheek.

“Anyway… so, to get your address, I had to tell our employer that I’m pregnant with your baby," you whisper against his lips, and he starts coughing loudly. You burst out laughing at his reaction.

Here is finally the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed the series and let me know what you think! Soon I will also publish the epilogue with the real ending.

Series' masterlist | previous chapter | epilogue

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oleander-nin · 8 months

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Valen-Time 01: Hand Sewn(Rise! Raph x Reader)

A/N, not important: Guess who's writing for 29 days straight again! Or, I'm attempting to at least. This is what I needed lots of luck on lol, mostly because February is a bit busy for me, but I really wanted to do this again for Valentine's day. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: needles(sewing), stitching, teddy bear, fluff(hopefully)

Words: 1039

Summary: Raph tore his stuffed animal and you agree to help fix it.

Tag list(I didn't actually know if I should add it or not, but I'm going with yes for now. Tell me if you want your name off): @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i

The ruined stuffie in your hands made you frown, it’s torn stitching letting the stuffing that once shaped it fall out. Raph sat next to you, a tight-lipped frown on his face as his fingers twitched on his led. He watches you inspect the bear in silence, his shoulders brought forwards and touching his jaw. You don’t comment on the stench of nervous sweat filling the air, not wanting to bring down his mood even more. This was the bear you gave to him when you confessed, and now it sat ruined in your hands. While the sentimental value of it wasn’t huge to you, Raph was practically attached to this bear by the hip, which would eventually be the poor stuffies' downfall.

“I can just get you a new one, it’s not a big deal.” You assure him, trying to help bring up the large terrapin’s mood. Raph shook his head, his snaggle tooth biting into his lip as he frown deepens.

“Raph doesn’t want a new one.” He says, a tone of distress lingering in his tone. you watch as his eyes linger on the ripped stitches and protruding filling, knowing he felt bad for breaking his stuffed animal. You purse your lips, trying to decide how to move forwards. You flip the stuffed animal over, inspecting it from top to bottom. You weren’t new to fixing broken stuffies, many of your own having been patched over the years, but his spikes really did a number to the one in your hand.

“If I were to try and sew it,” You start hesitantly, your hand caressing the black buttons the small teddy had for eyes. “I think we could patch it back up. It would look a bit messy because I don’t have extra fabric on me, but he would be fixed.”

Raph visibly brightens at the idea, his arms wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Dad has a sewing kit in his room, we could ask him for it.”

You fondly roll your eyes and pat his forearm twice before starting to ease the stuffing back into the bear to try and fatten it out. Your hands twitched at the scratchy feeling of the cotton, Raph’s weight on your shoulders making it harder to move your arms than you wanted. You don’t say a word though, letting Raph continue to lean on you as he watches you remove whatever stuffing refused to back down. Although his eyes hold worry for the removed stuffing, he doesn’t say a word about it.

“Raph will go get the sewing kit.” He remarks, finally letting you go as he stands up. His chasm deepens as he glances back at the stuffed animal in your hands, but he says nothing. With no more words exchanged, Raph disappears from your room and presumably heads off to where Splinter keeps the sewing kit, leaving you alone with the bear.

You softly rub it’s torn stitching, pulling loose thread to make it easier to sew back up. Its bright eyes reflected the light above you, making the inanimate object seem as if it had life breathed into it. It's limp arm stubs laid on your knees, asking for a hug. You chuckle lightly to yourself at the thought of the bear wanting affection, as being hugged was what destroyed it in the first place.

You continue messing with the stuffing as Raph re-enters, a small dingy shoebox so full of thread and needles and spare fabric, the lid couldn’t close. The bed dips to the side as Raph settles next to you once more, head peeking over your shoulder and hands tucked into his chest. You don’t say a word about the feeling of his breath on your neck, merely turning slightly so you wouldn’t have to deal with it as much.

“Was your dad a seamstress?” You easily tease, the bear left to lay in your lap as you start to dig through the extensive yet scattered supplies. Raph gently shoves your shoulder as he grins.

“Nope, we just kept tearing everything he gave us. Some of the baby clothes he has stashed away are basically patchwork at this point.”

You smile fondly at the thought of a younger Raph and his brothers with their clothes that were a medley of colors, having seen some of them yourself. You finally pull out brown thread and a thin needle, sticking the chosen needle into the thread of the spool so it would stay put. “Have you ever sewn before then?”

Raph shakes his head, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Nope. There wasn’t much of a need, and Dad fixed everything we ripped anyways.”

“Would you like to learn?” You offer, gesturing to the stuffie's open stomach. Raph tilts his head as he looks down at the teddy bear, considering your offer for just a moment.

“Yeah,” He nods, looking both determined and excited. “I would.”

You beam at him, quickly shuffling around until you’re facing Raph so you could show him what to do. The bear is soon found in Raph’s lap instead of yours, the fallen stuffing in between his thighs to keep it safe. You thread the needle and wax it for him while describing to him what he was going to do, assuring him he couldn’t really mess it up even if he tried. You hand him his needle, gently guiding his hands through the first few stitches. As he continues to sew the rest on his own, you start to add the rest of the stuffing into the bear so it wouldn’t flatten.

The final stitch is soon placed, and you easily instruct Raph on how to secure it, only having to help him once before he got it. The stitch job down its stomach was sloppy, but secure, no more stuffing leaking onto the floor. You return the needle and thread and set the box onto the floor, watching fondly as Raph admires his stuffed animal. It doesn’t surprise you when Raph pulls you close, whispering his thanks into your ear. You simply smile, kissing his jaw and praising his needlework.

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di-42 · 4 months

Text

May's Magnificent Fictions

First off let me share with you a little side note, because the brain wants what the brain wants. After an inner struggle I've finally decided to settle on using the noun "fiction" as countable when referring to works of fanfiction. I will stick to this. It has been bothering me.

And now for something completely enjoyable, let me present to you the lovely fics I've been lucky enough to read in May. I't's been a busy, at times stressful month and I haven't had the chance to read as many as I would have liked. I only made a tiny dent in my Marked for later list, which keeps growing and isn't it wonderful? I still have so much beauty, creativity and bliss to look forward to.

I'll try and tag the writers whose tumblr username I know, so they know how loved they are.

WIPs:

The first two WIPs of this list have made me realise that my new favourite trope is the "they never met" one. Or it might just be that both writers are incredibly good!

My Heart Was Always Yours by @addledmongoose

I love this fic and the author's other work so much that sometimes I worry the writer might think I'm stalking them or something! (I'm not! I promise! I only kind of start staring at my phone around 6pm on a Friday night UK time waiting for an update, that's all!). Anyway. like I was saying, in this fiction Aziraphale and Crowley never met until present day and, at the beginning of the story, neither of them knows the other is an angel or a demon. They have both been tasked by their respective head offices to retrieve Raphael's trumpet so Armageddon can start and they both want to find it and destroy it. So they embark on a journey together, thinking that the other is human. This story is so good. It has an incredibly well thought out plot, the characterisation of both, Aziraphale and Crowley are spot on, their interactions are funny and witty but also deep and very sweet. But the point that's dearest to me is that it shows the character of Aziraphale the respect it deserves, which sadly happens less often than it should. The way the writer describe the building of their relationship and their trust will fill your heart with warmth. The stoty has alternate Aziraphale and Crowley POVs and it's narrated in the first person, which will read funny at first but it will flow within the first couple of chapters and it will have been worth it!

This fiction is updated officially every Saturday but if you're very lucky and depending where you are in the world it might be Friday. Only a few more weeks to go, though, it's almost complete and I'll miss it (But I'll re-read it!) Rated M.

The Last Angel by @bellisima-writes

This is another excellent "they never met" story. In this universe, Crowley and Aziraphale were stationed on earth, Armageddon happened, and Hell won the war. All the angels have been killed, except one. This story only has the first 6 chapters out, but you can already see the wonderful job the author has done of thinking how Aziraphale and Crowley would be without having ever met each other, what would be the same and what would be different. And the same goes for other characters, too: so far we've had an insight of how Beelzebub is like in a different universe and hints at how other characters would behave as well. It is full of promise, it sets expectations that I'm hoping will be subverted and the writer is doing such an excellent job with it all. Please go and show this story some love, you won't regret it!

This fiction is updated weekly, definitely every Friday, but I understand from now on every Wednesday and Friday. Rated M.

The Escort by VinyamaDN @vinyama-23

Human AU where Crowley is an escort and Aziraphale hires him for a date. They start getting to know each other and the rest is history. This story touches very delicate subjects, but it's also funny and fluffy. Please read the tags. Rated E.

Whickber Street by Caedmon @caedmonfaith

Lovely human AU where Aziraphale has a bookshop in Whickber Street and Crowley opens a comic book shop on the same road. It's a slow burn, from one-enemy-to-lovers story, full of humour, charm and fluff. Featuring all the shopkeepers in Whickber Street, which is a treat! Update every Monday and Thursday without fail. Rated E.

Complete works:

And Now All Of My Garden Is Grown In Lavender by ilikeblue

I'm so grateful to my lovely mutual and penpal @dashuntsel for recommending this great human AU. Aziraphale is a successful queer romance author whose books are being adapted for TV. At the start of his career, his agent, Gabriel, insisted he claims to be married in order to gain more readers. Now that the spotlight is on him, Aziraphale needs someone to play the part of his husband. Did I mention that Crowley is Aziraphale's gardener and friend? I'm sure you know where this is going. This story has a little angst and lots of good vibes of trust, friendship, love and loyalty. And a happy ending! Rated E.

Lit by @fellshish

Fellshish is one of my favourite fiction writers and this piece doesn't disappoint. Making people laugh is much more difficult than making people cry and fellshish succeeds in the task so effortlessly! (They can also make you laugh while wanting to cry, but for that you'll have to read their other stories. This one is angst-free). Time-wise this story can be collocated after season 1 and is not canon compliant with season 2. Crowley enrolls in a literature course without realising it was a fantasy literature course. The book that will be read this semester is "Good Omens - The Nice And Accurate Prophecies Of Agnes Nutter, Witch". And the class will get to meet the author, Neil Gaiman. This book seems to describe only too well the event leading to the failed Armageddon, including things that only Aziraphale and Crowley would know. How is that possible? And what would happen if it fell on heavenly or hellish wrong hands? And, oh Satan, did someone say TV adaptation?? A truly amazing, funny piece that will make you feel better after a hard day at work. Rated Teen and up.

Gate Duty by Ginger_cat @gingiekittycat

Not really a crossover, but a Good Omens fiction with elements of The Good Place. You can absolutely read it and enjoy it if you haven't seen The Good Place. placed in time post season 1. Aziraphale is called back to heaven to Gate Duty and he's decided to go despite Crowley's protest. Crowley has Beelzebub assign him to Gate Duty as well, so they don't have to spend 300 years apart. So they set to out to judge the souls and decide whether to send them to the good place or the bad place, as they have rebranded heaven and hell. In the process they meet a few souls that you might or might not know, not the focus of the story. This fiction manages to be funny and incredibly angsty at the same time and it was incredible to see how some of the details in it would resonate with season 2, which wasn't out at the time the fic was written. Rated E.

Of Size And Other Matters by LCwrites

Lovely from strangers to lovers, fake relationship human AU. Aziraphale needs a date to accompany him to an event hosted by his brother, Gabriel. Crowley receives a text from a stranger, clearly by mistake, but why not having some fun? I really like the dynamics between them, the ease and the trust. A tiny bit of angsty pining but quickly and happily resolved. Rated E.

One shot:

Not Nice by Sad_chaos_goblin @sad-chaos-goblin

Great one shot that follows the wall slamming scene!What would have happened if the former nun hadn't interrupted their "Intimate moment"? This fic is a treat, sweet and hot and fluffy all at the same time. Rated E.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfiction recommendation #good omens fanfic rec #good omend fic rec #good omens fiction #good omens fic rec #thank you for my pornography #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands

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n3ptoonz · 10 months

Note

How’d u think earth realm boys would react to their wife telling me there ready for kids 🎤

mk1 hcs: how the earthrealm guys react to their wife being ready for kids

warnings/tags: suggestive, fluff, female reader obv

Liu Kang

The way you brought it up was so subtle and casual. It was during his downtime, which was kinda rare. A simple "Hey...I think I'm ready to have children." and Liu is looking at you with surprised eyes and a full heart.

Being the kind of man Liu is, and how busy his life has become since being appointed as a god, this man set an exact date and time where there would be zero distractions. All his focus and effort was on you. And in you (ba dum tss)

So be prepared for a long night of passion, love, lust, and care. Cause you're not leaving that bed until you've gotten every last drop

Doesn't mind the gender. Boy, girl, he would love them just the same. Hell, even if it was more than one child at once, he wouldn't hesitate to give them the world.

Smoke

You mentioned it while you two were cuddled up on the couch. Little did you know how red his face turned until you felt his heart beat increase in real time, looking up at him with his genuine concern.

At first you thought he was nervous or probably didn't want to, and once he saw your slight frown he immediately countered that thought. He was so excited he froze. Endless reassurance from him until you verbally say you got it.

Did you think he wouldn't nervously suggest you start as soon as possible?? Pish posh, you are sad- happily mistaken. "Why not try right now?" he said, except he's stuttering over his own words and sweating profusely. No matter how many times you've been intimate with one another, he's always nervous around you <3

Gender doesn't matter to him either, however he does lean more on the side of a daughter. Simply because he'd die at the sight of a little girl running around the house that looked like you. If you had a son though, he'd be sure he doesn't meet ol uncle Bi Han bro would prob try to recruit

Johnny Cage

What if I told you he brought the idea to you one day as a "joke" and you're immediately like "That's crazy, I was going to say the same thing!"? You both looked at each other with narrowed eyes before making a run for it to the bedroom

Less talk, more action. It's safe to say y'all were up all night, touchin', lovin', going multiple rounds to the point where you forgot the entire reason for heading straight to bed. But hey, who's complaining? Johnny promised to tap that at the earliest opportunity (yes, i went there)

He SWORE that cowgirl and mating press were the "only efficient ways" to make sure you'd definitely get pregnant. As if going raw wasn't enough already-

Daughter. He wants a daughter. Give the man a daughter. He won't shut up about being a girl dad when you aren't even a month in yet. He's practicing dad jokes. Even coming up with ones that are tailored to daughters. Has a CVS receipt list of girl names and the only one you both decided that was perfect is "Cassandra/Cassie" (wink) He CANNOT wait to have another favorite girl in his life to spoil!

Raiden

It was after training. You finished first and watched him complete his, and the idea came to you while he was helping one of the younger recruits. You just laid it on him without warning: "I think we should have kids." and cue him almost spitting out his water. Was he dreaming?!

Another nervous one who blushed and stuttered a bunch upon trying to conjure up a response. The thought of having a child with you has been on his mind for some time now and it's like you read his mind, he just didn't want to overwhelm you.

Speaking of overwhelming, that was all out the window once you got home. Going from a peaceful walk to a heated make out session on a matter of seconds. Not to mention, you both had a longgg day of training and could use a shower...why not save some money on the water bill!

Raiden is too good with all types of kids to really have a preference. Growing up with his little sister AND kung lao gave him experience on both sides

Kung Lao

After your weekly sparring session, you got to thinking. You're already married, you've seen him handle kids and younger people well, and most of all he looks so damn hot when he's sweaty and out of breath. Not an unfamiliar sight to you at all!

It was when you two went to Madam Bo's for a good after-spar meal when you slyly threw it into the conversation. Mid bite, he couldn't help but back up from his food and look at you with that classic smirk he does and his dimples are fully visible (currently dying at this imagery.) And he'd end up saying something cocky but playful like "You think I'd oppose you carrying the next great Kung Lao?"

Got straight to it when you got home. Luckily you had already showered after the session, otherwise the water bill would've been looking like a traditional Chinese scroll after you were done. Prepare for his teasing, flirtatiousness, and pride to be multiplied by a thousand

I feel like he'd want a boy, and we all know why. He's not at all opposed to the idea of having a daughter. But if your first child was a daughter, you're going back to that king sized mattress once you've fully healed and trying again! (who's complaining 🤨)

Kenshi Takahashi

He had come home from a long day of a series of trips and tasks given by Liu Kang. You were in the kitchen brewing some tea late at night just because when you heard him come in. He wasn't exhausted, but you could tell he just wanted to drop everything and spend all his time with you the way he plopped down at the dining table.

When you offered food he politely declined since he had already eaten earlier. But he could sense something else was on your mind by the slight shift in your tone. Being visually impaired, his auditory has improved considerably since. "Is something on your mind?" he asked. "I think we should have kids." you responded, sitting next to him with your cup of tea.

He was at full attention now, whatever tired him from the day vanished just like that. You took his silence as uncertainty, so as you began to start listing the pros and benefits, he quickly cut you off with a "Let's do it." "Seriously?" you said, just to make sure you heard him. He stood and took your hand in his, "I'm very serious. We can start tonight, tomorrow, next week. The sooner the better." (hey, starting tonight didn't sound like a bad idea 😮‍💨)

He says he doesn't really stress the gender, but he'd like a son. Kenshi would adore your child under any circumstance, but being an only child (idk if that's canon but it's gonna be today XD) who practically raised most of his younger cousins who mostly consisted of girls, he gets a little giddy at the thought of having an older son younger daughter dynamic around the house.

Sub Zero

With how busy he is all the time and how even more tense he's become since the rift, it was a little difficult to find a way to get his undivided attention. However, the whole reason he married you is because you don't take any shit. You voiced your opinions and concerns whenever you deemed fit, and it never got in his way. So, you waltzed into his office on a mission.

It was one of the few times he wasn't running around or training his heart out. He just got done talking to Cyrax when you walked in looking as determined as the day you met. He knows you never interrupt him unless it's something terribly important. At a moment's notice, he gestured for Cyrax to leave so you could speak your peace.

"What is it?" he asked. You made sure the door was securely closed behind you before walking over to sit in his lap. He was quite surprised but also would be lying if he claimed he didn't enjoy it. "Let's have kids." you said. He always told you to be blunt with him about anything, and this was no exception. "Alright." he replied, seldom reason to say no, especially to the love of his life.

Bi Han would for sure want a son. He's set on carrying on tradition, even if he did oppose some of his late father's views. If you had a daughter as your first born, like Kung Lao y'all aren't stopping until you had a son. Though, he knows he will have to learn to raise your kids better than how he was raised. He'd rather die than ever neglect or overwork his children. Plus, you wouldn't have any of that anyway.

Scorpion

Despite being busy a lot as the head of his new clan, he always makes time for you. All his down time was yours unless you said otherwise. You were giving fighting advice to a recruit when Kuai approached you, a gentle warm hand on your shoulder. Earlier in the day, you said you wanted to talk in his free time

After excusing yourself and talking to him on the way to his office, you wasted no time laying it on him. "Kuai...I think we're ready for kids." He stops in his tracks and looks directly into your eyes. "...You're sure about this?" he asks softly, taking your hands in his with the most gentle gaze you've ever seen from him. He's been thinking about this for a while now, but didn't know how to bring it up. Your approving nod with a smile set his heart ablaze with happiness.

Because of his busy schedule, like some of the other kombatants with a lot on their plate, there's a set day and time. And once that time comes...it's tiimmeee (mariah carey voice) That night is gonna be filled with romance and deep love for one another.

Kuai wants a boy. He, like Kenshi, wants the older son and younger daughter dynamic, but for no particular reason. He just likes it. His feelings wouldn't change if your first kid was a girl though, the older daughter younger son dynamic would remind him of how his mother treated Tomas when they were kids before she passed.

a/n: as a mf who doesn't even want kids, this was so fun and cute to write omg😭ty anon for the idea! remember y'all my asks are open and i'd be down to do x or 11 if you want! just clarify pls <3

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kentoberry · 2 years

Text

SWEET LIKE HONEY ! — albedo kreideprinz.

⭒— SUMMARY · you failed your latest test, but there’s no need to worry when the professor offers you a way to make up the grade ! [ this post contains dark content. full tags utc. ]

⭒— CONTENT · sub fem reader , college au , teacher / student relationship , pervy albedo , dubcon , coercion , panty stealing , praise , implied masturbation , crybaby ! reader , office sex.

to begin with, your day had consisted of burnt toast and unwashed dishes. by the time you were ready to go grab a cup of morning coffee, you noticed a toothpaste stain on your white blouse so you had to get changed again instead. to put it simply, everything was going wrong ! you wanted nothing more than to return to bed, close the curtains, and shut the world out for the day. instead, you powered through and made your way to class.

in hindsight, maybe you should have done just that. you had completely forgotten about a test you had done last week until a piece of paper was slammed down on your desk. your heart dropped as you flipped it over to reveal a big 'c’ in the top corner. bio-chem with professor albedo was the only class you were averaging below an 'a’ in, this was only going to make it even worse ! you had studied your ass off for this test, doing everything you could to increase your knowledge of the subject. hell, you were convinced you had worked harder than everyone else in this class ! it was as though the red ink was mocking you, laughing at your failure. you decided that your only option to rectify this was to visit your professor after class and inquire as to your low score.

as soon as he wrapped up the lecture, you shoved the paper deep into the depths of your bag. not wanting to have an angry outburst, you had opted to grab a long overdue coffee before heading to your professor’s office. it hadn’t helped too much, your shakiness noticeable as your knuckles rapped lightly against the hard wood. albedo took a moment to stretch from his prior position of being hunched over the desk marking papers for one of his other classes. he peered around the door, fluffy hair and cozy sweater making him feel oh so inviting.

“sir, could i talk to you for a moment?” he picked up on the nervousness in your voice instantly.

“of course, miss y/l/n. come in.” professor albedo opened the door wider, gesturing to the couch on the other side of his desk. “am i correct to presume this is regarding your recent examination score?”

you placed your bag down as he closed the door and returned to his own seat.

“yes, sir.” was all you managed. your stared at your shoes, trying to gain control over your emotions though to no avail.

“well?”

you sighed deeply before the rambling began and you gave in. “i don’t understand how they’re so low. i’ve been working so hard, studying all night even-” you hadn’t expected to get so worked up over a silly little letter on a piece of paper that you could just throw to the wind. tears began welling in your eyes, nose becoming slightly runny. “i-if my grades aren’t perfect then i won’t get back in to study for my masters ! how-” sniffle. “how am i supposed-” sniffle. “to fix this?” sniffle.

“first take a deep breath, y/n.” you buried your head in your hands, your professor’s perception of you being added to the list of your worries. the last thing you wanted was for him to assume you were some spoiled crybaby who always got what she wanted ! “we can work something out.”

you looked up at him as though he had just offered you the world. your teary eyes gleamed in the soft light of his office, awaiting what solution the smart man had come up with. albedo wanted nothing more than to fix all of your problems. sure, you were his most diligent student. if he was honest, your poor grades were perhaps… an experiment of his own. he wanted to see how much pressure you could handle, since he was considering offering you a position as his assistant over summer break. you had lasted longer than his original hypothesis had predicted.

your professor’s introverted nature made it difficult for him to comfort you. he decided that the best course of action was to plop himself down next to you on the loveseat, wrapping one of his arms around your sobbing form. you buried your face into albedo’s sweater, dampening the soft wool in your tears. his grip only tightened around you, cooing softly as he caressed your back.

all in all, there was nothing impure about the interaction. or at least, there wasn’t at first. in your sorrowful haze, your hand had accidentally brushed against your professor’s crotch, prompting a sharp intake of breath from the man. his attention was then drawn to the way your breasts were pressed against him.

“s-s-sir?”

albedo’s face flushed red at the fact that you’d noticed his… predicament. your eyes were wide, sobs having halted. you looked so innocent before him, so much so that he couldn’t prevent his dark thoughts taking over.

“i have a proposal for you, y/n. perhaps if you were to help me with the… situation before us, i could ensure your grades stay high enough to secure your place in any future education you desire.”

surely he wasn’t insinuating what you thought he was. you had always thought he was a rather attractive man, though he was your professor ! you should be running to the dean to report him right now.

“you may go, if you so wish,” it was as though albedo was reading your mind. “none of my superiors will believe any negative thought you share about me. now, you can either leave and accept your results or we can…” he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“s-sir, i-” you began sniffling again, though you didn’t make a move towards the door. perfect grades for the remainder of his classes was too good of an offer to pass up, wasn’t it? he could tell that you were considering it.

“we can take it slow, darling. i do not wish to make you too uncomfortable.” his hand was on your shoulder, the other resting on your hip.

a weak “okay” left your mouth.

albedo pulled you onto his lap, resting you on top of one of his thighs. his hands found their way underneath your shirt as lithe fingers started digging slightly into your hips. he rocked you slowly against him as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. how embarrassing that you had to let your professor use you like this just so that you could pass a class !! he admired how you’d fully given into his advances, your body practically limp for him to use as he desired. your arms wrapped around him as salty tears began gently rolling down your cheeks. attempts to keep your cries quiet were futile, with your professor pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head in an attempt to comfort you. the way you were so vulnerable for him spurred him on further. you were too weak to pleasure yourself, so he had to do it for you !! your legs were tightening, thighs wanting to give you more friction than you were already receiving from him. albedo took note of this. he lifted you off of him enough to remove your clothes. the man allowed you to keep your shirt on, for it would save you from any further embarrassment should somebody walk through the currently unlocked door to his office. your sobs only increased as he removed your panties. luckily for him, you were too preoccupied to see him shoving them deep into his pocket, no intentions of returning the lacy fabric to you. you felt so exposed, hiding your face even further in him.

“there’s nothing too worry about, sweetheart. i think you look ravishing like this.” he dragged a finger between your folds, only to be met by his slick covered digit. he took it for a few short laps around your aching bud, relishing in the whines that became mixed with sobs falling from your lips. albedo sat you back down so that you were straddling his thigh. he spread you enough so that your clit was resting against the rough material of his trousers. subconsciously you began rutting your hips against his lightly colored slacks. albedo kept one hand on your back, gently guiding you, while the other began stroking your hair. tears covered his sweater, accompanying your sweet moans.

“so good for me,” your professor would whisper, along with other praises of how you were his “favorite student” and how beautiful you looked rutting against him so desperately. you’d be lying if you said his words didn’t increase the wetness pooling between your legs, though you felt so humiliated in this position that you felt more tears falling simultaneously. your cunny was spilling juices all over him, most definitely ruining his pants.

you grew exhausted rather quickly, between the cries and the stress today had thrown at you. no matter how much albedo was encouraging you to keep going, your trembly voice barely whispering to him that you “can’t” do any more was enough for him to lend a helping hand. what kind of professor would he be to ignore a student in need ? as you remained clinging onto him, he continued to hold your head as his other hand reached between your thighs. his fingers circled your entrance, gently tapping it. he wanted nothing more than to scissor you open and stuff your pretty hole nice and full, though he didn’t want to scare you off. he wanted to keep you in a position where he could continue to have control over you, which meant giving you your desired grades while he persuaded you to keep returning the favor for him. how could he allow for such a sweet thing like yourself to escape his grasp ?!

you felt your eyelids growing heavy as your professor’s fingers massaged your puffy clit. his touches were like feather, using his index and ring fingers to spread you open as his middle finger stroked you ever so lightly. he tapped against the bud periodically, enjoying how you trembled with every graze. your voice was mostly gone, barely able to warn him that you were close. “g-g-g gonna-” was all you could manage. the man knew exactly what you struggled to communicate.

“cum for me, sweetheart,” the dirtiness and shame you felt at your professor’s words combined with his saccharine tone made you shake. he rubbed directly onto your pulsing clit as your body began spasm on top of him. albedo held onto you as pleasure rushed through your veins and even more of your cum spilled onto his thigh. he helped you ride through your high, the scent of sex filling the office. you pulled yourself away from him as your breathing calmed. he was in half a mind to drag you back into his embrace, though his curiosity regarding the shy expression he imagined adorning your features prevented him from doing such. your hair was a mess, tear stained face red. your eyes were slightly swollen, fresh tears still dancing down your puffy cheeks. you tried wiping them away and clearing your running nose with the back of your sleeve. albedo grabbed a tissue from his desk, assisting you as you sat in defeat. your eyes spotted the wet patch you’d left on his trousers. you couldn’t help but apologize profusely, despite barely being able to form a sentence. albedo looked down at you, pads of his thumbs gracing your cheeks. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i always keep spare clothes in my office, just in the case of any lab emergencies that should arise.” the man would wait until you left to change. the way your weak form exited his office was intoxicating, staring intently at how your hips swayed slightly with each step. despite how he wanted to feel you wrapped around the aching in his pants so very badly, he would instead prefer to take you in a much less formal setting. for now, the panties that you had unknowingly left behind would have to suffice.

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