#I'm impressed and dad would be proud of you

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

mommy issues AND daddy issues. she’s the whole package

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series. 

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host. 

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night. 

---------------------------

Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions. 

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it. 

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now. 

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job. 

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely. 

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks. 

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard. 

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley." 

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt. 

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

--------------------------

Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too. 

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction. 

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer. 

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink. 

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool. 

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip. 

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer. 

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested. 

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

--------------------------

Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again. 

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning." 

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time." 

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned. 

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer. 

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold. 

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it. 

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked. 

"Immediately," he promised. 

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will." 

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute. 

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article. 

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here." 

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him. 

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink." 

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead. 

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk. 

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed. 

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?" 

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

--------------------------

The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him. 

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him. 

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed. 

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too. 

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room. 

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches. 

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him. 

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them. 

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off. 

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time. 

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort. 

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight. 

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper. 

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off. 

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you. 

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders. 

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself. 

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more. 

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back. 

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic. 

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair. 

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good. 

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly. 

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly. 

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing." 

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered. 

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again. 

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you. 

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

-----------------------------------

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[goldfades]

🌱 meeting jack's entire family and realizing you're the one! They can tell that this time is different as it's so clear jack is in love w you

𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 | jh⁸⁶

♡ ─ word count | 465

♡ ─ warnings | nothing but sweet fluff!!!

♡ ─ ev's notes | aaaaaaa, i love lovesick jack

"Do you like the dinner?" Ellen's voice was soft as she watched you eat the dinner slowly. She sounded slightly concerned as she watched you but the truth was, it was delicious - you were just nervous. No one would blame you though, this was the first time meeting Jack's family and anxious was an understatement. You knew they had high expectations for their son, you just hoped they liked you.

"It's so good, thank you." You answered nervously as she smiled back warmly. She was not as intimidating as you thought she'd be. You felt Jack's hand on your thigh as he squeezed it, to let you know that he was still there with you. He knew you were nervous and you were grateful he was being sweet.

"So uh, Jack tells us you're studying at UPenn, is that right?" Jim, Jack's dad's voice was friendly, trying to engage you in conversation and ease some of the tension that hung in the air.

"Yeah, it's my last year." You replied warmly as you put down your spoon.

"UPenn is really hard to get into, you must be very smart." Jim's voice sounded impressed as he spoke.

Jack looked back at you with a smile. "Yeah, she is very smart, like I told you before. She reads a lot, too."

"That doesn't mean I'm smart," you couldn't help but blush at his compliments as you heard his parents chuckle. "I read occasionally, when I have time."

"She's just being humble." Jack rolled his eyes playfully as he continued to eat, watching his parents. His eyes lingered on you warmly as you let out a laugh, his heart swelling. Jim and Ellen exchanged glances as they watched you interact.

"So, how did you two decide to start dating?" Ellen asked, her voice carrying genuine curiosity as she leaned back in her chair.

Jack grinned, his playful demeanor shifting into a more affectionate one as he looked at you. "Well, it all started after one of my games and we started talking at the bar. We just clicked. The more we got to know each other, the more it felt like we were meant to be together."

You couldn't help but smile at Jack's words, feeling a warmth spreading through you. "It was a bit unexpected, to be honest. I never thought I'd be dating a hockey player, but here I am."

Ellen let out a laugh. "That's just adorable." Her eyes were filled with admiration as she watched you two. "You make a cute couple."

Jack's hand found yours under the table, his fingers intertwining with yours as you squeezed his hand gently. Jack's grin widened at his mother's words, a proud glint in his eyes as he looked at you. "Thanks, Mom. I think so too."

-> make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated! <-

thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[urfavoritewriter]

More Than Neighbors

A commission for an anonymous user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me!

Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Endo, Digestion, Melting Digestion, Multiple Instances of Vore, burping

The sun cast a warm glow over the new neighborhood as Jake and Andrew arrived at their freshly leased apartment. The building, a quaint three-story structure, stood proudly with a coat of welcoming beige paint. As they stepped inside, the scent of fresh paint tickled their noses—a sign that this place was truly their canvas to fill.

The apartment had a cozy charm, with sunlight streaming through the large windows that adorned the living room. The kitchen, though compact, exuded a functional elegance, complete with gleaming appliances and granite countertops. A promising beginning to their life together.

With an exchange of glances and a shared smile, Jake and Andrew embarked on a rhythm of unpacking. The air was charged with the excitement of new beginnings. The sound of cardboard boxes being shuffled and furniture being arranged reverberated through the apartment.

Jake's lively voice, filled with enthusiasm, echoed, "Babe, I'm thinking the couch should go right here, what do you say?"

Andrew, a bit more measured in his responses, replied, "Yeah, that works. Gives a nice view of the TV and opens up the space."

Their shared brainstorming intertwined with the mundane yet significant task of setting up their home. Little did they know that this cozy abode would soon become the stage for a more unconventional kind of interaction with their neighbor. Or, at the very least, one that Jake attempted to hide really well.

"I'd love to stay and help, but I've got to go to work. Maybe wait on the heavier tasks till I'm back home, and set up what you can until then," Andrew suggested, a hint of regret in his voice as duty called him away.

Jake nodded, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "Sure thing, babe. I'll leave the heavy lifting for when my strong man is back in action." He winked playfully, earning a chuckle from Andrew.

As Andrew prepared to head out the door, Jake couldn't resist a mischievous comment, "Thinking of greeting our neighbors later. You know, being the friendly new guy in the building."

Andrew shot him a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a smirk. "Just don't get into any trouble. And no overly friendly offers, alright?" he quipped.

Jake feigned innocence, a twinkle in his eye. "Who, me? Never!" he teased, giving Andrew a quick peck on the cheek before sending him off to work with a playful swat on the butt. "Hey, I just want to make sure we're on good terms with everyone around here. Plus, who knows, maybe they're super cool."

With a peck on Jake's cheek, Andrew replied, "Alright, social butterfly. Do us proud. See you later, okay?"

"Sure thing. Have a good day at work!" Jake replied, continuing the mundane task of unboxing their many sentimental objects for the next hour.

Jake took a moment in the shiny new bathroom, adjusting his hair and shirt. He wanted to make a good first impression, not just for himself but also for Andrew. With a deep breath, he looked at himself in the mirror, nodding as if giving himself a mental pep talk.

Feeling ready, Jake strolled out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and headed for the next door. It felt a bit odd, making the rounds so soon, but he figured it was better to know his neighbors sooner rather than later.

Arriving at the door, he took another moment, clearing his throat and then knocked twice. The anticipation was a mix of nerves and excitement, not knowing who would answer the door.

The door creaked open, revealing a man with a dad bod, dressed in a blue gym shirt that depicted a muscular guy lifting, paired with black shorts. The shirt hugged his form in a way that accentuated his physique rather than hiding it, and the casual attire only added to the relaxed charm he exuded. This was Thomas, the neighbor Jake was about to get to know.

"Hey there!" Thomas greeted, a friendly smile on his face. "You must be the new neighbor. I'm Thomas." He extended a hand, a firm handshake revealing the calluses of someone who might hit the gym often.

"Jake," he replied, returning the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Thomas."

Thomas chuckled a bit, the friendly tone still lingering. "Likewise, Jake. So, what brings you to this side of the building?"

Jake shifted slightly, feeling a bit shy under Thomas's friendly gaze. "Just moved in with my boyfriend, Andrew, next door. Thought I'd say hi to the neighbors."

"Ah, the happy couple! Welcome to the neighborhood," Thomas said, rubbing his chin playfully. "You know, you're lucky to have me as a neighbor. I'm like the unofficial welcoming committee around here."

Jake grinned, finding Thomas's confidence oddly endearing. "Well, lucky us then. Thanks for the warm welcome."

Thomas leaned against the door frame, his demeanor casual but with a hint of self-assuredness. "No problem at all. Say, why don't you come in? I was just about to make some tea. A little neighborly chat won't hurt."

Jake hesitated for a moment but couldn't resist the friendly offer. "Sure, why not? Tea sounds good."

The apartment had a pleasant aroma of warmth and familiarity as Thomas led Jake in. It was a cozy space with an inviting feel, making Jake feel a bit more at ease. Thomas moved effortlessly to the small kitchenette, pulling out two cups and preparing tea.

"Here you go, Jake," Thomas said, handing over one of the steaming cups. "I've got a knack for tea, so enjoy."

"Thanks," Jake replied, taking a sip, the warmth of the tea comforting in his hands. "You've got a nice place here."

Thomas grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, it's my little bachelor pad. Not as neat as it could be, but it's home."

They exchanged pleasantries, Jake finding himself drawn to Thomas's charismatic demeanor. The conversation flowed easily, with Thomas expressing genuine interest in getting to know his new neighbor. At one point, Jake couldn't help but voice a thought that had been lingering in his mind.

"You know, Thomas, you're a pretty interesting guy," Jake said, a playful glint in his eyes. "And, well, quite attractive."

Thomas's response was a cocky smirk, as if he'd expected the compliment. "I get that a lot, and for good reason."

Jake blushed slightly, his admission out in the open. "I hope I'm not being too forward or anything. It's just, you seem like a cool guy."

Thomas chuckled, the cocky edge still present. "No worries, Jake. I can handle a compliment. And cool? I'll take it. We'll have to hang out more, get to know each other better. Maybe introduce me to that boyfriend of yours."

Jake nodded, feeling a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, that sounds great. Andrew would love to meet you, I'm sure."

With that, the conversation continued, the two sharing stories and laughter, the bond between neighbors growing stronger. Little did Jake know that the more time he spent with Thomas, the deeper his fascination would become. Jake couldn't stop eye-ing his neighbor's dad bod, and especially his slightly protruding belly, which was cozy and inviting.

"What's up?" Thomas said, noticing Jake's attraction to his body and his extended silence.

"Say, Thomas," Jake spoke, his voice a little shaken and apprehensive. "I was wondering if you could… You know," He said, avoiding his neighbor's direct gaze. "Swallow me up?"

The revelation hung in the air, creating a moment of awkward tension between Jake and Thomas. Jake's request was so unexpected that even Thomas, with his confident demeanor, was momentarily taken aback.

"Swallow you up?" Thomas repeated, a bemused expression crossing his face.

Jake, realizing how unusual his request sounded, quickly began to backtrack. "Oh, uh, sorry. That was a weird thing to say. I just thought, you know, it's been a long day with all the moving, and I thought it might be a way to relax. Forget I said anything."

Thomas, recovering from his initial surprise, chuckled. "Hey, no need to apologize. That's definitely one way to unwind. But, you know, what about your boyfriend? Shouldn't he be the one you'd want to spend your evening with?"

Jake hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room as if searching for an excuse. "Andrew's at work. He won't be back for hours. I figured it might be a good time, you know?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow, the cocky smirk returning. "Well, well, looks like I've got some competition with your boyfriend's schedule. Alright, Jake, let's give it a try. Why not?"

Jake's eyes widened in surprise, the realization sinking in that Thomas was actually considering his bizarre request. He stammered, "Wait, really?"

Thomas chuckled again, approaching Jake with a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, really. I was beginning to think the tea in me could use some company." He teased.

As Thomas moved closer, Jake felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. Little did he know that this seemingly casual decision would set the stage for a series of events that would reshape the dynamics of their relationships in ways he couldn't have imagined.

Thomas's demeanor shifted, and a dominant aura enveloped him as he towered over Jake. With a wicked grin, he leaned in, his tongue emerging to sensually trace patterns across Jake's face, leaving a glossy trail of saliva in its wake.

Jake, caught in a mix of surprise and arousal, felt a shiver run down his spine. The dominant display was more than he had bargained for, but there was a certain allure to Thomas's confident and commanding presence.

As Thomas continued to lick, his teasing commentary echoed through the room. "You wanted to relax, right? Well, I'm here to make sure it's a memorable experience for you."

Jake, unable to resist the heat building within him, nodded in agreement. "Yes, I… I wanted something different."

Thomas, seemingly pleased with Jake's response, opened his mouth wide. The sight of those teeth, the expanse of his tongue, and the moist interior of his mouth created a mesmerizing spectacle. Jake, transfixed, felt a combination of excitement and anticipation.

With deliberate slowness, Thomas brought his open mouth closer to Jake's head, giving him a teasing pause. "Ready for the next part?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Jake, feeling the heat of the moment, nodded again. "Yeah, go for it."

Thomas didn't waste any time. He extended his tongue and, with a deliberate and sensual motion, began swallowing Jake's head. The sensation was unlike anything Jake had experienced before—being enveloped by warmth, the pressure increasing gradually as he slid further into Thomas's mouth.

As Jake descended into the darkness, he couldn't help but marvel at the intimacy of the act. The feeling of Thomas's teeth grazing against his skin, the wetness of his tongue, and the gentle pressure surrounding him created a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, and he couldn't be more grateful that he had been forward with his request.

Thomas relished the sensation of Jake's head nestled within the confines of his mouth. The warm, tight space engulfed Jake, and Thomas couldn't resist savoring the unique flavors that each part of his captive offered.

With a deliberate and practiced motion, Thomas began the process of swallowing Jake further. His hands, which had initially rested casually on Jake's torso, now came into play. Fingers pressed gently into Jake's sides, aiding the swallowing process and ensuring a smooth descent.

The fabric of Thomas's shirt stretched as Jake's form traveled lower, gradually disappearing into the voracious depths of Thomas's mouth. The sensation of Jake's descent was hot, tight, and surprisingly intimate. Thomas's throat worked rhythmically, each gulp accompanied by a low, satisfied hum.

As Jake's upper body passed the point of no return, Thomas reveled in the feel of his buttocks. The firm, plump curves were a tantalizing delight, and Thomas couldn't resist using his hands to savor the moment. Fingers kneaded into the soft flesh, ensuring every inch of Jake was embraced by the consuming journey.

Thomas's thick hands squeezed Jake's buttocks inside his mouth, relishing the feeling of the soft flesh yielding to his grasp. The act was both sensual and commanding, a testament to the control Thomas exerted over the devouring process.

As Thomas continued the deliberate swallowing, the bulge in his throat expanded, signaling Jake's gradual descent into the depths of his belly. The once-taut fabric of Thomas's shirt now strained and stretched, barely containing the increasing mass within. The sight was both enticing and provocative, the visible contours of Jake's form pressing against the fabric.

GULP!

With each successive gulp, Jake's head popped beneath the surface of Thomas's belly, causing a noticeable bulge from the outside. The fabric of Thomas's shirt clung desperately to the expanding mass within, the tight material pulled upward by the gravitational pull of Jake's journey into the man's digestive abyss.

The struggle of the fabric against the growing bulge was accentuated by the relentless swallowing. Thomas's throat worked with practiced precision, each gulp drawing Jake further into the churning depths of his belly. The once-cocky bachelor now seemed entirely consumed by the act, his concentration evident in the rhythmic motions of his throat.

The tight shirt, now strained beyond its limits, surrendered to the pressure. With a final, audible rip, the fabric gave way, exposing Thomas's expanding midsection. The bulge, no longer restrained by clothing, continued its ascent, offering a visual spectacle of Jake's gradual submersion into Thomas's digestive embrace.

Thomas's belly was much more pronounced with Jake entirely swallowed up, showcasing his curled up form beneath the bachelor's muscles. He rubbed his belly, moaning, as he let out a huge burp.

BuuuUuUuUuUuUrPPP!!

Thomas grinned, running a hand over his now exposed belly, the remnants of his torn shirt hanging from his waistband. "Well, shit, there goes my favorite gym shirt. And I thought it was tear-resistant. You owe me a new one."

He looked down at Jake's bulge inside him, the corners of his mouth curling up mischievously. "But, you know, it's worth it, just to have you all cozy in there, buddy."

Thomas reclined on his couch, feeling the subtle weight of Jake nestled within him. The torn shirt hung around his waist as a makeshift reminder of their unusual encounter. He ran a hand over his rounded belly, savoring the comforting fullness.

As hours passed, Jake found a peculiar coziness within Thomas's belly. His words, though muffled by the fleshy confines, conveyed a sense of contentment. "So damn cozy in here," Jake's voice reverberated, the sounds dulled by the warm expanse of Thomas's belly.

The bachelor lounged, occasionally shifting in a way that cradled Jake further within him. Thomas chuckled, responding to the muffled remarks. "Yeah? Glad you're enjoying it, buddy. Just chill. We got time, and let me know when that boyfriend of yours is about to come."

Hours drifted lazily by as Thomas continued to chill on his couch, occasionally rubbing his belly as if patting a pet that lay within. Jake, within the comfortable confines of Thomas's belly, began to squirm subtly. His muffled sounds conveyed a sense of restlessness.

Jake's voice was muffled, the words barely decipherable but hinting at the desire to be released. Thomas, catching on, sat up with a casual grin. "Alright, time to set you free, little guy."

Thomas leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, as the process of regurgitating Jake commenced. A low, guttural sound accompanied the motion, reminiscent of someone trying to force out an unexpected cough. As the first signs of Jake's reappearance became evident, a mixture of saliva and stomach acids accompanied him.

With a final, controlled heave, Jake emerged from Thomas's mouth. The dampened form of the once-swallowed man glistened, adorned with a sheen of Thomas's digestive fluids. Jake coughed and sputtered, the residue of the endosomatic adventure clinging to his form.

Thomas chuckled, leaning back as he wiped a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth. "There you go, Jake. Back to the land of the living, or at least out of my stomach."

Jake fumbled for a nearby napkin, wiping off the remnants of Thomas's digestive embrace from his face. He hesitated, glancing at Thomas with a mix of uncertainty and arousal.

"Fuck, that was hot as fuck," Jake admitted, his cheeks flushed. "Do you think, um… That maybe we could do this regularly?"

Thomas reclined on the couch, a cocky grin forming on his lips. "Regularly, huh? Well, who am I to say no? My gut's taken a liking to your round shape, and I figure I'd want to make use of this torn shirt again."

Jake, still catching his breath, grinned at Thomas. "Thanks, man. That was something else." With a casual wave, he headed back to his apartment, the door closing behind him.

In the privacy of his own place, Jake couldn't help but marvel at the wild experience. "Damn," he muttered, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Shower time before Andrew gets back."

Over the next few weeks, Jake found himself drawn to Thomas's door almost as if by an irresistible force. The frequency of his visits increased, and a peculiar routine developed—almost every time Andrew was out for work, Jake would find himself knocking on Thomas's door, eager for the sensation of being swallowed once more.

It became a clandestine affair, a secret passion that Jake couldn't resist indulging. The cozy afternoons spent nestled in Thomas's belly provided a unique escape, a refuge from the outside world. Thomas, despite his initial cockiness, seemed to enjoy the arrangement just as much.

Their encounters varied. Sometimes it was a quick, spontaneous venture, while on other occasions, Jake lingered longer, savoring the warmth and tightness of his endosoma retreat. As Thomas rubbed his belly in contentment, Jake relished the intimacy of the experience. The thrill of being swallowed, the muffled sounds of Thomas's surroundings, and the cozy darkness of his gut.

Each gulp, each audible swallow, became a part of their unspoken agreement. The torn gym shirt, now a remnant of many sessions, hung as a testament to their peculiar encounters. Thomas, ever the cocky host, reveled in the power dynamics of their arrangement. He would tease Jake with casual remarks, mocking him for how much he craved being inside him, how his gut's taking him from his boyfriend, and relishing the satisfaction of being the one in control. The muffled sounds of casual chatter, the gentle burps that followed, became routine.

One day, after weeks of their clandestine routine, Jake found himself stewing away in Thomas's gut. The familiar sensation of being enveloped in warmth and darkness was his routine escape from reality.

"Almost time for you to be out, bro," Thomas said, getting on his knees, preparing to regurgitate Jake, as they had done several times before. But, before the expected release, Jake squirmed in protest.

"Fuck, just take me," Jake said, his words muffled by the tight confinement of Thomas's gut, fully taken over by a surge of lust.

Thomas, taken aback, paused, looking at Jake with a mix of surprise and confusion. "You mean… like, for real? You want me to…?" he hesitated, gesturing toward his own belly.

Jake, caught in the moment of passion, nodded, confirming the unexpected twist in their usual routine. "Yeah, man. Digest me. Take me in. I want it," he muttered, his voice filled with a mix of desire and abandon.

The unexpected turn left Thomas momentarily stunned, but the allure of Jake's plea proved to be too intoxicating to resist. With a smirk and a shake of his head, Thomas took a deep breath and said, "Glad you said that, a few more weeks and I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from ending you whether you asked for it or not."

Thomas sat back, a casual air about him as he reclined, teasing Jake about the gravity of his words. "You know, bro, you just signed up for the no do-overs, no take-backs deal. You're in my gut now, and you're gonna stay there."

Jake, a mix of excitement and realization playing on his features, squirmed a bit, confirming his acceptance of the unspoken agreement. "Yeah, man, no turning back. I'm all in."

Thomas, with a mischievous grin, decided to take Jake's commitment to a new level. "Alright, bro, you signed up for the 'no more talking' package too." taking Jake's acceptance as a cue, tightened his gut, muffling Jake's words almost to the point of illegibility. With a smug smirk, Thomas leaned back, basking in the moment as he let out a colossal burp that reverberated through the air.

BuuUuUuUurP!

The sound echoed around the room, a declaration of the new reality they had both willingly entered. Thomas, still chuckling casually, patted his slightly bulging belly, sealing the unspoken contract between them. The muffled, indistinct sounds from within only served to emphasize the intimate connection they now shared.

Thomas glanced at the buzzing phone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like someone's missing their boy, huh?" he teased, waving Jake's phone in the air. "Got a bunch of missed calls and texts. Your boyfriend's probably worried sick about where you are."

He chuckled, placing the phone on a nearby table. "Man, I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out where you really are. In this big, bulging gut of mine." Thomas patted his belly with a satisfied grin. "But we'll let him stew in curiosity a bit longer. Gotta savor the anticipation, you know?" Thomas said, as he headed to his bedroom.

He sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, the other idly rubbing his rounded belly. The bulge from Jake's presence was noticeable, a testament to the intimate arrangement inside. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, as he felt Jake squirming within him.

"First night you're staying this long, bro," Thomas remarked, speaking into the empty room. "Better get used to it because, after tonight, you're not coming out. You're gonna be part of me for the last few nights of your life." He shifted slightly, getting comfortable, and let out a contented sigh. "Sweet dreams, man."

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on Thomas as he woke up, his gut still pronounced from the previous night's indulgence. Stretching languidly, he sat up, feeling the weight of Jake nestled within him.

Yawning, Thomas got out of bed and ambled towards the bathroom. The tiled floor felt cool beneath his feet. Leaning over the sink, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. With a toothbrush in hand, he began scrubbing his teeth clean.

As he brushed his teeth, his gaze shifted to the protruding belly that pressed against the edge of the sink. Thomas grinned cockily, aware that Jake was experiencing his morning routine for the first time.

"Morning, Jake, you good in there?" Thomas teased, speaking as if Jake could hear him. "Can't quite make out what you'd be saying, but I thought the gesture was nice." He chuckled, imagining Jake's muffled protests from within the confines of his gut.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Thomas got ready for the day ahead, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

As Thomas went about his day, the vibrations of Jake's phone periodically echoed in the room, a persistent reminder of the outside world that seemed increasingly distant. Each buzz was a testament to Andrew's growing worry and curiosity.

Teasingly, Thomas leaned back and patted his belly, as if saying to Jake that he's here to stay. "You know, bro, I think your body's getting a little softer in there. I'm known to have a rough digestion."

From Jake's perspective, the world inside Thomas's gut was undergoing a slow transformation. His clothes, once distinguishable, were becoming indistinct as they melded with the acids. The sensation was peculiar and, at times, disorienting, as his skin slowly melted; It was pleasant, it felt cozier than any of the previous time he's been in here, but it was still disorienting.

The muffled sound of Andrew's persistent calls and messages on Jake's phone served as a distant background noise, a stark contrast to the cocoon of warmth and semi-darkness that enveloped Jake within Thomas's belly.

On the second day, Jake's form inside Thomas's gut underwent a notable transformation. The once distinct features of his body were now indiscernible, a result of the ongoing process of digestion. The clothes that clung to him had long since lost their original form, merging with the liquefying remnants of Jake's physique.

Thomas, perhaps subconsciously or out of growing curiosity, patted his belly, noting a subtle change. The solid tautness that characterized Jake's initial presence was giving way to a softer, more pliable feel. The acids worked persistently, melting away the boundaries of Jake's form. It wasn't an ethereal or surreal process; it was the gritty reality of digestion, the breaking down of flesh and bone into a churning mixture, but despite that it still felt good to Jake.

The sudden, impatient knocking on the door jolted Thomas from his casual reverie. He swung the door open, and there stood Andrew, a mix of worry and irritation etched across his face.

"Hey, sorry to bother you this early, but have you seen Jake?" Andrew asked, his concern evident in his tone. "He's been missing for two days, and I'm getting really worried."

Thomas, wearing a hoodie that conveniently hid the changes in his midsection, shook his head. "Nah, man, haven't seen him. Sorry." There was an apologetic note in his voice as he subtly adjusted the hoodie.

"Fuck," Andrew said, seeming distressed and unaware of Thomas's gut. "Sorry. Just… Let me know if you ever do, okay?" He said, as he continued to the other apartments to ask his other neighbors.

Thomas closed the door and laid back against it, he couldn't resist a teasing smirk. He lifted the hoodie, revealing the slightly softer, bulging gut beneath. "All it took is a lift of my hoodie to show him where ya went. Too bad he'll never figure it out." he remarked, the cocky edge still present in his voice, as Jake squirmed inside his acid-filled gut.

On the third day, Thomas decided to hit the gym, his usual routine slightly altered by the recent addition of Jake to his physique. The once-toned bachelor now sported more of a dad bod, and a slight beer belly had developed, a testament to Jake's presence in his gut.

As he prepared for the workout, Thomas couldn't resist teasing Jake. "Well, bro, today's gonna be a tough one on you. Might speed up your digestion a bit," he quipped with a chuckle. "But hey, I figure I'll make the most of the gains from eating you. Gotta look more attractive when you're gone, right?" The casual banter flowed easily, as he got to exercise his muscles.

Thomas began his gym session with some heavy deadlifts, the weight clanging against the floor with each controlled drop. The impact reverberated through his core, the vibrations felt by Jake nestled within the confines of his bulging belly. With each lift, Thomas's abdominal muscles flexed and tightened, pressing against Jake in rhythmic pulses.

Moving on to bench presses, Thomas lay back on the bench, the pressure of the weights causing his gut to push outward. Jake, caught in the middle of this bodily symphony, experienced the compression and release as Thomas completed each repetition. Sweat glistened on Thomas's forehead, a testament to the exertion he was putting into the workout.

Transitioning to squats, Thomas's movements became more dynamic. As he descended into the squat position, Jake was subjected to the pressure between Thomas's thighs, a sensation that intensified with each rise. The fabric of Thomas's shorts stretched tightly over his expanding waistline, a visible reminder of Jake's presence within.

The stair climber machine was next on Thomas's agenda. With each step, the rhythmic impact resonated through his body, creating a gentle rocking motion for Jake. The pressure on Thomas's midsection increased, and Jake felt the subtle shifts as his surroundings changed with each step.

Finally, Thomas engaged in some core exercises, targeting his abs directly. Crunches and leg raises emphasized the region where Jake was nestled. The compression intensified with each repetition, the steady burn of the workout echoed within Thomas's bulging gut.

Throughout the entire routine, Thomas's banter continued. "You feeling the burn, bro?" he teased, fully aware of the unique experience Jake was undergoing within the confines of his ever-changing gut.

As the days progressed, Jake's once-solid form continued its relentless transformation within the acidic confines of Thomas's stomach. The digestive juices worked with ruthless efficiency, breaking down Jake's flesh and bones into a formless mass. The initial resistance of his physical structure gave way to the corrosive power of the stomach acids, reducing him to a mixture of liquid and dissolved remnants.

The process was slow and methodical. Jake's consciousness began to wane, his awareness slipping away in sync with the dissolution of his physical being. He became entangled in the chemical dance of digestion, losing touch with the boundaries of his form as the acids invaded every nook and cranny of his thick form.

The sensation was a paradoxical blend of pleasure and obliteration. Jake, in his reduced state, was suspended in a state of half-consciousness, afloat in the warm, corrosive embrace of Thomas's stomach. The once-distinct features of his body blurred into a formless, melted amalgamation, his essence merging with the strong digestive acids of Thomas.

As the dissolution progressed, Jake's thoughts became fragmented, his sense of self dissolving along with his body. The blissful haze of digestion enveloped him, a surreal journey into the abyss of being broken down and absorbed.

Thomas reclined on his couch, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips. His fingers drummed lazily on his bloated midsection, now transformed into a softer, beer-belly dad bod. The once-defined muscles were replaced by a plump layer, evidence of Jake's gradual assimilation into Thomas's physique.

"Look at this," Thomas mused, patting his slightly flattened stomach. "You're almost all mine, bro. I've been digesting you real good. Your essence is now part of what makes me, well, me. Bet you can't even comprehend that with how melted you are."

He let out a hearty belch, the sound reverberating through his sloshy midsection. Thomas's arrogance echoed in his words, a mix of crass amusement and self-satisfaction.

"You thought you could handle being in my gut regularly, but look at you now. Just a sloshy mess, melting away into nothingness. And here I am, getting beefier, looking better than ever," he continued, chuckling at the thought. "You're practically my personal enhancement, bro. A little seasoning to make me even more irresistible."

Thomas shifted, adjusting his posture to emphasize the changes in his physique. The casual arrogance in his voice painted a vivid picture of a man reveling in the results of his unconventional dietary choices.

"In a few more days, you'll be nothing but a memory, a part of my gains. Can't say it wasn't a good run for you, though. The best thing you did was willingly dive into my gut."

Thomas stepped out of his apartment and immediately encountered Andrew in the hallway, looking disheveled and anxious. Andrew's eyes widened at the noticeable change in Thomas's physique.

"Dude, have you seen Jake? I've been going out of my mind looking for him," Andrew pleaded, concern etched on his face. "You know what, don't fucking answer. I know you would've told me if you had already."

Thomas feigned innocence, scratching his head. "It's good, dude. Jake? Uhh, not sure, man. I mean, I've seen a lot of people around, you know? Can't keep track of everyone." He said, "Maybe he ghosted you or something. It happens. But hey," He gave Andrew a pat on the shoulder, "I'm here for ya if you need me, dude."

"Thanks, man." Andrew said insincerely, wanting nothing more than to know where his boyfriend went, but still appreciating the offer.

As they moved further away from each other, Thomas couldn't resist a sly grin, his hand casually rubbing his now beefier belly. "Damn, Jake. Not a word to your worried boyfriend? Never took you for the silent type." He teased as his stomach growled, knowing that Jake wasn't in a state to respond let alone comprehend, only existing for a few more days before he's fully digested down by the bigger man.

[lazycats-stuff]

Hi! Could you do a Batfam x teen reader, where the reader does illegal street race, he sneaks out at night to go those race, and the Batfam found out about it !

Thank you ;)

I sure can do!

Summary: (Y/N) races illegally. The family doesn't know.

Warnings: illegal racing, (Y/N) is skilled, Bruce is mad, Jason is impressed, Damian is proud, Bruce is just done,

(Y/N) loved his dad and he often shared his interests with him. He also shared everything with his brothers. But he was harboring a secret that he couldn't tell anyone. He loved cars, which was not a secret to his family.

What was the secret?

(Y/N) raced illegally. Bruce knew that (Y/N) loved cars, but what he didn't know is that (Y/N) knew how to drive. Bruce had plans to get (Y/N) his license when he turned 18 years old, but when he was so young?

Not happening, at least in Bruce's eyes.

However, (Y/N) had an important night tonight. Last time he was on the track, a cocky bastard thought that he was better than him. (Y/N) gladly excepted.

If there was one thing that Bruce has taught him that he uses everyday, it's the fact that you should fear a person who doesn't brag about his skills. You can easily beat someone who brags. But the one who is silent?

Yeah, that will be a much more difficult task. H

Now he had to make a plan on how to sneak out. He had to wait until they went on patrol and until Alfred went down to the cave to make sure that nobody sees him.

He took his phone and looked into the hall. Alfred went into Bruce's office a few minutes prior, so he must be halfway down. (Y/N) took the opportunity to quietly walk to the garage. He tapped his pocket for the car key, checking to see if his favorite car key was in there.

That car is his baby and he would be damned if he didn't use his favorite. Bruce bought him this car last year and (Y/N) took great care of it. He cleaned it, washed it and took it outside to drive, but only in the property boundaries.

Now it was time to beat that shit head.

(Y/N) sighed in relief as he parked the car. He walked through the crowds, just enjoying the energy. It was just free, no stress, but it was also buzzing with excitement. Usually there were friendly races and talks about upgrades on your cars.

Tonight, it was a race with (Y/N) and the shit head who challenged him. (Y/N) still remembers how he first started. Everyone was nervous to have a Wayne kid, thinking that he wanted to get on the top with a snap of his fingers.

But (Y/N) kept his head down, was humble and respectful towards everyone and he showed his skills to everyone and he proved himself. He became very well liked and he made a good friend here, named Aaron.

" Hey (Y/N)! " Aaron said loudly to drown out the chatter of the other people. " Are you ready for the race? " He asked, smirking as (Y/N) pushed him away.

" Of course I am. " (Y/N) answered, accepting a water bottle from Aaron.

" I still can't believe somebody is so stupid. " Aaron mused to himself, shaking his head. (Y/N) is the best racer here and the fact that somebody new is so dense to think that he could beat him so stupid. Of course, (Y/N) is not invincible and unbeatable, but new people are often warned that (Y/N) is the best racer here.

But that doesn't stop people from challenging him. (Y/N) never hated being challenged, in fact, he loved it. No matter who it was, (Y/N) liked the challenge. Only if they aren't cocky and obnoxious about their skills.

The shit head is obnoxious beyond belief and there was nothing that could change (Y/N)'s mind. Absolutely nothing.

" Did you check the car? " Aaron said as they turned back to walk back to the car.

" I did. Yesterday, I didn't have a chance to do it today. I can't let my dad know what I'm doing. " (Y/N) confessed to Aaron who nodded in sympathy.

Aaron and (Y/N) are good friends and (Y/N) confided that this secret was a big burden on him. He didn't tell him about their night jobs of course, but he did tell Aaron that his dad has a very set moral standing. Of course, nothing is black and gray, but he would be mad if he found out.

" I know, but lets check it now. John should be somewhere near by to check it. "

John is (Y/N)'s mechanic and his mentor in a way. He took (Y/N) under his wing when he has first arrived here. John loves his job more than anything and has admitted that he sees (Y/N) as a son. The two had a very strong bond and they both cared about each other.

" Hey son. " John said, looking at the car. (Y/N) said hey back and gave him a quick side hug.

" How is the car looking? " Aaron asked, walking up to the duo.

" She looks good. Very well taken care of. Good job. " John praised, popping the hood open. (Y/N) smiled to himself, happy that his mentor was pleased.

" The engine looks good. I want you to wipe the floor with that shit head. " John said, closing the hood down.

" Yup. I heard him bragging. " Aaron said, groaning after seeing the shit head move through the crowd towards them. " And he is coming here. " Aaron said and John frowned at the shit head.

" Here is the famous Wayne. " He said, getting into (Y/N)'s face.

" Yup. I would suggest that you step away from me. " (Y/N) said, raising his chin. He level him with a bat glare that Bruce taught him. The shit head stepped back. " Now, if you are here to brag about your non existent skills, go back to wherever you crawled out of. " (Y/N) said and the shit head huffed.

" Go back to your car and get ready. " Aaron said, leading (Y/N) to sit in the car. The shit head moved, his groupie following him.

" If you don't wipe the floor with him, you are going to be in trouble. " John threatened (Y/N), glaring at the stupid kid who was walking away to his car.

" I will wipe the floor with him. " (Y/N) confirmed.

" Good. " Aaron muttered, shaking his head.

(Y/N) laughed as he stopped the car. He won by a landslide and he proves why he is so good. He got out of the car and hugged Aaron tightly.

" You did it! Ha! Take that you ass! " Aaron yelled at the shit head who walked off.

John congratulated (Y/N), giving him a hug. There was cheering and clapping and (Y/N) smiled. This felt nice. This is what he loved about this place.

" I knew you would do it. " John said, patting his back.

Everything felt nice.

" The police is here! "

Now that is not nice. Everyone scrambled to run away, but (Y/N) froze as he heard a familiar rumble of the Batmobile. Oh dear God no. Shit. Hell no. Not happening. Nope. This is not good.

" (Y/N) we have to go. " Aaron said, pulling him with him.

" Leave me. I will hold them off. " (Y/N) said, shaking his head. Aaron and John looked conflicted, but nodded when they saw the look in his eyes.

Turns out it wasn't the police, just Batman and the rest of the family. (Y/N) took a deep breath as he watched the Batmobile come to a stop. At the moment, (Y/N) was scared.

What were they going to say?

His dad stepped out of the car, in his suit, Batman persona on.

" Hey dad. " (Y/N) said sheepishly.

" Please don't tell me you are racing illegally. " He said and (Y/N) looked away.

" Oh no. " Bruce said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

" Do you at least win? " Jason asked as he walked up to (Y/N)'s car.

" I do. " (Y/N) said, eyes still locked on the ground.

" That's my brother. " Jason smiled underneath his mask.

" Good. You would be a disgrace to the family otherwise. " Damian piped in out of nowhere.

Dick sighed, shaking his head. " (Y/N), that is very dangerous. "

" And what you lot do isn't? " (Y/N) retorted, finally finding some strength to talk back.

" And what do you think Tim? " (Y/N) asked. He just looked at the car, then back at (Y/N).

" I mean, you really aren't hurting anybody. You are smart and you know how to avoid trouble. You know how to not get hurt. " Tim explained and Bruce sighed.

" Okay. We are going to have a talk after we all sleep. I'm going to say something that I will regret later. (Y/N) in the Batmobile, Dick you are driving his car. "

(Y/N) wanted to protest, but was silenced with a glare from his father. He sighed quietly as he went to the Batmobile. This is going to be an interesting conversation.

[cutielando]

legacy | m.v.

synopsis: in which your son follows in Max's footsteps

my masterlist

"I'm so nervous. Why am I so nervous?" Max asked you as he stressed around, going in circles.

"Now you know how I've been feeling for the best 15 years, honey" you chuckled as you patted him on the back.

Yours and Max' eldest son had his first karting race today and Max has been the most worried parent in the world. 

From checking his car over and over again, to making sure his gear would keep him perfectly safe, to talking him through every single thing he would ever need to know multiple times leading up to the race.

Your son was more than ready.

But Max still couldn't help but worry.

He was so happy when Y/S/N started showing interest in karting at a young age, glad that he could share his life's work with his son. 

He had taken your little family to multiple races ever since he decided to retire from racing after he won his 10th WDC title. He loved explaining to your boy all about the cars, how they worked and how they managed to go so fast, basking in the curious gaze of your little boy.

Now that it was really down to his first karting race, Max was slowly starting to regret indulging his son's passion for racing sports.

"This is karma biting me in the ass, isn't it?" he asked slowly, still agitated.

"Yup" you smiled, crouching down when you saw your son running towards you.

"Mommy! Daddy! Are you ready to watch me?" Y/S/N asked once he reached you and gave you a hug, going to hug Max's tall body next.

"Of course we are, sweetie. We'll be cheering you on the entire time" you kissed his head before getting up, checking your phone quickly.

You had left your baby girl at home with your sister, skeptical about bringing her to the rink when she was still so young.

Y/S/N understood, even though he had wanted her there with him. He knew she was too young to even understand what he was doing.

"Now, remember what we talked about..." Max started telling your son and you zoned out, watching the two of them interacting.

You had come such a long way from when you first started dating. You never believed you would actually get to this point, happily married with 2 amazing and beautiful children. And yet, here you were, happier than ever, Max stressed as ever as well.

"Mommy, can you tell dad to stop worrying?" your boy asked as he took your hand and pulled you out of your thoughts.

You laughed and ruffled his hair. "Believe me, it's all I've been trying to do ever since we left home this morning" 

Max rolled his eyes but smiled, worry still etched on his face.

♡♡♡♡♡

The race was well underway and your son was absolutely dominating every other small driver in the race. 

He was leading and had managed to create a very impressive gap between him and the others, doing wonders on the track.

You kept stealing glances at Max who didn't let up his focus and concentration for even a second, his eyes glued to the screens and sometimes darting to the track when your son would pass you.

"And the winner is... Y/S/N Verstappen!" the commentator yelled out when the race had finally finished and your boy had come in first.

Max cheered loudly, quickly disregarding his headphones and scooping you up in his arms, both of you laughing and cheering.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Y/S/N yelled as he parked his car, got out and immediately spotted you in the big crowd of proud parents.

"You did it! You were so good, my love" you gushed as you helped him take off his helmet so you could hug him properly.

"Daddy! Did you see how good I was? I did it for you!" Y/S/N yelled out as you let go of him and he jumped into Max's awaiting arms.

"You did so good, my boy!" Max kissed the boy on the cheek and squeezed him tightly, making eye contact with you over the boy's shoulder.

You teared up a little, watching the two most important boys in your life embracing after such a big moment in your little boy's life.

It made you think of Max in his racing days, how you got the exact same feeling when he would be the one winning races.

He had some competition now.

♡♡♡♡♡

After taking Y/S/N for some well-deserved ice cream and some cheat food, the three of you made your way home, knowing your sister would probably be overwhelmed with your little girl.

"We're home!" you announced as soon as you entered the house, your sister and your daughter immediately appearing out of the kitchen.

"Hi, baby!" you cooed as you took your girl, her eyes wide and her smile wide as she recognized her mama cradling her.

"How was she today?" Max asked as he gave your sister a quick hug before opening the spare room and depositing Y/S/N's karting gear.

"Can I talk to her, mom?" your boy asked eagerly, and you knew he wanted to tell her all about his race.

You nodded and after saying goodbye to your sister, the four of you went to the living room, taking a seat on the couch.

You carefully put your daughter in your son's arms, and the moment she had settled down, Y/S/N started telling her every single detail about the race, her blabbing away happily as she watched her brother with wide eyes.

You knew she couldn't understand a word he was saying, but watching him with her made your heart explode with happiness.

♡♡♡♡♡

"What are you thinking about?" you asked Max once you went back downstairs after putting your children to bed.

Max was sitting on the couch, holding a trophy and a photo frame in his hands.

As you took a seat next to him, you recognized the trophy as being the last World Champion title he received before retiring, and the photo was of you two, holding newborn Y/S/N in your arms on the podium with him.

You smiled at the fond memories, remembering both days like it was yesterday.

"He reminds me of myself" he quietly said, a ghost of a smile present on his lips.

"He will give you a run for your money one day" you joked, bumping your shoulder with his.

He chuckled and nodded, but you noticed his smile didn't reach his eyes like it usually did when you would talk about your son.

"What's wrong?" you started rubbing circles on his back, feeling the tense muscles under your touch.

"I don't want him going through the same things I did" he explained, setting down both the trophy and the photo frame.

You took his face in your hands and made him face you.

"He's not going to go through that because he has us. We will make sure of that"

"I know, but we both know there will be talk because he's my son. Just like there was talk about me when I first started racing" he continued, looking down at his lap.

"Listen to me. Y/S/N has talent like I've never seen before in someone his age" Max mimics a look of offense, but you continue nonetheless. "People are going to see how talented he is and they won't even think about saying bad things about him or belittling him or his talent. He still has a very long way to go, my love"

Max pondered for a moment but nodded, wrapping his arms around you.

"I love you so much, you're the best mother I could have ever asked for for them" he whispered in your ear, kissing the spot just behind it.

"And you're the best father this world has ever seen. I love you, baby"

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[zweiginator]

ooh maybe law student patrick has to go to some fancy event his dad is sponsoring or something & invites reader so he’s not stuck by himself while having to schmooze all night. plus it wasn’t too bad of a deal on your own end since you’d be able to meet a bunch of prominent business people who could help your own budding career.

but then patrick’s dad spots the two of you & immediately starts belittling the fuckkk out of him. telling you he’s never brought a girl to one of these things to meet his family. makes a comment about how the girls he usually hung around were ditzy and vain, that he’s shocked patrick was playing nice with someone so much smarter and more hardworking than him, especially a girl. an ambitious, pretty little thing like you would be great for his firm a few years down the line.

idk how reader would react, but pat would definitely storm out and drag you out with him. his dad might think you’re eloquent and impressive, but patrick can change that in a matter of minutes when he gets you bent over and reminds you why he’d invited you there in the first place.

((i did not mean to yap this much lmao im so sorry))

oh 100% because i think patrick's relationship with his father (and family in general) is so complicated. his father's love for him yo-yos all the time. when he got into law school his father was ecstatic. when his first semester grades came back he was ashamed to be associated with his son. he would never be a partner with B minuses and Cs. that just wouldn't do.

and i think he resents you for a million reasons. one, you are self-made. you didn't need your father's wealth and influence and connections to get you into yale. you did it all by himself and patrick is threatened by that, because he knows he wouldn't have even thought about law school without his father's pushing. so in that sense, he feels like a fraud and a sellout, just existing to appease his family legacy and not actually doing what he wants to. and often times, he wonders how it would have felt to stand up to his father and tell him he wanted to play tennis seriously. professionally. whenever he had brought it up in the past, his father would roll his eyes. make jokes. that wasn't a job, he said. that wouldn't find him a good wife or give him grandchildren. that certainly wouldn't suffice for the zweig name. his son being a so-so tennis player.

he also resents you with how you came into school with a clean slate. nobody knew who you were, who your family was. no reputation preceded you. you have so much resilience but patrick constantly feels like he is battling himself and his family, the expectations of him that are only mounting.

so when patrick's father invites him to a firm gathering, he tells patrick to be charming and respectable. don't come alone and bring someone who is also charming, respectable. his father knows that patrick sleeps around, that he can't keep a girlfriend to save his life. so he's adamant about that last part.

patrick brings you. it only makes sense. and everyone adores you. you're dressed in an impeccable gown with beautiful earrings you saved up for. your handshake is firm and your smile is infectious. you're a natural. you're charismatic. patrick has never seen his father so proud of something his son has done. but that something is you, not his own accomplishments.

patrick feigns a smile all night. tries to butt into conversations, but everyone is so focused on you, what you have to say, your story and upbringing. your perfect grades.

"if only patrick had this much natural motivation!" his father nudges you. patrick's jaw ticks. just another fucking dig at him.

and then the kicker. your father gives you his phone number, the contact information for his firm.

"my business card." he hands it to you. "i'm not sure if you've secured a summer position yet, but we have a great retention rate with interns becoming attorneys at the firm and eventually partners. i think you'd be a perfect fit."

you shake his hand firmly and thank him. this opportunity is huge. and regardless of what you've heard about the zweig family--patrick's father really is smart and hardworking and charismatic. you see where patrick gets it from.

but patrick is just staring ahead of him, his lips pursed. he had been attempting to bring up the possibility of being a summer intern for his father, which he had vehemently refused speaking about for months. and now you come along with vanilla perfume and cherry red lipstick and you have the position secured.

and patrick knows you're smart and capable and deserving. but he really fucking hates you right now. he wants to make you feel dumb. and maybe he should feel bad when he says he feels sick and asks you to come to the bathroom with him.

he pulls your dress up around your waist and fucks you like a whore. hand splayed on your lower back and one yanking your hair. you can't think coherently, you can't say a word. you just hang on and listen to the lewd slaps of skin against skin. of patrick's taunts. this isn't what a respectable girl does. a respectable career woman doesn't fuck her boss's son in the bathroom like a fucking slut.

maybe it makes him feel better to know he can hold this above your head.

[thelittleangel]

Cowboys are frequently (secretly) fond of each other.

Tags: Dean Winchester x Cowboy! Reader, fluff, flirting, male reader, soft romance.

Warnings: possibly OOC, no use of Y/N, implied violence toward an animal, references to “taking someone home” (I’ll let you interpret that how you want.), romantic-ish interactions between dean and reader toward the end.

Taglist: @agroovygoose @pumpkinhead666

Walking into the bar, I see heads raise.  I try not to pay them any mind.  I know what kind of impression I give off.  I’m tall, shaggy hair that barely kisses my shoulders, dressed like I just wandered off the set of a Clint Eastwood movie.

I know what kind of expectations I'm supposed to fulfill.  People look at me and they see a cowboy.  A man’s man.  A straight man.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of that entire train of thought.  My dad taught me that if this was the way I was going to live my life, I needed to stop worrying about what others thought of me.  I walk over to the bar and order a beer.  The bartender hands me a frosty bottle.  I put my ring under the cap, tilt the bottle and push.  The cap pops off and I take a swig.  I put my beer on the bar, wrapping my hands around it like it’s a mug of hot coffee.  I look around the bar, watching the people.  

It’s a habit I picked up.  Me and my dad would go to a bar, and he’d order me a Coke and point out all the small details that a quick glance couldn’t catch.  

The woman at the bar had just been divorced, the tan line on her ring finger.  The couple in the booth are cheating on each other, seen by the way they sit.  The man at his table is waiting for his friend, he’s fallen madly in love with him.  

I smile for a moment.  It’s been a few years, but I'm out.  My dad didn’t like that I wanted to leave, but he’d understood.  I got an honest job working at a ranch.  The hours were long, and the work was hard, but I felt like it was a job I could be proud of.

The doorbell rang and a gust of summer air blew into the bar.  I look over at the door.  In walks the most stunning man I've ever seen.  

He was dressed in a suit, with brown hair that almost looked like gold in this light.  Eyes that may have been green, but I couldn't tell from this far away.  Freckles and stubble decorated his face in a way that complemented each other.  

I clear my throat and look away.  A man in a bar like this dressed like that was here for a girl.  But, no.  His posture suggested he was here on business.  

I turn back to my beer.  I didn't need to find a man to glance at for the rest of the night.  I look down at my drink, trying to clear my head.  I sit like that for a moment, savoring my beer.  Someone settles into the seat beside me.  I look over, and he’s smiling back at me.  

My face burns hot, and I hope that the lights are dim enough that he can’t see me.  I turn back to my beer.  I hear him order a drink, his voice strong and deep.  He turns back to me, beer in hand.

“You’re ____, right?”  Dear god, how does he know my name?

“Special Agent Hammett, FBI.”  oh. That explains it.

“Yeah, I am.  Why do you ask?”

“We’re investigating the cattle deaths that are happening at your ranch and we wanted to know if you’ve seen anything strange.”

“Strange?”

“Cold spots, weird smells, crop failures…”

“No, just the cows.”

“And what would you say happened?”

“I just… went into work one day and there was a bull ripped to shreds.”

He nods.  “Could I see it?”

The next day, I was showing Agent Hammet onto the ranch.  The way the sun hit his eyes was one of the most beautiful things I've seen.  Like seeing the way the light hits the trees for the first time.  I look away.  I need to focus on why we’re here.

I led him toward the barn.  Inside a cooler, the bull’s body was resting.  The agent pulled on some gloves and started looking through the body.  I look away from the corpse and try to suppress the urge to vomit.

Eventually, he pulls out a small tooth.  Small and pointed, it was very scary looking.  “It looks like a fang…” He turns to me.  “Is there anything that lives around here that might leave something like this?”

I shake my head. “No, not that I know of.”  He puts the tooth into a tiny bag and pockets it.  

He looks up at me, and he must see the sick look on my face, because he stands up and says, “Let me buy you a drink.”  We both climbed into his car, a nice-looking thing.

“I can’t believe the FBI lets you drive this car around.”  He just smiles, still looking at the road.  “They do.”

I shake my head, a goofy grin stretched onto my face. “I don’t know, seems a little conspicuous.”

“You’d be surprised.”  I looked over at him.  His smile is gone, looking at the road lost in the thought.  When I look at him, I just want to reach over and-

I look out at the road.  I can’t entertain that thought.  I refuse to.  I glance over and I find him looking at me.  He turns his eyes back to the road.  

Eventually, we found our way back to the bar.  Walking inside, it was deserted.  We chose the same seats we picked last time.  Ordered the same drinks.  We settled in, sitting in silence for the longest time.  It's not uncomfortable, just quiet.  

He watches me.  I can feel his eyes in all of their silent intensity.  I want to look back at him, but I know if I do, he’ll break his gaze.  “So, what do you make of this, cowboy?”  I laugh to myself.  “What?”  

I finally look back at him.  “The last person who called me cowboy, I ended up taking home with me.”  

He gives me a soft smile.  “Who says I wouldn't want to go home with you?”

I look away, my eyes wide.  My face is a bright burning red.  He throws his head back and laughs.  I put my face in my hands, trying to make my face normal again.  He places a hand on my back, and I startle.  I groan to myself.  Jesus Christ, this man is making me act like a teenage girl.

I look over at him and he’s still watching me.  We fall into another silence, this one not uncomfortable like the last.  Peaceful, like the answer to everything was in each other’s eyes.  He reaches over and tucks a few stray hairs behind my ears.  My breathing began to slow, my heartbeat decreasing.  

I slowly place my hand on his face.  A few of my fingers gently touched his jaw.  I watch his eyes dart around my face, maybe doing the same thing I did last night.  Searching for micro expressions, any type of indicator that this was too good to be true.  I realized something.  

I pull my hand away from his face.  “Are you...?”

His brow furrowed in confusion.  “Am I what?”

“Are you a hunter?”

His eyes widened for a moment.  His chest begins to go up and down a little bit more.  He was breathing heavily.  I’d caught him.

“How do you know what hunters are?”  

I look up and watch as my father enters the bar.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Part 2

[bingusbongu]

(Sorry I'm about to send like 4 requests /srs)

May. May I request some rottmnt Leon general dating hcs..

-🖋

A/N: HEY BESTIE,,,, dawg really sent me 8 requests,,,, oh well here is my take on Leolanadro dating hc!!!!!! Im tired,,, sorry if this is to short

Masterlist

Rules

Leonardo Dating hcs♡

• he is a HUGE flirt. Even before you and him even began a relationship, he is finding the most wildest pick up lines that he can think of, and blurting them out without even thinking about it

• he would totally get hurt and when you rush to his aid he takes this chance to flirt

"Ow,,, ive hurt myself from falling,,,, for you ;)"

DAWG FELL FROM A BUILDING TO FLIRT WITH YOU WITH HIS BODY BROKEN

• does litterly EVERYTHING to get a blush or a giggle out of you it makes him look stupid (he already does)

•and when he actually manages??? His ego boosts, and he gets all proud of himself. The smugest smile ever

• NEVER uses your real name. He HAS to call you a nickname. From the moment you guys started dating, and even before he had a stupid nickname for you. And you just have to go along with it

• does litterly anything and EVERYTHING to try and impress you. Whether it just be chugging a whole can of soda without burping, he does it just to earn your praise. (He is also alittle insecure,,, make sure he knows how amazing he is ♡)

• he loves physical affection, atleast just holding your hand or tackling you into a hug to cuddle. But i also think he would use words of affirmation. Praising you on every little thing you do, even if you are just sitting there with him, he will just come up with a praise out of nowhere, and not even realize it.

• he also needs words of affirmation from you, make sure he is doing a good job and you love and appreciate him<3

• when he has to leave you or you have to leave, he wont let it happen without getting a kiss from you. Whether it just be a quick peck or a cheek kiss, he needs a kiss before he leaves. And has the biggest grin when he gets it

• speaking if which, when he is out with his brothers without you, he complains so much. Complsining about how he misses you and your kisses and your hand in his and the way you lean against him -

• his brothers had to ducktape his mouth shut because of how much he was complaining about missing you.

• Donnie is getting so tired of here about you from Leo that he had to pull you aside and ask what you see in him. But alittle releaved since Leo goes to you to bother instead of him.

• Mikey thinks you guys are ADORABLE. Having Leo come home after a date and tell him EVERYTHING because he needs to know

• Raph is happy for him! He is just very worried that he is going to get distracted during a battle or something even worse and get himself hurt because he couldn't stop babbling about you

• when he is done with his day, he is immediately searching you our to find you, kiss you, lay ontop of you and tell you about his day and the recent battle. (Def twists the story to make him look like the only hero)

• you have to wear earplugs simetimes at night to drown out Leo from being up or making alot of noise in the middle of the night. Or, sometimes you stay up with him for as long as you can jusr to talk to him or comfort him. Though, i also think he would love to hold you while you sleep. Even if he is awake, he'd like holding you close to him

• wakes you up super early because he is bored

• Dates are normal, going out to a different restaurant each week to try the food. And if there is pizza, Leo always orders that instead

• some of your dates though might be small, like him coming over to watch a show or movie with you

•you are one of his main priorities, alongside His Brothers, Dad, April, and Casey. So you bet your ass Leo would go out of his way to protect you and keep you safe. And you're his first concern when a battle is done. Has Donnie scan you just in case so many times.

• hold this poor baby PLEASE, he so needs it

• he makes sure to drag you along with him everywhere he goes, he dosnt go anywhere without you unless its a battle. He needs to keep you safe and he intends to to so.

• brags about you all the time, mever shuts up about how amazing you are. Telling everyone how you woke up this morning

• HED BE SUCH A GENTLEMSN TOO URGGGG

• he is the type of guy to push you back in the car and close it just so he can open the door for you.

• when you enter the room he is automatically to your side and cracking up the worst pick up lines once again

• if you do actually manage to laugh at one of his jokes, he is already looking at rings to buy you

• if anyone tries to flirt with him, he will decline by going, "sorry, but im... taken." makes it so dramatic for no reason

• if you were to call him at any time and you could be halfway across the city and you need him, he is automatically up and out of the lair running to your destination to get to you he isnt slacking.

• LOVES the fact that you depend on him. Makes him so proud of himself, also gives him another bit of motivation to be a good leader!

• Casey is so happy to see you two together in a different timeline. Yet, has to constantly avoid Leo sometimes. Because he pesters Casey atleast once a day to see if you guys were married in the future.

• cant go a full day without seeing you at least once. He will show up to your home unannounced and break in. He's done it so many times that you just gave him a spare key.

• your home becomes his second hang out spot. If hes not at the lair, he is definitely hanging in your house and raiding your fridge for food

• his brothers dont question it, they know where hes at

• sends you random memes in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, LIKE???? leo honey, we need sleep

• gets so pouty when he has to leave you, but when he does he makes the most dramatic exits like jumping out of the window and shouting "WE SHALL MEET AGAIN, MY LOVE"

• He's so stupid, but we love stupid♡♡♡♡

[radiant-reid]

okay but dad!spencer taking paternity leave?! would that not be the cutest thing in the world?

the absolute cutest, i've got to expand

"I'm home!" You call out when you come through the front door, placing your bag on the side table and taking your shoes off.

Spencer comes down the hallway to meet you in the foyer, wrapping you in a hug. "Hi, honey. Missed you."

You grin before pulling back to quickly kiss him. "Missed you too, baby. And there's the actual baby." You coo, looking down the hallway at where she's making a fast crawl down across the hardwood floor.

She must have recognized your voice, probably sensed the excited tone in Spencer's voice, and came crawling.

You kneel down, reaching out for her. "My sweet girl, come here."

She crawls to you, using your legs to stabilize herself while she stands up. "Momma, up!"

"Maisie!" You cheer back, swooping her up into your arms. "You've been good for Daddy today?"

"You're always good for Daddy, aren't you?" Spencer says as he takes her little baby fingers and pretends to bite them. It makes her giggle in your arms at his playfulness. "You wanna show Momma our new trick?" He asks her, sounding more eager himself.

You love getting to see their new tricks, even if they're just Spencer pretending to chew at her fingers. "Okay, let's go."

"It needs extra equipment." He tells you, hyping it up with recognizable joy like whatever it is, is the most amazing thing in the world.

Maisie must realize what Spencer's rambling about because she starts babbling as you enter the living room. You notice the blocks on the floor, arranged in a tower that there's no way she could touch the top of.

"Come here, baby." He says, reaching out for Maisie. You hand her over, patiently waiting for their trick. He supports her with one hand on her stomach and the other on her legs like she's having tummy time. She appears to know her role in their rehearsed trick and holds out her arms in front of her with a mischievous look in her eyes.

Spencer pushes her forward and she puts all her force into knocking the tower over, blocks scattering over the rug.

Her laughter is instantaneous and so wild you'd believe it was the funniest thing in the world to her, and it's too contagious a sound for you not to also laugh. Spencer's laughing with you, clearly proud for inspiring such joy in her.

"That was amazing!" You say, clapping at her. "The best trick I've ever seen."

Spencer pulls her back upright, kissing her cheek to celebrate their victory. "I agree. That laugh is better than any magic trick of mine." He rests his forehead against hers while she puts her tiny baby palms on his cheeks. "You're just such a smart girl, aren't you?"

"So smart." You agree. "Just like her Daddy."

"I guess I am smart." Spencer shrugs, moving to sit down next to you with Maisie in his lap. "For marrying the most beautiful woman alive."

You grin at his compliment so he knows it's received, appreciated, and your next comment is just a joke. "And those three PhDs."

He chuckles. "Still, I think that being about to seal the deal with you is the most impressive."

You look around the room at the happy space you've created, where even the worst days don't feel too bad, and then back at him, the love of your life. "This is really the whole deal, isn't it?"

"It truly is."

[squerlly]

Fair Exchange Chapter 6

--------------"love shows us to appreciate what we have"----------------

Alastor x (F! wife doe reader)

The Buck & The Doe---------------------------------------

The Buck:

y/n has been avoiding me lately, she serves me my breakfast and hurries off before I get a chance to speak to her. I'm sure this has to do with what happened last week, I regret yelling at her like that but I must keep my shadow away from her, I don't need it causing trouble. Especially with what it did, I should have known when it was following her.

It keeps pacing through the walls of my office, eager to see her... because..., I want to see her. How soft her cheeks felt under its fingertips, her rosy lips and warm skin. But I made a deal I wouldn't touch her, and a promise to myself I wouldn't get attached, I can't get attached. Not when I have a reputation to uphold.

I hear Charlie starting something downstairs, so I stand from my desk and make my way to the railing on the top floor. While investigating I see poorly spelled decorations and sloppy streamers pasted around the hotel. The banner said "welcome dad" wich can only mean...

I faze to the floor and appear downstairs by the door, Charlie opens it and- "CHARLIEEE!!" Lucifer says while giving Charlie a life-squeezing hug "It is so good to see you!" "Hey, Dad its uhh- good to see you, too..." she takes a breath and announces his welcome to the hazbin hotel.

He acts so childishly with his color pallet of ugh... white, and his sad excuse of a staff. He looks around before spotting the bar I had created "What in the unholy hell is that!?" "Just some of the renovations we had done, adds a bit of color don't you think" he gives me a sneer "And who are you?" I faze behind him causing him to flinch "Alastor pleasure to be meeting you, sir, quite a pleasure" I shake his staff, cleaning off my hand from whatever filth he accumulated "It's nice to finally put a face to the name, you are much shorter in real life"

"Who- who is this are you the bellhop" How dare he "Aha, no I am the host of the hotel, you must have heard of me from my radio broadcast~" At the corner of my eye I see y/n beside me looking at lucifer curiously, she hasn't stepped this close to me in a while. "Nope I guess that's why Charlie calls it the Hazbin hotel aha"

I turn my attention back to the "fun-sized" man in front of me "Ahaha it was actually my idea" "Hahaha, well it's not very clever" "Aha fuck you!" Charlie grabs Lucifer and y/n grabs my arm separating us.

The Doe:

Lucifer the Lucifer Morningstar is here? And he fighting with Alastor... I pulled Alastor away trying to calm him down, he just scowled at Lucifer while I tried to pull his attention away from him and onto me. We haven't talked in a while and I assumed it would be best to give him space since he seemed quite unhappy this past week.

I frown, and he looks away with a huff, walking away from me. "Without Alastor, we haven't been able to pretty it up this much," Charlie says with a smile "Charlie has a unique vision, and I am happy to fulfill her bizarre requests~"

Lucifer growls and I just know things are about to get ugly "she is quite an impressive young lady, we are all veeery proud of her" Really Alastor, provoking the king of hell!! Really smart "Charlie why don't you introduce me to your OTHER friends," he says pushing past Alastor.

She introduces vaggie and the others, he seems really supportive of Charlie in an... odd way. Although I would have expected the king of hell to be a little more, scary...

Charlie walks up to me where I stand next to Alastor "And this is y/n one of Alastors friends!" Ouch... "hello it's nice to meet you" I say with a polite smile and wave, he shakes my hand and I hear Alastors static get louder. I feel somebody grab me by the waist and shove me aside before seeing the chandelier fall on the floor with dust everywhere.

I look and Alastor stands behind me, his ears pinned back slightly with a tight smile. Lucifer breaks into song, telling Charlie how he can help her with anything she needs free of charge, I step aside watching Alastor bud in and tell Charlie how he's better fit for the job. I haven't seen Alastor this riled with anyone other than Vox.

Their little argument over who is better was cut short when... "it's meee yes it's meeee, I know you were waiting for MEEE" I groan as Mimzy bursts through the doors singing.

"Mimzy!!" Alastor shouts from behind me, giving her a warm hug. "I thought I'd stop by, say hi for old times sake" "Of course sweetheart everyone is welcome here" Mimzy has been around Almost as long as I have, with her knowing Alastor when he was alive, dancing and drinking together like they're best friends "oh quite a talent this gal hoho, you should have seen her in her heyday~"

She also sees me as competition, its no secret that she likes Alastor more than just friends, its why we don't get along. I was never the jealous type, it didn't matter to me how close she got to Alastor, but its was the way she did it, Pushing me around or secretly judging me. I didn't like her because Alastor always let her get away with being well... a bitch.

I stand at the bar with husk and we both exchange annoyed glances, husk doesn't like Mimzy either, she's always teasing him about being Alastors pet. Charlie, Alastor, Vaggie, and Lucifer walk down the hallway for a tour, and Mimzy bounces over asking for a drink. She purposefully sits beside me "My my is that husker? Alastor still has you slinging hooch for him I see~ classic" She then turned to me with a frown "y/n, you're looking well"

My eye twitches and I grip the counter's edge "As do you..." She takes a long sip of her drink and then speaks "I thought Alastor would have got tired of ya by now" "And I thought an exterminator got you" She narrows her eyes and Angel walks over "So uh... you and Alastor are what friends?" He says sitting between both of us, exchanging glances with Husker.

"Well your words, not mine, but I think it fits" She stops and gives us a confused look "Why so surprised?" Angel gives me an ill-handle this look and I stand up to leave, and I make my way over to the hallway where Alastor is. I see Husk rush out passed me with a scared look and I stop, "Alastor?..." I call out, seeing scratch marks on the ceiling.

"Yes" I hear from behind me and I turn with a gasp "Oh my, heh you, uhm... ok?" I say holding my chest from being startled "Don't worry my dear just a small matter that's already been taken care of" he says straightening his bow tie while We stand in the hallway in awkward silence.

The Buck:

I look down at y/n as she toys with her fingers, and I lift my hand almost touching her. She looks up at me nervously and I stop, she so close in reach, I wanted to touch her, and hold her close but I don't. I drop my hand and speak "I apologize for my behavior last week, I'm above yelling at you for things you didn't do, I'm sorry..." I say and she looks up at me with those sweet soft understanding eyes.

"That's ok, I forgive you..." she whispers with a smile, my heart speeds up and heat burns my cheeks. What is the matter with me why am I acting like this, I have known this woman for more than 75 years, and not once have I had a reaction like this towards her. I'm the radio demon, I'm not soft and weak, I'm merciless and terrifying. I shouldn't be fretting over silly little feelings for my wife.

I grip my staff tighter, feelings for my wife... my wife "Are you alright Alastor, you haven't been acting like yourself" she reaches out and touches my hand, making my breath hitch. I have fallen for my wife, I have fallen for y/n heartfelt. This small, innocent woman who has cared for me, tended to me, helped me since the day I dragged her down here, And It took decades to realize.

"I'm alright dear, it has been a stressful week. Shall we head back to the lobby?" I say gripping her hand lightly, she visibly relaxes before nodding.

The Doe:

As Alastor and I make our way for the hallway, we feel the floor shake, and I give Alastor a puzzled look. He looks around and we rush to see what's going on, lucifer, Vaggie, and Charlie walk through a portal and everybody starts to panic. "Mimzy you lousy bitch, we know your in there!!" Everybody turns their attention to her and she retreats behind the bar.

"Mimzy what did you do!?" I say storming over to her "I may have crossed some lone sharks that I may or may not have borrowed 50 grand from, and stolen a car, that I then ran over the lone shark's girlfriend with but that bitch had it comin'!!!"

suddenly large rocks burst through the windows and the hotel begins to shake, Alastor pushes me behind the bar and walks over to stop vaggie from attacking "No my dear leave this to me, it's time I remind everyone why I am here" large black tendrils start coming out of his back and his eyes turn into radio dials "A reminder to all not to mess with the radio demon!" he crawls out of the hotel's broken doors, his body getting larger and larger "I'm going to devour each and every one of you!!"

I step out from behind the bar witnessing what can only be described as a massacre, I have only seen Alastors body expand once or twice, and surprisingly I'm not as afraid of it as I should be. Charlie and her dad argue about the hotel's cause while Angel and Husk eat popcorn.

once Alastor is done he shrinks back to his normal size and I run up beside him "Oh I miss getting to let off steam~" he says twirling his staff. Mimzy comes out from the corner and claps "Oh Alastor you did a fantastic job, bravo as always thanks for helping out little old me from a tough spot, your such a pal"

The buck:

I turn and see Mimzy walking over to me, pushing y/n out of her way nearly causing her to fall. she's not going to bring danger, have me clean up her mess, and throw my wife around. no... she's not getting away with it this time "Sorry about the mess but I'm sure y/n could take care of it for ya~" my eyes narrow as I speak

"Mimzy I think you should go" She looks at me and scoffs "Oh you are so funny, such a jokester. you don't really care about this hotel do ya? you heartless. son. of. a. bitch" I peel her hands off of me "I mean it, you deliberately brought trouble, you are welcome to stay if you really want to give redemption a try, but we both know that's not your style, so you need to leave" she looks at me in disbelief and I raise a brow "pff fine, who needs ya, good luck with your hotel and your little princess, see if I care"

She walks away and I turn my attention back to y/n whos dusting off her dress, I look at her seeing that she has not a single scratch "Are you alright my dear?" she nods with an expression I can't quite read "We should head back inside, and check on the others"

The Doe:

I rush in seeing the hotel in bad shape, with holes in the walls, glass everywhere, and parts of the ceiling missing but thankfully nobody's hurt "Oh Charlie I'm sorry about the hotel..." she breaks her hug with vaggie and walks over to me "hay its ok, I'm sure Alastor can help fix this up in no time" I look around but don't see lucifer "Uh... Charlie where is your father?" "he left back to his house... mansion... castle... whatever you wanna call it but he got me a meeting with heaven!!!"

she lets out an excited squeal, grabbing vaggie "Come on vaggie let's go pack, we're going to heaven!!!" "oh that's, great... yeah let's do that, yay heaven..."

I'm so so so so so so sorry that this came out later than I wanted but some family things came up while I was working on this. however, its finally out. I hope you guys liked this chapter and as always stay tuned and have a wonderful day/night!!

-squerlly

@pooplyface1423 @strippezzz @kimmis-stuff @sakuraluna2468

for more content and chapters please click this masterlist

[hippolotamus]

Sentence Sunday ✨

I can show you lies 'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit They said, "Babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did Lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die I was grinning like I'm winning, I was hitting my marks 'Cause I can do it with a broken heart

Beloved mutuals and pocket pals... I honestly don't know what to say for myself. This is a case of 'I listened to a song too much, I had an idea I knew I was never gonna write' turned 'I'll just throw it out as a prompt' --> 'I'll just make a moodboard' --> 'Oh god, I've written over 1k words in place of a summary'. SO. Have... whatever this is, T Swift influenced Buddie actor au. Under the cut to save your dash.

Honestly, if the world still exists in the morning, Eddie Diaz doesn't really give a fuck. His girlfriend left, claiming he's still not over his late wife, and his teenage son, the last thread connecting him to said wife, went to go live with his grandparents. After, of course, blaming Eddie for pushing 'yet another one' away. Christopher wouldn't even look at him before he went.

Then there's Anita Mills, his agent, who is probably a few blood pressure points away from a stroke at this point. Assuming she doesn't fire him first.

Let her, he thinks, grabbing a bottle of Maker's Mark from the cabinet. He has a string of blockbuster films to his name, not to mention a commendable collection of Oscar's and Emmy's. Not that they made his parents proud or kept his wife from leaving him before she died. But they exist as proof that he's had a successful career. Between investments and liquid assets he has more money than he would know what to do with in a hundred lifetimes. So, fuck it.

Eddie breaks the wax seal and twists off the red cap. He doesn't even bother with a glass, not really seeing a need. He's never been a big drinker, but lately his tolerance has grown considerably. Indulging until he passes out seems like an ideal use of his time right now anyway. If he wakes up after? Well, he'll consider that a success.

------------------

"Hey! What the hell?!" Eddie manages, coughing and trying not to choke on the ice cold water hitting his body. He opens his eyes to see Mills towering over him, glowering and holding an empty vase. He swipes a hand across his face. "Seriously, Anita, what the fuck was that?"

"I don't know, Eddie, you tell me." She disappears for less than a minute, returning with a hand towel she unceremoniously drops on his chest. "Help me out here. What's today?"

He wriggles himself to something resembling sitting and leans back against the coffee table. "What's today?" He parrots back dumbly.

Anita crosses her arms and quirks an eyebrow. "I asked you first."

Today, today, today. Where was he supposed to be- "Shit! The interview with, uh, fuck." He snaps his fingers and racks his brain trying to remember a name or a face. All he knows is they're important.

"Claudette Collins. Very good, Eddie, you got it part way."

"Give me ten minutes, I'll put myself together and we can go," he says, fighting the violent wave of nausea that hits as he scrambles to stand up.

"Save your poor carpet from getting puked on and sit the hell down."

"What? No, I can-"

"Eddie," Anita interjects, "the interview was five hours ago. The interview with the Claudette Collins. The one that took me months of phone calls, groveling and cashing in favors to get for you."

Fuck. "Anita, I'm so sorry. How-"

"Save it." Anita holds her hand up, effectively silencing him. It takes him back to being seven years old and having to explain why his dad's truck had an enormous dent in it. She rests her hands on her hips, pacing back and forth as she purses her lips. Eventually she sits in the leather armchair situated in the corner. "Eddie, you and I have known each other a long time. A long time. I've been your agent since you walked into my shitty office back in Dallas. Given your impressive display of awards, I'd say we've done pretty well together."

She inhales sharply, rubbing at her temple. Anita doesn't mince words, it's part of why he's always liked her. He never has to question where he stands. She says 'jump' and he knows exactly how high. It's not difficult to guess what's coming next.

"Eddie, I know you're going through a rough patch. What you're dealing with is hard enough without seeing it splashed on every tabloid and trashy website. Not to mention none of those places knows the real story, so it's all a bunch of 'she said he might have said' bullshit. But you've made it through tougher things." Anita doesn't need to clarify that she's talking about Shannon's death and how his parents tried to take Christopher. "I don't know what's happening this time, but I need to take a step back. My wife has made it very clear that all of my attempts at stress management are not working and that if I can't get it under control I shouldn't be surprised when I come home to an empty house. So."

Eddie swallows, waiting for the inevitable and cursing himself for pretending he wouldn't care.

"I've talked to a few friends in the business and found someone willing to take you on."

What?

"What? You're not firing me?"

Anita's features soften. "Technically, yes. I am very much dropping you like a scorpion I found in my boots. However, like I said, I found someone willing to work with you. The name is Bobby Nash. He runs a smallish agency but don't let that throw you. He's cobbled together some pretty impressive talent. I assume you've heard of Evan Buckley?"

Eddie scoffs. "Of course I have. Who hasn't? Christ, he's everywhere you look. I can't pass a damn bus stop without seeing his face." A few details begin to click into place within Eddie's muddled brain. "Bobby Nash is his agent?"

"Sure is. And we all know the stories about Evan's past aren't the type you trot out at parties. My advice is that you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, go with Nash and do whatever he tells you to do. He even has a role in mind for you, costarring with Buckley. What do you say?"

What else was there to say? If Eddie didn't want to get blacklisted or wind up as some washed up tragic Hollywood story, being gossiped about where everyone - including his son - could see what a failure he was...

"I guess I say- when can I meet him?"

"Good answer." Anita clasps her hands together and gives him her signature smirk that tells him she approves. "Just leave everything to me."

Up to this point, Eddie has trusted Anita implicitly with all the messy business that comes with having him for a client. Why stop now?

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[thisblogisaboutabook]

Good To Be (Like You)

Nyx Archeron - Feysand - Slice of life - Fluff

Nyx really wants to be like his dad. His dad loves him just as he is.

“Maybe I'm not some chosen one but I'm my father's son and that's something I'm pretty proud to be.”

He happily sat at his art table concentrating on the paper beneath his fingers. He’d awoken this morning to the welcoming aroma of pancakes and bacon flowing into his room from the kitchen, received a warm hug and kiss from papa on the way out the door, and mama held his hand as they walked the streets of Velaris on the way to kindergarten.

Nyx’s bright eyes took in the morning bustle on the streets, noticing a smiling male and female stepping into a bakery along the Sidra that had a three-tiered cake in the window with colorful icing. His little wings rustled with excitement as he wondered if it was chocolate or vanilla and what his birthday cake this year would be. Last year it was strawberry.

Mama squeezed his hand and he looked up to see her pretty face smiling softly at him. “Did something at the bakery catch your eye, Nyxie?”

An adorable grin spread across his face. “Everything!

Feyre giggled, knowing just how much her little one loved sweets.

A black cat ran across the street ahead and Nyx exclaimed “Mama!” He tugged on her hand to hurry over to the little cat that didn’t scurry away from him, but instead brushed its head against his legs as it weaved between them, rubbing against him in friendly greeting. The cat’s wiry fur tickled his palms as he stroked its back.

“Good kitty” he cooed.

Feyre smiled as her boy with a heart for animals - even the scraggly strays, took his time gently petting the cat.

“You ready little one? We’ll be late if we hang around for too long.”

“Just another moment, mama.”

Feyre couldn’t say no, not when her sweet boy’s heart was so full of love to share.

“Alright, little one.”

A minute later, Nyx reminded himself that his father was never late. If he was to be a proper High Lord someday, he needed to be timely. So he stood, signaling letting his mother know that he was ready to continued walking.

They arrived to the school right on time. Mama bent down to kiss each of his cheeks and his forehead, eliciting a giggle. She was the prettiest lady in the whole world and loved him very much.

Not quite ready to say goodbye, Nyx raised his arms and flapped his wings, a silent plea for her to pick him up.

As his mother scooped him into her arms, he pressed his chubby cheek against her shoulder and reveled in the warmth and love that her embrace always brought him. “Love you mama.”

—————

“Nyx Archeron” a not unkind voice broke through his thoughts of the morning. “Sorry, Ms. Westfall!”

While daydreaming, he’d managed to draw a rainbow arching over Velaris, buildings of varying hues mirroring it as the Sidra ran alongside the city and refracting the vibrant colors off its rippling waters. “See Ms. Westfall! It’s a rainbow over The Rainbow.”

Ms. Westfall smiled at the art. “That’s lovely Nyx! You have quite the talent.”

As the children were led to their extra curricular classes, Ms. Westfall stopped Nyx for a moment.

“Little one, I am very impressed with your artistic vision.”

Nyx’s wings shifted of their own accord in response to the praise.

“I know your powers haven’t started coming in yet and you’ve really, really been hoping for them to.”

As she said this, Nyx crossed his fingers as he always did. He wanted to be like his papa so badly, to grow up to be the most powerful High Lord just like him, and do good for the world.

Ms. Westfall looked to Nyx with warm eyes, sensing where his thoughts were drifting.

“There are other ways to create joy and bring good to the world even without powers, little one. Like art, for instance, which you have quite a talent for.”

Nyx looked to her quietly but felt a bit of excitement fluttering in his chest at the thought of making a difference through art.

“We are working on a mural for the new cafeteria and I’d love to have your help, Nyx. One of the older art classes will be helping too. Perhaps while other kiddos in your grade go to their “emerging powers” class, you could work with me and the fifth graders on the mural.

Nyx nearly squealed with excitement. “Do you really mean it Ms. Westfall?” His body couldn’t contain the excitement as he bounced in place.

He spent the rest of the day giddy over the idea of learning from the older kids and painting with them.

—————-

Nyx ran out to greet his father at the end of the school day, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Papa!”

His father squatted down and stretched out his arms with a smile. “Stand daddy!” Nyx yelled as he ran to him. Rhys braced himself as fifty-five pounds of gleeful kindergartener made lift-off and whooshed into him at full force.

Rhys stumbled back a step as he laughed and hugged his boy. “Look at you go kiddo!”

They began their walk home and Nyx couldn’t help but look up to his dad, trying to emulate him in all his mannerisms though he couldn’t quite master the powerful swagger that naturally rolled off of him.

Nyx let out a disheartened sigh that caught his father’s attention. “What’s wrong buddy?”

“Nothing.” Nyx shrugged, unsure how to even describe what he was feeling.

Rhys could tell whatever it was bothering Nyx wasn’t something he was ready to discuss. He noticed a bakery nearby, the same one that caught Nyx’s eye every time he walked him home from school. “You know what sounds good? A pastry.”

Nyx perked up as he saw the bakery ahead. “Yes!” He squealed, running toward it, careful not to let go of his father’s hand. An old, grumpy looking man stood ahead of them and Nyx hid behind his father’s leg out of his sight as the male gruffly ordered a coffee and pastry.

Instead, Nyx focused on the bakery itself, inhaling the warm aroma of honeyed sweetness and the potent air of coffee within. His papa had let him try coffee once and he quickly realized the smell was much better than the taste.

Nyx saw a powdered pastry with raspberry filling and eagerly pointed at it. The nice pixie-winged female behind the counter handed it to him with a smile and Nyx made sure to give her a big “thank you!”

When he turned to head for the table, he saw the grumpy man bump into the counter and drop his pastry. Instead of angry, the male just looked sad. Nyx thought he’d be sad too if he dropped his pastry. Maybe the male only looked so grumpy because he was having a bad day.

Nyx considered how he’d had a really good day himself. Perhaps the older fae just needed cheering up, so before he could second guess he ran to the old male who was still frowning at his pastry that had fallen.

“Here you go!” Nyx raised his hand placing the paper bag his pastry was in on the counter next to the sad male. The male appeared shocked and before he could thank him, Nyx was skipping back to his father who’d watched the whole encounter intently.

Rhys didn’t miss the way the old man’s disheartened face turned to one of warmth and tenderness at the kind gesture from the little boy.

Rhys only gave the male a nod, a silent plea for him to just accept the kindness.

The male gave a grateful nod of his own in return and discarded the pastry that had fallen, leaving the bakery with the pastry Nyx had given him and a smile.

They went through the line again so Nyx could order another pastry and Rhys couldn’t help the way his heart swelled at the kindness of his little boy.

———————

As Nyx sat down for dinner with his mama and papa that evening, he told them of the art project Ms. Westfall had invited him to participate in and he recounted to his mother about the older male at the bakery.

Rhys grinned at his little artist who aimed to make the world a better place, one act of kindness at a time.

“Just like your mother.” Rhys mused.

—————

The next morning Feyre walked Nyx to school as usual. The little Illyrian studied the way she gave smiles to those she passed on the street and the way she moved with such grace and confidence in her stride. Nyx couldn’t help but admire her with joy in his heart as he thought to himself,

“It’s good to be like mama.”

“Maybe I'm not some chosen one but I'm my mother’s son and that's something I'm pretty proud to be.”

—————————————

A/N: this was one of those drabbles that I just started writing and ran with wherever my mind wandered. Thanks for reading!

ACOTAR gener taglist: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

[brotheramberland]

Hello I was wondering if you could do a platonic relationship with Zuko Levi Kakashi , Gojo with their child that’s like a totally a daddy’s kid(?😭) that wants be like them when they grow up and just looks up to them so much and just mimic the things they do and just follows them+how would they feel about it 🥹🫶

Anime characters as fathers with a child!reader.

Characters include: Zuko, Kakashi Hatake, Levi Ackerman, and Satoru Gojo.

Summary: The character's reaction to their child who looks up to them and aspires to be exactly like them.

Please keep in mind: All character and reader interactions are purely platonic. There is NO romance. The reader is somewhere below the age of twelve and is portrayed as non-binary. These drabbles are meant to be platonic, fluffy and comforting.

Notes: For @bellhella. Hi las, I hope you're doing grand. Cute request too, I enjoyed writing it. I added a tiny splash of angst but everything is still pretty fluffy. I try to make each individual drabble unique and different so that viewers can experience a variety of emotions. I hope that's alright. Remember to keep your head up, stay safe and stay awesome!

✿ೋ──────────────────────

Fire Lord Zuko

Ever since you were an infant, you had always clung to him and taken after him, claiming that you wanted to be just like him when you grew up. It was an attitude that Zuko found endearing and it made him beam with pride. After all of his past mistakes, a part of him was against your aspirations, but he wouldn't let his own insecurities get in the way of your dreams.

At a surprisingly young age- barely over your toddler years- you had requested to train. And train you did. Constantly you were trying your hardest to learn new maneuvers, techniques and skills. When you mastered something, you always sought his approval and praise. Zuko was impressed by how well you accepted constructive criticism and fought to grow.

During meetings or speeches, you would always sit back quietly and observe him. Then later Zuko would have to clear out rooms so that you could pretend like you were the fire lord giving hundreds of people a big, inspirational speech. Just like him.

Zuko, to say the least, was extremely proud of how you were growing and exceeding in life. He was just as attached to you as you were to him, and he would do anything to help you grow up to be healthier, happier and safer than he ever got to be during his childhood.

Today you had been training outside. Your father had been teaching you how to spit fire by using the strength of your stomach. Despite how strict and serious he could be, Zuko loved how you displayed your own ways of having fun. You say you want to be just like him, but you were also just so unmistakably 'you' and he loved that.

But today you did something that he didn't quite like.

"Daddy," You turned towards your father on the bench you were sitting on, "Will you... Will you burn my eye? The left one."

And the way your question made Zuko feel on the inside was far more painful than any lightning strike could ever be. He dropped his goblet and froze, unable to believe that you could ask such a thing. You wanted him to 'burn' you? Burn you in such a way similar to how he had been burned?

"Dad?" You asked in light concern.

Zuko shot up, his hair swishing as he went to stand in front of you, "You- don't you dare ask for something like that ever again. Do you hear me?"

Flinching, you gape and stutter in fear at his sudden outburst of anger, "I..." You didn't know what to say, "I-I'm sorry, I... I just wanted to be like you-"

"By wanting me to burn you? That's how you justify yourself right now? Nonsense. I will not tolerate this irrational behavior. If you ever ask me or anyone else to burn you again, then I swear on my life you will regret it, do you understand me?"

You couldn't believe he was so angry. You stiffened up, tears pouring out your eyes.

Zuko nearly shouted, his arms shaking, "I said 'do you understand me'?"

"Yes," You cried, burying your face in your hands, "I'm sorry, ok. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad, daddy, please-uhh... I'm sorry."

Breathing fast, Zuko stared at you and felt a sudden cloud of guilt envelope him, and he frowned in regret. He didn't mean to be so harsh, nor did he want you to cry. He just... He just couldn't stand the thought of you suffering in any of the ways he himself had to.

Calming down, Zuko took in a deep breath and went to kneel in front of you. He reached out, grabbed your hands and gently coaxed them away from your face, "I'm sorry."

Using a spare handkerchief, Zuko gently cleaned your teary eyes and running nose, "I didn't mean to get so angry with you. I was just... You have to understand, (y/n), not all parts of me are honorable, and that includes this mark. My father gave me this mark because he despised me, and... Well... I don't despise you, so even if I did burn you it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same."

Zuko cupped your face and stroked his thumb over your left cheek, "Please know that I am grateful that we are not the same in this way, and I hope that we never will be."

"I'm sorry..." You croak, still ashamed of yourself, "I didn't know."

"It's okay," Zuko lifted his arms out, "It's okay. I'm not angry."

Standing up, you go to bury yourself into the divine safety of your father's arms, sadness still beating within your heart, "I love you, daddy."

Zuko smiled and hugged you close, "I love you too, (y/n), and I can't wait to see what an excellent fire lord you're going to become one day. Even greater than me."

You whimpered, still upset but lifted by his faith and understanding. You had made a mistake today, but it was okay. You would never do it again. And while you would like to be just like your father in every way that counts, there were some things that could never be the same no matter how similar the situation.

✿ೋ──────���──

Levi Ackerman

He woke up to the obnoxious sensation of someone's hand shaking his shoulder, and he groaned grumpily in irritation. "Wake up, daddy," Your ridiculously energetic voice called, "Daddy, come on, it's time to get up."

Levi creaked open his eyes and glared at you, "Hey, wanna know how you can be just like me?"

"How?" You instantly beamed.

"By being tired and going back to sleep," Levi grumbled, grabbing the blankets and yanking them up over his head.

You weren't having any of it though, and you crawled on top of him and began wrestling to get the blanket off. Technically this was how Levi used to have to get you out of bed when you were smaller, but the more you grew the more you wanted to be 'just like him'.

Yay...

By the time you both had playfully wrestled each other out of bed, Levi yawned multiple times while being drug to the bathroom. Darn thing, you were getting good at locating his ticklish spots... In the bathroom, you both brushed your teeth, washed your faces and combed your messy hair.

Although half asleep, Levi still adored how you continously glanced at him to see how he was dressed, what he was doing and how he was doing it. You were always mimicking silly little things he did, exclaiming that you were practicing to be just like him.

Deep down, Levi had nothing but adoration for you. He loved the way you stood to be like him. It made him feel a sense of pride inside that he had such a strong, brave, loyal pipsqueak for a child, and you had no idea how much he loved you.

The only thing Levi disliked about you aspiring to him was how you ranted about joining the Survey Corps and going over the wall to fight titans. Now that... That made his overprotective, paternal instincts scream in disagreement. In no way did he want you going anywhere near the wall. So many people died out there all the time. If he lost you?

Levi wouldn't be able to handle it.

Before breakfast, you got dressed in nearly the exact same outfit as him (courtesy of Hange). "Daddy, can I wear your cape-thingy?" You asked, already wrapped up in his cape.

"Well what do you expect me to wear?" Levi asked, soaking in the endearing display of you all twisted up in his cape.

"I don't know..." You mumble innocently, smiling, "A blanky?"

"Ha... ha... Very funny, squirt," Levi bent down to untangle you from his cape, bopping you on the nose and pinching your cheek, "Why don't I wear this and 'you' go wear the blanket."

"Mmm..." You pouted at him, "But daddy..."

Levi hid a smile and patted your head fondly, "What if I told you that I used to do the same thing when I was your age?"

"Really?" You asked in surprise. If he wore blankets when he was your age, then that meant that you could do the same thing- follow in his footsteps, "Yay!"

"I never said 'yay' though," Levi rolled his eyes, teasing you.

Your arms dropped as you sneered at him, reacting in a manner he would approve of, "Booo..."

"That's more like it," Levi chuckled and went to make some food.

After breakfast, you held your father's hand while walking to the training grounds, a small blanket secured around your neck to thus act like a cape. When you saw the leader of the Survey Corps, you instantly brightened and cheered, "Erwin!"

Erwin looked in your direction and smiled warmly, "Ah, there's my finest cadet."

Levi watched as you sprinted happily up to his leader, his heart skipping beats when Erwin picked you up and lifted you into the air a bit. Your smile and the sound of your laughter was the inspirational fuel that powered his life.

Blindly joining you and his leader, Levi shrugged and gave you a disapproving look, "Just so you know... I've never hugged that imbecile- not once."

Erwin raised a brow, "On the contrary, I remember once when-"

Levi gave him a death glare, "Dont. Even."

You giggled and said joyfully, "Daddys silly. He loves hugs."

"Yes, that is correct," Erwin chuckled and turned briefly to grab something out of the satchel on his horse. "Come, fellow cadet, I brought you something."

"What is it?" You asked.

Levi felt his chest nearly implode at the sight of a miniature cape. The cape itself was plain with no logo, but yet was perfect enough in size that it would fit you for years to come. He watched as Erwin helped replace the blanket you were wearing with it.

Once he was done, you hugged Erwin, thanked him a dozen times, and then ran over to your father, "Daddy, daddy look! I have a cape, an-and it's just like the one you have. Do you like it, daddy? Do I look like you?"

'The spitting image.' Levi smirked and knelt down, "What're you talking about, squirt? You've got way too much energy to be like me."

"Booo," You pouted at him.

Levi laughed and pulled you into a big hug, "It looks good on you, kid. Now, let's get training."

You would be like him one day. Only Levi believed that you would be better.

✿ೋ─────────

Kakashi Hatake

It was night time; five hours after the Chunin Exams were declared over. You were currently hiding in your little tree-bungalow, isolated, quiet and shut-off from the rest of the world. Ever since you lost the exam, you hadn't moved from your hidey-hole nor spoken to anyone.

It broke Kakashi's heart to see you this upset. He knew how hard you had been training to keep up with him, following him in his footsteps and mimicking specific personality traits like his attire and the way he fought. At first it was a habit Kakashi thought was pretty adorable, but as the seriousness of your obsession grew over the years, the more he began to grow concerned.

Kakashi didn't mind you taking after him, but there was a limit. You didn't understand it because you envied him too much, but he saw it. You weren't like him- at least not when it came down to your fighting spirit. See, Kakashi developed a cold heart at a young age. Anger, hatred and determination pushed him to become stronger.

But you weren't cursed with anger, hate and sadness. You weren't a natural born fighter. If anything, Kakashi could see you becoming a strong-willed medic or a superior ginjutsu artist, but definitely not anyone who wants to hurt another person physically. It just wasn't how you were. And Kakashi was grateful for that.

Sighing softly, Kakashi jumped up to the ledge of your tree-bungalow, crouching as he waved, "Hey, dongo."

You didn't say anything from where you laid on the wooden floor. Kakashi frowned at the sight of your multiple bruises and bloody bandages. He really shouldn't have let you take that exam. "Can I come in?"

You nodded.

Kakashi moved a ways in further, finding himself a spot against the wall and leaning against it, "How are you feeling?"

For a few seconds you didn't answer. Kakashi tilted his head in concern when he noticed that you were shaking, the sound of sniffles soon filling the air, "I... I... I'm a failure, daddy."

You looked at him, your mask a mess as you sobbed behind it, "I'm a failure-uh! I-I-I just wanted-uh- t-to be like you..."

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," Kakashi leaned forward, placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed softly, "It's okay, (y/n). You're not a failure."

"Yes I am," You whined, "You passed the Chunin Exams when 'you' were six, b-but I? I... How am I supposed to be like you now, daddy?"

This? This is what broke Kakashi's heart. You getting upset all because you failed to amount to a broken monster like him. "Oh, dongo, come here," Kakashi lifted his arms out.

You still cried as you crawled into your father's lap and leaned against the warmth and safety of his chest. He slipped a finger up and tugged your mask down to your chin thus making it easier to breathe. You whimpered, clinging to him as shame blurred your heart.

"I wanna talk to you about something," Kakashi held you securely while going to wipe your nose with his sleeve, "I understand why you're trying so hard to follow in my footsteps, but I believe that your ambitions are misguided."

"What... What do you mean?" You ask him sadly, confused, "I wanna be like you."

"I know, but perhaps you are trying a little too hard? I mean, you've even gotten to the point you won't eat the food 'you' love anymore all because it's not my preference."

"But... That's how I be like you, daddy," You exclaim.

Kakashi sighed, looking you in your big, teary eyes. He couldn't believe that it had come down to this, but he couldn't hold it in any longer, "(y/n)... I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be like you."

You jerked at that, gaping hurtfully, "What?"

"I know it sounds harsh, but I want you to know that what I'm saying to you right now is in no way meant to hurt you. I just want you to stop pushing yourself so hard to be something you're not. Yes, we are alike in many ways, but we're also different. And those differences are what make us unique- they define who we are and how we grow. And if you continue to grow ignoring all those important things about yourself, pretending to be something you're not, then I fear that you'll never be completely happy. "

You blinked at him, fiddling slowly with your hands and bowing your head, "I..."

Kakashi cupped your face, lifted your chin and wiped away your tears, "You failed the exams today because you weren't ready, (y/n). You're using fighting techniques that don't suit you because they're 'mine'. You haven't even tried to discover your own fighting skills yet. Haven't you ever been curious?"

"But..." More tears began leaking out of your eyes as you looked at him, "I-I love you so much and I... I wanna be just like you-huh."

"(y/n)," Kakashi said lovingly as he pressed your foreheads together, "You can still be just like me by doing the things that make 'you' happy. I'm a great ninja, and you can be one too if you simply try to be more like you instead of me. No matter what, just know that I'll always, always be proud of you and love you till the day my chakra runs out."

You sniffed at him, still upset by your failure but relieved that your father still loved you despite it all. Yes, you wanted to be just like him, but maybe being yourself sometimes too wasn't such a bad thing either.

✿ೋ─────────

Satoru Gojo

When people looked at you, they felt as if they were looking at a miniature Gojo but with a different hair color. You were quite literally the spitting image of your father, and anyone who knew you or Gojo personally would know that you two were practical besties.

Ever since you were born, you magically seemed to take after Gojo- not that it was your fault because Gojo had a really bad habit of dressing you up like him and pretending that you were the world's greatest sorcerer... Besides him, of course. He couldn't help it. You were his little pal and he loved you more than anything.

As you grew, you pretty much wore identical outfits to that of your father. You had even acquired a pair of reflective sunglasses that you wore almost ninety-percent of the time. But outfits weren't the only areas where you excelled in being like him.

Gojo, even as a parent, wasn't afraid to push people to their limits, especially when they genuinely wanted to become stronger. Ever since your powers developed, he had trained you constantly in order to help you learn and grow. You were exceptional like him, and he knew that there was no time to waste.

Your father pretty much took you everywhere and that even included trips on his most dangerous missions. He would carry you on his hip or back while you watched and listened to him explain how to observe and take down enemies. Later he would quiz you, tossing toys or pieces of candy at you in reward.

Some say that Gojo wasn't so much a father to you as he was a best friend. Especially on days when he didn't have to work or train. He happily expressed his childish side, playing games with you, playing dress-up, going to carnivals, riding on miniature scooters, cooking or coloring pictures. He did it all. It was almost as if he loved being like you as much as you loved being like him.

Every time you expressed your admiration and love for him, Gojo's ego was stroked and his confidence boosted. Of course you wanted to be like him. Why wouldn't you? Narcissistic nature aside, Gojo had to admit that there was a sense of self-worth that he felt deep inside at the fact that you loved him and took after him so strongly. It made him happy. He was always proud of you.

And today he was even more proud of you.

You had just successfully made your very first domain expansion- it was rough, unstable and destructive, and it only lasted a few tiny seconds, but it was still a success. A success... That nearly destroyed the house.

Fushiguro, his cereal now all over the floor in ruins, sat in his chair with a frustrated glare on his face, "What kind of monster have you created?"

Gojo was practically dancing like a feather in the wind, singing excitedly, "One that can make domains at (age) years old."

"Oh brother..." Fushiguro rolled his eyes, gesturing to your unconscious body, "Shouldn't you be helping them?"

"Eh?" Gojo blinked ignorantly, concern flooding his body at the sight of you laying unresponsive on the floor, "Aw, we can't be having any of that now, can we?"

Teleporting over to your body, Gojo scooped you up and took you to the medical bay. It was soon confirmed that the force of your actions had merely knocked you out and given you a bloody nose. With a good lecturing from Nanami about "being a better parent", Gojo carried you back home with an endless grin on his face.

"Daddy?" You groaned in his arms.

Gojo gave you no time to talk as he leaned down and nuzzled your cheek, singing again, "Oh my incredible, amazing, talented, devilishly striking, little sorcerer, I'm so proud of you. You did your first domain expansion. Ohhh, I could cry I'm so happy."

Albeit exhausted, you still grinned in his arms and nuzzled his cheek back. It was always a good feeling to witness your father this excited after one of your successes went through. Still though, that move had taken a lot out of you. "Sleepy."

"I bet," Gojo chuckled, maneuvering you to his hip so that he could properly make his way through the mild debris of the house, "You've rightfully earned yourself a nice bath, a delicious meal, and a warm bed."

"With the heated blanky?" You softly croak.

Gojo stuck his thumb up, "Especially with the heated blanky. You've earned it."

"Thank you, daddy," You whimpered, hugging him and pressing the side of your face against his chest. His heartbeat was fast but comforting, his figure safe, warm and protective. You were so happy that you had managed to pull off such an advanced technique.

Prepping you a bath, Gojo let you wash while he was forced to clean up your mess by the ever fussy Fushiguro- aka: the real adult of the house. After you were both done, he fed you something that would soothe your tummy, and then carried you to bed.

Wrapping you up in your heated blanket, Gojo knelt down and caressed your head, "Good job today, my little jujutsu sorcerer. You really made daddy proud."

You whimpered happily and mumbled, "I hope I can do better. I wanna be just like you one of these days."

Gojo smiled, all the love he felt for you fueling his desire to keep moving forward in this cruel world, "You already are, (y/n)... You already are."

[byunpum]

Hi!! i can't really find if your requests are open but i really love how you write for lo'ak and i was wondering if you could write one where Jake is screaming at him yet again but he's being a bit too harsh this time so human reader stands in front of lo'ak and tells jake off? And everyone is obviously shocked because no one confronts Jake like that when he's angry, especially if it's family matters (except for neytiri of course). And clearly reader can't do much, i mean with the height difference Jake could just shove her to the side but he is quite impressed and kinda proud of the badass girl his son got himself 👀😂🤭

Pair: Lo'ak x Human reader

Warning: None <3

Avatar masterlist

Lo'ak's presence at this time of day was very strange for you. Usually the two of you used to see each other in the afternoon, when he had finished his duties. Being in a totally new clan, his duties were very different and difficult. So having him sitting behind you made you very curious. "mmm…should I ask you why you're here?" you speak, giving a glance at your mate. He was styling a piece of your hair, while humming a song. "Can't I be with you? Ah" speaks lo'ak with a teasing tone. "No…of course you can. I love that you're with me but… you're not usually with me this early in the morning. Did something happen?" you speak, and you swear you feel lo'ak tense up a little. Letting go of your hair, to now place your hands in the sand. Letting his body relax. "ahhh all good…nothing happened" lo'ak sounds a little nervous. You turn around, now sitting on your knees. You move closer to him, so you can lean over and stroke the side of his face a little. You notice a scar on his forehead.

You hadn't noticed it before, because he just came and sat behind you. "Love…what's that? Why are you hurt?" the more you talk, you can notice that he has some bruises on his arms and thighs. "Baby…don't worry it's nothing" lo'ak tries to sound disiterested. But you are already carefully touching his bruises, getting closer to his face. "Lo'ak you need to get healed…you are in bad condition" you are worried, he had two pretty deep wounds on his chest. "Tell me what happened, please" your voice sounds somewhat cut off, Lo'ak couldn't see you so worried. You were looking sadly at his bruises, trying to do something. While you were comforting him. "I…ahhh. It was another fight with ao'nung" lo'ak speaks softly. Lowering his head. "But this wasn't just a fight, this is serious" you place a hand on his chin, lifting his face. Lo'ak looks at you…his eyes were a little glassy. "We went to the arecife, they invited me. I accepted, because I thought we would have a good time…but they started teasing me and it was 6 against 1…so" lo'ak pauses, feeling you hold his face. "I did what I could…I got out of there and came looking for you" lo'ak stops talking, looking at you. He could notice your teary eyes. "Baby don't cry" lo'ak takes you by the shoulders, caressing your skin. "I hate when this happens to you…why are they like this with you?" you speak, wrapping your arms around his neck. Giving him a tight hug, you feel lo'ak hug you back. The hate and anger they had for lo'ak was not normal, both of you had been in the clan for 3 years and nothing had changed.

You look up, seeing some figures approaching you. The closer they came the more you recognized them. It was Jake, next to him was Neytiri. The way he was walking, you could tell how angry they were. You two separate and you see how lo'ak gets up from the ground nervously, approaching you. Tangling his tail around your leg. Lo'ak was a man now, but the fear of his father's accusations were killing him. Jake approaches, he had his thumbs locked. "What the hell did you do now" Jake shouts. "Dad…I can explain" lo'ak holds up his hands, trying to keep some space between them. "No…you shut up. I'm sick of you and your stupid actions" jake was literally screaming in lo'ak's face. You were standing next to him, looking up. This situation was getting on your nerves, you were at your limit. You can't take it anymore, and in one swift move. You get in between the two male figures. Pushing jake with all your strength, so that he would move away from lo'ak.

"YOU HAVE TO STOP!!!!" you shout, while jake steps back somewhat surprised. Well…he was very surprised. Neytiri had been left open-mouthed, by your actions. "THAT'S THE FIRST AND LAST TIME YOU SCREAM AND FIGHT MY PARTNER" You were red, and you looked adorable. You were so small compared to the two na'vi men standing next to you. But you looked furious…speaking with authority. "What the…" jake tries to speak, but you shout back. "HAVE YOU EVEN ASKED HIM WHAT HAPPENED? OR DON'T YOU SEE HOW HURT YOUR SON IS? AH? YOU JUST ACCUSE HIM OF EVERYTHING WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT REALLY HAPPENED…I'M SICK OF IT" you yell, turning around to grab lo'ak's hand and walk off in the opposite direction. "Y/N!!!" Neytiri yells a little, trying to get your attention. "YOU DON'T DARE TALK ABOUT LO'AK, I'M ALSO PISSED AT YOU" you yell back aneytiri, this from hiss in response. Jake holds neytiri by the shoulder, and you keep walking with lo'ak. Jake tries to control neytiri, they were two strong women. He didn't want something to happen that they would later regret. Lo'ak was in a state of shock, you had yelled at his father and mother…you had defended him. Knowing that if jake wanted to, he would have kicked you and you would have flown somewhere else. The boy just followed you, as he watched you walk around annoyed, mumbling nonsense.

As you walked away from the place, you walked for about 15 minutes. You let go of lo'ak's hand. You kicked a few times in the sand, while the boy looked at you with admiration. His strong and brave mate had defended him. His heart was pounding. Between the na'vi to defend and take care of your partner, was a gesture of pure love. You had shown lo'ak that you were capable of giving your life for him. Defending him from something bigger than you, more dangerous than you. Only for his well being. He slowly sits down on the sand, watching as you still bring out all your fury. You turn around, and are met with the most adorable scene. Lo'ak was sitting, cross-legged. His eyes were looking at you with admiration and his pupils were dilated. His tail was wagging from side to side. And his ears were back. "Lo'ak…I…I'm sorry" you lower your head. You were embarrassed, you shouldn't have talked to Jake like that.

"You are amazing…my strong Y/N" you stand there in shook, lifting your gaze to see lo'ak with a goofy smile on his face. "You're not mad at me?" you ask him, lo'ak moves forward taking your hand. Making you move closer towards him, wrapping his hands around your waist. Pulling your body closer to his chest. Giving you a kiss on your forehead, you let yourself fall forward a little, enjoying his caress. "Why would I be upset with you, if you just took care of me?" says lo'ak, you giggle a little. "Are you blushing?" you tease, touching his ears. "Hey…it's not everyday you get to watch your cute little partner take on your dad. You were amazing" lo'ak changes his voice a tone deeper, moving closer so he can press a kiss to your neck. You giggle a little, craning your neck to the side to give him more access to your neck. "Your father is going to hate me, for life. And if your mother doesn't kill me in two weeks " you speak, watching as lo'ak pulls away from you, and gives you a look. "I think she's afraid of you now" lo'ak jokes, moving closer over your body. Kissing your chest, listening to your giggles. "Or he's just going to look adorable on you" lo'ak speaks.

On the other hand, jake is still standing there in the same place, in a state of shook. "that girl is" neytiri starts talking, but she is also too shocked to speak. "She is brave" says jake. He felt a little confused. He was upset with you, but at the same time he felt respect towards you. You had stood up for your partner, you had stood up to him. Of course, he was going to talk to you seriously later. But he was proud, his son had found a strong partner, who was able to take care of him and his future family. Just like his mother.