#only by a baby bit because they are all brilliant really

[gloomwitchwrites]

secret baby trope with tf141? 😌😌

Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.

I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst

Word Count: 2.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.

He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and that’s exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.

Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.

It’s bloody fucking brilliant.

Kyle isn’t attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why he’s splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. It’s mostly for background noise. Kyle isn’t really paying attention to it.

With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people he’s had it off with but never took anything further.

He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.

They just happen upon him. Kyle doesn’t drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.

You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex he’s ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw you—over a year now—that Kyle has thought about what could have been.

You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didn’t follow through. He would regret it, but things can’t be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.

Kyle’s thumb hovers above the screen.

He shouldn’t. He really fucking shouldn’t.

But he does. Because why not?

Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesn’t usually give a shit about what’s happening in people’s lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If you’re not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.

You don’t have him blocked on anything—thank fuck—and Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.

Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.

Just three—no—four months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.

Your…son.

Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.

He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyle’s heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.

“Fucking hell,” groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.

Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you contact him?

The very thought of you not reaching out doesn’t sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.

“Fuck,” says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.

He finds Simon’s number and taps the call button.

It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesn’t think that he’ll answer. But he does.

“Kyle,” comes Simon’s gruff voice.

Kyle sighs. “I need you to track someone down for me.”

John Price

John doesn’t like cutting off contact with people.

He likes to keep in touch, even if it’s just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people he’s able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.

Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.

Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. He’s prone to it since he’s never in one place. Always moving around.

John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesn’t seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when he’s constantly called away.

He chews it over while sitting in his office. It’s late, and there isn’t anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to him—a time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isn’t certain, and it’s hardly enough to go on.

Sighing, deciding he’d rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.

John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.

If this doesn’t work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.

He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.

Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isn’t an issue. He has enough.

John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. He’ll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.

“You have the wrong number, bud.”

The man’s southern drawl irks John. “You sure?”

“Yeah I’m fucking sure. Quit calling.”

John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isn’t recent.

“Fuck,” mutters John, running his hand through his hair.

This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he can’t do that unless he’s on scheduled leave. That’s months away.

And each month is fucking agony.

When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someone’s door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.

But fuck it. He’s here.

Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesn’t need to worry about it anymore.

John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears it—the turn of a deadbolt.

The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.

“John,” you breathe.

He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. You’re—oh shit.

“Is that—”

“Yours?”

Fuck.

John glances up into your eyes and swallows.

You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.

“It is,” you confirm.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shouldn’t. Really—it’s fucked up. Wrong.

But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way he’s letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.

He’s done a lot of things he isn’t proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.

Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldn’t make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.

But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.

Sure, you’re not truly his now, but you’ll come back to him. He’ll make sure of it.

In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.

It’s where he first learned you were pregnant.

You know, and haven’t told him. Haven’t reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.

You are fucking pregnant. With his child.

It’s growing in your belly.

Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.

It’s fucking painful watching you like this.

He’s stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.

But you’ve broken it off before, and came back eventually.

Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.

Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.

He has to play this right.

He has to.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Do you think you’ll ever find your woman again?”

Johnny grins behind his pint glass. “If she’s here,” he replies.

The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. It’s refreshing since it’s so bloody hot outside.

Johnny didn’t think he’d ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missions—a way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didn’t expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.

He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnny’s eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charm—melting like butter over fresh toast.

That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnny’s hotel room. But the two of you didn’t have sex. It wasn’t until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.

Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasn’t a moment after that Johnny didn’t have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.

But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.

Eventually, you didn’t talk to Johnny at all.

He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didn’t hear a thing—and he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesn’t exactly like it.

It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you left—and if he’s being entirely honest with himself—he still fucking likes you.

Maybe you’ll be here. Maybe you won’t.

Kyle is with him this time. A guy’s trip. Price isn’t one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.

“We could try that pub again,” suggests Kyle. “See if she’s there.”

Johnny shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Did she live here?” asks Kyle.

Johnny nods. “Aye. Sure did.”

Kyle bobs his head. “We’ll find her.”

The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. It’s hot, but it’s a beautiful fucking day.

Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.

Is that?

No. Can’t be.

His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. It’s you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You haven’t changed all that much. Not really.

There is another woman with you—a friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.

But that isn’t what has Johnny’s attention.

You’ve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.

“What is it?” asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.

“That’s her,” murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.

You don’t see him. You’re chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.

“Oh fuck,” says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.

“Is that?”

“It fucking is.”

“She’s fucking pregnant.”

Johnny swallows. “Aye.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.

But that doesn’t sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you sooner—not finding out like this.

You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friend’s arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.

You’re staring right at Johnny.

And he’s staring back.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @greeniegreengreen @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@whisperwispxx @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @arrozyfrijoles23

[lnlightning81]

Best Friends [OP81]

Summary : You and Oscar are childhood best friends and maybe a little more but that's something the grid has missed

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Wife!Reader, Logan Sargeant x reader, F1 Grid x Reader

Warning/s: None

Word Count: 1.6 k

Masterlist

Oscar Piastri Masterlist

You and Oscar had started out as childhood best friends. You even moved to England with him because you just couldn’t be separated. As Oscar went through the different ranks of motorsport you decided to do a Sports Science degree and when Oscar got signed for Prema he made sure you were his personal trainer and you’d just follow him into his F1 career.

You and Oscar were now walking through the paddock with his arm around your shoulders. It started as a habit when he started his rookie season to calm his nerves with your warm body, and it gave you comfort at the same time. When he started his rookie season, you were still only best friends. Neither of you had confessed how you felt, but now you had yet, everyone still believed you were still only best friends. 

It hadn’t been on the top of either of your lists to correct people when they called you best friends because even though you were more than dating now, he was still your best friend. Walking into the Mclaren garage, Oscar spoke to a few mechanics. 

“Osc we’ve got to get you warmed up” You smiled, and you both walked through to his drivers room. As Oscar got changed into his fireproofs and race suit, you grabbed the equipment to get him warmed up. When you turned around, his race suit was resting on his waist before you talked him through some stretches. After Oscar warmed up, you moved out to the main garage with him. Mclaren had some guests in the garage that Zac wanted Oscar and Lando to talk to and maybe do some training in front of them.

“Let’s use the bands to stretch your arms” You smiled, handing him one of the bands, and he nodded. You grabbed your headphones, resting them around your neck. Your hands are coming up to his back a little bit for comfort and a little to correct his posture. 

“You okay?” Oscar asked, and you smiled 

“Yeah, just correcting your posture while doing this” you hummed, walking back around so you stood in front of him

“You’re gonna do great today. You’re starting in a great position, and the car is brilliant” You smiled, resting your hand on his chest. You and Oscar had always been touchy for as long as people knew you both. The only person knowing the truth about your relationship was Logan and maybe Arthur. He seemed to be good at finding out relationships between random people. Oscar took your hand, holding it in his own larger hand. 

“I’m gonna do even better because you’re wearing this thing” He whispered, running his hand over your engagement and wedding ring. 

“Well I’m fed up with watching random women flirt with my husband” you hummed, rubbing his shoulders as you walked behind him. He was stressed about today. His home race meant he wanted to do really well, and you could feel the stress in his shoulders

“Relax baby” you whispered, massaging the knots out of his shoulders and necks. Soon, Oscar was getting ready to get in the car. You smiled, standing next to him. 

Mclaren social media team had a camera recording Oscar so they could post some behind the scenes of the garage. Oscar handed you his hoodie, and you folded it up, placing it upon the pile of his clothes. Oscar pulled his race suit up and onto his shoulders, turning to you so that you could zip it up something that you’ve been doing since you first became friends all those years ago.

Handing Oscar his balaclava, he pulled it on his head and tucked his hair into it, sending you one last smile as he stepped out of frame to press a kiss to your lips. He took his helmet, placing the HANS device around his neck before pulling his helmet over his head. You secured his helmet strap and corrected the HANS device before tapping his helmet and walking over to the car with him.

“Be safe out there” You smiled, holding his hands, and he nodded 

“I’m gonna get a podium so we can continue that celebration from last time” You smiled, looking up at him. The celebration was you, Oscar, and Logan finishing the movie while you helped their aches and pains from the race, although Logan was talking about going out with a couple of other drivers depending on the outcome. 

Oscar did get on the podium, and you couldn’t have been more proud of him. Making your way out of the garage with the rest of the Mclaren team. Lando got P2, and Oscar got P3. It was the best result anyone could have asked for. You stood at the front of the barricades, and after Oscar got weighed, he walked over to the team. 

The difference between Oscar and Lando when celebrating was quite funny to watch. Lando jumped into the team's arms as he celebrated with pats on the back, shoulder, and helmet as Oscar just thanked everyone before stopping next to you and wrapping you into a hug. Your arms rested around his neck as he rested around your waist. 

He had left his helmet on the stand for it, looking into his eyes with a smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss as the cameras flashes up 

“I love you so much wife” He whispered against your lips 

“I love you too” You smiled as Lando cheered from next to you. You laughed

“Go get your trophy. I’ll be watching” You pushed Oscar away as Logan walked over 

“Movie night or drinking?” He asked, wrapping you in a side hug 

“Movie night. Well done on the points” You smiled, turning to watch the podium with him. You were so proud of him. A podium at his home race is something he’d been wanting for a long time, and he’s finally achieved it. After the podium, you walked back to the garage, collecting all of Oscar’s belongings and taking them to his drivers room. 

As Oscar did his post race interviews and debrief, you decided to stretch yourself, having sat tense watching the whole race, and there was nothing else to do while sitting waiting. Logan was sending you random tweets and tiktok videos as you sat a lot of them about the fact you and Oscar were finally together, causing you to laugh. A set of arms tackled you onto the beanbag in Oscars' drivers room as your neck was covered with kisses, causing you to giggle, knowing it was Oscar. 

“I did it! I got a podium” He cheered, and you laughed, turning your head to kiss him 

“I’m so proud of you, baby. I knew you could do it. You’ll always be a winner in my heart” You smiled, and he kissed you again. 

“Come on, I want to go celebrate” He pulled you up 

“Baby you need to get changed” you giggled, pushing his helmet hair out his face 

“Okay right yeah, I’ll do that” He nodded 

“Logan keeps sending me tweets and TikToks about us revealing our relationship. They’re quite funny, to be honest” You giggled 

“Our son” He chuckled, and you nodded 

“He really acts like it sometimes. His mum messages me every so often to make sure he’s actually doing how he says he is” Oscar nodded, taking your hand 

“How does he say he is?” He asked 

“He’s struggling with the fans for obvious reasons. I’ve been told that he greatly enjoys our movie nights and they allow him to relax with people he fully trusts” Oscar nodded, kissing your head 

“Then we never stop those. Maybe we should start inviting him for dinner when we’re not racing?” He suggested 

“I think that sounds like a good idea but as your trainer I’ve got to remind you to stick to your diet plan” You giggled while jogging through the garage as he chased after you for that comment. Picking you up and spinning you around. You smiled, pressing your lips to his as he placed you back on the ground. Walking out of the paddock, Oscar had his hand rested around your waist, but you were soon stopped by a grid of drivers standing at the paddock exit with their arms crossed. 

“Hey everyone” You smiled, looking between the eighteen other drivers standing in front of you

“Hey everyone” Lando mocked, and you frowned now, very confused about what you had done wrong 

“What’s going on?” Oscar asked, also confused. Charles pointed between the two of you, and you looked up at Oscar 

“What?” You whispered, and he shrugged 

“Can someone use their words and explain what you mean?” You asked as Logan wrapped his arms around you both 

“They’ve only just realised that you’re together after your kiss” He explained, and you frowned, turning back to the crowd of people 

“Want to explain then?” Max asked 

“We’ve been married for four months. Dating for nine before that” you explained, still really confused 

“What?!” They chorused, and you looked between them all. Oscar is now holding your hand up 

“She’s been wearing these for the last three months around you lot" He exclaimed as you both laughed, turning to Logan 

“You going back to your hotel room before movie night?” You asked, and he nodded 

“If you two don’t mind waiting a little to start?” He asked, and you shook your head 

“Gives me time to cook some dinner” You smiled, walking past the rest of the grid, leaving them all standing shocked at your announcement.

Tag List

@bearryyy

@molten-m122

@thewannabewriter

@lozzamen3

@barcelonaloverf1life

@hiireadstuff

@mxdi0

@f1kenzzz

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[charliemwrites]

As promised some time ago: Gaz!

The new house is… well, you don’t dislike it. It’s beautiful, already renovated while you were busy selling the old house. Just new, unfamiliar. You’re unaccustomed to the noises it makes, the shadows it casts, the echoes off the walls.

You’re not too proud to admit (to yourself and your dogs) that you’re a bit of a chicken the first couple weeks. Too many nights watching spooky media about people living in walls or stalking new tenants — despite Skipper’s best efforts. So you keep one or more of the dogs with you at all times, fingers in their fur and lights on as you go. Ghost has been especially tolerant, leaning against your leg when the sun goes down and the house feels too strange.

You’ve always been grateful for the peace of mind that four huge wolf-dogs brings, but never more than now. With several sets of teeth surrounding your bed and guarding your locked doors, they’ve made the transition so much easier on your nerves.

The new forest behind the house is also some cause for concern. The first day you brought them home, you went out by yourself for quick inspection of the yard and immediate area. Sharp-eyed looking for glass, metal, or anything else dubious.

You came back to four extremely grumpy pups and were basically bullied out of leaving them alone again. Skipper was especially huffy that night.

But things feel like they’re beginning to settle. You’ve gotten a bigger couch, bigger floor cushions. There’s a second story to this new house — or more of a half-floor really. A loft? It consists of the master bedroom, master bathroom, and a sort of open-spaced landing that you’re using as a satellite collection zone for toys.

Sometimes, when you’re on the couch, you’ll catch a bit of movement and get spooked by one of the boys staring from the railing that overlooks the den. Have fussed at wagging Johnny twice now for it.

Still, the transition to your new home has been as smooth as you could ask for with four giant, protective dogs. You miss the old place a bit; have the irrational fear that you’re going to miss another displaced dog in need of a home, but you try not to think about it.

Maybe you should have thought about it a little more.

One evening, you let the boys out for their pre-bed potty. There’s a cup of chamomile tea in your hand, a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. Winter will be setting in soon. It’s already cold enough to set your teeth on edge. Never mind that it’s been raining all day, only just letting up to light patter at sunset.

Commotion at the edge of the (much larger) yard catches your attention. All of your boys seem to be gathered around something. They’re not barking or growling, and from the dim porch light, you don’t see hackles raised but still. Anything that catches their attention is worth investigating.

Cursing under your breath, you set your mug aside, slip into some shoes, and snatch up your phone for the flashlight. It’s only when you’re halfway there that you remember to pray that it’s not something dead. Or dying. Or creepy.

“Please don’t let this be a spooky doll or something,” you whisper to yourself.

Skipper must hear you, because his head pops up. He doesn’t… look concerned. But he’s a dog, how would he know that something in the yard is of human concern?

He trots away from their little congregation to meet you, almost like he’s escorting you to whatever they’re gathered around. You realize why when the flashlight illuminates a ball of soaked fur.

“Oh,” you breathe, “oh no…”

You gently nudge Konig aside to kneel down, a dry sob bubbling up in the back of your throat when you hear a quiet, miserable mew. A pair of brilliant green eyes squint and shy from the light, wide and sad.

“Oh, baby,” you coo. “Please come here. C’mon.”

You slowly, carefully extend a hand. Palm up, just a couple fingers. You’re not as familiar with cats anymore, but you remember enough to know that there‘ll be no scooping it up, even if it needs help. It’ll have to come to you of its own accord.

Relief floods you when you get the briefest cursory sniffle, and then the kitty is bumping its head against your hand for a scritch. You take a moment to pet what you can, heart breaking a bit with each shiver in the cold.

You keep coaxing it closer, gentle words and patient petting, getting bolder with your touch. When it’s finally close enough, the faintest purr rattling in its chest, you decide to try.

Apart from a nervous glance, the cat remarkably tolerant about letting you wrap your now-wet blanket around it, then scooping it up.

“Oof, you’re a big kid, huh?” You mutter, pausing to get a better hold. The darkness and hunkering down to preserve body heat was deceptive. This cat feels huge. “That’s alright, I’m used to it.”

You breathe a huge sigh when you enter the house again. It’s toasty inside — or at least it feels that way after sitting in the cold rain for fifteen minutes.

The boys files in after you, politely shaking off at the door before stepping into the mudroom. (Another upgrade you’ve been extremely grateful for.

You pause, try to get your bearings. You’ve got four soaked dogs, one possibly hypothermic cat, and you.

Christ, sometimes you wish you had an extra pair of hands.

“Okay. Let’s get the heater first.”

It’s already going, so you just turn it up a bit more, warm enough to start drying everyone. Then you go to the cupboard, sparing an arm from your oversized bundle to extract a towel.

You cross back to the heater and sit down, gently nestling your cat-burrito into the well of your legs.

The same big green eyes blink up at you, another mewl comes from it.

“Hi,” you croon, “isn’t that better already? Much warmer in here.”

You present the towel for inspection, let it sniff and decide it’s non-threatening before gently wiping it along the clumped fur. The dogs, to your surprise, don’t crowd to investigate. Skipper stops by to give the cat a sniff, before ultimately flopping down against your hip. But the other three arrange themselves around you, watching, but giving you and the kitty some space.

Remarkably thoughtful of them, and you tell them as much, praising their good behavior. The kitty, in the meantime, just… stares. It’s been a long time since you interacted with one, but you don’t remember your grandma’s tabby being so…

“Can I help you, little one?” You ask, grinning when it blinks at you slowly. You brush a finger under its chin, grinning when its eyes go half-lidded and nearly cross. “You’re worse than my Johnny boy with the staring.”

You receive a huff for that and laugh softly, making kissy noises at him until his tail thumps against the absorbent floor mat.

The cat is back to staring, though, ears up. You hum and keep up the half-scratching, half-drying technique until its fur starts to fluff up and you can take proper stock of the animal you’ve just rescued.

You weren’t kidding about it being big. Biggest cat you’ve ever seen — you’d almost think it was wild if not for the sweet face. You’re sure you might have seen the breed somewhere before…

Maine coon, maybe? Or… Siberian something or other? It’s fluffy, that’s for sure. But even without all the fluff that’s beginning to poof out like a dirty cotton ball, it’s a big cat. Big enough to be an average dog.

You huff in amusement that more it dries out.

“You look like a little storm cloud,” you giggle. “Well, little being relative.”

You receive a more normal-sounding meow for that. It thrills you that it’s already sounding better. Less sad, for sure.

The purring even start up again, developing into a deep hum like a running motor. It’s instantly soothing, the same way listening to the dogs’ breathing is. It lulls you until you’re nearly dozing sitting up. Only the wet nose of Skipper against your cheek rousing you.

“Jesus, right,” you say, jolting. Take a drowsy look around. All the boys seem dry or mostly dry. The only damp spot left on your new feline friend seems to be the feet, which won’t take much longer. “Let’s get inside proper.”

You lock up the mudroom and turn the heater low again, then urge everyone into the den. The cat doesn’t even hesitate, threading cleverly between your moving legs as you shuffle to the kitchen.

You prep an extra bowl of food and leave it up for the cat where the dogs can’t get it. Give it one last stroke from head to tail before trudging for the bathroom.

Normally, you’d be more concerned about leaving a cat in a house full of dogs. But the boys proved already that they have no interest in hurting the cat, despite the earlier crowding. Figure there are plenty of places to hide if they do make the kitty uncomfortable regardless.

The hot shower only serves to thicken the drowsiness blanketing you, leaving you heavy-lidded and sluggish. You pull the curtain aside to the usual audience of huge eyes, a new pair among them — the cat perched on the bathroom sink.

When you lean to grab your towel, they stick their face close for a sniff and you pause, always patient for curious creatures. When the little nose gets too close to your mouth, you twist and drop a quick peck to its snout before leaning back. The flabbergasted look makes you laugh as you begin toweling off.

“What a funny little thing you are,” you coo. “Would you like to be mind.”

“Mrrrow!”

“Yeah, I made a good first showing, huh?”

You have absolutely zero supplies for a cat, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, you just want to climb into bed and conk out. Home-making and animal-saving takes a lot out of you.

As always, the furry procession to your room leaves you warm and happy. Johnny always the first to hop into bed, licking your shoulder when you climb in beside him. Konig takes your other side, much more willing to snuggle now that you have the California King mattress to accommodate your pack. Ghost licks at Skipper’s chin in the doorway, then jumps up to lie by your hip, cuddling Johnny.

Skipper comes up last, padding over to receive one last kiss from you before lying by your feet, on the side closest to the door. You’re less concerned about kicking him now with the extra room, and enjoy the heat for your toes.

You almost startle at the soft thump next to your head. Turn and blink to see big green eyes blinking down at you, a purr nearly rattling your brain.

“Oh, hi,” you murmur, “make yourself at home.”

The cat does just that, curling himself onto a pillow and pressing his forehead into your neck. You nearly melt as you flick off the light. It’s warm and quiet and dark, just the breathing of warm bodies and soft tap of rain.

“I love you all so much,” you whisper, fingers threading into Konig’s coat. “My loves.”

The house’s new echoes are still unfamiliar, so it’s just a product of being half-asleep that makes you think you hear voices in the middle of the night.

Main Story | Price pt. 2

Masterlist

[marragurl]

The idea just hit me: Ratio’s students are called his ducklings 

He’s fully aware of it and makes no move to stop it from spreading around campus. 

Being considered one of Ratio’s ducklings is kinda a big deal because those are the students who are willing to put in the effort and work to keep up with Ratio’s teaching style. 

They are both terrified of him and respect him so much that all the other students are in turn terrified of them. And while the ducklings don’t get any special treatment from Ratio, there’s something special and comforting about being part of the group of students who are willing to stick with Dr. Ratio’s coursework. 

This is how I see it happening: 

It started during Ratio’s first few years of teaching. Not his first year because I fully believe his first few classes were really controversial and had a lot of dropouts once his personality and harsh teaching style were made known. 

It took a while but after a few years, there’s finally a class with no drop outs, even if it’s super small. However, this class are also the students who are dedicated and truly want to learn and refuse to quit even with Ratio’s standards. 

(They still complain and cry of course, the student life is all about pain- no this is not me projecting as a uni student, I’m perfectly sane I promise-)

And of course, like any other student who needs to understand wtf is going on in class, his students do everything in their power to create study groups and attend his office hours, which are 100x scarier in the beginning since that’s prime one-on-one time with Dr. Ratio. 

At least in lecture the man is a hundred seats away from you. Here, he’s speaking directly to your face as he explains just how wrong you are and giving advice on how to fix that. 

At first, due to how unused to Ratio is from having a class of students who are truly trying to keep up with him (whether they’re succeeding is up to interpretation), he only spends time with them during lecture and office hours for the first few weeks. 

And then it spirals.

Around campus, you begin to see the esteemed Dr. Ratio being followed by a gaggle of students tripping  over each other, constantly asking question after question and him answering each one. Even as he’s being blunt, he never looks like he’s trying to outrun them, and even stops occasionally to write in one of the student’s notes.  

The ducklings nickname started out as a joke when someone made the connection of his students following him like baby ducks after lectures, and spiraled a bit more when one of the students found one of his rubber ducks in his office.

And so after finals, that first class of students got together for a nice drinking party to celebrate their freedom. A few drinks in of reminiscing about the class and how they’ll actually kinda miss Dr. Ratio, someone made a joke of buying some rubber ducks for the good doctor. Continuing on the high, an entire gaggle of drunk uni students just pull up to a craft store at 3am and start hunting for ducks. Another brilliant student laughs at the idea of personalizing each duck, and the rest of the class find the idea so funny that they buy out an entire aisle of craft supplies and get to work.

The next day, hungover but still committed to the bit, the entire class show up to Ratio’s office and each hand him a personalized rubber duck along with a terrified thank you for the class. 

Ratio would give his usual denying spiel of how “it is unnecessary” and “your education is all the reward a professor could want” but this is his first ever class with no dropouts and who all managed to pass their finals. 

The man is a failure at not caring, he is crying on the inside.

So he keeps the ducks on a shelf in his office. 

Somehow, the duckling nickname just cements itself after that day, and each class afterwards, despite all the pain and grumbling of the students, are always referred to as Ratio’s ducklings because only the truly insane (dedicated) stick it out and follow after him. 

And after each final, his little ducklings always give him their own personalized rubber duck that he continues to add to his shelf that he always had within eyesight of his desk. 

(the first class of ducklings are his personal favorite, though he’ll never claim to have any)

I’m incapable of not adding Aventurine whenever I talk about Ratio nowadays, I just have to accept that I love them both too much now. 

But yea, I like to imagine Aventurine finding out about the ducklings nickname first and teasing Ratio about actually having a heart and caring, which Ratio just denies and tries to justify as him being an attentive professor. But then Aventurine finds the rubber duck shelf and it’s just too sentimental for him to even think about joking. 

Adding to my headcanon of Aventurine being really curious about different subjects, I imagine that when he gets comfortable, he constantly asks Ratio questions about anything and everything. Ratio happily replies and teaches him. 

I like to think that one day, Aventurine would make his own personalized rubber duck to gift to Ratio as a 'thank you' for always indulging him with his questions and that rubber duck just becomes Ratio’s favorite. He gives it a little podium in his house and office and he constantly carries it around with him. He has photos of the damn thing. His first class find out about the duck and needle him about having ‘no favorites’ which he denies. Aventurine finds it both embarrassing and really cute. 

(I’m kinda pulling from my own experience with one of my old professors. She was terrifying but by god did I actually learn during her class. Every one of us would complain for hours about her exams, and boy were the averages terrible, but we were all also deeply committed to attending every office hour and defending her against the other students. It was like ‘She’s a harsh and insane professor, but she’s our harsh and insane professor.’ Everyone knew you were serious if you chose to take her class instead of other professors for the same course, she was that infamous. If I take 5 seconds to psychoanalyze myself without getting depressed, maybe that’s why I really like Ratio - outside of the burnt-out gifted child thing with emotional expression issues that also hit way too close to home. He just really reminds me of one of my own professors that I still really respect to this day) 

[mononijikayu]

don't look back in anger — gojo satoru.

“They have no right, my love.” you say, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. “After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve given—how dare they blame you?” Satoru doesn’t look at you, his bright blue eyes half-lidded, fixed somewhere distant. His signature smirk is missing, replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. “It’s not surprising, baby.” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “They always need someone to blame. KIlling the higher ups is just a step. The rot still exists from some people’s thinking, you know?”

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: spoilers for chapter 269 of jjk, domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 3k words.

NOTE: i decided to write this really REALLY fast before uni because i can't stop thinking about how angry i am that satoru isn't being mentioned in the latest chapters. and i just needed to let this out. thank you a lot for reading it though!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S ONLY BEEN A DAY OR TWO SINCE THE BATTLE. But you hover over your husband so constantly that you can’t help but notice the subtle signs—he’s doing his best to be patient with you.

Satoru’s usually the one with the infinite calm, the one who never loses his cool. But every time you adjust his blanket, offer him water, or check in on how he’s feeling, you catch the slightest flicker of exasperation behind those brilliant blue eyes.

He never says anything, of course. Instead, he smiles at you, that teasing grin of his that you know too well. But you can feel it in the way his gaze lingers just a bit too long, in the way his shoulders tense every time you fuss over him. He’s trying to bear it without complaint—because he knows you’re only worried—but it’s there.

“You’re doing it again,” Satoru finally says, a playful edge to his tone, though you catch the weariness underneath.

You blink, momentarily taken aback. “Doing what?”

He chuckles softly, his voice low. “You know what. Hovering.”

Your lips press together in a thin line, knowing he’s right but not willing to back down. “I just want to make sure you’re okay,” you say, trying to keep the defensiveness out of your voice.

“I’m fine,” he replies, his smile softening. “Really. You don’t have to worry so much.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, unconvinced. “You’re still recovering. Let me worry.”

“I know.” He reaches out, taking your hand in his. “But if you keep this up, you’re going to drive yourself crazy. And me.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. “You? Crazy? Impossible.”

Satoru laughs, shaking his head. “Even I have my limits, you know.”

You lean back slightly, loosening your grip on him, but not without a lingering glance. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to give you some space. But just a little.”

He smirks, a hint of his usual mischief returning. “Just enough to let me breathe, maybe?”

You roll your eyes, but the tension between you eases, the moment settling into something lighter. Still, you can’t help but keep a watchful eye on him, even as you pull back. It’s in your nature to worry—and Satoru knows it.

The ride home from Jujutsu High is thick with tension, the echoes of the conversations from earlier still gnawing at you. Megumi walks beside you, his silence mirroring your own frustration.

The meeting had been a circus of finger-pointing and thinly veiled accusations, and even though Satoru wasn’t there, his name was dragged through the mud as if he had been. Blame for Yuji, blame for the crumbling system—everyone needed a scapegoat, and as usual, they chose Satoru.

By the time you reach the Gojo manor, you’re seething. You can’t shake the bitterness from the gathering—their condescending tones, the way they talked about Satoru like he was a liability instead of the reason half of them were still alive. As though being the strongest changes the fact that your husband is a breathing human being. 

In the view of the water gardens, it was peaceful. And yet all at once, a storm brewed inside of you. You and Satoru sit together in the quiet, as you have been for the past few days now. But unlike these past few days, the view does not make you feel calm and at peace at all.

Instead, your irritation is palpable, your fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest of the chair. Gojo Satoru lies next to you, still recovering, his usual vibrancy dampened by both physical exhaustion and the heavy burden of blame. The weight of jujutsu society’s accusations presses down on the room, though none of them are here to face him.

Across the room, Fushiguro Megumi stands silently, arms crossed, watching you both. He’s fully aware of the anger simmering just beneath the surface, not just at the accusations, but at the complete disregard for Satoru's sacrifices. If anything, he’s just as angry. But he knew better than to say anything. Especially knowing that you were angry. It was better at that point that someone was focused on remaining calm. Otherwise, it would be hellfire. And there was none needed, just after defeating the King of Curses. 

Yet, you both can’t help but feel how deeply it stings. It was ever so easy for everyone in your  world to just forget everything, to not acknowledge what your Satoru has done, reducing him to the villain, the perpetrator of the entire suffering of the Jujutsu world, just because he refused to follow an unjust order—to execute Yuji Itadori, a child caught in forces far beyond his control. 

Just because he could not stop powerful curses and cursed users from doing things that your husband would not have had any knowledge about. Your husband couldn’t have predicted thousand year old cursed users and their greed would do something like this to your world. How is it your husband’s fault, that the rot had gotten that deep in Jujutsu society either? 

You glance at Satoru’s pale face, his breathing still slightly labored. The hurt in your chest deepens, anger mixing with a fierce protectiveness. How could they not see what he’s gone through, what he continues to endure for the sake of others? All you can think is how none of them truly understand what it means to stand at his side, to witness the toll this cursed world takes on him every single day.

The quiet hum of the room feels suffocating, the weight of your frustration finally spilling over. You turn to Satoru, your voice sharp, but layered with concern. You just can’t help it, when it comes to him. You were always so protective of him, even all those years ago. Because if you would not do it, who would? Who would take his side and give such devotion, as equal as his own? Your husband isn’t the type to explain himself, nor is he someone that would let anyone know what he truly feels. He doesn’t think he has to. He does not care.

“They have no right, my love.” you say, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. “After everything you’ve done, everything you’ve given—how dare they blame you?”

Satoru doesn’t look at you, his bright blue eyes half-lidded, fixed somewhere distant. His signature smirk is missing, replaced by an unfamiliar stillness. “It’s not surprising, baby.” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “They always need someone to blame. KIlling the higher ups is just a step. The rot still exists from some people’s thinking, you know?”

“But it shouldn’t be you.” you snap, louder this time. You catch Megumi shifting slightly in his spot, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his stance suggests he’s just as frustrated as you are. “You know you aren’t to blame for their ills.”

“They want things to stay the same, Gen–san.” Megumi finally speaks up, his tone controlled but edged with bitterness. “Blaming Gojo-sensei is easier than facing their own failures.”

You clench your fists. “They forget that he’s human. That you—” Your words choke off. You can’t bring yourself to say it. It feels like admitting too much. “It’s just not right.”

Satoru lets out a breath, a soft chuckle following it. “I don’t care what they think. I did what I believed in. I wasn’t going to kill Yuji. He deserves better than that. And... he’s a kid. Just like ‘gumi. I don’t... I don’t have the heart to... you know what I mean.”

His voice falters slightly at the end, and you catch something in his expression that makes your chest tighten. It's rare for Satoru to let his guard down like this, to even hint at the weight he carries, but you can see it now—just for a second, the flicker of doubt, the exhaustion behind those sharp blue eyes.

“You did the right thing,” you say, your voice softer now, though the anger still simmers beneath. “Yuji’s not a tool to be discarded. He’s just a boy.”

Satoru nods, his gaze distant. “Yeah, a boy thrown into the worst situation imaginable. Just like ‘gumi was. Like Yuta was. I couldn’t... I wouldn’t make him pay for their mistakes. I’ve seen what this world does to people like him.”

There’s a heaviness in his words, the unspoken memories of everything he’s witnessed, everything he’s tried to protect the kids from. You know how much it eats at him—how deeply he cares, even if he hides it behind his usual bravado. And as much as he pretends to shrug it off, the toll is evident in moments like this, when his façade cracks ever so slightly.

You step closer, unable to keep the frustration out of your voice. "And you deserve better than this," you retort quickly, anger flaring in your chest again. "You’ve given them everything, and they give nothing back. They act like you’re just another tool for them to use, like you don’t have a heart. And I’m just so angry….”

Satoru finally turns his head, the faintest glimmer of his usual self creeping into his eyes as he looks at you. “Hey, baby.” he says softly, his voice gentler now. “You know I’m not doing this for their thanks. I’m doing it for the kids, for you. For Satoshi. So we’ll be happy.”

You blink, trying to swallow the anger that lingers. “I know that.” you say quietly. “But I can’t stand watching them tear you apart.”

Megumi walks closer, his arms still crossed, a firm resolve in his expression. “We won’t let them, Gen–san. Don’t worry.”

Satoru chuckles again, the sound a little lighter this time. “You two…huh…” He looks between you and Megumi, his tired eyes softening. “Always so serious. So Zen’in, the two of you. Stop frowning. You’ll end up with wrinkles. Believe me, it’s fine. They’ll come around. And if they don’t—well, it’s not the first time I’ve pissed off people, you know?”

His attempt at humor falls flat, the usual brightness behind his words missing. But the effort doesn’t go unnoticed—it tugs at your heart, a bittersweet reminder of how hard Satoru tries to keep things light, even when the world around him is anything but. You can see it in the subtle shift of his shoulders, the slight downward tilt of his head. He’s tired, more than he’ll ever admit, and though he brushes it off with a smile or a joke, the weight of it all is still there—quiet, invisible, but crushing.

Despite everything—despite the accusations, the blame, the endless expectations placed on him—Satoru is still trying to carry the burden alone. It’s always been like this with him, hasn’t it? He wears his strength like armor, his humor like a shield, always standing tall so no one else has to bear the load. But in moments like this, when his defenses slip just a little, you can see the cracks. And it breaks your heart.

You reach out, your movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden gesture might make him retreat back into that impenetrable shell of his. Your hand finds his, and you gently intertwine your fingers with his, grounding both of you in the simple connection. He doesn’t pull away; instead, he lets out a soft breath, the tension in his body loosening ever so slightly.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, “you don’t have to carry this alone. You know that, right?”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at your hands, your fingers laced together, and there’s something raw in his expression—something vulnerable that he usually hides behind that ever-present grin.

“I know,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. “But sometimes... it’s hard to let anyone else help. I’m used to being the one who fixes things.”

You squeeze his hand a little tighter, your heart aching at the quiet admission. “You don’t always have to be the one to fix everything. You’ve done more than enough.”

He meets your gaze then, his eyes soft but still carrying the weight of someone who’s been fighting battles far too long on his own. “I’m not so sure about that,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with a rare uncertainty.

You hold his gaze, refusing to let him retreat. “You have. And you don’t have to keep proving yourself, especially not to those people. Let us help you. Let me help you.”

For a moment, Satoru just looks at you, as if he’s weighing your words, letting them sink in. And then, slowly, he nods. It’s small, but it’s a start—a sign that maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you share the weight of the world that’s been pressing down on him for so long.

“They don’t deserve you, my love.” you say, quieter now but no less fierce.

Satoru squeezes your hand lightly, a soft smile finally breaking through the exhaustion on his face. "Maybe not. But you’re stuck with me. Because you deserve me. Like I deserve you."

You hold his hand a little tighter, your gaze softening despite the frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "And I wouldn't have it any other way,my love." you murmur, your voice a little steadier now. Satoru’s warmth is a quiet reassurance, but the sight of him like this—so worn down, so unfairly burdened—fuels the anger you can’t entirely let go of.

Megumi stays quiet for a moment, watching the two of you before finally speaking again. “They won’t stop, all of this.” he says, his voice firm. “They’ll keep pushing this, won’t they? Trying to make him the scapegoat.”

Satoru shrugs, his usual bravado creeping back. “Let them try. I’m not exactly easy to get rid of. Living after all that is proof enough.”

You frown, your frustration bubbling up again. "You shouldn't have to keep proving yourself to them, Satoru. You’ve already sacrificed so much, and they act like none of it matters."

He looks at you with those pale blue eyes that somehow always manage to soften, just for you. “What do you want me to do? Step aside and let them tear down everything I’ve built? Everything you, me, and the students have worked for?”

“No, my love.” you say firmly. “But I don’t want you to bear all this alone. You’ve already done more than anyone could’ve asked for.�� You pause, the words catching in your throat before you add quietly, “I just want them to think of you, for once. Not what they want from you.”

Megumi nods in agreement, stepping closer. “They’re too busy looking for someone to blame. And they’ll keep at it until they find a way to pin everything on you.” His blue - green eyes darken slightly, a shadow of his own frustrations showing. “But we won’t let them.”

Satoru sighs, though there’s a flicker of pride in his gaze as he looks at Megumi. “You’ve grown up, Megumi.” 

Megumi raises an eyebrow, his expression flat. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

Satoru chuckles softly, but the sound is laced with exhaustion. “No, you’re not. But you always will be to me, kiddo. And I’m glad I’ve got you two watching my back.” He looks at you again, the smile fading as he speaks more seriously. “But don’t let this consume you. I’ll be fine. They can push, they can complain, but I’ll keep doing what I know is right.”

Your heart aches at his words. His strength is undeniable, but it’s the toll that worries you most. You lean forward, your voice quiet but firm. “We’ll face them together. You’re not alone in this, Satoru. Not anymore. We’re here.”

His eyes soften even more, the weight of your words sinking in. “I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand gently. “And that’s what makes it worth it.”

For a moment, the anger subsides, replaced by a quiet resolve between the three of you. You won’t let them tear him down. Not while you’re by his side. Not while Megumi is standing strong. Together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

epilogue

Satoru holds your hand for a beat longer, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. But then, in true Gojo Satoru fashion, the somber mood shifts as his signature grin makes a slow return now that you both were finally alone..

“You know, baby....” he says, tilting his head and giving you a playful look. “You’re always swooping in to save me. My knight in shining armor.”

Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “What? I—” You open your mouth to protest, but the words stumble over themselves, not quite landing the way you want.

He leans closer, that mischievous gleam in his eyes growing brighter. “Oh yeah, always protecting me from the big, bad sorcerer world. It’s cute, really.”

You feel heat creeping up your neck, spreading quickly to your cheeks. “Satoru, that’s not—”

“What?” he interrupts, his smirk widening as he watches your flustered expression with clear amusement. “I think it’s sweet. I mean, look at you, always worrying about little ol’ me.”

“Little?!” you sputter, trying to keep your composure as he grins down at you. “You’re the most powerful sorcerer alive, you don’t need saving—”

“And yet, and yet!” he drawls, leaning in even closer, his voice low and teasing,.“Here you are, my personal knight in shining armor. Should I start calling you ‘Sir Baby’?”

Your face is on fire now, and you smack his arm lightly. “Satoru, stop!”

He laughs, the sound light and full of mischief, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Oh, come on. Admit it—you like being my hero.”

You narrow your eyes, trying desperately to compose yourself, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “I’m not your hero,” you mutter, though the words come out far less convincing than you’d intended.

Satoru’s grin softens into something more genuine as he leans back, still holding your hand. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t mind being rescued by you a little more often.”

You blink, caught between the teasing and the sincerity in his voice. “Satoru…”

He winks at you, breaking the moment with a playful shrug. “What can I say? I like having you around. Blushing and all.”

You groan, turning away slightly, but the smile on your face is impossible to hide. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it, don't you?” he replies, completely unfazed, that cheeky grin never leaving his face.

And, despite everything, you can’t help but laugh. “Unfortunately, I do.”

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 9: Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!) Soldier Boy calls the reader "Petals."

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 6.7K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual jokes, sexual tension, Nightmare, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Drowning, Mention of Vomiting, SUPER GROSS SUPERPOWER, Reader is really oblivious, and I mean REALLY oblivious. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just really fluffy and I didn't want to keep it to myself, because it makes me so happy. Well, after the first part at least.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Rain glazed all the sharp edges of the world outside the car, smearing the drops against the windows with a heavy hand. The humid air breathed and iced the glass, but did not disrupt the droplets that raced quickly by, catching and sparkling in the sporadic streetlights along the twisting road.

Your mother was singing softly along to "Nights In White Satin", the haunting melody building with every note, your father's deep baritone weaving with hers to make a wonderful melody in the silence of the night. The smell of rain seeped through the ancient air conditioning, the heady scent of wet earth and clean water filling the cab of your family's car.

 You smile to yourself in the backseat, sleepy and content, tracing a single finger against the smudged glass to watch each raindrop race against the fogged glass. You could still taste the chocolate ice cream on the tip of your tongue from the cone your parents have bought you on the way home, your hands and cheeks sticky with the remains. The leather seats of your family car are worn in and soft beneath you from years of family trips all over the United States. There was still a loose marble rolling around back and forth with every gentle rock of the car as it moved smoothly over the wet roads, a comfort when you were a baby and you couldn't sleep and your parents drove around the block to send you into the sweet abyss.

The sharp plunk of rain against the windshield is heavy, but your father reaches to turn up the song on the radio, flicking his eyes to smile at your mother one final time. And as he glances back up he shouts something.

You can't hear what it is, only that when you look out the windshield you see a brilliant flash of white light coming straight for the car and feel the car jerk to the right as your father yanks on the wheel. There's an awful sound of concrete against metal, a high pitched screech that you can't forget followed by the almost inhuman scream of terror that comes from your mother's mouth, as the car breaks through the concrete side of the bridge and goes off the road.

There's an awful moment of weightlessness and when the car hits the water everything goes black.

You jolt upwards out of bed, screaming at the top of your lungs, chest heaving and gasping for air as the memory of water filling your lungs floors your senses. You shudder involuntarily, rocking back and forth as you try to shake off the memory of your parent's death.

No one really knew what happened that night, what the bright light was that you saw or where it came from. The detective said that it had to be lightning, but it hadn't looked like lightning to you. Your parents had drowned inside, but you survived. When the police arrived on the scene of the crash they found you on the bank of the river with the branches of the trees forming a protective cage around you. The back windshield of the car had been completely destroyed, blown inward when the trees along the bank had reached in to pull you out.

You always thought it was funny that somewhere deep down your powers took over, you weren’t  sure if it was when you blacked out or if you somehow forgot what happened in your parent's final moments, but all you knew was that you were alive because you called out for help and the trees answered.

A part of you still felt guilty. It had been your fault that you were out. There was a music recital at school, they'd come to support you, Darren had stayed home too busy doing homework to care. He was taking courses at the local community college, too involved in his own life to pay any attention to yours, except when he needed you. You weren't sure why the trees hadn't saved them too, why you were the only survivor.

You reach for your bedside table, scrambling in the darkness to find the inhaler that usually helps, before finally putting it to your lips and taking in a long puff.  It helps for a moment. Your heart was still beating fast, a cold sweat making your sleep shirt stick to your back, as another involuntary shudder works through your body, the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears.

You press your face into your knees trying to calm your breathing when your bedroom door snaps in half. Pieces of the door shoot through the air like shrapnel as Ben appears in the doorway, shirtless, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants holding one of the lamps from your living room.

"Ben what the fuck?" You scream, heart already feeling like it was going to burst out of your chest.

"What happened? What's going on? Why did you scream?" He shouts back, eyes darting around the room as if looking for invisible intruders.

"Get out of my room!" You shout.

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Ben's eyes fall on you once more and you watch the tension in his shoulders drop an inch. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." You lie taking in a deep breath, hoping that you can calm down your heart beat and that he's not paying attention to that.

He was.

"No, you’re not."

"Yes I am." You didn’t feel like doing this with him, didn’t feel like telling him exactly why you'd just woken up screaming or deal with him teasing you.

It had been a few days since the party and you had been trying your best to make things as normal between the two of you as you could, especially after you'd yelled at him. It had been more awkward the day after, not because of what you said to him, but because of what he yelled at you after the supe got away. He hadn't come back to the apartment until after you'd gone to bed and when you woke up on Sunday morning, Ben had gotten you coffee again when he went out to get a newspaper.

You figured that was his way of apologizing for yelling at you. That and he had insisted on walking to "Please Don't Die" with you on Monday and Tuesday morning, as if he thought that you were incapable of doing it yourself and then showed up when you got out of work at 5 to walk you back home. You didn't know how he figured out what time you got off of work, only that when he showed up to get you on Monday, he glared at Jake who was debating with you about which of Rory Gilmore's love interests was the best.

Jake had watched a few episodes with his younger sister when she visited him a few weeks ago to tour some of the colleges in New York, and she'd gotten him hooked. Annie and you had watched Gilmore Girls forever ago, but you'd started watching a few episodes now that it was fall and that meant you were being reminded of how much you obsessed over the show when you were younger.

Ben had stood there watching the two of you, noticing how close Jake was standing to you and how Jake seemed to smile even wider and how Jake spoke animatedly to you over the display of cactus all the while frowning and glaring daggers in the back of Jake's head.

You'd be lying if you said that you weren't reconsidering dating Jake. Ben had made it clear what he wanted and despite how much you were attracted to him, you knew that he didn't want to be what you wanted, and you didn't want to force Ben into something or try to turn him into something he wasn't. So you were trying to think about what it would be like dating Jake. He definitely had the kind of qualities you were looking for, he was one for relationships, he had the same sense of humor you did, he liked plants almost as much as you, he was kind and compassionate, and he had a warm smile.

The problem was you couldn't imagine what it would be like to date him and for some reason the thought of dating Jake didn't bring you as much joy as it would have a few weeks ago, and you had no idea why that was.

You also didn't know why Ben came to pick you up or forced himself to walk with you to work, especially if he hated Jake so much and hated being around Jake, but Ben did, and then bought you a cup of pineapple iced tea from your favorite shop around the corner from your apartment on the way home even though you insisted on paying for yourself. He thought that pineapple iced tea sounded disgusting, but because you liked proving him wrong, you'd let him have a sip and he'd grudgingly agreed that it wasn't "that bad," but then took another sip of it when you put it down on the kitchen counter for a second to pet Bean when he thought you weren't looking.

Honestly you didn't understand why he was so eager to walk with you to work or why he wanted to walk you back to the apartment. Not when Ben seemed to fill his life and all his time endless dates with the women of New York City, something that you noticed he hadn't done in the past three days since the party. You always figured he had better things to do than walk with you, and yet he had making somewhat pleasant conversation, well, pleasant for Ben which was not the same as pleasant for other people. But it wasn't terrible. He did occasionally tease you because you couldn't walk past a wilting plant without perking it up, but that was to be expected.

"No, you're not." Ben put the lamp down on the floor by your door. It didn’t have it's shade on it anymore and you figured that Ben had ripped it from the living room table when he heard you scream, throwing the shade to the floor when he kicked down your bedroom door.

The same door that was lying in pieces on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

How am I going to explain that to the super?

"Yes-" You gasp for air and shove the inhaler in your mouth again to take another puff and this time it takes. "I am." You finish, swiping your free hand over your face to rid yourself of the tears, but for some reason they won't stop. "Please, Ben just go-" Your voice breaks for a moment and you bury your face into your knees again.

You really wanted him to go, didn't want to talk to him about this, didn't feel like putting up with his teasing or with his disgusting jokes, and didn't want him to make fun of you for using an inhaler, the same one you'd had prescribed by your doctor when he told you that your nightmares were causing panic attacks. You didn’t have to use it all the time, just when you had the dreams.

You feel the end of your bed dip and you glance up from your knees at Ben. He's sitting there, not quite looking at you, instead he's petting Bean where he was guarding over you as you slept.

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I don't want to leave you when you're like this Petals." He says it more to the cat than to you, barely audible. Bean was leaning into Ben's hand as if Ben being in your bedroom, sitting on your bed was normal.

You suddenly feel like you’ve been struck by lightning. What he said was so honest so caring so completely unlike the Ben you knew that all you could do was stare at him. If anything the shock of what he said seemed to help you regulate your breathing and calm down from the images you had just seen in your nightmare.

Ben doesn’t say anything, just continues to rub Bean under his chin, sitting on the end of your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and as if he hasn’t said anything at all.

You stare at him for longer than you should, tracing the dips of his broad shoulders, the gentle freckles that graces his skin, and muscles as the taper down his back. You’d seen him shirtless before, but every time you’re unprepared for how good he looks.

Right now he looks, different. He looks softer.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the yellowed light from your bedside table lamp or if it’s because he’s petting Bean, but there's something about him that feels more open, as if he genuinely cares, and it makes you want to talk to him. You sit there for another few minutes calming your breathing, still holding on to your knees, but you prop your chin on your knee so you can look at him.

Why won't he leave? Why does he care so much that he wants to stay here?

Bean stands and saunters up the bed to press his head into your shin as if he's checking up on you. "Hey buddy." You whisper hoarsely, rubbing him behind his ears.

Ben turns his body, folding one of his legs under him and the other hangs off your bed so that his bare foot is sitting on the hardwood floor of your bedroom. He's watching you with an unreadable expression, eyes following the trail of your hand on Bean's back, but Ben does not break the silence.

"I have nightmares sometimes." You whisper. Bean's thick gray fur was falling through your fingertips in a comforting way, his luminous amber colored eyes looking up at you. "But I'm okay."

Ben still doesn't say anything.

The high pitched ring of the metal of the car on concrete makes you wince and he doesn't miss it. You watch his hand twitch as if he wants to touch you, but instead he lays it on the bed between the two of you, sinking into the soft comforter.

"I've never heard you scream like that before." Ben murmurs under his breath. "I thought that-"

You glance up at him, eyes wide.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously, as if he's uncomfortable continuing the conversation. "I thought that the supe was in here with you."

"The electric guy?"

Ben nods once.

"No I don't think he's in here. Unless he's hiding under the bed or something." You smile weakly at the joke, but you can still feel the jolt of the car hitting the water and the sharp snap of the seatbelt cutting into your chest. This time you successfully fight the shudder.

Ben doesn't smile. "The nightmares aren't about him are they? Or when I-" He stops mid sentence eyes flicking away from you, ashamed.

You understood what he was asking. Ben and you, like any modern day meet cute, had met mid-fight, the night that Butcher took him to Vought to take down Homelander. Back then you hadn't been working for Butcher, you'd showed up with Annie, and when Ben advanced on her you'd shoved Annie out of the way from his outstretched hands.

You hadn't been fast enough to escape yourself and he had hauled you up into the air by your throat, his chest glowing a dangerous orange spreading up through his skin until it turned his eyes a molten gold. Your hands had held on to his wrists so tight that you felt like your skin was burning and you were desperately trying to think of a way out of this. But just as you thought he was going to explode, his eyes had locked on yours and you watched something move through them that wasn’t rage. Ben had thrown you across the room and gone after Butcher instead.

"Is that why you didn't want me to move in?" Ben's gaze is on you, something deep buried in his eyes that looks a lot like regret. "Because you're afraid of me? Because I hurt you?”

“Ben, no. I’m not afraid of you.” You touch his hand where it rests on the bed gently. He had hurt you. The bruising around your neck for the few weeks that followed was ugly and had to be covered up with turtlenecks and foundation to avoid people on the street asking you if you needed help.

But it hurt you more to know that he thought that you were afraid of him and that he worried about that. Because you weren’t afraid of Ben. Yes he lost his temper and would yell very loudly and always felt the need to scream his opinion to the world, but you didn’t think that he was a bad guy despite what he had done. If you had been afraid of him then you wouldn’t have let him stay with you in your apartment, let alone live with your cat.

He looks relieved when you say it. “Then what are they about?”

“I-“ You swallow, before dropping your gaze back to your knees. You retract your hand, but Ben turns his over, palm up and gently holds yours, not quite squeezing it, just laying beneath yours.

What in the actual fuck is happening?

You glance down at where he’s holding your hand, the warmth from his body comforting like the first day of summer, seeping through your body as it does to take away the chill the nightmare left behind. It seemed a little awkward for him, as if he wasn't sure what to do now that your hand was laying on top of his. He wasn't even entwining your fingertips together, but your fingers just barely curved over the thick muscle at the base of his thumb. His hand was bigger than yours, rough and worn in just the right places.

“It’s about my parents.” The words feel like cotton in your mouth. “The night they died.”

"Oh."

You bite the inside of your cheek. You weren't sure that you wanted to talk to him about this. You'd never wanted to talk to anyone about it. The only person you'd ever spoken about it with outside of your family was Annie. But he was here, and he was looking at you differently, and he was actually holding your hand, sort of, and he was acting so different than any time you'd spent together.

"I was twelve. It was raining and we were coming home from a music recital." You couldn't remember what it was you sang, just remember the people coming up to congratulate you and the large bundle of gardenias that your parents had bought you. "My dad was driving and they were singing in the front seat together."

You felt the tears begin to build behind your eyes, throat closing. You can't really look up at him now, all you do is stare at where his hand sits under yours. " We were crossing over a bridge and there was this brilliant flash of light, my dad swerved and the car went off the road."

Ben's hand finally curls around yours. "You were in the car?" His voice is lower now, emotion lacing his words. 

You nod once. "In the backseat." You whisper. "I can't really remember what happened after we hit the water, all I know is that the trees saved me."

"What?"

"I don't know if I somehow called to them as I was drowning, but they broke through the back windshield and pulled me out of the car, but my parents-" Your voice breaks and you don't try to finish the sentence.

Why am I telling him this? He doesn't care. All he wants is-

"I'm sorry." Ben murmurs, interrupting your chain of thought, sounding sincere.

You shrug. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Ben raises his free hand to tilt your chin up to face him, and you quickly get lost in the greenish glow that draws you in each time he looks at you. "Don't be sorry for that y/n. I'd rather be wrong and you be okay, than sleep through you screaming like that." Ben swallows. "I didn't like it." You watch the ends of his lips twitch for a second and he smiles. "And we both know how much I like to hear women scream my name.”

Despite the conversation you'd have previously, you snort and smile faintly. "Have you always been like this? Or is it a recent development?"

Ben shrugs, thumb rubbing just barely over your cheekbone. "I like to think of myself as charming."

"Of course you do."

"You don't think I'm charming Petals?"

"Nope."

"Still a bad liar." He laughs releasing your jaw to gently touch the scrunched skin between your eyebrows that gave away your lie.

"I don't really think you're that great at lying either." You roll your eyes, swatting away his hand. "At least I can pretend to like people."

"I can pretend to like people-"

"Oh really? Then what about Jake."

At the mention of Jake's name, Ben frowns.

"See!" You smile wide. "I don't understand why you don't like him."

"He's annoying. No one is that happy Petals. He’s probably been drinking the Koolaid for too long and is trying to get you to join a cult. The pussy is practically part golden retriever." Ben rolls his eyes, but then notices you yawn. "I should go." He stands, letting go of your hand as he does. "You need your beauty sleep."

You fight the disappointment that blooms in your chest as he lets go and the immediate loss that comes when he lets go of you scares you. You're afraid of how you seem to be so attached to him, to someone who has told you countless times he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't believe that you need a strong emotional connection with someone else, and someone who said that the only thing he wanted from a woman was to fuck them.  That last part stung a bit. You remember when he said it to you, when you were looking over the map at the other apartment last week.

But why would he say something like that and act like this with me? Why did he come in here to save me from the supe?

"I think you could use some beauty sleep too Gramps. Without it, you look your age. Can't hide all those wrinkles under make-up." You half-smile when Ben sighs, before you pull your hands into your lap and  cross your legs beneath you. "But, thanks for-well- making sure that no one was murdering me."

"It's what roommates are for." Ben pauses in the doorway before he leaves, the light from the hallway reflecting off the strong muscles of his upper back. His body sways, considering if he should say what he's about to. "I -uh- I get them too." He whispers it.

"What?"

"Nightmares." You see the tension in his shoulders, the word muttered almost like a curse, as if he doesn't really want to admit that.

Your body freezes. "About the lab?"

He looks down and you take that as a yes.

You could only imagine what that was like for him, to be trapped in another country, thinking every day that someone he thought he loved would come find him, but then never did. Again the idea of what Countess did to him, burns hot in your chest. It broke you to think that Ben spent all that time wishing and hoping that she would come for him. You would have. You would have fought tooth and nail to find the man you loved, even if it meant you getting trapped in the process. Not trying wasn't an option in your mind.

Honestly, it was difficult not to come up behind him and hug him, to hold him close and let him know that it was okay to break, that it was okay for him to admit those things with you, and that it didn't make you see him as less than a man. But of course that seemed more like a relationship thing than a friendship thing, not to mention you thought if you tried to do that, Ben would probably somehow get you in the same position you were three days ago when he pinned you against the car with his warm body pressed against you in all the right places and his beard tickling against the sensitive skin of your neck. And that would only send the two of you reeling back to square one, and you thought that in the past three days things seemed to be better between the two of you, more casual and more friendly.

You didn't want to ruin that when you'd practically embarrassed yourself at the party by yelling at Ben outside. So you stay in your bed, your legs still underneath your comforter, your heart no longer pounding in your chest, and your breathing even.

"Well," You say slowly. "If you have one, you know where to find me."

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes a little wider than usual and you think that he almost looks surprised. Ben nods once and vanishes down the dark hallway going back out to your living room.

You lie back in your bed, placing your inhaler on your bedside before you do, eyes focused on the ceiling and trying not to think about how good it felt to finally talk like two normal people with Ben and trying not to think about how he let you hold on to his hand.

You drag yourself through the front door of your apartment, exhausted, sweaty, and feeling like you'd swum through a dumpster that had been sitting in the sun for a week. You knew for a fact that you smelled, you didn't need super senses for that. The look of the people that lined the sidewalks of New York while you squished down the sidewalk and up into your apartment building was enough of a clue. Everyone had given you a wide berth and you didn’t blame them. MM even rolled down the window of his car when he drove you back. And he’d made you change your clothes into a set of gym shorts and a t-shirt that reached your knees and proudly proclaimed “I love you daddy” on it.

Yeah. It was that kind of day.

MM also made you sit with a plastic bag over your head to avoid smearing the remnants of the supe that was matted in your hair onto his seats.

When you woke up to answer your phone this morning, that was blasting the UK's national anthem aka. Butcher's ringtone, you knew that your day was going to suck. He had proclaimed over the phone loudly, because Mike had already started to screech Beyonce's "Love On Top,” that he needed you to deal with a supe. You thought that he was going to send you after the electric supe, but no, he and MM had caught a whiff of a supe that was robbing banks with his ability to liquify and turn his body into an tomato colored gelatinous mass.

I know, lovely right?

But of course, Butcher had decided that you were the one for the job and so he sent MM and you, while Ben was assigned to something else on the other side of town. The mission had gone wrong in the worst way, when the supe decided that the only way to fight you was to try and drown you in his liquified flesh, bone, and sinew.

When you'd finally scattered his body in the Hudson, you'd vomited for ten minutes, trying to expel as much of the supe as you could, but you still felt disgusting. MM had tried to be supportive, but the sight of you vomiting sent him hurtling to the nearest trashcan while his own stomach heaved. Not to mention  Butcher had chewed out the both of you good for technically "killing the supe."

But you'd rather the supe died than have to go through that ordeal all over again.

You'd tried to get as much of the orangey-red goo off of your body as possible, but it stained your clothes, so you had to walk through New York city looking like a giant bucket of paint was dropped on you and feeling sticky.

You turn around and lean your forehead against the front door with a loud sigh, trying to catch your bearings before you attempt to make it to the bathroom. You were happy that Mike hadn’t come out of his apartment. You didn’t want to have to explain to him why you looked like you’d taken a bath in tomato soup. Every few minutes you'd get a whiff of yourself and feel the urge to throw up all over again, living in the moment of the supe trying to shove his liquified body down your throat.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ben asks from the charcoal couch, a blunt perched between his lips.

The living room had already started to look like his bedroom back at the other apartment, pieces of his dirty clothing were spread over your hardwood floors, old beer bottles were sitting on your coffee table, and there was a collection of half-smoked blunts in a large ceramic pot that you were letting Ben use as an ashtray. The room was still yours though. The plants on the walls and in pots around the space had not been harmed by Ben's habitation of your apartment. You wondered if that was because Ben actually was trying to respect your rules or if he was afraid you would throw him out.

I'm going to buy him a hamper. The last thing I want is to step on his dirty underwear on my way into the kitchen.

"The next time Butcher calls, tell him I died." You groan moving into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

He turns his head to stare at you. "Is that paint?"

"Nope." You shudder taking a sip from the water bottle, swishing it around your mouth to wash out the taste.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the supe. He was disgusting." You shudder and take another sip of water. It was helping a little bit, but you eat a handful of raspberries to try and get rid of the aftertaste. "I can still taste him."

Ben smirks. "You can still taste him? What part of him did you put in your mouth?"

"Don't be disgusting." You groan. "His power was liquification, okay, he could liquify his entire body-"

"Did you swallow?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"This is why we don't talk." You narrow your eyes at Ben. "He liquified himself and tried to drown me by shoving himself down my throat."

"Drown you?" Ben sits up straighter. "Are you okay?" You watch something shift through his gaze that looks a lot like worry.

Why is he worried?

"I'm fine." You hold up a hand and watch him relax and take a hit from the blunt. "But worst superpower ever."

"I don't know, kinda sounds like a fun way to get to know someone-"

"He was an idiot. He thought that whatever he lost would replenish."

"Wait what?"

"Whatever he 'drowned' me with didn't reform on his body. So he shoved himself down my esophagus and then he couldn't figure out why he was missing a hand, didn't think about stomach acid. Idiot." You roll your eyes. "But we couldn't contain him and the only thing that I could think of was to dump him in the Hudson. He wasn't strong enough to keep himself together in the current of the bay, it’s gonna take him centuries to piece himself back together." You shake your head. "What have you been doing? I thought you had a hot Tinder date or whatever."

He'd mentioned it this morning when you saw him briefly and grabbed a granola bar on the way out of the apartment. You hadn't spoke much since last night or really had time to talk about what happened, if anything did happen. All he did was let you hold his hand and -well- kick down your mother fucking door.

You weren't looking forward to sleeping without a door, it was the only thing that separated Ben and you, the only thing that gave you a little privacy. You figured that you could just hang one of the crocheted blankets over the doorway, but you were exhausted.

Ben shrugs, letting out a lungful of smoke. "Thought I'd just relax tonight. Didn't feel like going out."

"You didn't feel like going out? Mr. Casual-?" You begin to say, eyes sweeping through the apartment and looking down the dark hallway, stopping on your bedroom doorway.

Instead of the broken mess it was this morning, a new door has replaced it. It's a beautiful dark red wood that matches the floors that run through your apartment, different than the white one that had been there previously.

"Mr. Casual?" Ben asks while raising an eyebrow, clearly confused.

You were going to call him 'Mr. Casual Sex' but you couldn't finish the thought.  "Did you fix my door?"

"Huh?"

"My door." You point down the hallway, eyes shifting back to Ben, who looks suddenly uncomfortable. "The one you broke in half."

"Yeah- uh- I know how much you like your privacy." Ben grunts looking back at the flat screen tv. There was a baseball game on, but the T.V was on mute, the blue light flickering around the small room.

You suddenly have the overwhelming urge to cry. You figured that it was everything from today crashing down on you, the frustration you had with the supe, the smell, and now Ben was actually doing something nice for you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He still doesn’t look at you and you wonder if he's embarrassed that you pointed it out.

“Well I think I’m going to try to scrub whatever the hell this is off of me.” You say as you begin to walk down the dark hallway and Ben continues to watch the game.

“Wait Petals I’ve got something important to ask you.”

You look up at him expectantly.

“How much do you love your daddy?” His smile slips into a suggestive smirk. “Would you be willing to do anything  to keep him happy?”

“Shut up Gramps.” You flip him off and squish down the hallway to the bathroom.

When you get out of the shower you're missing several layers of skin. You'd scrubbed and scrubbed until you felt red and raw, but it was better than feeling the sticky remains of the supe all over your body. The clothes you wore were ruined and there was no saving them, but at least now you felt better.

You walk back out into the kitchen wearing a soft t-shirt and sweatpants. Ben was still sitting on the couch, but the blunt was gone. You hadn’t noticed before that his dark hair was wet, as if he had taken a shower before you got to the apartment, the smell of his shampoo was strong.

"There's pizza in the fridge." Ben glances over the back of the couch. "Much better Petals, orange is not your color. But I will say I miss the t-shirt.”

"I'm just happy that it didn't permanently stain my skin." You make your way to the fridge to pull out a slice of pizza, eating it slowly. "And very happy I didn't wear my favorite pair of jeans. I'm going to have to burn my clothes I think."

"I'm just happy you smell better." He wrinkles his nose. "Before you smelled like unwashed gym clothes and a fucking yeast infection."

"Thank you for that lovely comparison."

"You're welcome Petals." Ben presses his lips together. "Did you want to-" He pauses. "Watch a movie or something?"

"Oh, um-" You glance down the hallway. You really wanted to curl up with your newest romance novel under your covers and relax, possibly with a cup of calming blueberry tea.

Ben shakes his head. "Just fucking forget it-" He almost seemed angry with himself for suggesting something like that.

"Ben no. I do want to watch a movie with you, I just-" Your eyes flick to the t.v watching one of the baseball players hits a home run. "I kinda wanted to relax with some tea and read. I just got a new book and I haven't been able to start it yet. Annie and I are reading the same one and on Friday we're gonna have book club and I really need to decompress from everything that happened today." You say it gently, trying to let him understand that you wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching something with him.

"Oh." Ben sits there for a moment considering what you said. "Well, do you want to sit out here? I know you don't exactly-" He clears  his throat. "Have a place to sit in your bedroom."

If Ben wasn’t living with you, you would be reading on the couch. Sitting in your living room surrounded by all of you plants always helped you relax. You hadn’t been able to do that since Ben moved in, not to mention you didn't want to encroach on his space.

“I mean if you’re watching T.V I don’t want to disturb you or anything-“ As soon as you say it, Ben hits the off button on the remote.

“I didn’t get to read the paper this morning and I’ve been trying to find the time all day.” He says, pulling the folded newspaper out from where it was folded and pushed up against the arm of the couch on his right side.

“Oh. Well. Um-“ You didn’t see anything wrong with sitting out here and reading with Ben. “Okay. I’ll just grab my book then.”

“Okay.” Ben breezes, before he glances at the left side of the couch where you would be sitting. The couch was in its upright position, which means it was more couch than bed, but Ben had stacked his blankets and pillows on the other side. “I’ll move my stuff.”

“Okay.” You say again because you weren’t really sure what to say.

You go back and grab the book from your bedside table, but stop just short of the door.

This is weird.

You think to yourself, holding the book tightly by its spine. You weren’t sure what was happening only that Ben and you were going to sit together on the couch in your living room quietly with no tv. And weirder still it was him that suggested you two do it.

He turned off the tv. He asked me to sit with him and suggested something non-sexual. You pause shifting from foot to foot. Because again Ben was confusing you. He was acting like the person you'd occasionally see when it was just the two of you, and it made you anxious. You didn’t want him to do this, to pretend to be someone you wanted just to get into your pants. It was like whiplash. Not to mention you didn't want Ben to force himself to change just for you.

Maybe… Maybe I can just go out there and pretend that this is normal and that he doesn’t just use women for sex like he told me. I will not overthink this. I will sit and read just like I planned.

You come out of your bedroom armed with your favorite crocheted granny-square blanket and the new book. Ben had cleared the left side of the sofa for you as he said he would and was now sitting with his newspaper spread out in front of him, one leg crossed over the other.

“Do you want some tea?” You ask him. You were just being polite, you knew that he would probably say no.

“Pineapple?” He actually kind of perked up as if he would have some if you made it.

“No it’s blueberry.”

Ben shakes his head. “Why do you like so many fruit teas?”

“Because they’re good and they enrich my life.” You snort before placing the book and the blanket on the couch next to Ben and go through the motions of making the tea. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“You’d be right. But could you pour me a glass of scotch?”

“Sure.”

When you’re finally hunkered down with your book and blanket, legs bent at the knee between the two of you, the book propped up on them, facing Ben with the right side of your head laying against the back of the couch, you feel yourself begin to relax. Bean is sleeping in a ball between the two of you. His soft breathing and the sound of pages being turned fills your apartment. The subtle thrum of the plants in the room soaks into your bones and you feel yourself begin to slip into the soft prose and for the first time in a long time you feel at peace. 

A/N: Annnnnddddd we're just gonna keep the Sky High References coming. Maybe the next supe they meet will glow… or turn into a guinea pig? 😅 Is it wrong that it's kinda making me want to do a Superhero High School AU with the Boys characters? That would be so crazy! I already have several other series fic ideas for Soldier Boy, but that idea is definitely going on the list to be considered.

As always thank you so much for reading and all the love and support! If you would like to be added to my taglist please let me know! 😊

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@spxideyver

[yunhohours]

Sleep Over?

✗ Pairing: date!renjun x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 3.7k

✗ Warnings: fluffy smut, renjun cannot stop kissing reader, 'baby' as a pet name, small bit of breast/nipple play, fingering (f. receiving), reader makes a decisive choice to have unprotected sex (do not recommend), creampie, these bitches are in love with each other oh my god

✗ A/N: this was inspired by a prompt request that appealed to me so much i had to make it a whole thing. the prompts requested will be in bold font. i tried to keep reader's prior romantic and sexual experience vague enough to suit everyone, considering the nature of the prompts.

It’s your sixth or seventh date with Renjun. You kind of stopped focusing on the number after the third because that’s all the books and movies seem to care about. Tonight, you decided to stay in and cook together for once. You usually go here or there, eating at new places or trying new activities together. It’s always a lot of fun… but tonight, you wanted to just be together.

And by be together, you don’t mean in bed together. At least, you don’t think so. It’s the six or seventh date and Renjun hasn’t even kissed you yet. At least, not really.

He’s kissed you on the cheek. He’s held your hand–always, actually. He’s hugged you and held you, but he has never kissed you on the lips. At first, you were worried that he didn’t want to–that he just didn’t like you all that much. 

But how can you believe that? He keeps asking you out on dates, keeps making it sound like seeing you again is the biggest joy in his life. He wants to see you as much as your schedules allow and when he’s with you, you have his full attention, his full heart. So you know it’s not that he doesn’t like you. You actually started to think it was sweet and, really, you still think that, but you’d really like him to kiss you. You want to get it out of the way so you can kiss him again and again–whenever you want.

You’re in Renjun’s kitchen, washing pasta sauce off your clean plates side by side. You’re both wearing brilliant smiles as you talk and giggle and threaten to splash each other with water. He did splash you–just a little bit–when you were cleaning the pots and the utensils, but after one adorable warning look from you, he retreated. Not that you’d have minded if he didn’t. You’re starting to think there’s nothing he could do that would make you look at him with anything but adoring eyes.

Renjun reaches to turn off the water and you reach for your keys on the counter. He frowns.

“Hey…” His voice is soft as he takes your hand, pulling you towards him gently. He releases your hand only to wrap his arm around you instead, holding you at your lower back, his eyes glittering as he looks into yours. “Sleep over? Please?” 

You feel a swarm of butterflies come to life in your stomach. You hadn’t expected this. You were just hoping for a kiss, but now he’s offering you…

Well, you don’t really know what he’s asking. You can infer, but based on your previous experiences together, you doubt it.

“Sleep over? Do you mean…?”

Before you can finish asking, Renjun answers.

“We can just sleep. I just don’t want you to go home yet.” He cups your face in his hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’m really happy when I’m with you.”

How many butterflies live in your stomach? You lean into his touch, blinking at him fondly like a woman in love. Maybe you are a woman in love. Your lips curl up slightly as you nod your head. You want to tell him you feel the same way. You want to tell him that you’d like to sleep next to him every single night. But you can’t manage all of that right now. Not when you feel so overwhelmed with emotion. “Okay.”

It’s a single word and not as much as he deserves, but the bright grin that takes up his face would have you believing otherwise. “Good,” he says, brushing his lips against your hair before placing a soft kiss to your forehead. His fingers ghost down your arm as he reaches for your hand once again. He guides you towards his bedroom as he speaks. “Let’s get you something you can wear to sleep.”

You almost think that he means you’ll be wearing his clothes, but that thought doesn’t have time to cement itself. When you pass through the door to his room, your eyes instantly spot something of yours folded neatly on his dresser. He walks you right to it, smiling sheepishly. He lets go of your hand to present the clothing item to you and you laugh. It’s your old, reliable, oversized t-shirt.

“I know I’ve been telling you since our second date that I would wash and give this back to you… and I know I have been telling you that I forgot it every time since.” He pauses, cocking his head slightly as a coy expression takes over his face. “I just wanted an excuse to see you again. If I needed one.”

You feel almost dizzy at his words. Is this what it feels like to be lovesick? Every time he opens his mouth, you feel love trying to break its way out of your body–trying to grow past the confines.

You wore this t-shirt when you went to the beach on your second date. You just needed something to cover your swimsuit until it was time to be in it. But when you and Renjun were playing on the beach–chasing each other after he teased you or you teased him–you ran into the water without thinking. You were just trying to escape his playful wrath. You weren’t thinking about the fact that you still had your shirt on–not that you would have cared about getting it wet in the first place. You laughed and looked down at your soaked through t-shirt when you realized. By the time you looked up again, Renun was in the water too, eyes looking almost apologetic. You told him a million times that you didn’t care at all about your shirt getting wet, but he kept insisting on walking to a nearby hut and buying you a new one. He didn’t want you to be cold on the ride home, he’d said. You forgot your original shirt in his car.

“Well, I guess this is as good a time as any for me to get it back.” You smile, playfully nudging his arm with your elbow before taking the shirt from him. You look towards his bedroom door, attempting to look past it for a bathroom to change in.

“Right next door,” he says, answering your silent question.

You look back at him–in awe of him. He anticipates your every need. You nod and reach up to kiss his cheek, lingering there for a moment. You pull away, heading to the bathroom next door, your heart beating at double speed. 

Renjun’s bathroom is clean, beautiful. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a clean, beautiful person. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you admire it. A small plant that he has had to learn how to keep alive. A candle that you can only assume he lights when he has a bath. Plush towels that tempt you to take that bath before bed. You shake your head once in an effort to refocus yourself, carefully stepping out of your clothes and into your shirt. You realize that you don’t have any shorts to wear with it, but he’s seen you in swimwear already. Your panties are much the same. Surely, he’s thought this too.

When you enter Renjun’s bedroom again, it’s darker. The overhead lights are off, leaving the room dimly lit by a single lamp on his bedside table. You can see him sitting against his headboard, legs under his sheets. His comforter is folded at the end of his bed–he probably only uses it when the temperature calls for it. His eyes round out just slightly as he smiles at you. He looks grateful that you’re here.

You make your way to his bed and slip under the sheets. Unlike Renjun, you cover yourself up to your shoulders, laying down properly on your side and looking at him. You match his smile. He matches your position, sinking down to mirror your body. You stay just like this–smiling, holding each other’s gaze, feeling what it’s like to find home in another person–for a minute or two.

Renjun’s eyes slide down to your lips. You almost gulp. Is he finally going to kiss you? His hand cups your face–much like he did in the kitchen–but this time, his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, featherlight.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It makes me think you want to kiss me.” Your voice is a whisper.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He answers your question with a question, this thumb still grazing back and forth across your lip. His touch is so light that you wouldn’t know he was touching you at all if your lip wasn’t moving on its own accord.

Your cheeks heat up at the question. You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s because you want to know what would make him ask that. What is it about you that makes him think there's enough of a chance that you haven’t kissed anyone, so he should ask? What does he want the answer to be? Maybe it’s because the question alone makes you feel even more sure that he is going to kiss you this time.

While you’re busy thinking instead of answering, Renjun has either come to his own conclusion in his mind or decided that he doesn’t care after all, because he leans in, his eyes on your lips. The moment is finally here. You tense, bracing for what you’ve been craving.

Renjun notices your tension, mistaking it for nervousness. “Don’t be afraid. It’s me.” He whispers the words, his lips brushing against yours softly as he speaks.

His lips connect with yours, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your body relax with the kiss. Maybe you were nervous. You’ve never cared about someone this much, after all. He lets his lips pop free of yours after just one gentle peck of your lips, but he doesn’t pull away. He’s testing how you feel, what you want. You angle your face just slightly, playfully bumping his nose with yours as a signal that you’re just fine. He smiles and brushes his lips against yours before kissing you again.

This time, he doesn’t stop after the first kiss finishes. He follows it with another and another, each one stealing more of your breath. His lips are so soft and the connection between you can be felt physically, your body overwhelmed with passion. Your hand clutches the front of his shirt, tangling it in your fist as a way to disperse some of the tension in your body. His hand wraps around your fist, smiling against your lips.

He presses forward, directing you to lie on your back. He does it slowly and carefully enough that you could just ignore his body’s signals and stay as you are, but you oblige his request, welcoming his body on top of yours. He holds your face tenderly in one hand, holding himself up with the other, not wanting to overwhelm you too quickly. He lets his body melt on top of yours, his tongue asking for permission at the seam of your lips. You don’t hesitate to give it to him, parting your lips for him.

You’re both breathing heavily, the heat warming your faces. Renjun’s tongue is intentional in its exploration of your mouth, massaging your tongue in a sensual fashion that reflects the way he holds your face in his hand. Loving. 

Your hands are resting on either side of Renjun’s neck, holding lightly enough that if you put any less effort into your wrists, they would fall away. Renjun’s hands are on the move, gliding over your shoulders and down your arms. He takes your hands in his for a moment, threading his fingers through yours, squeezing affectionately. He turns your arms, letting his thumbs brush against your wrists. Through all of this, he never stops kissing you.

The kiss is more involved now, both of you angling your heads and chasing after each other’s lips like you’d die without them. Renjun licks into your mouth teasingly a few times, his hands gripping your hips where your shirt has bunched up and settled. You can’t help but moan softly at the flirtation. He grins against your lips before capturing them again, his fingers experimenting with the hem of your shirt. Your hands tighten their hold on his neck, moving closer to the back of his head, finding his hair. 

Renjun hums his approval against your lips, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your stomach. Your stomach tenses under his touch, the anticipation triggering an influx of adrenaline. 

Misunderstanding, Renjun’s hands retreat.

“No–” You dispute, breathless.

Renjun pulls back enough to see your face clearly, his amorous eyes searching yours. His thumb hooks under them of your shirt, brushing against the skin there, checking. Making sure you don’t really mind. “Are you sure? Once we start, I might not be able to stop.” He kisses the tip of your nose, surely reassuring you that he won’t be upset either way.

You nod, holding his eyes so he knows you mean it. “I want to be with you.”

That’s all Renjun needed to hear. He kisses you again–harder this time, but still precious. His hands fully move under your shirt, feeling the entire expanse of your abdomen. You sigh dreamily against his lips, he licks at yours playfully. He ventures off your mouth, kissing across your jaw, turning your head with his in the process. His hands reach your breasts, thumbs lightly brushing over the nipples. He savors the quiet moan you reward him with, cupping them. You moan again.

Your wrists are limply thrown over Renjun’s upper back as he kisses down your neck, focusing on the spot where it meets your shoulder. He sucks the skin into his mouth and you gasp at the sensation. If he keeps it up, he’ll be leaving a mark behind. You feel him hardening against your thigh as his hands massage your breasts, your pussy clenching at the prospect of feeling him inside you. I want to be as close to him as humanly possible, you think. 

Oh god, you’re hopelessly in love with him. There’s no question about it.

“Renjun…” You hesitate, timid. What if he doesn’t want the same thing?

“What is it, baby?” He asks, voice laced with affection. He kisses the same spot over and over, just pecks. He doesn’t want his mouth to get too involved when he might need to use more words.

“I want to feel you.” You manage the words. You feel shy, but he’s worth the effort. You swear you feel his cock twitch against your leg.

Renjun hums, pleased. He licks over the spot he’s been marking–once, twice, three times. “I’ll take care of you, baby. I want to feel you too.” He kisses back up to your lips, his hand skating down the softness of your belly towards your panties. His kiss is soft again, just like before. He keeps his tongue to himself, not wanting you to focus on anything but the feeling of him touching you, his hand reaching into your panties, fingers taking up residency in your folds.

He kisses the corner of your lips as you moan. You didn’t realize how much you wanted him. This first touch feels like you’ve been waiting your whole life for it. His middle finger tests your clit, pushing against it like a trigger-sensitive button, and you twitch, moaning louder than before.

“You’re already so sensitive.” You can hear the desire in his voice, his lips hovering by your jaw. He continues feeling you out, fingers gliding towards your entrance, finding much more arousal than he’d anticipated. “Fuck, y/n.”

A hint of embarrassment tinges your features. “I just… really want you.” You admit.

He groans with his own want, placing comforting kisses across your jaw as he makes his way back to your lips. “How did I get so lucky?” You kiss him before he can kiss you and he moans this time.

Not one to rush things or risk you being uncomfortable, Renjun’s fingers probe at your entrance. He guides one of his fingers inside you, both of you hissing at the feeling. Realizing that you’re plenty aroused enough, Renjun adds a second finger, working them gently inside you. You whine–wanting to keep feeling him like this, wanting to feel him more.

“I know, baby. Me too.”

Renjun thrusts his fingers a few more times before pulling them out. He sits back on his feet, pulling his shirt over his head. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but it’s different right now. You salivate, appreciating your view as he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, peeling them down and off your legs before hovering over you again. 

“Should I get a condom?” He asks, his eyes level with yours. 

You take a moment to think before answering. “No.”

He raises his brow, asking silent questions. Does that mean you want me to stop? Do you want me to keep going without one?

“I want to feel you.” You repeat the words from earlier.

Renjun’s face looks pained at the words. The good kind of pain. The kind that comes with a groan of lust, love. He kisses you, using one hand to push his boxers down until they’re out of the way. He sighs with relief, the exhale causing your lips to separate. You stay in place, breathing against each other’s mouths as Renjun guides the tip of his cock through your slick. You can tell from the way his hips jerk at the feeling that he’s just as worked up as you are, if the sheer hardness of his cock wasn’t enough of a tell. You finger the hair at the back of his head, soothing him.

Renjun pulls back like he did before–just until he can see your face clearly. He watches your expression as he pushes himself into you, watching for any sign of discomfort even as he groans from pleasure. Fortunately, all he sees is the way your brows raise at the front and your jaw lowers, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard tumbling out of your kiss-swollen lips.

Taking this as a sign to give you more, Renjun starts to pump himself inside you. He’s slow, but not too slow. Just slow enough to make it feel like his tongue feels when it’s in your mouth–the delicious drag of his cock along your walls. You can feel every movement individually instead of it becoming one big, blurred assault. You moan in sync with each other, the feeling of being one the strongest aphrodisiac.

You find yourself grasping as Renjun fucks into you–for his shoulder, his back, his hair. Anything. It’s not that he’s fucking you so hard you need to hold onto something. It’s that everything feels so overwhelmingly good being with him that you need something to ground you. To remind you that this is real and possible and yours.

You like that Renjun doesn’t inhibit himself with you. He lets his own sounds of pleasure come freely, escalating as the pleasure does. You’re comfortable with each other–both pairs of hips coming together in an effort for maximum closeness. You pant and moan and shiver together, experiencing the same kind of romantic bliss as each other. One of Renjun’s hands takes yours from the back of his hair, linking his fingers through yours–holding.

Your other arm wraps around Renjun’s neck, pulling him down, wanting him closer. His head falls into the crook of your neck and you’re grateful, his beautiful moans now landing directly on your ears. He sounds so pretty–you want to tell him that later. Renjun’s free hand snakes under your back, pulling you up against him as you hold him down against you. He’s thrusting into you without more urgency now–the difference felt more noticeably through speed rather than intensity. The uptake of pace makes your lashes flutter, your orgasm nearing. You can tell from the way Renjun sounds that he’s close, too.

You squeeze Renjun’s hand with yours and you squeeze his cock with your pussy. He groans. You can almost hear him thinking I know, baby. Me too. You hold onto his neck for dear life as he continues ramping up the pace, making your head feel dizzy on his pillow. Your moans slur into one long one, Renjun’s mixing with grunts. Your eyes roll back as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your body vibrating in Renjun’s hold. You hear his erotic vocals stutter at the feeling of you tightening around him, creaming him. Oh my god, you hear.

Renjun comes right after, his own white coating your insides. The warmth of it is as comforting as Renjun himself. Renjun’s hips still as his orgasm diffuses, keeping himself fully sheathed inside your perfect body. He exhales heavy breaths against your shoulder before lifting his head. It feels like it weighs a ton right now, but he wants to see you. You make eye contact, wordlessly staring into each other’s eyes–maybe, even, each other’s souls–for a few long moments.

“Y/n?”

You swallow thickly, tongue licking your lips as you try to come back to your body. “Hmm?”

Renjun takes your face in his hand, looking down at you with shining eyes. He kisses your nose with his nose. “I think I might be in love with you.” He sounds vulnerable, but more importantly: he sounds certain, despite his phrasing.

Your eyes scan his face–every perfect feature. You feel the need to memorize them at this very moment, as if you’d never get another chance to see them. Funny, considering you intend on seeing them as much as you possibly can for the rest of your life. 

The silence lingers on too long. Renjun is patient, like always. 

“I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Renjun grins through his exhausted state. He wraps both arms under your back, squeezing tightly around your waist. He hugs you to himself, making you laugh as he rolls over until you’re laying comfortably on top of him. You’re still connected at the crotch.

“I think that’s the best thing anyone has ever said to me,” he says, finally releasing his tight squeeze. He keeps his arms around you, one hand tracing lines up and down your back with his fingertips. That’s the best thing I’ve ever said, you think to yourself, closing your eyes to enjoy this moment.

[familyvideostevie]

alright, hear me out. i looked through the prompts list and can we give roommate!steve a little airtime beCAUSE—

trying to not hit anything or each other, when there is a power outage and it’s way too dark

— is SO steve coded. i wanna see this man during a power outage. please and thank you. i love you.

hi baby. here you go. sorry it took so long. it is the first thing i have written in about 6 weeks so apologies for it's roughness. i adore you. thank you for helping me give steve Harrington his triumphant return. | fluff, 1.3k, roommates!au

Summer storms in the Midwest always take you by surprise. The never-ending expanse of blue sky becomes crowded with swirling grey clouds without warning and everything stills, like the very fabric of time is holding its breath. Until the dam bursts and rain pounds on your windows, the roof, the pavement with wild abandon. Deep, rumbling thunder follows bright flashes of lightning.

You find it relaxing. A steady, reliable chaos into which you settle without complaint.

Well, usually. Your roommate, Robin -- a talkative and whip-smart girl who makes you laugh-- enjoys storms just as much as you do. It's one of the only times she settles, so you often read side-by-side in companionable silence. Sometimes, if you're feeling bold, you'll both dance in the rain.

But Robin is on some six-month trip for brilliant people and she's left you with a subletter.

"My best friend Steve," she'd said. "Come on, I talk about him all the time. You basically know him."

It's true. Robin is full of stories and this Steve is in most of them. A funny, brave, well-intentioned guy who is a bit of an idiot and has a great head of hair.

And now he's living in the other bedroom. And he's hot. And he always does his dishes and remembers to put the seat down after you scolded him once for doing otherwise and you have a crush on him.

It's annoying. He's been here for like, three weeks and keeps asking you where the spoons are and you like him.

But Steve? You are learning that Steve does not like summer storms.

In the few you've had since he arrived you've noticed that he paces, or sits in the living room with the television turned up high, or something noisy. You've never asked him about it because honestly, he could be much worse as far as roommates go.

You can hear his radio through the wall and it's making it hard to focus on your book. You should really go to sleep but this chapter is really good and does he have to be so loud? Maybe you should get up and ask him to keep it down --

A flash of lightning makes it seem like daylight in your room for a brief moment and then everything is dark. Everything.

"Fuck," you say. The power must have gone out. A clap of thunder so loud it feels like your building shakes startles you. You hear a shout from the other side of the wall.

It's not as hard as you'd expect to feel your way to your bedroom door in the dark. You manage to do so without injury apart from bumping your hip on your dresser.

But when you open your door you smack into a solid wall of warmth. Your fingers grasp for purchase and find none -- only bare skin.

"Jesus Christ --" Steve says. He manages to prevent you both from falling over and holds you at arm's length in the dark. "What are you doing?" His voice is tight and he squeezes your shoulders once before releasing you.

"Uh," you say. You're certain that he's not wearing a shirt. You can feel that he's not wearing a shirt. "The power went out."

He huffs. "Wow, thank you. I had no idea."

You wish it wasn't dark so you could see his face. Three weeks hasn't been enough time to learn all of his expressions. "Were you sleeping?"

It feels like a dumb question considering how loud his music was.

"Yeah," he says. "Obviously I was sleeping. It's like, 1 am."

"Just go back to sleep. If you can, under the volume of your radio."

You imagine him wincing. "Sorry," he says. "I don't, uh. Sleep well during --"

Lighting illuminates the hall and you see him for one brilliant second, messy hair, bare chest rising and falling, boxers slung low. Boxers with...are those...bananas? Then: darkness, thunder. You sense his flinch.

"That," he says flatly.

A smile creeps its way onto your face and you allow it because he can't see. The fact that this guy, your temporary roommate, your sort-of crush, is afraid of thunderstorms fills your chest with warmth. It's endearing. It's adorable. It makes you like him so much more.

You ease past him and into the dark of the rest of the apartment.

"Woah, woah," Steve says. "Where are you going?" You hear him follow you and immediately run into something. He curses. You keep your hands out to avoid the same fate.

"You okay?" you call back.

"Why do we have so much furniture?" he grumbles. "Fuck, that hurt."

You don't correct him that we actually means you and Robin.

"Watch where you're going," you say lightly.

"Oh, ha, ha."

Careful steps take you closer to your destination. "Go look for candles in the kitchen," you tell him. "They're in the drawer by the trash."

"Uh, okay," Steve says. He bumps into things with quiet curses on his way as you look for the matches that should be in the closet. "Why? You could just go back to bed. I'm fine."

You chew on your lip. He's right. But you want to hang out with him. The dark makes you honest. "The thunder is loud," you say. "I won't be able to sleep. We might as well hang out."

He laughs, the first genuine one all night. "Oh, you want to hang out? In the dark? You know what this sounds like, right?"

Ah, the famous Harrington charm Robin has told you about. It makes your cheeks feel hot and you can't hide a smile. Steve ruins the moment by running into something again.

"Fuck! Jesus --"

"Steve, be careful."

"I can't see anything!"

You sigh and finally find the matches. Box in hand, you carefully make your way to the kitchen, your eyes adjusting just a little and making it easier.

Steve is looking in the wrong drawer. You should just tell him so, but instead you reach for him, fingers circling his wrist and dragging it to the right one. His skin is warm under yours, the back of his hand softer than you'd thought it would be. You open the drawer together and hear the candles roll around inside.

His face is a dark outline but you focus on the dark and think you see his eyes. You wish you could see him.

"Found them," he says. You're much closer than you realized, so close you feel his breath on your cheek. Steve leans in -- or maybe it's you, you have no idea, and your noses brush. He puts a hand on your hip, fingers sliding under the hem of your sleep shirt and burning you like a brand.

Your eyes slide close and you miss the flash but not the boom that follows, sending you both about a foot in the air and away from each other.

"Shit," you gasp. Steve laughs and you join in, giggling in the dark like teenagers.

Maybe this is a one-night thing, the darkness making you both a little lonelier and a little braver. But you've got months more of him and the idea of spending that time being something more than just roommates? It's appealing, to say the least.

You reach for Steve in the dark and he must have been doing the same because your fingers tangle without much effort.

"Come on," you say. "Let's light the candles and sit on the couch. I'm sure the power will come back on eventually."

He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. "Okay," he says, a smile in his voice. "Don't let me run into anything."

You grin at him in the dark and hope that come morning he'll be familiar with it in the light, as well. "Don't worry, Steve," you tell him. "I've got you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[gale-force-storm]

Ok, new headcanon I've been playing around with for a bit, and I like it so I figured I'd share. The gist is this:

Morena Dekarios: Bard

Gale's always felt like he has some theatre kid energy to me. He's dramatic, grandiose, expressive, he quotes Shakespeare, he writes poetry, he loves telling stories, he comes up with a little rhyme on the spot if you cheat at that chess puzzle, he's just got That Vibe. Now, he could have come by this energy naturally. Some people are just Like That. However, please join me in imagining little Gale, listening with rapt attention as his mother performs a ballad, or tells a story with such skill that the entire room is enthralled. Imagine her trying to keep baby Gale entertained with some dancing lights, only for him to swiftly pick up the spell himself. Maybe one of the reasons he likens magic to art is because, well, that's what it was to him, when he was young.

Maybe Morena was an up-and-coming bard, travelling around the Sword Coast. Maybe she started a fling, as bards often do, with some handsome adventurer, and they traveled together for a bit. Maybe they found out she'd accidentally become pregnant, and after some discussion her partner agreed to return to Waterdeep with her, because, Morena insisted, the road was no place to raise a child, and she'd rather have her family nearby for support. So they went and found a house to settle in, and things were ok for a time. A bit bumpy, but they made it work, her partner taking odd jobs around the city and her taking gigs in taverns and inns and feast halls for as long as she was able. Even the first year or two of Gale's life things went relatively smoothly. But then his magic tendencies started really manifesting, and while Morena was initially excited, the chaos that quickly followed threw her relationship even further onto the rocks. They kept trying for a few years, but eventually, when Gale was 4 or 5, the partner decided enough was enough. He never wanted a kid to begin with, and all this? It was too much. He was out, and Morena and Gale never heard from him again.

Morena still did her best after that, of course. She was still proud of her brilliant son, despite the chaos and what anyone else might say, his father included. He was with her constantly, including often sitting by and watching her performances when no one else was able or willing to watch him. Luckily he always loved watching her play and sing and tell stories, so he caused relatively little trouble when he came along. She even started teaching him to cook, and to play a few instruments, which he picked up as quickly as everything else, though the piano seemed to be his favorite. She considered getting him into bard college in the future, following in her footsteps, but then Elminster came along. And while she'd been doing her best to help Gale with his magic, it was a bit of a relief to have someone so skilled, so practiced and renowned, be willing to help. A relief too, to have someone who saw Gale like she did (or so she thought): as a gift. Someone special, rather than a nuisance or possible danger. She adored Gale, doted on him, taught him as much as she could, but she could admit that she was a bit out of her depth with him.

By the time she started questioning the wisdom of having him go to Blackstaff at such a young age, started questioning the messages he might be getting, Gale was old enough and had inherited enough of her willfulness that there was no stopping him from diving headfirst into whatever he wanted to do, including more formal wizard training. She was still proud, of course, but she did worry about him. She was glad that he at least had Tara around to keep an eye on him, and that Tara was willing to report back to her. As long as Gale was happy, Morena resolved, that's what mattered. Her little storm. Her darling son with the mind of a wizard and the heart of a poet. A heart like her own.

[fourmoony]

going lingerie shopping w JAMESSSSS

ty for requesting! f!reader, 1.2k, mdni

cw: suggestive, mdni

James can hear you shuffling around in the changing room, the clinking of hangers and your clothes landing in a pile on the carpeted floor. He'd thought you were teasing when you dragged him into the shop with you, cheeks rosy and your smile all knowing. But here he is, waiting for you to show him your top three picks of what he thinks are, essentially, scraps of lace. And you're expecting him to pick a favourite?

James thinks you look good in anything. Truly, you're the most beautiful woman he's ever met in his entire life. He questions himself daily on how he ever managed to secure you as his girlfriend. Not only are you stunning, but you're entirely too smart for him, and you have a brilliant, loving heart. You're everything James has ever dreamed of and he simply cannot believe his luck.

Especially when the dressing room door peaks open and he catches sight of the baby pink lace wrapped beautifully around your waist. Your eyes flick along either end of the hallway before stepping out fully and when you do, James' heart almost flatlines.

The intricate lace hugs your hips in a baby pink coloured dream, and when you spin, the lace dips into a thong. You look at James expectantly, but his eyes snag on the bra, pure lace that shows the darkness of your nipples and his mouth waters. "Holy shit." He lets out.

James isn't too ashamed to admit that the sight of you gets him going. The colour makes your skin look so smooth, matches perfectly with the tone, makes you look positively radiant. Your tits lift perfectly in the bra, sitting perky and James wishes that public fornication wasn't illegal because he has ideas.

"You like it?" You sound sheepish, cheeks a lovely shade of pink that compliments the lace adorning you.

You look the picture of innocence. James wants to ruin it.

"Like isn't a strong enough word, angel."

You laugh, "Okay, hot shot, keep it in your pants. Still two more to go." You tell James as you step back into the changing room and close the door.

"Why can't we just buy all of them? I mean asking me to pick a favourite is cruel." James speaks to the closed door, and he can imagine the amused smile you're giving him, the way you're probably naked and grinning and it's all getting a bit much for him.

"Because," You huff, the sound of a hanger clinking as you take the next set from it, "They're like super expensive. It's a nice little treat, but three is far too many."

James scoffs, folds his arms over his chest. You've spoken a little about James' family, their dynasty in the pharmaceutical industry. But he has a suspicion you live in denial of just how rich he actually is. "I'll buy you all three, baby. You deserve to be spoiled."

He doesn't have to see you to know you're rolling your eyes, ever the one to detest any sort of money being spent on you. You hardly allow James to pay for dinner, even when he asks you on the date.

The door swings open to reveal an emerald green set, this time. You're scowling at his suggestion, still, but you look no less beautiful. This time, there's no lace. Only string, with a scrap of silk to cover your modesty. The bra is made of silk, too. Your nipples press against the shiny material and James realises he really has to get a grip of himself. He gulps and the scowl lifts from your face.

"So the lace wasn't your thing?" You ask, lips tilting up.

James takes an involuntary step forwards, as though if he doesn't get his hands on you soon, he might very well die. "The lace was very much my thing. But this," His fingers twitch, eyes darkening, and James doesn't miss the tiny inhale from your parted lips, the way your eyes glaze over, "Baby, you're so fucking beautiful."

Your smile is saccharine like sticky honey, manicured fingers reaching forwards until they're brushing against James' forearms. His eyes shutter closed at the touch, a man gone mad, driven mad by his beautiful, sexy girlfriend in what he can only describe as the most pleasing lingerie set he's ever seen. "Thanks, Jamie." You whisper, and then you're gone.

James opens his eyes in time to see the round of your ass before the dressing room door slams shut, the sliver of emerald green string that disappears between your perfectly rounded cheeks. He has to stuff a fist in his mouth to stop from groaning loud enough for the entire shopping centre to hear.

The energy shifts, you're not joking or playful anymore, and James can tell you've worked yourself up in your endeavour to tease him. He thinks it serves you right. When the door opens for the third time, James can't breathe. This set is red, has thigh garters and a belt made of the most delicate, sensual mix of lace and silk James could ever imagine. The bra has underwire to support, but is fully lace where it covers next to nothing, and the underwear is so sheer, so small and barely covering you, that James bets all he'd have to do would be to blow hot air against it to have you writhing.

James is so hard he can't think straight. You look sinful, beautiful. He wants to rip the godforsaken lingerie off and simultaneously take his time, enjoy it. Your coy smile lets him know you're aware of his dilemma.

"What do you think, handsome? What ones your favourite?" You ask, leaning against the door jam of the changing room.

Your eyes have a shine to them. One that tells James you're as worked up as he is, that you're enjoying every minute of this like he is. He smiles, allows himself to get close to you in a serious exercise of restraint, and reaches out until your warm skin meets the palm of his hands. Your eyes flutter closed, your body relaxing at the touch. James palms at the skin of your waist, runs a gentle finger from the belt to the thigh garter and watches as your breaths shallow, as your lips quiver.

He bends, all the way until he's right by your ear, the smell of your perfume sweet in his nose, "I think you're gonna go get dressed, and then you're gonna let me buy you all three of these," He pings at the elasticated string of the red thong, marvels at the way you whimper, "And then we're gonna go home and make good use of them."

James dares his fingers to ghost along the lining of your panties, marvels when he gets low enough for you to have to grip onto him for support and finds you soaked. "Sound good, baby?" He asks, pulling away entirely.

Your body jolts at the loss of him, your eyes unfocussed and breaths shallow. "Yes." You manage to get out.

The changing room door slams shut behind you, and for the first time since James has ever known you, you manage to get changed in under a minute.

It's not until later, when there are scraps of emerald and baby pink lace and silk littered across James' bedroom, when you're curled into his side, sleepy and clad in red lace, that you admit to him you'd had every intention of buying all three sets. That the store doesn't allow try-on if you're not going to buy them. James can't bring himself to care.

[princessaxoxo]

Thanksgiving

August Walker x Reader 

Summary: August has you over for thanksgiving.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), pet names, some food play, fluff, age gap, vulgar language

Wordcount: 930

A/N: Had this in mind for weeks but things got a bit chaotic in my personal life so it is a bit rushed. So sorry. 😣

A spread of Thanksgiving delicacies and candlelight covered August's dining table as you were squirming in your seat across from him. Although you had been alone with him before, this was the first time he had asked you to his place with such boldness.

“Which one do you prefer?” He pointed at the turkey and ham. “Oh, um, the turkey,” you awkwardly replied. Internally, you were scolding yourself.

August took your plate and placed a turkey slice on it. When your plate was placed in front of you again, part of the food was on the edges since you didn't want to be impolite and refuse any of the food he had prepared. “It looks delicious, August."

As you began eating your food, halfway, you noticed August hadn’t touched his. “Why aren’t you eating?"

August took notice of your nervous mannerisms since the beginning of the night. “Why are you fidgeting?” You looked away from his eyes and dropped your utensil. He leaned across the table and raised your face so you would look at him. “Tell me.” His light-hearted question has now turned into a demand.

“Well, we’ve never done this.” His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “What do you mean?"

“This is intimate. Well, we have been intimate before, but this is a different type of intimacy. It’s romantic. This is different for us.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. August sat back in his chair and chuckled.

“It’s not funny!” You huffed and crossed your arms.

“Oh, I don't think it's humorous, baby. I simply don't understand why you withheld your concerns from me. I am aware that this is unusual for us because we haven't been able to go on the kind of date that I had hoped for. However, the fact that it will be our first Thanksgiving spent together makes it more special.”

Suddenly, all the nerves you held floated away.

August took a few steps around the table before bringing out the chair beside you. He kissed your hand after grasping it.

"This is really special, and I'm glad it's with you. Thank you for doing all of this." You said before giving him a kiss that started out as affectionate but quickly turned hungry. "Suddenly, none of this food appeals to me."

“But you made all of it. It shouldn’t go to waste.” He nodded his head, and you could tell he had an idea. “It won’t go to waste, princess.”

You watched as he brought the bowl filled with mashed potatoes closer. It suddenly became clear to you what he was intending to do. “You’re going to eat the food off of me?"

August started to take your dress off your body, and you allowed him to. "Indeed, I am. After all, it's Thanksgiving. We must be grateful and eat until we put on ten pounds." He paused to give you a kiss on the inside of your thigh. "This is what I'm thankful for—this wonderful food. And above all, you."

As you bit your lip, you saw him apply mashed potatoes to both sides of your inner thighs before starting to eat them off of you. When you felt him sucking and twirling his tongue around, pleasure took over you.

Moans effortlessly left you as you grasped your breasts and pinched your nipples. He applied another sheer coat of mashed potatoes to your cunt, and you soon felt the feel of his tongue pressing against your clit. 

His formerly brilliant blue eyes were bursting with desire as you gazed down at him. His tongue lapsed and sucked until you were a wailing mess that was coming apart. “God, August.” 

He kissed his way up to your mouth. “Get undressed now,” you demanded of him. He tore his clothes off in a rush. And, thoughtlessly lifted you and placed you down on the table. August lifted the cranberry sauce and poured it over your breasts. When he began to suck and twirl his tongue over your nipples, groans fell from his lips.

“August, I need you inside me.”

His face held a wicked smile. “You want me inside of you, princess? Want to feel all of me?"

“Yes, please.” 

With rapidity, he lunged inside you, and your legs encircled his waist. His sac struck your ass with each push. As you bent in to give him a kiss, you noticed how his muscles strained with every thrust.

You encircled his neck firmly with your arms, and he enveloped his powerful arms beneath your thighs. When he pressed you against the wall and invaded you, you were able to feel him more deeply. With every push, his cock grazed your g-spot.

Your come covered his cock. “My good girl, covering me with her come.”

With your mouth hanging open and your eyes shut, you became mute as the pounding intensified. He gripped your face tightly. "Look at me; I must see that stunning face of yours as I come into you."

His body began to jerk as his seed filled you.

August's head rested on the bend of your neck while you both tried to breathe again. Once he was breathing normally again, he took a look at you and let out a little laugh. “What is it?” you questioned him.

"There's food in your hair," he said, moving your hair away from your face.

You chuckled hysterically and touched his face before speaking. "Happy Thanksgiving, baby."

"Honey, happy Thanksgiving." He kissed you several times over your face after giving you a quick peck on the lips.

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @chloe92 @identity2212 @juliaorpll78 @armystay89

[clockwayswrites]

Not Exactly Cinderella Part 1

WC: 1350

CW: mildy raunchy talk

Dick/Danny/Wally

Wally still didn’t really get why Dick hated galas so much. The outfits were a little stuffy, but Dick always looked amazing in them and these days he found ways to have fun with the looks. The people could be stuck up, sure, but there were always lots of Waynes and other supes to talk to. And the galas could drag on a little, but Dick was amazing at finding dark corners to duck into and make out in.

The worst part, really, was the photos going in. That was mostly because Wally felt so utterly inadequate standing next to Dick, but he doubted Dick had any issue with that part. Still, every time that Dick begged Wally to come along with him to one, he acted as if he was going to his execution. For a guy who fought crime and had literately been at his own attempted executions before, it felt a little extreme.

“You know, we could still have the driver turn around,” Dick suggested hopefully.

“Put those baby blues away because we really, really cannot,” Wally said, but he softened his words by reaching out to twist their fingers together. “You have to be at this one, babe. Part of what they’re trying to raise funds for is your idea.”

Dick groaned and let his head fall back against the the black leather seat. It made Wally want to lean over and kiss along that length of neck as beautifully highlighted by the passing neon lights as it was, but he managed to resist. Dick really shouldn’t be marked up before photos.

(Which was a shame.)

“Hey, I’m with you at least?” Wally offered. He knew it was paltry compensation, but it was at least something.

“You are. Thanks for coming,” Dick said. He lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Wally’s hand. “I know—”

“Hey, I’ve said it lots before. I don’t mind coming to the galas with you at all. Where else am I going to get to eat so many tiny foods?”

“Tiny food is overrated.”

“It’s the best.”

“Speedsters,” Dick said, rolling his eyes.

Wally elbowed Dick for saying ‘speedsters’, even if the driver wasn’t supposed to be able to hear them right then. Dick, of course, was completely unrepentant and just stole a quick kiss instead as the car rolled to a stop.

Dick took a deep breath. “Okay, time to look pretty, Wally.”

Wally’s ‘easy for you to say’ was lost to the sounds of flashing cameras and shouted questions as the door opened and Dick stepped out. Wally tamped down the urge to fidget and took Dick’s hand, joining him in the lights and noise.

-

For the most part, Wally was glad that he wasn’t expected to contribute to the conversations as they made their rounds at the gala. He got the basic ‘how are you’ or ‘so what is it you do’, but really no one wanted to know, not unless he ran into other scientists. Wally knew he could be a bit… much to talk to, so he let Dick lead for all the important conversation. Wally figured he could slip off to talk to the other nerds later, if they were around, but he’d stick by Dick for the first part at least. This obligation would probably wind down soon, even those coming in fashionably late had arrived by now.

Wally scanned the crowd as they headed up to the second floor to make sure they had caught everyone they needed to. Ah, there were some people he recognized from WE Research, as well as some new faces. They looked like they were having a good time. The group laughed and one of the people Wally didn’t know, turned with the act and looked over the crowd too. For just a moment his eyes and Wally’s caught.

His smile was brilliant.

Suddenly Wally found himself tipping forward, toe caught on the step. Only Dick’s quick reaction time saved Wally’s face from meeting the marble.

“Shit, Wally, you okay?” Dick asked, clutching Wally tightly to him.

Wally buried his blushing red face into Dick’s shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Dick said, drawing the word out. He guided Wally upstairs and into one of those dark corners, not taking his bracing hand off Wally’s back. Voice quiet, he asked, “Is it something from the… work issue earlier today?”

“No,” Wally said, but his word was muffled by the his hands pressed over his warm face. “I didn’t get hurt.”

“Okay,” Dick said again.

“Stop saying okay. It’s nothing. I’m just being… ugh.”

“Walls, sweetheart,” Dick pried Wally’s hands away from his face, holding them gently, “you’re worrying me a little here.”

Wally sighed. “I tripped because a cute guy smiled in my direction, alright?”

“What?” Dick asked. He covered his laughter with their clasped hands.

“I tripped because I’m an idiot and got flustered when a cute guy smiled my way.”

Dick pouted, still snickering. “You’ve never tripped up because of my smile.”

Wally just stared at Dick.

“What?”

He couldn’t believe it. “Do you really not know how many walls I ran into because of your smile, Dick?”

“No.” Dick was grinning now, bright and wonderful. “Give me a number here. Ten? Twenty?”

“So many, Dick, so many. So no getting jealous, you’re still way in the lead.”

Dick sobered instantly. He reached out and caught Wally’s wrist again, running his fingers along that too fast Speedster’s pulse. “Hey, no, you think I’m being jealous?”

Wally just shrugged. He did and he didn’t. He really didn’t know what to think. He didn’t think Dick was the jealous type, but it hadn’t exactly been put to the test. When this thing between them had turned from fooling around into something more they had agreed on an open relationship and worked out the details. And Wally would talk about someone being hot, sure, but they were always someone unobtainable. It’s Dick who had actually gone out and dated, or at least slept with, other people.

“Oh sweetheart, no,” Dick murmured, closing the distance between them to nothing. “I was just teasing. I think it’s adorable that his smile made you stumble— and at a ball too! That’s some real fairy tale stuff right there.”

“Okay, but fairy tales usually ended pretty horrifically,” Wally pointed out, though he could feel his own smile tugging at his lips.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Alright, a Disney style fairy tale then.”

Wally’s nose wrinkled. “Too wholesome.”

“Picky, picky, picky. An adult film knock off of a Disney story?”

“Dick!” Wally laughed and gave the other a little shove. The bastard didn’t even budge.

“Sorry,” Dick said without sounding sorry at all. “Come on, let’s go talk to him.”

“What?!” Wally squawked. “No! Dick, no, why?”

“Because you thought he was cute. It can’t hurt.”

“Yes it can! He’ll talk to me and…”

“Walls?”

Wally looked down at their feet, scuffing his banged up toe around. “He’ll, I don’t know, get bored of me? Or at least it won’t go anywhere.”

Dick ducked down so he could see Wally’s eyes. “Hey, no, sweetheart, why do you think that? You’re a catch.”

“I’m pretty sure only you think that,” Wally said.

“Lies,” Dick said, giving Wally a peck. “I’ll prove it. Come on, let me be your ‘wing man.”

Wally snorted at that.

“You know I’m a great ‘wing.”

“You are,” Wally said, unable to help the fond smile.

“Then come on. I know all your virtues, including how good you are at blow jobs. Let me extol them.”

“Dick! You are not telling a stranger I’m good at blow jobs!” Wally hissed.

“But you are.”

“Yeah, I am, aren’t I?”

Dick backed up, tugging Wally out of the nook. “We’ll do a quick pass up here and then go find him. See if we can’t get you lucky.”

“I was supposed to get lucky with you tonight,” Wally reminded him.

Dick just shrugged, still smiling. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I’ll still be around after you have some fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

--

AN: So I didn't really have anything else that fit Tooth-Rotting Tuesday in my current wips (not where they were at least) and somehow this got in my brain soooo.... hopefully you enjoyed it?

I love how gung-ho Dick is about getting his boyfriend laid. His plan is to get them started flirting and then just slip away. But will he be able to pull that off?

Sorry for any mistakes. A pressure migraine on top of my other migraine rolled in with the front yesterday so I am KOed.

Stay delightful darlings!

[luvvixu]

bad day = bad emotional stability

content: fluff, bf!gojo, +16, he's a bit vulnerable here—in short, kinda like crybaby but who caresss he's literally so bbg, kinda spicy so watch out

"y/n? why aren't you sleeping yet?" a groggy voice interrupts you as your fingers stop typing. you see your boyfriend sitting on your shared bed, rubbing his tired and sleepy eyes.

"i still need to finish my lecture." you answered.

"but you just said that thirty minutes ago," he said with an almost annoyed voice.

"i know, baby. but i promise i'm almost finished, i only need to write three to four paragraphs."

satoru pouted at you. he was getting really needy when he just woke up. when i tell you needy, it's literally and extremely needy!

you saw his face and it made you chuckles. he looks so adorable! with his cheeks puffing, along with his bed hair everywhere. god, you just have been blessed with a clingy boyfriend.

"don't give me that look." you playfully said.

instead of answering, he just turns his back to you and covers himself with a blanket. that's a sign that he's going to give you a cold shoulder. he's gonna ignore you, unless you give him all of your attention. you sigh quietly to yourself before crawling towards him.

satoru felt his side become damp, a warning that his girlfriend was behind him. he could feel the blanket suddenly lifted up. the white haired man gulped — because knowing you — a y/n would always have a trick under her sleeves.

"toru, my baby~" you purred softly into his ear. an amusement grin appeared on your lips as you watched his ears go red.

a brilliant idea also pops into your head. you swipe the hair behind his neck and start to place some small pepper kisses within his sensitive area, his neck. you knew he really loved this kind of intimacy.

you could hear his soft gasp and hidden whimpers escaping from his mouth. smiling in success, you decided to add more tease by letting yourself dig your canines through his skin.

lick, kiss, bite

that same pattern keeps him from drowsiness away. it made his mind become so frazzled that he couldn't contain his overflowing desire anymore.

a full moan finally came out from your boyfriend's mouth. your eyes shot up from the sound that you didn't notice that he finally faced you with a crimson complexity.

"oh? hello, did you enjoy it?" you grin innocently — clearly enjoying his vulnerable state. but satoru paid no attention to your words, rather he just stared at you.

the grin suddenly came to halt as worry appeared to your expression while you furrowed your eyebrows. "hey, are you upset with me?" you asked him softly.

you're getting a prediction that he's upset with you because you promised him that the two of you will cuddle tonight. and yet, you failed to do so because of schoolworks.

"baby?" you called out to him.

the boy sighs quietly. and instead of answering, satoru just planted his face over your chest as he shook his head, indicating that he was not angry or upset with you. a breath of relief exits from your lips, planting a soft kiss on his head as an affection.

"toru, is there something bothering you? can you tell me what it is?" you cup his cheeks gently to make him look over you.

he sighed. "it was nothing."

you both knew it was a lie. the two of you have known each other for almost five years. so this kind of behavior was nothing unfamiliar to you.

satoru has a habit of keeping things all by himself. knowing that he had this kind of mentality that he's the strongest, he shouldn't look weak. that is why you've been very patient and understanding towards him even more. you would always wait for him to open up at you. hell, you often force him to speak.

so without a warning, you carefully lean into his face and place a soft kiss over his lips. since satoru has been so dewy-eyed, you decided to take the lead by inserting your tongue inside him.

a soft and low moan escapes from him as he finally becomes responsive over your kiss. you let yourself smile between the collisions. your boyfriend is a bit shy and soft when it comes to you, that's why you cannot surpass the urge of protecting him too at all cost.

"i love you, toru. you know i'll always be your solace amongst labyrinths."

his breath hitch. and finally, the emotion he's been building up has now collapsed like a house of cards. you watch him break down in front of you. satoru buried his head again deeper on your chest as he weeps.

while you — being a worried and loving girlfriend — you stroke his head while whispering a lot of comforting words to ease his hurt emotional state. your baby has been so strong, and now it is time for him to release all of his unsaid thoughts.

"i'm so fed up with the shitty higher ups." he trailed off. your eyes unknowingly brightens, he's finally opening up to you.

"hmm? did they do or say anything to you again?" you asked with an extra careful voice. because this topic can be sensitive for him, it involves all of his hatred and some of his trauma.

"you could say that… they kept on nagging me about my student's execution. it really irritates me." as he spoke, your hand was still on his head to give him a sense of comfort.

"everytime i would meet up with the higher ups, i felt so powerless to them even though i am labeled as the strongest. they kept on bringing him — bringing you.." he continued. you could feel his fist tight within your shirt he's clinging on.

him? he is talking about geto suguru, right?

"y/n, i hate them so much!" a single angry tear fell from his face, and then followed by another.

you constantly wipe the salty tears from his face. "shh~ i know, baby, i know. but you have to calm yourself first, or else you're gonna have a panic attack — that's even worse."

now your shirt is wet because of his tears, which you don't mind. you're more worried about his state of mind. his mind is hard to dive in. you never know what's going on his fragile mind.

"but you know what, y/n..."

"i am so grateful that i have you. now, i can cope up with everyday scenarios or i can conquer those worst moments because you, alone, gave me much more than that." his words melt your heart. it was not rare for satoru to say these kinds of words to you, but due to his past circumstances, satoru was having a hard time expressing himself at some point.

one, because he, himself, has never received such a genuine love one before and two, because of his playful demure. so it is something new to you. such simple words matter for both of you, for you two represent each other.

"y/n, i love you. i love you so much."

"i love you too, satoru. you are my everything ."

and thus, the two dreams got caught in one dreamcatcher. their loud heartbeats are so vivid that they labeled it as one, one heart for two individual lovers.

©luvvixu2023

[pdflayn]

BEACH DAY PT. 1

oscar piastri x reader

1.1k words

summary: Oscar makes sure his girlfriend experiences the perfect vacation in his hometown, Australia.

warnings: smut under the cut! fingering in public, idk i think that's all

note: this is only part 1, part 2 will be posted once i find time again. reqs r open btw, enjoy!

It was already one in the afternoon and you were all behind the time planned to leave the house. Recently, Oscar had this brilliant idea to have a day or two at the beach with his whole family as a chance for you to be able to bond with them, something you’ve always wished for the moment Oscar asked you to officially be his girlfriend. 

Everyone, excluding your boyfriend, were pretty calm about the situation. Oscar has been walking back and forth in the living room while holding his checklist. You couldn’t help but to chuckle at the sight of him. Little moments like this made you adore him even more. He really wants your stay in his hometown to be perfect. What he doesn’t know is it already is. What you meant by bonding with him and his family only meant to spend time with them even in the comfort of their own home and eat dinner at the table.

“Love, sit down for a bit. You’ve already triple-checked that list of yours.” You whisper to him as you run your hands on his shoulder, trying to ease him. It worked eventually and he flashed a smile to you. “I’m sorry, I just want this vacation of yours to be perfect. Especially since it's your first time here in Australia. Wouldn’t want you to hate the place and not think about going back here now, do I?”

You giggled at his silly remark and placed a peck on his lips. “Silly baby, of course I’d want to go back here. Even if you show me the dirtiest and ugliest part of Australia, I'd still want to go back. It’s your hometown, it’s basically you in many ways so why would I hate it?” 

“Even the spiders?’

“No, Piastri. Not the spiders.” you say as you glared at him and he just laughed as he ruffled your hair. You didn’t mind really, but if it were other people you would already burst in flames. 

After a few more minutes, everyone has already finished packing and finally placed their bags in the trunk of the van. Oscar and his mom were even fighting at first because Osar wanted to drive but his mom won’t let him. Eventually he gave in knowing how much of a mama’s boy he is. The both of you sat at the back of the van, it was your favorite spot in every van because you felt more comfortable since you feel no eyes watching behind you. Aside from Oscar’s of course. 

“Will you ever stop staring at me?” you joked as you turned off your phone. you heard Oscar release a small chuckle and felt him scoot closer to you. you didn't mind at all, physical touch was your love language and he knew that too well. you took it as an opportunity to rest on his chest and close your eyes but Oscar had different intentions. 

As you relaxed on his chest, you felt his cold hands linger on your clothed body. tracing your curves and drawing circles on your back, slowly making its way on your thighs which he had easy access to, all thanks to you deciding to wear your favorite skirt. “Oscar, not here.” you mumbled as you enjoyed his touch but the thought of being caught by his family members is such an embarrassment. 

“Hey, can you get the blanket in ma’s bag? It's cold back here.” Oscar said as he took out his cousin's earphones in front of us. Oscar smiled as he reached for the blanket and gently covered you up as he placed a kiss on the side of your head. “no one will see now, you just need to be quiet if you want me to continue.” 

“Do you want me to continue?” you nodded as a response. “I need words, baby.” 

“Continue please, love.” 

Oscar guided your head to rest on his shoulder as he rested his arm on your waist and his free hand slid under the blanket. you can feel his hands wander around your body, starting from your knees, to your thighs, to your hips, up to your waist, cupping your clothed tits. your breathing hitch as you struggle to be quiet. “Look at you, struggling so hard to keep it down already and I barely touched you yet.” Oscar whispers to your ear, adding fuel to your fire. 

“Osc- fuck!” you yelped as he suddenly pinched your nipple. He responded quickly, covering your mouth with his free hand and chuckled in your ear. “Be quiet, love. you wouldn't want them to know how desperate we are, don't you?” 

You bit your lip, hoping it would help you stop the lewd noises that might come out of your mouth as Oscar slipped his hand inside your panties. His fingers playing with your clit and teasing your hole. “Do you feel how wet you are, love? I can easily put my finger inside you.” he said as he slid two fingers inside you without warning, making you grip tightly on his arm as you battle with yourself to prevent yourself from releasing a moan or a whimper or a whine, you weren't sure anymore what sound would come out of your mouth. But you know it would be trouble if people in front of you heard it. 

“Osc, please.” you whimpered as you felt yourself trembling and clenching around his fingers. “are you near, love?” you nodded quickly, almost sobbing from the feeling. “Of course you are. Look at you, such a needy baby enjoying my fingers. Imagine if it's me inside you and not just my fingers. the sounds you'd make will be heavenly.” 

“Fuck- oscar, i'm almost-” you struggle to complete your words as he adds another finger inside of you, fastening his pace even more. He curled his fingers inside of you, reaching your spot which made you scream. Thankfully, he was fast enough to cover your mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers as you reached your high. 

You were left breathless as he removed his hand inside you and licked his fingers clean. 

He took his bag and grabbed a roll of tissue and wiped off a few of the residue left on his finger. He took another sheet of tissue and wiped the tears from your eyes, you didn't even feel it. “I think I stressed you out too much. we both know how much of a screamer you are." Oscar jokes, you slapped his arm with no energy at all. He took some wet wipes from his bag as well and slid his hand back on your underwear and wiped you clean. 

“You can still get some sleep, I'll just carry you to our room when we arrive.” Oscar said as he moved towards the other end of the seat so you could use his lap as a pillow which you were more than happy to do.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

How Much Do Turtles Weigh?

Steven Grant x GN!Reader x Marc Spector • Rating: PG •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: You visit the aquarium with Steven and Marc.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: I got so excited when I remembered the lighting in ep 4 because I thought, 'Ahhhh, possible aquarium lighting?'

Warnings: TURTLES, London (ew, jk I live in this country), Steven's been feeling a little low, reader doing some mental maths, Marc and Steven not knowing how to convert kg to pounds, Marc admitting he doesn't understand currency conversion, swearing, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 618

“Oh my god!” Steven giggled, eyes wide as the turtle swam right in front of you. “She’s so pretty!” 

You grinned, taking some quick (and blurry) photos before leaning to the side to try to see further into the tank. 

“I think she’s gone behind those rocks,” Steven said, still smiling from ear to ear. 

You nod, “she's massive! Like, I know they’re big, but wow, they’re big!” 

“And their fins!” He chimes in.

“Like dinosaurs!”

He laughs and wraps his arm around you, squeezing you tight. “Thank you for bringing me here, love.” 

You hug him back. “Of course, well, really I had an ulterior motive.” You say playfully. 

Steven immediately plays along, giving you a look of mock shock. “Really?” 

“Hmm,” you nod, all conspiratorial. “Well, two actually, first,” you lean a little closer. “I wanted to go to the aquarium.” 

He chuckles. “And the second?” 

You smile at him and kiss his cheek. “I love seeing you happy.” 

The tips of his ears blush a rosy pink and he hugs you fully this time, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and squeezing you tightly. 

Normally, you weren’t a massive fan of public displays of affection. But the bonus of going out in the middle of a weekday in February meant that for the London Seaslife Centre, it was actually quite quiet. 

But you would have hugged him back even if the place was full to the brim. That was one of the many special things about Steven, he always made you feel like you were the only person in the room. 

He kisses your cheek, only loosening his grip and whispering in your ear, “she’s back.” He pointed to the glass and you smile as you both watched the turtle swim past again. 

You noticed the small twitch in his hands, his grip changing for a moment, tightening before relaxing. 

Marc kisses your temple. “Thank you for taking Steven out baby.” 

You nuzzle against his jaw. 

“He’s been feeling a bit down lately,” Marc speaks close to your skin, “I know you know that but…”

“Yeah.” You nod, you understand what he means.

“Holy shit,” Marc laughs, “that turtle is amazing! What the fuck are they feeding it?”

You giggle in his arms.

“160kg?” Marc frowns, looking at his reflection in the glass, “what’s that mean?” 

“About 350 pounds,” you answer, doing some very dodgy mental maths.

“Fuck me.” He chuckles, “also thank you, Steven had no idea what the conversion rate was.” He paused. “And neither do I.”

“It’s about 0.45 I think.”

He gave you a look. A mixture of suspicious and impressed. “How do you know that?”

You shrug. “No idea.”

He nodded. “Yeah, alright.” 

You both turn back to the tank.

“You’ve lived here for long enough Spector, I would have thought you’ve got the hang of kg and stone by now.” You tease. 

Marc pulls a face. “I still get confused when I’m paying in pounds.” 

“What?” You laugh. 

“Yeah,” he gives you a sheepish smile. “I always forget that $1 isn’t £1. So I’ll go ‘wow, things are so much cheaper here.’” 

“Idiot.” You giggle. 

“Fair.” 

“Give it another 6 months though, I’m sure the pound will fall some more.” 

Marc snorted. “You’ll be thankful for my strong, American dollars then.” 

“Oh, definitely.” 

“I’m really upset love,” Steven said, his tone making it clear he was playing, “I told Marc to make an absolutely brilliant innuendo about ‘strong, American currency’.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah! And he won’t say it!”

You giggle. “No?” 

“No.” 

“I’m shocked.”

“Appalled,” Steven added, keeping his arm around your shoulders as you both began to walk to the next part. “I’m gonna have to tell you instead…” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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