#Established relationship

[luumiinaa]

They’re too cute

wedding night w mark

(MDNI)

mark x reader , newlyweds , first time , shy sex , desperate mark , shaky nervous mark , husband material mark ofc , sappy romantic love , missionary, slow sensual sex , kisses lots of kisses, unprotected sex womp womp , requested here , not proof read since i am unofficially but officially coming back

sounds of quiet giggles and rushed kisses filled the hallways of the venue. you and mark crashing into every wall trying to keep your lips connected. mark groaned as he bumped his leg into a flower pot,

“shhh mark they’re gonna hear us!”

mark laughed as he brought he hands forward to cup your face, quickly planting a loud kiss on your lips,

“my love, we’re the guests of honor, i think they’ve noticed we’re gone by now.”

yes, of course the guest have noticed, who wouldn’t notice the newlyweds slipping away for some much deserved alone time.

somehow between kisses you and mark had found your way into an empty bedroom, hopefully it wasn’t one of your guest’s rooms, because by the end of tonight it would be ruined.

mark was quick to drag you towards the bed, giggling as you tripped on the ends of your puffy dress. he sat at the edge of the bed placing you in between his open legs, admiring you.

“you look like a princess, my princess.”

you smiled down at him cupping his face with your hands before planting a soft kiss to his lips,

“your wife mark, not a princess.”

he giggled into your light kisses, your lips tickling his face,

“even better baby, my wife. all mine.”

you hummed in agreement, a small smile on your face as you heard mark groan softly above you, your lips trailing down his neck.

his hands came up to hold your waist, pulling you closer into his chest,

“f-feels good baby, ke-keep going,”

you continued to work your lips on his neck, your hands coming up to loosen his tie, his buttons following soon after.

his hands held yours, stopping your movements. you leaned back to look at him, his cheeks already pretty and pink, a soft glow in his eyes,

“i want you baby, so bad. let me have you, please?”

you pecked his pouting lips, holding his hands tightly in yours,

“i’m all yours mark.”

his blush spread further down his neck, heart beating hard against his chest as he let go of your hands, reaching to unzip the back of your dress. you giggled as he struggled, a light huff escaping his lips,

“stop laughing, i don’t wanna ruin your dress!”

you reached back to help him out, immediately unzipping the dress and shrugging it off your shoulders. mark felt the air leave his lungs as you revealed yourself to him, no bra underneath, just you, bare and beautiful.

he reached forward to hold your breasts, a soft moan leaving your lips at the feeling of his cold hands,

“can i?”

you nodded quickly, gasping as he latched onto your nipple. mark thought this might be one of the best moments of his life, right after marrying you of course. he swirled his tongue around the hard bud, sucking gently to savor the taste of your skin. you threaded your fingers through his hair gently tugging at the strands.

he was quick to pull the rest of your dress down, detaching himself from your chest so that you could step out of the confines. you stood in front of him, only your white lace panties covering your core. mark didn't waste any time in picking you up, laying you down of the soft bed before kissing down your body,

"my girl's so beautiful, so beautiful baby, and all mine."

you bit your lip to hold back your whines, his soft lips leaving goosebumps on your skin as he got closer to your core. a light kiss to your clothed cunt was enough to have you whining in his grasp, a light chuckle leaving his lips,

"feel good baby?"

you nodded quickly,

"yes mark, please, keep going."

he leaned into your core, kissing the wet area lightly before slowly pulling your panties to the side. your breath was tense as you rested on your elbows, watching mark's every move. his lashes fluttered as he brought his eyes up to meet yours, his tongue poking out shyly to get a taste of you. you jerked your hips up at the sensation, moaning softly. you brought your hand up to cover your face, embarrassed by your movements. mark sucked on your clit gently, hands coming up to grip at your tits,

"don't hide baby, you're so perfect, taste so good, fuck."

all you could do was whine in response as mark dove back into your cunt, lapping at your juices like a man starved. his hands explored your body, flicking at your nipples, rubbing your waist, massaging circles into your thighs. mark meant it when he said he wanted all of you.

you felt a strange feeling in your lower belly, the muscles of your legs tightening with every flick of mark's tongue,

"mark- mark i think i'm close, oh my- please- feel like i'm gonna-"

he brought his hand down, fingers coming to rub quick circles on your swollen clit,

"it's okay, just let it go baby, i'm right here."

your toes curled as you felt the band in your stomach snap, your hips slightly rising from the bed as you chased mark's rough fingers.

"justtt like that, mhm, feels good right baby?"

you moaned in agreement, chest heaving as you relaxed back into the bed. you reached for mark's unbuttoned shirt, pulling him towards your lips. the kiss was sloppy, your muscles weak and mark's just starting to fire up. he wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you up towards his chest, your core rubbing against his clothed length. you felt him grind into you, the fabric of his suit pants burning your sensitive clit. you winced at the overstimulation a whine leaving your lips as mark continued to kiss your exposed skin,

"sorry angel, can't wait anymore, need you so bad."

he reached down to his pants, shaky hands working at his belt and zipper as sweat built along his hairline. he quickly shoved his pants and shirt off, only his cheetah print boxers left on his body. you let out soft laugh, shocked by his choice of underwear. he looked down towards his crotch groaning loudly,

"shit, i forgot! haechan told me-“

“mark, those are gonna be on the floor in two seconds i dont care what stupid bet you made with haechan, please just do something.”

he was quick to take his boxers off, equally as desperate as you,

“fuck, you look so good oh my-.”

mark looked down between your legs, his cock twitching at the sight of your soaked panties, white lace practically invisible. he brought his thumb up to rub at your slit, his finger harsh against your swollen bud. you sighed at the feeling hands coming down to hold mark's length.

"shitt baby, wait- wait."

he moved your hands, taking a hold of his own length and laying it on your core. mark moaned at the sight of you, laid out in front of him perfect hair now a mess, nipples perked up and your legs tense as you waited for his next move.

he leaned down against you body, face coming to rest in your neck, his breath shaky. his hand guided his length to your entrance, panties pushed to the side.

"i love you so much baby, i swear-."

he slid into you slowly, your walls burning at the stretch. your arms wrapped around mark's back as he eased into you. his loud moans filling your ears.

"fuck, fuck, fuck- so tight, oh my-"

the feeling was strange, the slight burn leaving fast as he finally filled you completely. he moved his face from your neck, wanting to see your face,

"feel okay baby?"

you nodded quickly, blushing at the realization that your makeup was probably a mess, hair that was once neat now a mess against the sheets. mark brought his hand up to move a stray piece of hair from your face, leaning down to plant a kiss on your lips,

"i've never seen anyone as beautiful as you ba- fuck, don't squeeze around me like that."

you giggled as his head fell to your chest, hands clenching your hips as he pressed his hips harder against yours. you moaned at the feeling of him deep inside you, tip kissing your cervix.

"mark, baby, please move."

he nodded against your chest, a small mhm leaving his lips as he slowly dragged his length out of you. mark was a mess, grabbing at your skin, sweat building on his entire body as he tried not the cum.

his thrusts were slow but harsh, each thrust pushing you further up the bed. he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you in place as his thrusts became quicker,

"feel s' good baby, made for me- baby you were made for me- god."

"yes, yes, yes mark, please don't stop- please."

mark thought he was losing his mind. the feeling of you squeezing around him with each thrust, your nails clawing at his back. mark wanted you to cum around him. no. he needed you to.

"come on mama-"

he moved his hand down to your core, fingers starting to rub circles on your sensitive bud.

"mark, oh my- mark feel so good, please- fuck."

he watched you squirm under him, leaning down to plant wet kisses all over your chest, his thrust and fingers relentless. his eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to hold in his cum, stomach tightening as your wet pussy clenched around him, your orgasm building quickly.

you threaded your fingers through mark's hair pulling him away from your chest and towards your lips. the kiss was messy, teeth clashing as his thrusts shook you,

"i love you mark, love you so much, i want you to fill me up baby, i'm all yours mark, all yours."

your sweet words and your sweet pussy were enough to drive mark off the edge, his hands gripping you tightly as he filled you to the brim,

"shitt, y/n- fuck, you're all mine baby- fuck, love you so much."

you squeezed your legs around his waist, your second orgasm of the night making your head fuzzy. you gripped onto mark as your mouth fell into a silent moan, only the sound of mark's heavy breathing filling the room.

you winced as he slowly slid out of you, cum dripping from your core,

"you're so perfect angel, so perfect."

he placed a kiss onto your lips and then another on your cheek then your forehead, and then your lips again,

"mark-"

"i just lost my virginity to the girl of my dreams and i made her cum twice!"

you giggled as he leaned in to give you a kiss, softly pushing him away,

"i married a dork! oh my god!"

he held your hands down, kissing all over your face,

"your dork baby, your dork."

your dork indeed.

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Another beloved parenting request (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Basically the reader and the character(Aventurine, Sampo, Childe And dr.Ratio) have a 4 year old son who one night has a nightmare and asks both of them if they can sleep with them in the middle, In short the child sleeps with both parents. Take all the time you want with this, I mean it all! (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

-💤🩵 anon

Safe Between Us

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Fluff, Domestic Life, Parenting, Comfort/Wholesome Moments, Nightmare Comfort, Soft Relationships, Family Bonding, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Mentions of Nightmares (non-graphic), Mild Emotional Vulnerability, References to Past Trauma.

A/N: Someone's a bit obsessed with a certain hydro character here ahem ahem, can't blame you if I'm obsessed with a certain gambler here ahem ahem 🧍‍♀️ also Renny is used for gender neutral term of parent since it would've been weird if the child called you parent

The quiet hum of the city outside your window was a faint backdrop to the stillness of the room. You were beginning to drift off to sleep when you heard the sound of small, hurried footsteps padding down the hall. Moments later, a little voice called out, trembling with fear.

“Papa? Mama/Dada/Renny?”

You sat up immediately, your heart clenching. Your four-year-old son stood at the doorway, his hair sticking up in all directions, his eyes brimming with tears. Clutching a small stuffed peacock—Aventurine's ironic gift—he sniffled.

“I had a bad dream,” he whispered. “Can I sleep with you and Papa?”

Aventurine, who had been lounging on the bed, glanced at the child. His ever-present enigmatic smile softened. “A nightmare, hmm? Well, dreams are just gambles in our sleep, aren’t they? Sometimes you win, sometimes you don’t. But tonight,” he said, patting the bed, “you’ve hit the jackpot, little man.”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrical explanation but moved aside to make room. Your son climbed into the bed, nestling himself between the two of you. Aventurine adjusted the covers with an exaggerated flourish, ensuring his boy was snug and warm.

“Tell me what scared you,” Aventurine said softly, his voice losing its usual playful edge. He reached out, brushing a few stray locks from your son’s forehead.

“There were… monsters,” your son murmured, curling against your side. “And they wanted to take me away.”

Aventurine’s smile grew tight for a moment—a rare crack in his facade. “No one’s taking you anywhere,” he promised, his tone firmer now. “Not while your parents are here.”

You leaned over, pressing a kiss to your son’s temple. Aventurine mirrored your gesture, his gaze meeting yours briefly. It was in these quiet, vulnerable moments that his guarded mask slipped entirely, revealing the man beneath.

As the three of you lay there, the child’s breathing grew steady, his fears banished by the warmth and love surrounding him. Aventurine murmured a soft, “Goodnight,” his hand lingering protectively on your son’s back. For once, there was no gamble, no risk—just family.

The air was cool, and the soft glow of the moon filtered through the curtains as you and Sampo settled into bed. His mischievous grin, as usual, hadn’t faltered even after a long day. But the peace of the evening was soon interrupted by the sound of your son crying out from his room.

Both you and Sampo bolted upright, exchanging a quick glance before hurrying down the hall. You found your four-year-old sitting up in his bed, his eyes wide with fear and tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey there, champ,” Sampo said, crouching beside him. “What’s got you so spooked?”

“I—I had a bad dream,” your son stammered, his small hands clutching the blanket. “Can I sleep with you and Mama/Papa/Renny?”

Sampo’s playful grin softened. “Of course you can. What kind of dad would I be if I said no to my favorite little guy?”

Carrying your son back to your bedroom, Sampo made a show of fluffing the pillows and tucking him in. “Alright, bud,” he said as your son settled between the two of you, “you’re in the safest spot in the world now—between two top-tier protectors.”

“Papa,” your son whispered as he clung to your arm, “are you sure the monsters can’t find me here?”

“Monsters?” Sampo chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Not a chance. Besides, if they tried, I’d outsmart them in a heartbeat. You’ve got a merchant dad, remember? I’d sell them some fake monster repellent and send them running!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. But it worked—your son giggled, the fear melting from his face. Soon, he was fast asleep, snuggled between you and Sampo.

Sampo leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple. “See? Problem solved. My charms work on everyone.”

The house was silent save for the rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore outside. You were just drifting off to sleep when a tiny knock came at the bedroom door.

“Come in,” Childe called, sitting up immediately. The door creaked open to reveal your four-year-old son, clutching his blanket tightly.

“Papa… Mama/Dada/Renny… I had a bad dream,” he said, his voice shaky. “Can I sleep with you?”

Childe was out of bed in an instant, kneeling to scoop the boy into his arms. “Of course, little one,” he said, his tone soft and reassuring. “Nightmares can’t hurt you when we’re here.”

Your son nestled against Childe’s chest as he carried him back to the bed. As the child crawled into the space between you, Childe tucked the blankets securely around him. “What was the dream about?” he asked, brushing his fingers through your son’s hair.

“There were… shadows,” your son whispered. “And they tried to take me away.”

Childe’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice remained calm. “Shadows, huh? Well, they don’t stand a chance against us. Your parent and I are the strongest team there is.”

He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he reached over to take your hand. “We’ve got him, right?”

You nodded, smiling. “Always.”

Your son’s breathing slowed as he relaxed, lulled by the warmth and safety of your embrace. Childe watched him for a moment, his hand resting protectively on the boy’s back. “I’ll never let anything happen to him,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

The soft glow of the night lamp illuminated your room when the faint sound of sniffles reached your ears. Moments later, your four-year-old son appeared at the doorway, his small frame trembling.

“Mommy/Daddy/Renny… Daddy… I had a bad dream,” he said, clutching his blanket. “Can I sleep with you?”

Ratio adjusted his glasses, his intense eyes softening as he looked at the child. “A nightmare?” he murmured, rising to kneel before him. “Dreams are merely the mind’s way of sorting chaos. Let’s bring some order to this, shall we?”

You smiled as Ratio scooped the boy into his arms, his scholarly tone transforming into something gentle and warm. “Come,” he said, settling the child between you. “There is no safer place than here.”

As your son curled up, Ratio placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what frightened you,” he urged.

“There were big, scary shapes,” your son whispered, his voice muffled against your chest. “And they were chasing me.”

Ratio nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, shadows. A product of fear and imagination,” he explained. “But fear loses its power in the presence of love and knowledge.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered closed as you and Ratio soothed him with quiet reassurances. “Sleep now, my little prodigy,” Ratio whispered, his hand lingering protectively on the boy’s back. “Your dreams will find clarity, and we will always be here to guide you.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

forever starts with a question

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEX!!! This universe would not exist at all without all of your support and love and care for this version of Steve and Eddie and Rory. I hope you enjoy an extra little snippet of their lives and more importantly, I hope you have the best birthday @thefreakandthehair 💖

rated m | 1747 words | from the bear hugs universe | cw: implied sexual content, references to sex | tags: established relationship, modern au, hockey au, fluff, marriage proposal happens off screen in this but on screen in bear hugs

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

This is stupid, he thinks for the 16th time tonight.

There’s only so many times a guy can change his shirt before he starts to think going shirtless is a better option, and that’s about where Eddie’s at.

He’s just asking Rory if he can ask Steve to marry him. It’s not like he has to look perfect. It’s Rory. She’ll have chocolate ice cream on her shirt within five minutes of their night out, anyway. It doesn’t matter if he wears the black button down or the red sweater.

“Are you almost ready?” She bangs on the bedroom door and Eddie jumps.

“Yes! Be patient!” He checks the mirror by the closet one more time before opening the bedroom door and smiling down at her. “Who braided your hair?”

“Dad. Is it okay?” She reaches up to touch the ends of the braid, trying to look down at it as if she could see enough.

“It looks great,” Eddie replies. “You ready?”

Rory nods and rushes to the front door. Eddie throws his coat on and grabs his keys.

“We’re heading out!” Eddie calls as he opens the door. Steve’s most likely already busy on his lesson plans, trying desperately to catch up from having the flu for the last week. “Love you!”

“Love you both!” Steve yells from the extra bedroom that serves as an all-purpose room. It’s an office and storage and guest bedroom and present hiding place all rolled into one.

Eddie feels the nerves really kick in when they get to the ice cream shop. They always start with dessert on their nights out together. Eddie believes in starting with the good stuff, and Rory doesn’t argue.

She’s looking at the flavor options as if she ever gets anything other than fudge brownie ice cream with caramel on top. He lets her. Maybe she’ll surprise him one of these days.

“I know what I want,” she says barely a minute later.

“Go ahead and order,” Eddie gestures, bowing dramatically and smiling when Rory giggles. “Anything the princess desires!”

“Can I please have a fudge brownie ice cream in a cone with caramel on top?” Rory places her order and Eddie can’t help but love that she’s such a creature of habit. So is Steve. Down to the way he unties his shoes, and the exact pattern of what he does when he’s getting ready for bed, and-

“Daddy, c’mon!” Rory waves her hand forward and he snaps out of his thoughts.

“Sorry! I’ll have a bourbon caramel swirl,” he says.

Rory nudges him, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh! Please.”

The woman laughs behind the counter and scoops his ice cream.

“You have to be polite,” Rory reminds him.

“I know I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted,” he admits.

She furrows her brows. She looks so much like Steve when she does it.

Eddie pays, adds a nice tip for his unintentional rudeness earlier, and lets Rory lead him to a table. She always picks the one closest to the window that looks at the fountain, but that one’s taken. She leads him to one by the other window, one that looks out to the street.

They eat in silence for a bit. Ice cream drips onto Rory’s shirt. Eddie doesn’t acknowledge it except to hand her a napkin from the pile he grabbed before they sat down.

Eventually, he runs out of ice cream and she keeps looking at him like she’s onto him. He doesn’t know how she could be, but you never know with her. She always notices the things most kids wouldn’t.

He needs to just say it. He has to ask now or the anxiety will just keep building.

“So. Rory.”

“Daddy.”

“I like our little daddy daughter times. Do you?”

“Yeahhhhh,” Rory answers, drawing it out to emphasize how strange Eddie’s being.

“It would be pretty cool to do them forever, right?”

Rory nods. Eddie wants to fist pump. He’s doing great.

“I think it would be pretty cool to marry your dad, don’t you?”

Okay, that delivery could’ve used a little work, maybe a little more buildup. He didn’t practice the exact words today, so naturally he’s struggling a little.

“Daddy, what the heck are you talkin’ about?”

“You know I love him so much? And I’ve loved him so much for so long.” Eddie feels his stomach flutter. He told himself this would be harder than the actual proposal, and he’s finding that wasn’t an exaggeration. He thinks proposing to Steve will be a piece of cake after this. “And I also love you very much. I want to be part of your family forever, if you’ll let me.”

“But you’re already part of our family,” Rory says, confused.

“I am!” Eddie reassures her, reaching out to take her hand and pull her out of her chair. She’s standing right in front of him now, eye level so she can truly understand what he’s trying to say. “You guys have accepted me and loved me and I will always love you both, no matter what. But I was thinking it would be nice for us to have a wedding and officially be husbands. Your dad deserves something nice, something he really wants.”

“Not like my mom?” Rory asks and it breaks Eddie’s heart a little.

“Yeah, little one. He didn’t get to have a nice wedding the first time, and he wasn’t loved the way he should’ve been.” Eddie takes a shaky breath. “And neither were you. But I’m gonna do everything I can to love you both the way you deserve.”

Rory bites her lip, reaching up to play with the end of her braid that’s starting to come undone. Poor Steve just never does it right enough for her hair type.

That’s okay, though. Eddie will be there to help her until she can do it herself.

“And you won’t ever leave?”

Eddie shakes his head and pulls her into his chest.

“I’ll never, ever, ever leave you. Even if your dad moves on from me, I will always be here for you,” Eddie says. “I’m your dad, too. I’m not gonna stop loving you for any reason, okay?”

Rory nods against his shirt. She’s quiet for a full minute before she pokes at his chest.

He looks down and frowns.

“You got ice cream on your shirt,” Rory says.

“Shit.” Eddie grabs a napkin and starts wiping, hoping it doesn’t leave an obnoxious stain. He’s glad he chose a dark shirt, at least.

“You can marry my dad.”

Eddie freezes and looks up. Rory is looking back at him with red cheeks and watery eyes.

“But I get to hold both your hands,” she continues.

Eddie beams at her before he pulls her into a crushing hug. “I think we can swing that,” he gets out despite the sob barely being contained in his chest. Rory is patting his back, probably trying to comfort him, which he knows looks bad to the strangers scattered around the shop.

“Are you sad?” Rory asks.

“No!” He sniffles and lets out a small laugh. “I’m so happy.”

Rory pokes his cheek and starts playing with a piece of hair that fell from his bun. “But why did you ask me first? Don’t you have to ask dad?”

“I do have to ask him, but I wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t want me to. Your opinion matters,” Eddie explains. “Speaking of, though. Can you keep this a secret? I have an idea for a plan, but I need you to not spill anything.”

“I can keep secrets! I’m really good at it.” Rory jumps up and down. “I didn’t even tell you about the present dad got you for your birthday!”

She smacks her hand on her mouth while Eddie laughs. He loves this kid, even if she is bad about surprises. Luckily, Eddie’s plan is only a few weeks away, and he’s pretty sure she’ll be too focused on hockey to say anything to Steve.

He starts to tell her the plan while the rest of his ice cream melts in the bowl. He didn’t really want ice cream anyway, just time with his favorite kid.

****

“I can’t believe you proposed at a game,” Steve gasps between kisses against Eddie’s neck. “Can’t believe we’re engaged.”

Eddie laughs as he leans his head back against the wall. The unused equipment storage room they’re in smells like it was recently used, sweat and mildew clinging to the walls and carpet. It’s a smell that feels like home to them, but it’s decidedly unsexy.

Plus, they only have a few minutes before they have to get Rory from the locker room, where she is gathering autographs from everyone as if she won’t see them in the next month when Steve and Eddie come back for a coaching camp.

“Sweetheart, you’re not gonna have time to fuck me,” Eddie moans as Steve’s hand cups his hard cock through his jeans. “Shouldn’t even be in here.”

Steve pulls away a few inches. “Who said anything about fucking you?”

“Oh, I just assumed that’s why your hand was trying to fit in the back of my jeans,” Eddie smirks.

“You could fuck my mouth?” Steve offers.

“Jesus…” Eddie groans and pushes Steve away. He grabs his left hand, though, pulls it close to his lips, kisses the ring on his finger. “When we get home, I’m gonna do anything you want, I swear.”

“But not here?” Steve pouts.

“Not now,” Eddie sighs. “But maybe if we can find a closet at camp…”

“Deal!” Steve smacks a kiss to his lips and rushes to straighten his hair and look presentable.

“You’re leaving me like this?” Eddie asks, gesturing down at the wet spot showing through his pants. “How am I gonna explain it?”

“You’ll just have to hide it,” Steve says as he walks to the door. “You’re the one who didn’t wanna fuck me here.”

“This is rude!” Eddie yells as Steve leaves the room.

There’s no answer, but Eddie quickly adjusts himself and makes sure his jersey is covering his front as much as possible.

When he makes it back into the locker room, Steve is talking with a few of the players while Rory is busy tossing a tennis ball back and forth with the equipment manager and goalies.

Steve looks over at him and winks.

Oh, Eddie’s gonna have a fucking field day with him when they’re alone.

[tldrthor]

five more minutes | steve rogers

Summary: Steve marvels at his sleepy girl and willingly loses the battle // established relationship fluff, fem!reader, no use of (y/n) // word count: 1k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

Steve Rogers had never been a man who slept easily. It hadn’t been that way since he was a baby, keeping his poor mother awake through all hours of the night. As he grew, sleep never came easily — too many battles, too many scars, and the weight of the world on his shoulders from the moment he learned that to exist was to fight.

These days, the losses of everyone and everything pressed on him like a boulder, something he could never outrun. No, to sleep was to confront — and Steve had done enough confronting for a lifetime.

Most of his fellow Avengers knew the sting of restless nights. They understood that sleep, with its blank slate, was a risky thing — a place where the cruelest parts of their minds could take hold. Steve’s dreams were never kind. He often dreamed of Bucky falling from the train, of his mother lying on her deathbed, or of you — you, lying in a pool of crimson blood.

He flinched as that particular memory resurfaced. The day he thought he’d lose you. His eyes flicked to your sleeping form, cocooned in the duvet like a hibernating creature. Sometimes, he wondered if this was all real or if it was just a dream — a dream he was overdue to wake from.

You were so serene, so untouched by the world’s cruelty. It struck him again, how remarkable it was that after all you’d been through, sleep was still a sanctuary for you. He felt a pang of envy. You were able to rest in ways he couldn’t. Your face was peaceful, your breath slow and steady, while his thoughts raced like an out-of-control train.

Watching you fall asleep each night was like witnessing a miracle. You had this routine, a rhythm he had come to cherish. It was small, simple things — filling your water bottle, turning off the lights, and whispering “I love you, sleep well” before you sank into the comforting embrace of the night.

You had once asked him, “Does it bother you that I sleep so much when you don’t? Do you wish I joined you in the early hours of the morning?”

Even now, that question made him smile. He remembered you, stumbling out of bed hours after him, his oversized pajamas swallowing you whole. It made his chest swell with pride — this little thing with messy hair and a habit of stealing his clothes was his. He got to be there with you, cradling you while you slept, listening to your soft snores.

He could still feel the gentle pressure of his hands on your sleepy face, rubbing the exhaustion from your barely open eyes. He’d kissed the top of your messy hair, holding you close as he whispered, “I love you as you are, my sleepy girl.”

He was the luckiest man alive, and he knew it.

But sometimes, when the sun was just starting to rise, and he had to wake you up, that luck felt like a curse. He couldn’t help it. You were so peaceful, so content in your little cocoon of warmth and softness. The moment he dared disturb that tranquility, you became a beast to tame — his beast, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, kneeling beside the bed. His fingers gently stroked your hair, watching you stir. “It’s time to wake up. We’ve got training in an hour.”

A soft, incoherent noise escaped you as you buried your face deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes…”

He couldn’t help but laugh. Same script, same lines. “Angel,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already had five more minutes than I should’ve given you.”

You leaned into his touch but didn’t open your eyes.

“I don’t want to go,” you groaned, wrapping yourself tighter in the duvet.

He sighed but grinned, moving to open the blinds. Sunlight poured into the room, bathing the bed in a warm, golden glow. You, of course, immediately buried your face deeper into the covers, a little mound of resistance.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, gently pulling the duvet away from your eyes. “Come on, sweet girl. You know you have to get up.”

And then — the bargain. He saw it coming a mile away, heard the seductive lull of your voice as it lured him in.

“Come back to bed,” you coaxed, your voice thick with sleep. “We can cuddle.”

Damn you.

“Can’t, baby. You know how much I’d love to,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice strong as he planted soft kisses on your forehead, your temple, your cheek. “Come on, time to get up.”

A dramatic sigh came from beneath the covers. “You’re so mean.”

Ah, the anger phase. His least favourite.

“I know, sleepy girl,” he replied in a mock-somber tone, unable to resist the playful tease. “Open those pretty eyes for me. Let me see them.”

One eye cracked open, barely a slit. Success. “There she is.”

Before he could celebrate, that eye shut again. Of course. He checked the time—training was fast approaching, and he had promised you he’d give you enough time to get ready. But what could he do? The sleepy beauty before him was winning the fight — again.

He checked his phone, his impulsive fingers moving quicker than his rational, captain brain could stop them -- a quick text to Sam and an instant response:

Can you cover training this morning?

Sure thing. I’ll put them through their paces ;)

With a satisfied smile, Steve kicked off his boots and climbed over you, slipping back under the covers. You stirred slightly, one eye cracking open to assess the disruption.

“What doing?” you mumbled groggily.

“Shh, my sleepy girl,” he whispered, fitting himself into your warm space. You immediately relaxed, a grin spreading across your face at your unexpected victory. He pressed a kiss to your neck, pulling you closer. “Just five more minutes.”

This fic came to me suddenly even though it wasn't on my radar at all! Hope you all enjoy. Reminder you can join my taglist via the google form here <3

Masterlist

[n1ghtfurys]

Okay so did I drop off the face of the planet? Yes, yes I did but here's some Simon fluff because I don't know what I'm doing.

:)

Simon isn't the most touchy boyfriend. He'll drape an arm around you when you're both sprawled out on the sofa or let you wrap yourself around him in bed even though he runs way too hot for it. So it's not that he's not affectionate, he's just not really the type to seek you out for attention.

Not only that but he's a man of very, very few words. Other than the occasional compliment on an outfit or sweet message when he's on a long deployment he's not particularly vocal about his feelings either. That is, until he's tired.

It's a gem that you found when he was back from deployment pretty early on in your relationship. He gets all loose, lipped and affectionate when he's really tired. It's like he loses the ability to hold his tongue and all of those sweet gushy things he thinks about you come flowing out.

When he gets back this time he looks like he's been dragged through multiple hedges so after a shower that you know could cook pasta, he almost immediately falls into a drowsy, almost, sleep when he finally gets to collapse into bed. You go to lie down with him, partly because you missed him but mostly because, in his half-dead haze, he asked you to, a rare but welcome occurrence.

You already find it adorable that he’s asking for your comfort, this big military guy who'd just been out doing god knows what to god knows who, wants to lie in bed and be held, wants you to play with his hair, wants to feel how you trail your fingertips up and down his arms, his back, along his neck, wants to hear you whisper sweet things into his ear, in that tone he loves so much.

He’s quiet mostly, you genuinely think he's fallen asleep but every so often he hums, or groans and shuffles himself closer or leans into your touch whenever it finds his cheek.

You let him move until his head sits comfortably on your chest, his hands balled into the t-shirt he gave you before his deployment and your hands running through his messy blonde hair.

He mumbles something that you don't quite catch, looking up at you through half open eyes. You love the way he looks at you like not even oxygen matters to him now that he has you. He mutters things about how pretty you are, compares you to the stars and the moon and the sky at dawn, names all of the things he loves about you. He repeats it over and over sometimes thinking of something new to tell you, some other little comment locked away behind his cold exterior. You know he won't remember any of it when he wakes up, but you also know he means every word.

[stargirlygirl]

self-care day with the boys

denki, katsuki, kiri, shoto x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — fluff, 2.1k words

kaminari denki

⭑.ᐟ it’s your day off, and your bf comes over to your place. you are exhausted from work lately, so you’re looking forward to spending the day with denki and relaxing.

you two try to bake a cake together. the kitchen looks like a bomb went off. a bomb of batter and flour. you’re both covered in it once you finally get the cookies in the oven. after cleaning the kitchen up, denki convinces you to shower with him and wash all of the goop off of you two. you lather each other up in body wash. once you’ve rinsed it off, you two stand there and cuddle. denki peppers your face with sweet kisses and tells you how beautiful you are. once you get out, denki wraps you in a fluffy towel before dashing off to your linen closet because you forgot to grab a second one.

after drying off, denki lets you tie his hair into pigtails and lather your favourite charcoal face mask onto his soft skin. he complains about how hard it is to talk with the clay mask on, the grey cracking around his mouth, eyes, and forehead creating wrinkles which you laugh at. he draws you back into his arms, bare bodies pressing together once more. he whispers into your ear what he’d like to do with you in such a vulnerable state. you can feel your face heating up beneath the clay. you tell him off and rinse your face mask off. you then apply toner, serum, and moisturiser to both of your faces. denki sighs in relief feeling your delicate fingertips soothing the cream into his skin.

once you two get dressed (denki keeps a few shirts and shorts at your place for situations like this), you check on the cookies. entering the kitchen, you can smell the stink of burnt sugar. denki turns off the oven, grabs the mitts and pulls the door down, revealing completely charred cookies. you two laugh and you playfully slap denki, scolding him lightly for taking forever to apply his face mask because he wouldn’t shut up. denki ends up trying one but immediately coughs it up and spits it into the bin. you heat instant ramen instead and have that for lunch.

afterwards, you two sit on the floor on opposite sides of the coffee table. denki lets you paint his nails black as you rant about work drama.

“what a bitch,” he gasps.

“i know right,” you say as you look up at him. he’s focused on your hand painting the glistening polish onto his nails.

you blow on his nails after you’ve finished and tell him not to touch anything (he knows the drill).

that night, you two cuddle up next to each other on the couch as you play animal crossing.

bakugou katsuki

⭑.ᐟ you’ve been super stressed out by work lately. you just finished getting dressed and were about to start on your makeup when you get a text message from your boss. he asks if you are okay since your bf had called in sick for you. you immediately text katsuki, asking him what the fuck was up.

you: suki

you: why did you call in sick for me?

suki pooki: cause your work sucks balls

suki pooki: i’ll be over in ten

and he was. he came barreling through your door. you meet him with a stern look, your hands on your hips. seeing your mood, he rolls his eyes and pulls you into a hug, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead. he tells you that today, he’ll be pampering you since you need a rest. he tells you to get out of that hideous uniform as he starts to raid your kitchen, whipping out ingredients for the fire breakfast he’s about to make you. you protest at first, but quickly let him take care of you. you know how determined he can be once he sets his mind on something.

katsuki makes you the most yummy breakfast that you both enjoy together. afterwards, you two cuddle on the couch and watch the next episode of the series you recently started together. katsuki then carries you off your bed and tells you to strip. you look up at him in confusion but he just gives you that sharp, cocky grin. he leaves and you do as he says, already bare under the covers when he returns holding a bottle of body oil. you stare at him even more bewildered until he tells you that he’s going to give you a full body massage. the tension in your muscles instantly dissipates as you let him coax you out from under most of the blankets.

he gives you the most relaxing massage. the scent of coconut is divine and the sensation of his hands pressing into your skin takes you to heaven. at first, he checks in with you to make sure that the pressure is okay, which of course, it is since he was being gentle with you. now, you’re about to fall asleep when he grumbles. it makes you laugh and you stretch, your fists opening and closing towards him in grabby motions. he lets you wrap your arms around his neck and you pull his body onto yours. the oil seeps into his clothes and he groans, trying to push you off. but you won’t move.

you two cuddle in your bed, katsuki asking you every few minutes if you’ve fallen asleep to which you mumble that you haven’t.

the rest of the day goes by in a blur of katsuki’s gourmet cooking skills, his grumbles, and his cuddles.

kirishima eijiro

⭑.ᐟ kiri knows that you’re exhausted because of a major project due at work. the day after it’s finished, you call him in the morning and tell him that you’ve got the day off from work. within the next half an hour, kiri is at your doorstep, telling you to grab your gym bag and put your activewear on cause you’re going to the gym. you groan but oblige, throwing on a baggy gym fit (baggy gym fit superiority, am i right?) and trudging out of your apartment with his arm around your shoulders.

he works you hard, motivating you every rep to keep pushing and going harder, perfecting that form every time. afterwards, you two walk to a nearby café and get some breakfast. you two sit outside, enjoying the beautiful weather as you munch on your brekkie. kiri listens as you rant about how stressful work has been lately, especially since your colleagues weren’t cooperating with you. but it was all over now, and that’s what mattered. he reassured you that you did the best job you could of given the circumstances.

“you’re so strong, baby. makes me so proud to see how well you did,” he says as he wipes your lips with a napkin. you giggle and nod, taking a moment to appreciate your bf.

in your sweaty gym gear, you two walk back to the car. but instead of taking you home (which you thought he was doing), he drives you to the aquarium. you scold him for not letting you get changed first. he apologises and pulls you into a warm hug, kissing you on the cheek. he holds you the entire time that you’re at the aquarium, first holding your hand and then your waist when your palms become sweaty. he takes candid photos of you gawking at the ginormous string rays, chuckling to himself about how cute his girlfriend is. you point to one of the sharks and tell him that it’s him and he laughs, pulling you close.

afterwards, he finally takes you back to your place and you two shower together. kiri kisses almost every inch of your body after rinsing the suds off of you, worshipping his gf’s divine body. your hands tangle in his hair, feeling his lips all over you. he finally stands up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. you ask him if you can return the favour. he shakes his head and gives you a deep kiss, saying on your lips something about this being your day.

once you get out of the shower, kiri dries you off and lathers moisturiser into your skin, placing kisses on any part of your body that he can reach.

you then curl up on the couch and cuddle, kiri doting on you and satisfying your every need until you fall asleep in his arms.

todoroki shoto

⭑.ᐟ it’s the weekend and you wake up to your phone ringing. you pick it up groggily. your bf’s voice hums in your ear, asking you what your plans are for the day. you groan as you tell him that you just woke up. he’s quiet for a few moments before telling you that he is going to pick you up in an hour. you hum in response, rubbing your eyes and muttering an ‘i love you’. shoto returns your sentiment and ends the call. you get up and brush your teeth, opting for a comfy outfit.

in an hour, shoto is knocking on your door. he’s holding the most beautiful bouquet of your favourite flowers and tells you that they’re for you. you smile, tears gathering in your eyes as you take them from him and dash off to grab a vase. once you put the flowers in a vase and set them on your dining table, you run over to him and give him the biggest cuddle. he returns your hug hesitantly (this touch-starved boy😭), his hands light on your back. you pull back and thank him, blinking back your tears. it’s been such a hard week at work and for him to surprise you like this meant everything to you.

shoto tells you not to hold back as he draws you back into his arms, this time with more confidence. for the next little while, you and shoto cuddle on the couch as you cry. his thumbs caress the delicate skin beneath your eyes, wiping away your tears. he gives you a small smile and tells you that you are one of the strongest people he knows.

after you’ve calmed down, shoto suggests getting some food to help cheer you up. you nod and you two head to the mall together. you sit down at one of the cafés and get tea and a pastry. the flavour explodes over your tongue, so sweet and the pastry is so crisp. you look up and see cream on the tip of shoto’s nose from his cream puff. giggling, you wipe it off his nose with the tip of your finger. but before you can draw your hand back, he grabs your wrist and licks your finger. the gesture has you blushing hard.

once you finish your pastries, you two walk around the mall together. you head into many different stores, shoto by your side the entire time. he holds any clothes you grab to try on and even waits outside the fitting room for you as you get changed. he usually tells you that the clothes look “nice” or “good” but, when you come out in something that he really likes, he freezes up. he can’t stop staring at you.

“shoto,” you call. he’s been looking at the dress you have on for the last minute in complete silence. “do you like it?” you ask. he gulps, adams apple bobbing. he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. you cross your arms under your chest, wondering if you look so hideous that he’s been rendered speechless.

you sigh, “is it that bad?” at your words, shoto shakes his head vigorously.

“no!” he says enthusiastically, surprising you. “no, it looks—” he pauses, trying to find the right words. he mumbles, “you look very pretty.” his words have you giggling and blushing an instant.

you motion with your finger for him to come over to you, and he does. you shut the fitting room door behind him and give him a gentle kiss, surprising your poor boyfriend who watches you peck his lips with wide eyes and a stiff body. you pull away, trying to contain your laughter. he pulls you back in and captures your lips in another kiss. this one is far more passionate.

shoto buys you whatever you want with his dad’s credit card. he carries your bags around as you shop. by the end of the day, you go home with far too many bags. you used to be very shy about shoto spending all of this money on you, but you know that he wants to. you know that even if you broke up tomorrow, he wouldn’t regret any of it because that’s how much he loves you.

[yanderejustforyou]

Madness Really

Oswald Cobb x Reader

Oswald Cobblepot had never been one to show his emotions. He had been hardened by a cruel world, shaped by pain and betrayal from an early age. His exterior was a mask, an impenetrable wall of arrogance, sharp wit, and cold, calculated malice. But behind that mask was something else—something softer, something more vulnerable. And it was that vulnerability that would destroy him.

The meeting with Oswald felt less like chance and more like the universe itself had deliberately orchestrated it. It wasn't a casual encounter at a coffee shop, or a shared glance across a crowded room. It was a collision, a sudden, irreversible shift in your trajectory. You, living your quiet, ordinary life, never imagined venturing into the shadowed alleyways and opulent dens of depravity that defined his world. A world where the air felt thick with unspoken threats, where whispered deals replaced polite conversation, and every sunrise seemed to paint the streets with the residue of the previous night's violence. Yet, somehow, you found yourself drawn into his orbit, a moth irresistibly pulled toward a flickering, dangerous flame. It wasn't love at first sight, not in the traditional sense. It was something far more complex, a magnetic pull born of recognition. You saw, beneath the gruff exterior and the calculating gaze, a profound brokenness. You saw the cracks in his carefully constructed facade, the remnants of a soul that had been battered and bruised by the harsh realities he had endured. And in that brokenness, you glimpsed a reflection of your own vulnerabilities, a shared understanding that transcended words. You couldn't just walk away. You found yourself compelled, almost against your will, to sift through the layers of anger and ambition, to find the buried pieces of the man he once was, the man you believed could still be.

But even in those early days, as you explored the labyrinth of his personality, you were shadowed by a chilling understanding. You knew that a man like Oswald Cobblepot—a man who had clawed his way up from the depths of despair, who had been betrayed and abandoned by those he had trusted, who had tasted the bitterness of injustice time and time again—was fated to a life of perpetual struggle. He yearned for peace, for a sanctuary from the relentless battles he fought every day, but you knew it was a yearning that would forever remain unfulfilled. Loving him, you realized with a sinking heart, was an act of self-condemnation. It was like stepping onto a path of thorns, knowing full well where it would lead, yet unable to resist the allure of the rose at its center. You had bound yourself to his destiny, and there was no turning back.

When his mother, his last anchor to the gentler parts of his past, died, it was as if the very foundations of his world had crumbled beneath his feet. The light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a storm of grief so intense that it threatened to consume him.

You could see it in his eyes. There was nothing there, no glimmer of the usual sharp intelligence, no quick wit or dark humor. Oswald Cobblepot was a man who had always fought for control, always strived to stay one step ahead, but in that moment, it was clear that even he couldn’t control the storm raging inside of him. His mother had been the one constant in his life, the one person who had cared for him in the way that only a mother could. She was gone, and with her, a piece of him died, too.

“Do you understand, (Y/N)?” he asked, his voice shaking. The coldness in his eyes was gone now, replaced by something far more dangerous—raw, unfiltered pain. “She’s gone. And I… I’m alone.”

The words cut through you like a blade. You had never seen him so exposed, so vulnerable. For a moment, it felt like the wall he had built between the two of you—between himself and everyone—was cracking, and you could almost see the person beneath all the layers of anger and resentment.

But even in that moment of weakness, you knew better than to think he would let you in.

You reached out to him, but he recoiled. The pain was too much. The fear that anyone could get close enough to hurt him, to take something else from him, was too deep. The walls he had spent a lifetime building slammed back into place, stronger than before, and you were left standing there, desperate and broken.

“I tried to do everything right. I tried to make her proud,” Oswald’s voice cracked. He stumbled backward, his hand gripping the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “But it’s never enough. Never. She’s dead, and I still can’t fix it. It’s never enough, is it?”

The tears that had threatened to fall for so long finally spilled from his eyes. You’d never seen him cry—not in all the time you’d known him. But there it was, the most vulnerable moment he would ever give you, the most raw, broken piece of himself. And you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to reach out and take away his pain. But you couldn't.

Because you understood the cost. You understood that even for a touch, even for the slightest moment of connection, there would be consequences. With Oswald Cobblepot, you could never have happiness. You could never have peace. Not when he was so determined to burn everything to the ground.

The days that followed his mother's funeral were a maelstrom of raw, unchecked emotion. It was as if the very fabric of Oswald's being had been torn, leaving behind jagged edges of fury and a bitter resentment that seemed to cling to everything he touched. He moved through the world like a wounded animal, snarling at any attempt at connection, retreating further and further into the solitude he seemed determined to forge. He became a ghost in his own life, his presence a heavy silence that suffocated the space around him. And you, who had shared laughter and whispered secrets with him, found yourself on the outside, gazing in at a stranger. You were left with the hollow ache of what was, and the painful recognition of what was quickly becoming.

The distance between you was not a physical thing, but a vast, icy chasm that widened with each passing day. Every unanswered question, every averted gaze, every sharp word delivered like a blow, contributed to the growing divide. You could feel its chilling tendrils wrap around your heart, squeezing the hope from your chest. You were desperate to reach him, to tear down the walls he was so meticulously building. You yearned to drag him back from the abyss of grief and despair that threatened to consume him. You had seen the light in him, however flickering, and now you watched, helpless, as it threatened to be extinguished. The thought of him disappearing into the darkness, swallowed whole, tore at you with a sharp, possessive grief.

But a grim understanding settled in your bones, cold and heavy as lead. You knew the stories. You had heard whispers of the Cobblepot family's tragic history, of the curse that seemed to cling to their lineage. You had watched Oswald navigate a world that seemed designed to break him. You knew, with a stark certainty that mirrored the unwavering despair in his eyes, that Oswald Cobblepot was a man destined for tragedy. His arc, you realized with a chilling finality, was not bent towards joy but towards a slow, agonizing decline. And as much as your heart ached, as much as you longed to be his lifeline, you knew that reaching for him in his despair was akin to grabbing a drowning man. You wouldn't pull him to safety; you’d only find yourself pulled under by the undertow of his sorrow. You would be dragged down, swallowed whole by the darkness, leaving two souls lost instead of one. The realization was a cruel truth, a bitter pill to swallow, but the hard-won wisdom of survival wouldn’t let you ignore it.

It happened on one of those nights when the weight of the world seemed to rest on Oswald’s shoulders. You found him standing in front of a window, looking out over Gotham, his posture stiff, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Oswald,” you whispered, hesitant, like stepping into the room might shatter the fragile moment between you.

He turned to face you, his face unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes—told you everything. The pain was still there, raw and bleeding, and no matter how much he tried to hide it, you could see it. You could feel it.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, knowing there was nothing you could do. “I wish I could make this better.”

Oswald’s lips curled into a bitter, mocking smile. “Make it better?” he echoed, his voice laced with sarcasm and something darker. “You can’t make this better, (Y/N). This is who I am. This is all I’ll ever be.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down. You never did.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you said, your voice faltering. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

But he shook his head, his eyes hardening. “I never asked for your pity, (Y/N),” he spat, taking a step closer to you, his face inches from yours. “You think I need you? You think I can let you in and make this better? Look at me.” He motioned to himself, his voice rising with anger. “I’m a monster. And I will destroy everything in my path, including you, if I have to.”

You could feel his pain, his grief. It consumed him, and you knew that he was right. He would destroy everything in his path, because that was all he knew how to do. He had been abandoned, betrayed, and now, all he had left was the cold, suffocating need for power.

And you. You were just another casualty in his war against the world.

The inevitability had hung over you like a leaden sky, a constant, oppressive weight you’d grown accustomed to carrying. You had known, deep down, that this day, this devastating moment, was lurking around the corner. Yet, knowing didn't lessen the impact. It still crushed you, the wind being knocked out of your soul, leaving you gasping for air in the vacuum of a shattered hope.

The argument, the final, agonizing battle, had erupted in the suffocating stillness of the night. Not the kind of disagreement that could be smoothed over with apologies and understanding, but a brutal, vicious fight that tore at the fabric of your relationship, leaving both of you bleeding and broken on the battlefield of your love. He had unleashed a torrent of anger – yelling that vibrated within the very walls of your home, screams that tore at your eardrums, objects flung with reckless abandon, each one a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within him. Every outburst, every cruel word felt like a sharp, jagged stone hurled directly at your heart. But beneath the surface of his rage, you saw the truth, as clear as a reflection in a still pond. He wasn’t just angry; he was petrified. His terror was a palpable thing, a suffocating fog clinging to him. The loss of his mother, a wound that clearly hadn’t healed, had fractured him, leaving him a fragile, terrified creature. He was terrified of the connection you two shared, the deep, abiding love that had blossomed between you. He feared the vulnerability that came with caring, the raw exposure of his heart. In his twisted logic, feeling something so profoundly for someone meant leaving himself open to the possibility of being utterly and irrevocably destroyed, a fate he clearly couldn't bear to risk again.

"I never wanted this!" The words ripped through the tense air, his voice cracking with the weight of his confession, the carefully constructed mask of anger slipping, though only for a fleeting instant, revealing the raw, wounded soul beneath. "I never wanted to care about you, (Y/N). I never wanted to need you.” His words, laced with a desperate kind of pain and fear, were like daggers twisting in your heart. The declaration, the honesty behind it, was a devastating blow, a confirmation of the darkness that had taken root within him.

Your instinct was to reach out, to wrap your arms around him, to pull him close to your chest and soothe the tremors wracking his body. You wanted to whisper words of comfort, to assure him that everything would eventually be alright, that you could navigate this storm together, that it didn’t have to end like this. But the cold, hard truth settled upon you, like a shroud. You knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that words wouldn’t mend this brokenness.

It would never be okay. Not really. Not for him, and certainly not for you. His heart, so deeply wounded, so completely shattered by grief and fear, was beyond repair, beyond any hope of healing. And with a horrifying clarity, you realized that your own heart, bound to his so tightly, was destined to follow him into the desolate, burning ashes of his pain. You were already burning, feeling the heat of his despair, knowing the fire would consume you both. The connection, once the source of so much joy, was now the tether that would drag you down. You were inextricably linked, and his destruction would be yours as well.

In the end, it wasn’t the world that destroyed Oswald Cobblepot—it was himself. And it wasn’t your love that tore you apart, but the knowledge that no matter how much you cared for him, no matter how much you wanted to save him from the darkness, there was nothing you could do. You were both destined to suffer, to burn for each other, and in the end, to lose everything.

Because there was no happy ending for you.

There could never be.

[reiyaus]

fem reader intended

fiancé gojo who shocked the jujutsu higher ups when he revealed his engagement to you, a grade 1 sorceress with no relation to any big 3 clans. imagine their surprise when he decides to get married out of love and not just to create a heir.

fiancé gojo who teaches with you at jujutsu high and is the reason why you can barely arrive to classes on time. with his pouty face and insanely toned biceps trapping you in his hold, who are you to say no?

fiancé gojo who whines when you actually leave him to teach your students, feigning offence when megumi shoots him a disgusted glare.

fiancé gojo who often joins in on your lessons when he starts feeling lonely, acting as if he were your actual student. your annoyingly smart A+ student who does nothing but brag about his intelligence.

fiancé gojo who likes to text you and send silly voice messages no matter the situation. picture satoru replaying his minute-long burp vm in front of the jujutsu higher ups so that he makes sure you can laugh at it (spoiler: all you feel is disappointment).

fiancé gojo who thinks it’s absolutely hilarious to flaunt his engagement and watch the irritation on their faces turn into pure horror. because for gojo, flaunting means interrupting you mid-sentence to practically make out for a minute straight.

fiancé gojo who asks everyday, “should we have our wedding now?” and sighs dramatically when you tell him to be patient. not that he’s actually mad, though. he likes the giddyness he feels while counting down to your wedding date.

fiancé gojo who drowns you in affection and praise after every mission, crying his heart out (jokingly) about how he felt like an abandoned princess waiting for her prince to come back from war.

fiancé gojo who, deep down, thanks the skies above that you get to come home safely everytime. and while he’s a jokester, all the ‘missing you’ parts in his sob stories were true. because while he knew you were strong, the lingering worry of you running into something way stronger bit his ass everytime.

fiancé gojo who indulges himself in your warmth, ignoring every single notification his phone pings out.

fiancé gojo who has a hold on you so secure, even during sleep, that you have to wake him up before he presses on your bladder any further. now you have to deal with his complaints of “do you not love me anymore? Is that why you let go? you’re so mean!”

fiancé gojo who shuts up when you offer to wash his greasy hair, immediately situating himself in front of you and leaning into every single touch you place on his head.

fiancé gojo who ends up getting you wet and makes a stupid excuse so that you can bathe together. no matter how difficult, the feeling of your skin against his was enough to get him through the day.

fiancé gojo who settles your back on his chest, lifting your arm to trace “satoru 🤍 [name] 4eva”. what a cutie.

fiancé gojo who genuinely can’t wait until he sees you walk down the aisle, exchange the vows he’s been working on since you first met, shamelessly give you the most passionate kiss ever (in front everyone you know and love), and officially get the privilege of calling you his wifey.

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Nightmare

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- Dae-ho wakes up from a nightmare, with you being the only one by his side to calm him down.

Warnings- Mentions of PTSD, Nightmare, ECT.

A/N- Thank you, @tomgregtruther101 @errruvande @momoko-world @thethreeeyed-raven for encouraging me to write this!

Word Count- 1,223

A low mumble awoke you from your slumber. Typically you were a heavy sleeper, but when it came to Dae-ho it was different. You could have slept through a firework show. Though, the second your beloved got up to use the bathroom- you're up with him.

It bothered the sweet man at first, he hated waking you up. After some reassurance that you didn't mind, he warmed up to the idea. This night, however, was not like many.

It was not uncommon for Dae-Ho to wake up frazzled. He would get something warm to drink from the kitchen, and lay back down. (Praying he didn't wake you). On the much more common occurrence, you would awake with him. In turn, you'd be the one making him something warm to drink, possibly something sweet to snack on. Then the two of you would cuddle until he was fast asleep.

It was honestly comforting for you as well, being able to be his anchor was flattering. He trusted you like no other.

Dae-ho was not Frazzled though, and he didn't wake up to get a beverage.

He was thrashing, hard. His legs slightly kicking, arms jumping up every few seconds. With an impossibly scrunched face, he mumbled again.

"Dae?" You whispered out. The only response you received was a hit to the side, a stray flaring hand had got you.

The mumbling quickly turned louder, now sounding like a cry or groan. It worried you beyond recognition.

"Dae-ho." You pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder. His body jerked away from it. Very uncharacteristic.

A disfigured 'no' left his lips, a struggled sob escaped. He had managed to kick the comforter off of himself, and the bed.

You were now sat on your knees, looming over him. "Dae-ho!" You firmly grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him.

A loud gasp erupted from both of you as his eyes shot open, you had no time to make a comment. His legs pushed and kicked, separating himself from you. At that singular moment, in his fear struck mind, he didn't seem to recognize you.

He had already found himself against the headboard of the bed, his hands pressing tight against his ears. You had barely blinked in all his movement.

With gaping eyes, a pounding chest, and heavy breathing he looked at you. Almost as if you were the one who hurt him.

"It just me, Dae-ho, its just me..." You spoke as soft and low as you could. You didn't approach any closer, but put your hands up to appear less intimidating.

His eyes just darted across the room in response, body curling further. His lip quivered, face and body drenched in sweat.

"You're okay, you're safe. Dae, you're safe. It's just me... It was just a nightmare, everything is okay..."

He swallowed thick, slowly nodding his head. His gaze now stuck on yours. His scared and nerve wrecked appearance crushed you. It was opposite of the man he appears to show to everyone, only you knew of his nightmares.

"I'm going to come closer, I promise I'm here, I'm real, you're at home. Safe in bed..." You shuffled over on your knees, hands starting at his forearm.

He slightly flinched at your touch, but made no attempt to move away. Your hand caressed across his arm, going to his own hand. You tenderly unravel his tight grip on his head, tangling your fingers in his.

A large sigh left him, his head falling back in frustration. He was now back to reality, though still beat and weary. Water glossed over his eyes. He bit his lip hard, trying to fight away any tears. He thought it would make him seem less of a man to cry in front of you. You couldn't disagree more.

"I'm so sor-" His voice cracked as he tried to speak, a couple tears has managed to escape. You didn't let him finish, his face was pressed deeply into your chest within seconds. He truly didn't know what he was apologizing for, for waking you? For having a nightmare? For his frequent PTSD attacks?

You had quickly taken his frame into your arms. He would have admitted that your knees pressing into his thighs was uncomfortable, but he didn't care right now. You were with him, holding him, and loving him. That's all he cared about.

"Don't you dare apologize, you've done nothing wrong." You cradled his head tight, pressing kisses to the top of his crown.

You managed to twist the two of you around, your back now against the headboard with him in your lap. He was quiet for awhile, you simply rocked him back and forth for a little bit.

His arms found themselves wrapped around your waist. He held onto you for dear life... Almost as if you'd fade away if he let go. You heard his breathing shake every few breaths, but he was calming down.

Continuing to rock, you reached your hands up to his hair. It was half up, half down. The hair tie pulled out of his hair easily enough. You were able to considerably comb through his hair with your fingers. A simple action you knew he loved.

While one hand worked at his soft black hair, another rubbed circles on his back. "Feeling better?"

He sniffled, leaning up to look at you. He couldn't meet your eyes, almost embarrassed. His meek, "Thank you." was accompanied by a nod.

You brushed through his hair, even with him sat up. "Want to talk about it?" You never wanted to pressure him into anything he wasn't comfortable with.

"Just the typical... but you were there, you were who I was shooting... It was like you were the enemy... I just- I can't describe it.. It made no sense-." His voice shook again, so you interrupted him.

"Exactly, baby. It was a nightmare that will never happen... Because I know you would never hurt me, that you would do anything to protect me?" Your tone implied a question.

He nodded furiously, now making direct eye contact. There wasn't a phrase he agreed more with. He looked at you like a loyal puppy.

"See? It was your sweet little mind playing mean tricks on you..." You rested a flat palm to his cheek. Taking in how handsome he looked in the moonlight.

He puffed, now more light hearted, and fell back onto your chest.

"I promise I will keep you safe from all the nightmares and mind games." He was frustrated at your words.

"But that's supposed to be my job..." He said, face conveniently still upon your breast.

You smiled warmly, "Yes, it is. And you fulfill it perfectly. I couldn't be happier. But, you must let me take care of you as well..."

He didn't respond, his internal monologue had a million points to argue back. But he didn't. He embasked in the moment, squeezing you tight again.

You took the silent request, resuming your back rubbing and head scratching.

From experience, you knew he would not fall asleep any time soon. That you'd probably fall asleep before him, no matter how hard you tried to stay up. All you could do for now was whisper how much you love him, play with his hair, and hum silly melodies.

And he was content with that.

A/N- Okay, so erm. I feel like it was rushed (it was), but I also feel that way about all my works. So... Please let me know how I can improve. Also this is my first time writing something like this, so I hope it wasn't terrible. XOXOXOX LOVE YALL

[luumiinaa]

romantic trip to the bahamas maybe 😂

ᡣ𐭩 is something burning?

you should've known that the minute you walked into your apartment and chenle was staring back at you with an evil grin that he was up to something. to your surprise nothing was broken and no one was harmed, fortunately. but an array of grocery bags were waiting for you in the kitchen. "i may have offered to make a cake for mark's birthday, sorry" the words came out in a jumbled mess but you knew exactly what your boyfriend had just confessed to you. he had just offered to bake knowing that neither of you had any experience with sweets. you both knew your fair share of savory dishes, but sweets had always been something you always bought already made. "um okay, that's fine, we can just order one from that bakery we usually go to and pick it up before the party" but chenle seemed convinced that for some reason you guys had magically become professional bakers, and could make these sweets by hand, by tomorrow morning. "babe, we can do this it's just like flour, eggs, and sugar, leave in the oven and it's done, come on you know we make a great team!" by 'great team' chenle meant that you two were able to build half an ikea bed frame within the span of 5 hours.

still, here you were, standing at your kitchen counter with your excited boyfriend and an array of dessert ingredients spread in front of you. you had pulled up a seemingly simple cake recipe, just a few ingredients and the decoration was up to you. things had started off okay, just mixing a few dry ingredients, and then some wet ingredients. but then, chenle had decided to start acting funny, mixing the ingredients at full force attempting to show you his strength, and the bag of flour had been right near his elbow, wide open. and before you both knew it the flour had fallen onto the floor, white painting your kitchen tiles and the bottom half of your sweats. "zhong chenle i cannot believe you right now, you better clean this up!" but your complaint had fallen onto deaf ears as your now powdery white boyfriend began to laugh his lungs out, falling onto his knees clutching his stomach. you had ignored his cries of laughter putting the batter into a cake pan and shoving it into the oven hoping that this cake wouldn't ruin mark's birthday. you put your hands on your hips looking down at your out of breath boyfriend who sat cross legged on the dirty floor. "babe don't worry, you know i'm gonna clean this up, come here" and before you knew it chenle was pulling you down on to the floor with him, using his hands to lightly powder you with flour. "lay down, we can pretend it's snow and we're at a romantic winter resort" he had forced you to lay next to him now, completely covered in flour. "chenle i will murder you with my bare hands, and we both don't want blood on that cake, let me go" but chenle just giggled dusting your nose off, worried it would get in your nose, "shh shh baby close your eyes and feel the cold winter air"

and thats how you and chenle had fallen asleep on your kitchen floor, flour covering you both from head to toe. your mind clouded with the feeling of a cold winter resort, relaxing outside on the snow next to your boyfriend, and- wait... is something burning?

[aventurineswife]

Hi! Could you write anything about Dan Heng's S/O making him laugh and/or smile brightly? Like, not his usual quiet chuckle and a small smile but full on laugh and a wide smile, almost a grin. (I hope it makes sense) And the reader is in awe because they've never seen Dan Heng like that and it feels almost like they're falling in love all over again.

Please and thank you.

“You make me feel like I’m falling in love again”

Summary: While aboard the Astral Express, you attempt to make Dan Heng laugh by introducing a silly plush toy into the mix. To your surprise, you manage to get a full-on laugh and a wide, rare smile from him—something you’ve never seen before. In that moment, you’re reminded of the side of him that is soft and open, and you feel like you’re falling in love with him all over again.

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Fluff, Humor, Lighthearted, Character Development, Soft Dan Heng, Rare Smile, Falling in Love over again (I love this trope or whatever it is called 🥺🫶), Established Relationship.

The Astral Express was quiet as it usually was, with the faint hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of paper filling the otherwise calm air. The crew had settled into their usual places, each person wrapped in their own thoughts. You were in the small lounge area, leaning against the table, watching Dan Heng out of the corner of your eye as he sat nearby, quietly reading a book.

You couldn’t help but notice how serene he looked, his usual calm expression ever-present as he read, the only movement being the occasional flick of his page. Despite his calm exterior, there was always something slightly distant about him—a wall he kept firmly up between himself and the rest of the world. It was rare to see him genuinely smile, let alone laugh.

You smiled to yourself, thinking of how long you’d been by his side. You'd seen glimpses of the softer sides of him: the fleeting smiles, the small chuckles that escaped him from time to time, but never anything too intense. He was always so composed, so controlled.

That thought lingered in your mind, and suddenly, an idea struck. You'd seen him smile during small, quiet moments, so what if you could bring out something a little more? You glanced around the room, eyes darting over the pile of old, strange items that had been accumulating near the engine, the odd trinkets that the crew had picked up on their travels. One in particular caught your attention—a small, colorful plush toy that someone (read: March 7th) had left on a nearby shelf.

It wasn’t the most elegant thing, but it was silly and bright, a stark contrast to the usual serious air Dan Heng carried with him. You took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

You quietly reached for the plush toy, sneaking up behind Dan Heng, who was still engrossed in his book. You held the toy up in front of your face, and with a dramatic voice, you declared, “What do you think of my new companion, Sir Cloud-Piercer?”

Dan Heng didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on the book in front of him. But you didn’t give up. You tilted the toy in different directions, trying your best to make the little creature appear as absurdly serious as possible. "It’s very well-behaved, but its skills in battle are questionable," you added, your voice adopting a mock-serious tone.

The silence in the room stretched for a beat, and then, without warning, Dan Heng’s eyes flicked toward you. He blinked, and then—almost imperceptibly—a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. But you didn’t stop. You held the plush higher, waggling it a little. “I’m thinking of naming it ‘Sir Fluffington,’ what do you think?”

And then, to your complete surprise, Dan Heng let out a laugh.

It was loud—louder than you had ever heard him, a sound so unexpected that it caught you off guard. His laugh wasn’t quiet, the usual chuckle he gave when something amused him. This was different. This was genuine, almost free, the kind of laugh you only hear when someone truly feels at ease. His eyes sparkled in that rare way, and his usual controlled demeanor seemed to soften, even for just a moment.

And then came the smile. Not the reserved, small smile you were used to, but a wide, unguarded grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, a rare display of warmth you hadn't quite witnessed before. His eyes crinkled with amusement, and for a split second, you felt like you were seeing him for the first time—truly seeing him.

You were frozen for a second, taking in the sight of him. The way his expression was so open, so unburdened, it made your heart flutter in your chest. It was like you were falling in love with him all over again. This side of him, so raw and real, was something you didn’t see every day, and it made your stomach twist with happiness.

Dan Heng noticed your expression, his grin faltering slightly as he saw the awe in your eyes. “I didn’t realize you could be so... ridiculous,” he said, his voice still holding the remnants of laughter.

You could only shake your head, a wide smile breaking across your own face. “I’m just glad I could make you laugh like that,” you admitted, your voice a little softer now. “It’s rare to see you so... carefree.”

Dan Heng hesitated for a moment, his expression softening again. “I suppose it’s because I’m with you.” His voice was quieter, and though his smile was more subdued now, the sincerity in it made your heart skip a beat.

You walked over and sat beside him, the plush toy still clutched in your hands. “I never thought I’d get to see you like this,” you said, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Dan Heng didn’t say anything for a moment, but his arm brushed against yours as he leaned a little closer, a quiet acknowledgment of your words. The air between you was calm, but it held something deeper now—a connection that was more open than it had been before.

And for once, in this small, quiet moment, you knew that no matter the past or the shadows that haunted him, there was a light in Dan Heng, a warmth he only shared with those he trusted. And you, right now, were one of those people.

You smiled to yourself, watching him as he turned his attention back to the book, but you knew something had shifted, and it made your heart swell.

No, you weren’t just falling in love again. You had already fallen, deeper than before.

[hitlikehammers]

PART 2/2: in which lock-picking⛓️‍💥 is 100% a valid love language, and waking up with ✨Steve Harrington✨ was NOT the future (exactly. maybe. ish.)

...but waking up in a hospital bed just might be ♥️

<<< last time: And Eddie thinks that’s highly fucking debatable—he’s not sure where it comes from, because it’s a little out of place, Eddie didn’t say anything but maybe he’s just that transparent, the heart of him so quickly, so completely, and if that’s the case then it’s entirely fucking debatable because Eddie thinks he’s going to burst, splinter like a starburst, glorious in the unmaking for how big this thing that’s building in him feels, how certain he is that it’s about to break his ribs and he fucking looks forward to it, so no: Steve doesn’t love most because he can’t, because Eddie is overcome with this feeling and he, he— He’s drifting, because Steve’s heat is a heady fucking drug, and his heartbeat’s a metronome, a lullaby against Eddie’s back and it’s instinct, it’s unquestionable when he shimmies tighter into Steve’s hold and sighs the weight of the world out between his lips because… Because goddamnit, this feels right.

OR: y'know. Eddie thought he was dying in the Upside Down but then he's waking up in the future, in bed with Steve Harrington like what the fuck

Eddie comes to—again: un-fucking-expected—with the same sensation of his ribs snapping, the pain of it a dull thing he thinks he can just float through because his heart’s so gone on the impossible possibility of some future imaginary day where he, where Steve, where they—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Wait, that’s…okay.

Back up.

He tries to take in what his senses are willing to offer him: something starchy, itchy against his skin, both sides—definitely not the sheets from the bed he’d just felt visceral underneath him. Pressure and aching at his chest: but less sweet the longer he focuses on it. Stinging and the pull of maybe-bandages, maybe-sutures, maybe both and something deeper, like…oh, wow, fuck, it’s entirely possible his ribs are already broken. His heart still feels full, but also scared, unsure, wrong-footed as more and more little clues seep into his consciousness, before maybe the clearest of them all: a shrill little beep that’s fast, like embarrassingly fast—

A monitor.

He draws a shaky breath—iodine, like, burning levels as he inhales and holy fucking shit, he’s in a goddamn hospital.

He’s, did he…

Is this what Steve meant, when he said ‘wake up’? Did Eddie…

Did Eddie fucking survive?

It’s in the spiral of that thought that Eddie clocks the same voice that jarred him out of his own head…in his own head, before. With the fancy sheets and the warmth and the home and—

What…what if it wasn’t in his head at all—

But his body, his pulse recognizes that voice as safety. As…rightness incarnate.

“Oh fuck,” and that’s the Steve Eddie knows best, right there, a little breathy and a little pitchy for frayed nerves and constant worry and the weight of the fucking world to make sure everyone—everyone else—makes it out as okay as possible.

And it’s in thinking that, that Eddie recognizes what Steve-in-his-headin-the-future-in-his-dream-in-his-maybe-not-quite-death-hallucination meant, when he’d said Eddie’s eyes softened. Because Steve’s heart on his sleeve, in his eyes, had looked peaceful, then. Content, even.

Not so frantic. Not so…scrambling.

Still just as blinding, though.

“Thank fuck, you’re awake,” Steve half gasps, a tiny clattering against the tile floor vying to draw Eddie’s gaze away but there was genuinely nothing in the whole goddamn universe that could take Eddie’s eyes off of Steve just now, those lips parted ever so slightly, cheeks that tiny bit rosy, pulse maybe-maybe-not visible just below the bandages on his neck.

He’s beautiful.

“What do you need?” Steve’s leaning closer, hands reaching but then kinda fluttering, kinda hovering, not sure where to touch and even if they knew the answer, kinda like they’re not sure if they can touch in the first place, yet all Eddie can do when he sees them, when he feels the shift in the air for how close they are; all Eddie can do is remember what it’s like to be pressed close to Steve’s body, to feel Steve’s arms around his chest, like they’re keeping him.

“What can I do,” Steve asks, so earnest and Eddie’s pulse does a little skip for it, how good it feels; “I—”

And Steve’s eyes are already big, just short of pleading, darting to the corners of the room maybe for water, maybe for a button to call someone to help more than he can—as if anyone can help more than Steve can, just now, because Eddie’s waking up from what it feels like to have Steve, and the most pressing possible thing in the world just now is SteveSteveSteve, near enough to feel, to breathe in—

Steve’s eyes are already big, though, is the thing, even before the full-on fucking crash of something to the floor makes him freeze. Eddie tries to peer down, winces as it pulls to much at…everything, kind of, Jesus H., but he hurts everywhere, and…

“The hell were you doing?” he asks in the absence of being able to see because…metal. Metal had hit the floor, from the height of probably-the-bed, after Steve had pressed into the mattress, shifted the weight, and then he’d blinked all owlish and adorable: culpability for whatever he’d been up to written all over his gorgeous fucking face.

“Umm,” Steve chews at his lip a little, eyes peeking up through his lashes, that look that makes Eddie weak and wobbly at basically every juncture it’s possible to tremble at like that, but he doesn’t duck away; he doesn’t even blush. He’s not…whatever he was doing—and Eddie’s range of motion is fucked, he’s already super well aware of that shit when he even tries to move to see the floor, to follow the sound—but whatever Steve was doing, he’s unrepentant. But in a way where he maybe recognizes that other people would have been less brazen.

Eddie’s wrist tingles out of nowhere—weird, when all of him is already kinda in a sort of dull, narcotic-shrouded pain—and he frowns, glances down at least that far and notices the slightest ring of red that’s less angry, not attached to bite marks and broken skin, and he has the wildest thought cross his mind just then, and he steels himself to crane his neck as far as he can, to limit the strain he’ll put on his middle because now he needs to see, because he kinda knew before he cut the sheets and ran into the fray that coming out on the other side meant life behind bars if there was any life at all, yet here he is, increasingly seeming like this is real, and this is his ‘other side’, and…

He’s just in a fucking hospital. He’s…he’s here, and he’s, he’s not…he’s not in fucking chains.

And it stings like a bitch, and Steve’s a second away from stopping him, reaching for him and pressing him safely back onto the the bed, but Eddie gets the glimpse he needs. Recognizes the shape on the floor, shiny steel against the scratched-up linoleum.

“Were you,” Eddie traces the ridges of his teeth with his tongue, because there are layers to what he’s about to ask; “were, umm, were you picking the,” and the first little clatter from before makes more sense if he’s right, and if he’s right, well, fuck.

It’ll be hot as hell, if he’s right.

“That?” Eddie tilts his head toward the floor because: cuffs. What he’d seen, what had fallen: handcuffs. On the floor. And they’d have had to have been not on the floor, and probably on him before, and so, he—

“Possibly,” Steve answers with a straight face, as unapologetic as ever, maybe more; maybe even defiant, and oh, wow. Steve Harrington picking his fucking handcuffs, setting his stupidly-quickly-lovesick ass free.

Hot as fuck; seriously.

“How positively criminal of you, Harrington,” Eddie grins half-maniacal, feels the stretch of it burn against a cut that’s gotta run half the span of his cheek but fuck it, the warmth flooding him is undeniable, is incredible—he’s giddy all of a sudden, straight to his bones.

“S’nothing on hot-wiring,” Steve shrugs, like it’s not fucking everything; “but I wasn’t,” and Steve takes a deep breath before he squares his shoulders, looks at Eddie straight-on and shit, if he thought the warmth in him up to now was something?

It’s kinda got nothing on what consumes him under those eyes.

“I wasn’t going to let you wake up fucking…shackled.”

And goddamn if the fire in that voice, those words, doesn’t light Eddie up like burning, doesn’t shake him to the core and then blanket him in sureness and the kind of protection he didn’t think really existed.

Save that he does kinda think it’s exactly what this man’s made of; made for.

And Eddie can’t escape the certainty rising in his veins and pumping, fierce and unshakable, that he wants—more than maybe anything—to be the one to give that same safety, that same promise of something unwavering and permanent and beyond question, right back to Steve.

“You’re an innocent man,” Steve leans in then, emphatic with it; “you’re a goddamn hero,” and he means it, holy shit, he believes that:

“Like hell I was just gonna,” and he shakes his head, like the idea is just that preposterous; like he cannot even consider anything but Eddie being free, and okay, and here, and…

Eddie’s struck with the sudden slap of realization across the fucking face that he couldn’t have gotten topside by himself. That someone had to get him from the hellscape to here. And of the able bodies in the Upside Down, no matter how strong the girls were, only one could have wrestled him through that gate. Only one could have…whatever he maybe needed, between this bed and that bat-strewn ground, it was, Steve would have been, he’d have—

The force his heart trips, then leaps with, is fucking cataclysmic. Eddie’s honestly surprised it doesn’t just tear out from his throat then and there.

“Plus they’re in the process of finishing the paperwork to make it all official, dropping the charges and all that, clearing your name,” Steve gestures vaguely in the air, like it’s all routine, the feds and the cops sweeping shit under the rug but then he remembers all the side comments he’d collected in the back of his mind these last few days about the ‘last time’ and then ‘the time before that’ and fuck all also the first time—

Maybe it is, just…sick and twisted and harrowing and heartbreaking routine.

“They’re just really fucking slow,” Steve smiles at him, all small and devastating and…

And okay, so that overwhelming urge to be a constant in Steve Harrington’s life, safe next to his heart kinda for always, zero to forever in half-a-blink?

Eddie knew he wanted, when he threw his vest at Steve’s bare chest more for Eddie’s own fucking sanity than anyone’s modesty, but it was all washed in the hopeless-helpless colors of desperation, of why not when I won’t see tomorrow; and now.

Now, all Eddie wants is tomorrow. Every tomorrow. No tomorrows without this man. Without what he saw, how it felt: what he knows in his marrow loving him would be.

It’s probably that conviction etching into his cells that makes makes him softer, a little weepy around the edges; drives him to need through the next words that escape:

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, wishes Steve were just that little bit closer so that the distance he can reach could reach him:

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve waves him off almost, like he doesn’t think everything he is, everything he’s done is monumental. Not just the cuffs but with the cuffs like the cherry on top of how Eddie would—will, if he’s given the chance—devote all that he has and all that he is to making Steve happy. To making him as calm and warm and loved as Eddie could feel in that bedroom, in his head or in the future or on death’s fucking door.

“I mean,” Steve starts, and Eddie can already feel how he’s angling to downplay the thing that’s only swelling, building, growing under Eddie’s own ribs and, well: no.

No, Eddie won’t be standing for that.

“Stevie,” and Steve’s gravitated wordless just close enough for Eddie to be able to brush his fingertips against Steve’s wrist, to curl and pull his hand into Eddie’s grasp, palm splayed above Steve’s knuckles, holding. Keeping.

“Thank you.”

And Steve stills a little, stares at him like he can see what’s tucked up tight and dear in Eddie’s chest and maybe he can, because his voice is feather-light and a little bowled-over. A little…a little awed.

“You’re welcome.”

So yeah, maybe he can see what’s in Eddie’s chest, less tucked in this moment now than fucking, like…

Blooming.

“Do you believe there’s anything waiting when we die?”

Eddie’s gonna blame the frantic blossoming warmth coursing through him for the way he blurts that shit out with no preamble, like maybe the flowering wonder of it all pushes it out without permission, sweet on the back of his tongue but heavy because it matters so much; because it’s all just nostalgia.

For now.

“What?” Steve gapes a little, sounds dumbfounded; maybe a little wary. Fearful.

His hand’s still held under Eddie’s, though, so it’s only natural the way Eddie lifts his fingers and presses them palm-to-palm like it means something.

“Do you?”

“I…don’t know,” Steve swallows hard enough the follow down the taut line of his throat, fucking mesmerizing.

So maybe the way Eddie licks his lips before he says anything more isn’t…isn’t just for the sake of the topic and its weight, is all he’s saying.

“I,” and Eddie doesn’t really know where he’s going, here, or else: he knows exactly where he’s going.

He’s just not totally sure the path he’s planning to chart along the way for getting there.

“When we were down there, and I was telling you to go after Wheeler,” which yeah, okay, surprise direction there, weird little detour, but…it doesn’t feel wrong.

Which means, if it’s right instead: then that’s everything that is Steve in Eddie’s lungs for breathing, in the chambers of his heart. So he leans into it.

Squeezes Steve’s fingers laced together with his.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, sounds tired, spent, and Eddie was never going to let that happen; no matter where he’s going, or leading them down the path of his revelations, the truth etched new but also deep in his bones like it was only waiting to be found and known.

“It was because that’s what I wanted. For me. I wanted to,” and his breath catches on a little chuckle, so light and choked and a little hysterical as he adds, giddy and a little bashful all together at once:

“Unambiguously, umm,” and he trails a little, wants to hide behind his hair just a touch but to do that would require a broader capacity to move in the first place and more, so much more: it would mean letting go of Steve’s hand.

So: absolutely not.

Especially not when Steve’s gone full dropped-jaw gaping at him, his fingers in Eddie’s grasp twitching like he’s confused, like maybe there’s part of him short-circuiting, and Eddie feels his exhales tremble when he finally blinks, finally tilts his head and takes Eddie in at a new angle before he asks, genuine and not just a little lost:

“Seriously?”

And Eddie…Eddie’s actually never been more serious in his life, so.

“Like,” and he circles Steve’s knuckles delicate-like with his thumb: “I wanted the chance, to try, I guess, yeah.”

And he doesn’t know if he’s risking everything to own it, even if he’s owning just a sliver of the breadth and depth that he feels, but he does know unequivocally that he wouldn’t hold it back if given the choice, the opportunity to do it over and not show his bloody-beating heart on display.

A bloody-beating heart that’s moving quicker, slamming harder against his chest but…that actually feels like the only correct thing it could do. Because this merits it.

This kinda is his whole fucking heart.

“Do you still?”

It takes Eddie a longer string of seconds than he’d prefer to own to, to process the words as having meaning, no matter that he doesn’t fucking understand what they’re aiming at.

“What?”

“Want,” and Steve’s the one squeezing Eddie’s hand now, turning a little to graze at the line of his veins at the wrist; “the chance.”

And he says it deceptively casual, despite how he’s staring at their hands, determinedly not meeting Eddie gaze as Eddie gets his chance at the gaping.

“Fuck yes,” Eddie finally huffs on something not unlike unabashed fucking joy, save that this thing he’s feeling is so much bigger, and when Steve looks up, meets his eyes and his own glimmer, shine so bright and brim with such disbelief, but so much stronger and with such hope, Jesus.

Eddie can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of him. Like his whole fucking soul gets shaped into a single breath of exultant delight.

And they both hold to one another, trace across skin and map the lines and dots and scars, and Eddie’s not stupid, he knows this isn’t how it works but…

But he’d still bet money on the fact that the way he’s touching Steve, so innocent and so quietly intimate, is healing his wounds, shoring up his weaknesses and stitching him up fuller, better, breath by shared-sacred breath.

It’s heady as fuck. It’s exquisite.

“Why’d you ask me about when we die?”

Steve’s the one to break the still, and even that’s not breaking anything, really; he speaks so soft. He’s stroking down from Eddie’s thumb back and forth.

It’s not breaking anything.

“I saw something,” Eddie whispers, not sure what reaction that’ll get, and Steve’s staring at their hands again, marveling really, so Eddie can’t read any hint save for the crinkled furrow in his brow.

“But you didn’t die.”

Which isn’t the reaction he thinks he expected, even if Eddie couldn’t name what he did expect. And it’s also not a revelation he thought he’d receive.

“Not at all?”

Because he’s genuinely surprised. He at least figured he’d flatlined like…long enough to have visions of absolute and total domestic bliss and shit.

But Steve’s shaking his head decisively, holding on to Eddie just a little bit tighter.

“You had a pulse, whole way to he hospital,” he tells Eddie, voice gone a little hoarse; “it wasn’t strong but,” and Steve looks up at him, and fuck, those eyes are too shiny now and Eddie doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want his Steve to hurt, he—

“I fucking held you,” Steve croaks and oh, oh he’s shaking, Jesus—

“I kinda,” and he swallows with a click Eddie can hear, around a throbbing pulse Eddie can see, wants nothing more than to soothe with his lips against that tender skin; “I kinda had to make sure, so,” and the hand that’s not holding Eddie’s comes up, trembling as he reaches toward Eddie’s chest:

“Kept my hand pressed, just,” and his voice gives, and he looks up at Eddie with something like devastation, begging something like permission because he doesn’t know that everything that Eddie is, is his.

But he will.

He will know.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes out, holds Steve gaze as he nods, as he tries to make it clear that anything Steve needs is his, and then some.

It takes a second, but the shine in those eyes finally shifts, finally brightens and then Steve’s breathing’s made of tremors, but his hand finds Eddie’s chest and sends something sparking like lighting through him just as the whole of Eddie feels immediately like he’s home.

And Steve’s hand on his chest feels exactly like it did in their future bed, in their future room, in their future life.

Their always love.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, then takes a moment, palm splayed wide just above Eddie’s bandages, before he’s gripping Eddie’s wrist with the other hand a little harder:

“It’s so fast,” he exhales like it holds the whole world and then some; he wonders at just Eddie’s heartbeat under his touch and god.

God, but Eddie…Eddie couldn’t have imagined he’d ever feel like this. Let alone feel like maybe it’s mutual, maybe it’s real, maybe he can keep it and stay in this feeling for forever.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Eddie murmurs, then he chuckles, inhales deep maybe just to better feel the weight of Steve’s hand; “making up for the lost opportunity, y’know,” and fuck, all he wants is to be able to lean, to kiss the pout of those lips, to taste what it means to love somebody like he’s never done before.

“Making up for what it missed the last time your hand was there to feel it.”

And Steve’s hand above his thrumming heart twitches just a little, but never flags or makes to move, to leave, and Eddie thinks that he’d be fine if he lived the rest on his days with Steve like that, near enough that he could press a hand to Eddie’s heart at all times and just…just know that it’s his.

Because maybe it’s sudden—it’s definitely quick—but Eddie’s never known anything like he knows this.

“Eddie,” Steve finally whispers, a question and a claim and a means of cradling Eddie to his heart, somehow, for how swathed in light and affection Eddie feels in that moment, in just the shape of his name like it’s never been spoken before.

“I saw the future,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, breath coming a little quicker and heart-under-Steve’s-hand pounding harder. “Maybe. I don’t know, I mean, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud but it felt so,” but then he looks into Steve’s eyes again and Steve is listening, Steve’s maybe doesn’t think he’s crazy, so he feels safe enough to say with his whole fucking chest:

“It felt real, Stevie.”

“What was it?” Steve asks, so quiet, so gentle like he doesn’t want to disturb this thing either, like he doesn’t need to hear it spelled out yet to know it’s delicate, the most important thing in the world, which fuck yeah it is, even as it cracks and chokes for the flood of feeling around it when it presses up from Eddie’s chest:

“Us,” Eddie breathes it out like the precious truth it genuinely fucking is:

“It was us.”

And Steve doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glimmer all the more, swimming with a riot of emotion to a degree than Eddie feels drowned in awe just to see it, and his hands on Eddie hold tighter, more fervent, devoted like a pledge for the way it runs through Eddie’s blood and sings in his veins:

“Even if it wasn’t real,” but Eddie’s doesn’t believe that, not really, not in his heart of hearts where it all pounds into the crevices that map Steve’s touch; “even if I wasn’t seeing the actual future,” and maybe he wasn’t, maybe that wasn’t their future, and maybe he’ll never know, but what he does know, is—

“It felt right, Steve.”

He knows that clearer than he knows the sky is blue.

“It was just a few minutes,” Eddie flounders a little, mostly because he remembers how good it was, written indelible into how much he wants, here and now:

“But I have never felt anything so right.”

He breathes, shaky and shallow and too fucking fast, but then Steve starts stroking his palm along the unmarked spaces of his chest, back and forth over the gallop of his heart like he means to stay there. Like he could ever want to keep.

“Well,” Steve whispers, his eyes on the path of his hand to make sure he doesn’t draw any pain—as if he ever could—until he knows the safe route over and back, again and again, and then he looks up, catches Eddie’s eyes and locks there, doesn’t pin so much as holds, holds, holds.

And good fucking god, Eddie feels it glisten through him like starlight; Eddie feels remade before Steve’s leaning in, lower than to meet Eddie’s mouth but then he’s pressing his lips to the dip between Eddie’s collarbones, holding there, breathing like he means to savor, like he means to cherish, like he means to, to…

To stay.

And Eddie’s heart’s under that hand and those lips all at once, wholly Steve’s while it quivers like a riot, while it leaps as Steve changes the world, writes their fucking future where his mouth drags wet and warm and ardent and there’s nothing in it at all that can be anything other than at least on the way to love as he breathes, fucking vows:

“We gotta try, then, don’t we?”

♥️

>>>also on ao3✨

for @penny00dreadful 🖤 still very fucking sorry it's this late

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

divider credit here and here

[superbat-love]

Batman may claim to have no powers, but Green Lantern knows better. He’s convinced that Batman’s cape is sentient.

Green Lantern has observed it on quiet nights in the Watchtower, when Batman thinks no one’s paying attention. He releases control over his cape, letting it unravel and float menacingly around him in different directions. It moves on its own, sweeping across nearby surfaces, carelessly knocking over items.

There’s one thing Green Lantern knows for sure—Batman’s cape has a sweet tooth. Every time Batman passes the candy bowl, it’s mysteriously emptied.

Even stranger, it seems to influence other capes. Once, while Batman was talking to Superman, their capes briefly touched, and Green Lantern saw Superman’s cape come to life—swirling and fluttering as though it had a mind of its own. Superman, unfazed, didn’t even react to the way their capes were flapping erratically around them. Green Lantern was relieved he didn’t have a cape.

He told the others about his theory, but they were skeptical at first. They eyed Batman’s cape with suspicion as he was distracted by a mission briefing with Wonder Woman. But even the Flash had to admit Green Lantern might be onto something when Batman’s cape swiped their feet out from under them, sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Martian Manhunter nodded sagely and agreed on its intelligence, having felt the minds of four little beings flitting around underneath Batman’s cape. Maybe one day they’d feel comfortable enough to run underneath his cape too.

[thejujvtsupost]

Pregnancy Symptoms

💗Established relationship, fluff and pregnancy. As always pls ignore typos 🙂‍↕️ I’m just a girl.💗

Part 2 Part 3

smau masterlist • Taglist is open!

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Sleeping, Dancing and Mistletoe

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Times when people found evidence that you and Logan were possibly a couple, and the one time you both finally confirmed it.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff, mentions/illusions to sex, Logan checking you out. Couple of swear words here and there. This has been unfinished in my drafts for at least a week so...yeah. This is finished. little Christmas at the end. Not Proof Read.

For what felt like the thirtieth time in the hour, you turned over with a huff and pressed your pillow to your ears, trying to muffle the sounds coming from next door. 

And just as it finally died down, you sighed and was just about to thank some ancient being for hearing your prayers when…it started again. 

“That’s it.”

Changing out of your longer pyjama bottoms and into some sleep shorts, you made your way out of your room, keeping your footsteps as quiet as you could until the noises faded away and you started to reach your intended room. 

Opening up the door, you found exactly what you were looking for. 

Shaking his shoulder as he lay on his stomach, you whispered his name, hoping he’d hear you. 

“Logan.” You shook him for a third time. “Logan.” 

Nothing. 

With another sigh, you slapped his face gently and said his name once more, a little louder and firmer. 

“Logan.”

Finally, he groaned. “What?” 

His voice was muffled by his pillow but you could hear him just well enough. Or maybe you were just used to his grunts that they were starting to become their own language you could understand. 

“Move over. I’m sleeping here tonight.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then go and sleep there.” Logan turned his head away from you and scrunched up his pillow beneath his head.

“I can’t. My neighbours have decided tonight is Valentine’s Day 2.0.”

You pushed half of his body with your hands until he finally got the cue to turn over. 

“Too much information.”

You shook your head, “Too much information is what I’ve been hearing for the last hour.”

Finally, Logan rolled onto his back, his covers covering his bottom half, and groaned. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Logan straightened himself in his bed, giving you room to get in beside him. And the minute you touched his covers, you were glad you had changed into shorts. 

Logan was like a furnace. Just constant heat radiating from his body and for as much as it, at times, got too hot to stand near him, he was also, in your opinion, the best person to fall asleep beside. 

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Laying on your side, it wasn’t long until you closed your eyes, thankful that you could hear nothing other than Logan’s steady breathing and the distant clock down the hall that was forever ticking. 

However, just before you fully drifted off, you felt Logan’s hand take hold of yours and you smiled. 

He could be gruff all he liked, but when it came to you, he could be a softie. 

By the time morning rolled around, Storm was in search of both yourself and Logan. So, when she found your bed empty and cold, she figured Logan would know where you were. 

But he was asleep. 

Right beside you. 

Storm leaned against the door frame for a while, taking in the picture in front of her. 

Logan was fast asleep, something that was a miracle in itself, with you right beside him, your head turned towards the windows in his room, his own looking towards you, all the while, his arm slung over your midsection and one of your own hands, holding his. 

“Storm- what are you- Oh.”

Jean looked inside. 

“Looks like someone had a good night.” She smiled before looking back at Storm. “Do you think we can finally ask if they’re together?”

“I’d say this is confirmation enough.”

You shifted in your sleep as did Logan, and the two girls hid behind the corner for a moment. 

You turned your head and the rest of your body towards Logan, all the while his arm held you in a stronger grip and pulled you towards him. 

It took you a moment but you finally opened your eyes, adjusting to the light before your vision finally cleared on a sleeping Logan. 

For a moment, you allowed the hand between you both to reach up and brush the stray hairs from his eyes. It was rare you ever got to see Logan this…calm. 

Serene. 

Rested. 

Unknowingly, you started to run your left thumb over Logan’s arm that still held onto you. 

Then his fingers twitched, running over the exposed skin at the bottom of your back. 

“Are you watching me sleep?” His voice was rough, the first words in the morning. 

“Not anymore,” you smiled, brushing the final parts of his hair out of his face. 

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

Then a cough came from the door. 

Logan groaned. “Is this a new hobby; watching people sleep?”

Jean and Storm laughed from the door. “You two look cosy.”

You lifted your head and glared at Jean. “There is one reason I’m here. Maybe I think it’s time you make an investment in soundproof walls.”

Jean turned a little red and Storm laughed. 

“Look, we’ve got a busy day. You can kiss your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you called out just as Logan called; “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Storm and Jean nodded and just as Jean snapped a picture, she sent it to both yourself and Logan as they walked away. 

“Sure.”

Leaning up, Logan reached for his phone to see the notification pop up before he placed it back down and you climbed out of bed. 

“They’re got a point.”

“About us being a couple?”

You threw a t-shirt at Logan. “Having a busy day.”

Logan laughed a little, scrubbing his face as he watched you leave his room before he reached behind him and took hold of his phone once more. 

Jean and Storm were right. 

From the picture…they did look like a couple. 

A couple of days passed and you were sitting in the quiet living room, the fires on both sides roaring. 

All classes had been finished for two days and some kids had returned home for the holidays, which meant you had some free time on your hands. 

And for you, that meant finally reading. 

Until you sensed someone stood behind you. 

“If you want to know what happens, you could just ask me.”

Logan plucked the book from your hands and circled around the sofa before coming to sit down beside you. 

“Logan! Give it back.”

“I want to see what it’s about.”

You sighed and sat up, “It’s a romance, Logan.”

“A romance?” Logan had a hint of a smirk on his face. “Like the…trashy kind?”

“Like the romantic kind.”

Logan looked at you and smiled. “The trashy kind.”

You rolled your eyes and took the book back from him, leaving him to fix the blanket so it rested over both of you. He placed his arm over the back of the sofa, allowing you to lean into him, whether you noticed you were doing so or not. 

“Just because you might not believe in romance, doesn’t mean the rest of us are the same.”

“I believe in romance.” 

“Yeah, right.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “What?”

“The Wolverine,” you said with a deep voice. “Believes in romance?”

Logan nodded. “Occasionally.”

“Occasionally?”

“Do you just like repeating everything I say?”

You nodded and smiled. “Occasionally.”

Logan rolled his eyes and took the book back from you and read a line out loud. 

“People really talk like this?”

You leaned into Logan. “No, but in a book it’s not so bad. Go on, read some more.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “You’re like my own personal audiobook.”

Logan gave a short smile before getting a little cosier and continued reading out loud. 

It wasn’t long before Logan found you asleep against him and he shifted in order to avoid you getting a crick in your neck. 

“Keep reading.”

“I thought you were asleep.” 

“Now I’m awake.” 

“Fine, just be quiet.”

You gave a fake salute. “Yes, sir.”

Holding his arm around your body that was pressed between himself and the sofa, Logan quickly kissed the top of your head and went back to reading. 

And ten minutes later, you were asleep. 

And so was he. 

An hour passed before someone found either of you, but this time, it was Scott and Bobby. 

“They might be in- oh. What do we have here?”

“Oh my god, Rouge has to see this. I told her they were together.”

Bobby rushed off and soon returned, pulling Rouge with him. 

“What is it?” Then she gasped. 

“Believe me now?”

And what Rouge saw made her smile. 

On the slightly too small sofa for Logan, you lay both between him and the sofa, as well as partly on him with your hand a little over his heart. His head was turned towards you. The blanket had fallen a little, so she reached over and pulled it up both of you before turning around and throwing a log onto the fire. 

“Come on, let's leave them.”

“But-”

“No, you are not going to disturb them. Come on.”

Rouge dragged the pair out and closed the door behind her. 

The third time people suspected you and Logan were an item was one late evening in October. 

Half of the kids were playing outside with all the freshly fallen leaves, whilst some of the older kids helped them find different critters and point them out, and build them habitats. The rest of the kids were either in their rooms or studying. 

Save for two. 

Bobby and Rouge were hiding outside of the kitchen watching yourself and Logan cook. 

“I didn’t even know he knew how to…chop. Let alone cook.”

“You should have more faith in him.”

“Come on, Rouge. You can’t tell me you weren't thinking it, too.”

And she couldn’t. Because she was. 

Meanwhile inside the kitchen, Logan was watching you from the kitchen island as he continued chopping the veg. 

There was something different about you. From the way you practically danced around the kitchen finding the different items for the recipe, to just…you. Whilst he was (semi) shirtless, just having his zipper hoodie on, along with his jeans and socks. He would have been fully dressed, except you had come and ambushed him in his room – even though you denied the word “ambushed” – to get him to help. 

And you were just simply in your pyjamas (of sorts) along with one of his zipper hoodies. 

“Bub,”

Logan laid down his knife and walked over to you as you stood by the stove, standing a little higher to see how much water was left in the pot at the back. 

You hummed a questioned response, but was met with a question…you didn’t expect. 

“Dance with me?”

“What?”

Logan smiled lightly as he pulled the wooden spoon from your hand and pulled you closer to him, despite him walking backwards. 

“Come on,” his voice in a light whisper. “Dance with me.”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer.”

Outside the door, Bobby and Rouge mouthed to each other; “They’re dancing.”

And you both were. 

Gently swaying to the music for a while, you allowed Logan to lead you around a small space in the centre of the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Logan gave a slight smile at you as he spun you out and back in, “We’re not gonna burn the sauce.”

“Logan.”

“Can’t you ever just enjoy a moment?”

“When that moment doesn’t include burning the house down, yes.”

“Bit of a jump, don’t you think, from burning the sauce.”

“Ha, so you agree. We’re gonna burn the sauce.”

Moving over, Logan turned down the heat on one of the pans before taking your hand back into his. “Now we won’t.”

Bobby and Rouge watched, in shock, the rest. 

For one, Logan knew how to dance? Since when? And since when did he…cook and dance in the kitchen? Unless…

Then Logan did something even you didn’t expect. 

He dipped you. 

You hand tightened its grip on Logan’s arm as you let out a small, if a little nervous, laugh. 

Logan had been full of surprises recently. From the impromptu audiobook session in which you woke up in his arms, to him not only dropping off a cup of coffee during your break from teaching but also a freshly baked muffin. 

And now he was dancing with you in the kitchen. 

And dipping you. 

When you had rushed him out of his room to help you cook, you hadn’t expected him to know the recipe for the sauce from the top of his head. Something he just happened to rattle off whilst you were looking for the cooking notebook that should have been in the cupboard beside the oven. Let alone be the one to ask to dance in the kitchen, and dip you. 

Bring you back up, both of you gave a slight chuckle as you turned around, the music slowly fading away in the background. 

“Logan…”

Looking at him, you forgot what you were going to say. 

Had his eyes always had so much green in them? 

Logan’s palm became warm against your back as it pressed further into you. Or maybe you pressed further into him and he just held you tighter. 

Slowly, your hand left his bicep and trailed towards his chest all the while your eyes studied his face. You’d known him for years and seen him a thousand times or more. 

So why did now feel like you were seeing him for the first time? Noticing him? Noticing each particle he was made up of that allowed him to sway with you in the kitchen to the music that had changed on the radio?

Only, before the space between yourself and Logan became any more closer, a noise came from outside the door. 

A sneeze. 

A sneeze that shocked you and Logan back into reality. 

Still holding you, Logan looked towards the door and gave a hint of a smile when he saw the flash of white disappear behind the beam. 

Realising what was happening, you lowered yourself back to the ground and slowly stepped out of Logan’s arms. “We should finish up.”

Logan nodded in agreement, however did look back at you when you got back to the stove, not noticing you do the same a few moments later, watching him pick up the rest of the veg and toss it into the collider to be washed. 

Time passed and after more music, more conversation - including a burnt tongue from when you had shoved a wooden spoon with fresh sauce on, into Logan’s mouth for him to try - and a lot of scrubbing later, you found Logan sitting inside the library and collapsed next to him. 

“Good news, the kids loved the food,” you told Logan. “Double good news; Jean and Scott are on cooking duty tomorrow.”

“Thank fuck.”

“Thank you for helping me.” Turning to look at Logan, you found him already looking. 

“You did ambush me.”

“I didn’t ambush you.”

“I wasn’t dressed.” Logan examined himself. “Technically, I’m still not.”

You rolled your eyes with a slight smile. “Fine. Maybe it was a mini, tiny, miniscule ambush.” 

You made a small space between your fingers. “Like this big of an ambush.”

Logan looked at you, at your fingers and then back to you in slight disgust before moving your fingers wider with his own. 

“That big of an ambush.”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your hand. “And they say us women are dramatic.”

It was Logan’s turn to roll his eyes. However, as he did so, his arm wrapped around you, and pulled you back into him and the sofa. 

“Just shut the fuck up for a minute and listen.”

You did so. 

“I don’t hear anything.”

“That’s the point.” Logan’s eyes were shut as his head rested on the back of the sofa. 

Eventually you gave a shrug and joined him. 

An hour later, Storm found you both fast asleep beside one another so with a knowing smile, she found a blanket, covered you both up and closed the door behind her. But not before reminding herself she needed to get verbal confirmation from you both. 

She wasn’t handing over any money to Jean and Xavier until she had verbal confirmation of what exactly was going on between you two. 

And she didn’t have to wait long…at least in the long run, she didn’t have to wait long. 

Until then, there were plenty more incidents of falling asleep next to each other, bringing each other coffee, dancing to music in the kitchen, smiling and laughing – all before she finally got verbal confirmation that the inevitable had finally happened. 

Finally, it was acceptable to decorate for Christmas. 

Two days prior, Rogue, Logan and Storm had been helping you find all the old decorations in the attic and bring them down. Storm did try then to bribe something out of Rogue, but she apparently was just in the dark as the rest of them. 

But the smile she gave when she looked over at Logan, who was placing down another box from the back of the pile for you to take a look at, told Storm something different. 

“I can’t believe you leave it this late to decorate.”

Logan looked at you. “We’re still in November.”

“So?” 

Taking hold of the garland, you started to climb the ladder. Logan held onto the bottom just to be safe. 

“If you had it your way, the decorations would be up all year round.”

“Hey, no.”

“Hey, yes.”

“I’d take them down for…” you tried to think. “Halloween. You’d have a little break.”

Logan didn’t look entirely thrilled. “Halloween is one day.”

“Technically, it’s a month.”

“To you, it’s a month. To the rest of us, it’s a day.”

You looked back at him. “To you it’s a day, to the rest of us it’s a month.”

Then you looked back at the garland. “How does that look?”

“Great from where I’m standing.”

You looked a little confused for a second before quickly looking over your shoulder, realising where Logan was, in fact, looking. 

Not at the garland, but at your ass. 

You smiled and started to step down the ladder, hitting his shoulder on the way down. 

“I meant the garland.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Logan looked up. “Looks great.”

You laughed. “You didn’t even look.”

With a smile as you finally stepped back into his arm, he looked to the side and up. “It looks great.”

“Good. Now,” Logan turned back to look at you and you kissed him quickly. “We have to put up five more.”

“I get to watch you put up five more.”

You smiled. “This is why you’re my favourite person.”

Logan smiled. He could help you with everything else, but when it came to the garland, you had full control on where it went. Which, he didn’t mind. So long as he got to watch you put it up. 

You quickly kissed him once more, only to be pulled back when you tried to walk away. 

Then Logan gave you a real kiss. 

A little dizzy, you smiled and placed a hand on his chest and closed your eyes. “Wow.”

He gave you a quicker, lighter kiss. “You better get going before Rogue comes back with another box of lights.”

“Light?” Then it hit you. “Oh, yeah.”

Logan smirked a little as he watched you walk away and down the hallway. 

It was a couple of hours before everyone was in the same room, making the final touches all the while most of the other kids were either playing outside in the snow, were taking naps or decorating their own rooms. 

And the others had been watching you and Logan all day. 

The stolen glances, the stolen touches, the slightly knowing smiles from both Rogue and Bobby. And then, as Logan was helping you down from the ladder, his hand on your thigh, Bobby went to make the final hammer to hang up the mistletoe. 

“Wait, no. Not there.”

“Where then?”

Storm looked around. “I know. Y/n, hang this just above there. We don’t need a remake of Mistletoe Central 1997.”

Logan looked at Storm. “Do I wanna know?”

Storm shook her head. “Here.”

She handed you the mistletoe before Logan passed you the hammer back from his belt. 

Three knocks and the nail was set in and the mistletoe was above you on a corner beam, just a little to the side of the christmas tree. 

At least this way, those looking for it, would find it. 

"Oh, no, wait.” Jean said, looking at you. “Have to kiss someone. It’s tradition. You’re under the mistletoe.”

There was no one else apart from Logan.

Logan looked around at the others. He wondered how long it would take. 

Coming up behind you on the ladder, you moved over for him to stand beside you. His palm on your back held you steady and, leaning his other arm on the ledge of the ladder, his hand cupped your face and he kissed you. 

Lasting a little longer than the others had expected, you soon heard Rogue giving a little cheer, as well as a couple of whistles from the others. 

“Okay, I think they get it.” You whispered to Logan as he finally pulled away, a smile very noticeable on both of your faces. 

“Happy now?” Logan asked, turning towards where Jean and Scott were standing. 

“That was some kiss.”

You felt yourself blush at the comment. As did Logan. 

He helped you back down the ladder before you both turned and really saw the other's expression. As well as the exchanging of money between people. 

“Sooo…how long has this been going on?”

You were leaning into Logan, his hand around your back and on your hip. 

You looked at Logan, “A couple of months. We’re…what? November now so that would…”

“That would…” Logan counted back in his head. “May…June, July…six months.”

You looked back to the others. “Six months.”

A chorus of shocked faces and loud voices sounded out; “SIX MONTHS?!”

All before a small call from Rogue was made, which made both yourself and Logan smile. 

“I knew it!”