#I’m going to have to hold back the urge

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush—grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day

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[dearpyramus]

Carmy picking up his baby mid panic attack because being with them just calms him down

He’s just rocking him against his chest and his own breathing steadies

(a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long!! hope u enjoy!!)

tags: nightmare, fluff, light angst ig, domestic

another night, another grueling nightmare.

he was all too familiar with jolting awake in a code sweat, hair sticking to his forehead and eyes practically blood shot. the routine of trying to quell rising sobs, like a dam holding together by a thread. not wanting to disturb your slumber, no matter how many times you reassured him that it was okay.

now, however, it was different.

it was almost primal, the urge he felt. as if this was unconsciously conditioned as soon as he became a father. all he knew was that he needed to see his baby. he needed to know that she was okay. as if something could have happened to her between the time he was briefly asleep.

he quietly made his way to the nursery, which he helped decorate in various flowers.

he let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding when he saw her fast asleep. at least, it appeared like she was asleep. upon further inspection he noticed her looking at him with those wide eyes, those eyes that reminded him of you.

“heyyy there. watcha doin up, hm?”

he cringed at how hoarse his voice sounded. he gently picked up the baby girl, holding her tightly. as if he was afraid she could drop.

he made his way to the rocking chair and sigh as he plopped down, exhaustion consuming him whole. he didn’t want to go back to sleep. not yet. not when his heart was still pounding in his chest. not when he was still shaking like a leaf.

as if she could sense her father’s distress, the baby squirmed a bit and let out a noise. this caused his heart to drop, the last thing he wanted was to upset her.

“hey hey hey, s’okay. daddy’s here. daddy’s gotcha. shhhhh”

he cradled her head which fit perfectly in his hand. his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her tufts of hair. he continued these motions as he began to calm down and continued to murmur to her.

she didn’t know it, but she helped him a lot that night

[fairylibe]

between us and the moon.

1415 words. angst with some comfort, highly interpretive. based on jude's past records. features: child! jude jazza & kate, victor.

꒰ summary ꒱ kate gives child! jude a hug. some inspiration was taken from this fanart.

(I)

wherever he went, the moon followed.

the moonlight seemed so bright, jude couldn’t help but look down at the concrete.

today as well, the work was grueling.

but when he saw a familiar figure upon pushing the heavy door open, his heart lightened up just a little, and his features softened a tad.

“big brother, you’re home! what took ya so long?”

“took a detour.” jude collapsed on the floor, letting out a sigh.

the person before him tilted their head. “from where? goin’ through the nooks n’ crannies this time o’ night can be dangerous, ya know.”

jude closed his eyes for a moment — when he did, an image flashed in his mind.

“…today was a full moon.”

“hehe, thinkin’ ‘bout our promise? don’t go thinkin’ ‘bout breakin’ it.”

jude showed a small smile.

“…don’t matter if i gotta use money, magic, ya name it. someday, i’ll make it happen.”

——how could he not, when the image in his mind was engraved in his soul so deeply?

indeed, it was so clear, it could probably last ten thousand years.

(II)

“wow, the moon is so big…” as kate walked down the hallway, she looked out the window.

outside, the moon hung from the sky, so full and large she felt she could touch it.

“they say witchcraft’s at its strongest when the moon is at its largest.”

“eek!” kate jumped and turned around, seeing victor standing right behind her. “v-victor! don’t scare me like that!”

“haha, you must’ve been fairly out of it if you didn’t notice. bewitched by the moon tonight?”

“hm? oh, i guess…” kate’s voice trailed off as she looked back out the window.

victor’s gaze followed, his voice remaining lighthearted. “i have a tickling feeling some magic is going to happen tonight.”

kate chuckled as well at his somewhat theatric words. “what, are you holding another magic show?”

“aw, miss kate, could it be you miss my magic shows? you know i’m always happy to show you my tricks.” victor’s eyes were like crescents as he smiled, but then his expression recomposed. “…but i mean a different type of magic this time.”

“a different type?”

the corner of his lips quirked up as he brought his index finger up.

“be careful when opening doors after the clock strikes midnight. if you open the wrong door at the wrong time, i can’t guarantee you will be able to return safely until the next full moon.”

(III)

“▧▧▧▧, ya doin’ okay?”

they laid on the bed — a far cry from the energetic disposition they had just some time before.

now, coughing was a regular occurrence. sometimes, they would shiver as well.

jude held onto their hand, grasping it as tightly as his coarse fingers could.

it was as though he wanted to capture any sign of warmth.

or before that, he wanted to find a semblance of it.

“i’m…sorry…”

their voice came out as a raspy whisper before more coughing resounded in the room. the hand jude held gently held his back in a silent urge for him to relax.

although it did little to ease his mind.

after all, what they had couldn’t be treated without medicine.

and medicine costed money — more money than what he could currently make in a year, he reckoned.

jude clicked his tongue, more so annoyed at himself than anything else. but this only elicited an amused, albeit weak chuckle from his sibling.

“why so hard on yourself?” ▧▧▧▧ lifted jude’s hand, and he let them guide his hand as though they were the moon. “…you’re already like the moon to me. so that’s why…”

“▧▧▧▧…” jude’s voice trailed off, his amethyst eyes becoming more misty as he heard their voice fade into a whisper.

“that’s why…if i can stay by your side…that is more than enough.”

“then i’ll stay by your side,” jude replied, “it’s a promise ‘til the end.”

they gave jude a smile before turning their head to look up at the moon, high above the sky.

“i wonder how far the moon is,” they murmured.

jude didn’t know the answer then.

he eventually did find out —— but only when their voice faded to nothingness.

(IV)

kate couldn’t get victor’s words out of her head.

maybe he was indeed joking, but also…what if he was not? what would happen, then, were she to open a door she shouldn’t have?

sighing while mulling over her own thoughts, she turned the doorknob to her door, eager to plop onto the soft sheets of her bed, when——

“ahhh?!”

opening the door, she was greeted by a blinding light.

so bright…!

it took her a minute to adjust to her surroundings, her eyes slowly presenting her with a sight that looked somewhat familiar, but was also a far cry from her room.

“w-w-w-wha…”

the first thing she saw was a fight breaking out.

or…it wasn’t so much of a fight as it was a child, a boy who couldn’t have passed his teen years, getting beaten by some adults.

what stood out to kate was the amethyst-colored eyes this child had, which seemed to gleam with an unyielding flame of determination, only kindled by the inevitable pain.

what is going on?!

kate was bewildered, for sure, but also, she wanted to help that child as well.

her body moved on her own then.

“stop right there!!”

the child’s eyes widened, but he quickly recomposed himself. it would appear he was accustomed to such situations.

the attackers tried to retaliate, but they didn’t know that kate had a good mentor named roger when it came to the art of self defense.

when the attackers fled (not without spitting on the ground in contempt though), kate turned toward the child.

it was then she noticed his silver hair with black streaks.

“you…”

is this jude?

kate reached out to him to check to see if he was hurt, but the boy slapped her hand away, shooting kate a glare.

“i never asked for your help, ya goody two shoes.”

well, that was more than enough to answer the question that popped into her mind some mere seconds before.

(V)

who knows how much time had passed.

the first few days, kate ran into (child) jude, and he would swat her hand away, glare at her, and run off somewhere she didn’t know.

he kind of reminded her of a cat.

but as a bit more time went on, the two started making small talk.

“how long are you going to eat stale bread?”

“none o’ ya darn business.”

“actually, i think i have very valid concerns about your health, jude——ah.”

kate put her hands over her mouth, but it was too late.

jude looked at her, his brows raised.

“i didn’t tell ya my name. what does that make ya, a stalker?”

“no way!”

and, as a week passed, kate would sometimes find jude sitting on top of some burlap sacks piled on top of one another, looking up at the sky.

usually, his amethyst eyes had some fire in them, but when they looked at the moon, they seemed so dull in comparison. it was like he was deep in thought, but said thoughts weighed down on him, making him look far from a child.

one day — or one night — for the first time perhaps, jude asked kate a question.

“…how far is the moon?”

“…around 385,000 kilometers.” adult you told me at one point, after all.

jude spared kate a side glance before looking back up. “…i see.” after a pause, his next words came out in a murmur. “maybe if i met ya sooner, things would’ve been different.”

somehow, seeing his profile in the darkness, illuminated only by the silver moonlight, made him seem infinitely lonely…

and kate couldn’t help herself as she wrapped her arms around jude.

at first, he stiffened, but he didn’t push her away; he likely didn’t have much vigor to do so at this point.

no words were exchanged between them, but none were needed.

but then, another question seemingly whispered in kate’s ears.

“then, do ya think it’s possible to go to the moon?”

it seemed like a simple question, and yet at the same time so vulnerable for a reason kate didn’t know of.

“yes,” she replied after a pause, “i do.”

“hah, ya sure know how to be a goody two shoes.”

but for the first time since she came to this mysterious world, she felt arms wrap around her back.

fin.

꒰ tag list . ꒱ @drachonia @weepinglycoris @velisle @candiedcoffeedrops @judesmoonbeauty @.comment to be added or removed!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: Charity Case

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand in the changing room, staring at the mirror, at yourself. Peppermint cloys on your tongue as you consider the dainty blue sweater. It isn’t your pick. Few of the clothing are. You can barely differentiate between the weaves and colours. 

“Well?” Lloyd calls from the other side of the thin barrier between you. 

You rarely used dressing rooms. You shop at the thrift shop, find whatever looks like it will fit, and go. Not that you even do that often. You’ve been wearing the same wardrobe of used pieces for years.  

You shift and touch the little frill along the collar. It frames your neckline prettily but it’s just too much. A nice strong cableknit with sleeves you can tuck your hands into and some corduroys are much more practical. 

“Come on, toots, I’m dying. You find anything you like?” He urges. 

You face the door and slide back the lock. You step out. The walls are lined with mirrors. Behind him, behind you, beside you, everywhere. You pinch the frilly hem as you bite your lip. 

“I don’t know...” you drawl. 

“Wowza, that’s cute,” he smiles from the bench. His hands are full as he holds both your lattes over his lap. “I like the colour. Be nice with a skirt.” 

“Skirt?” You mutter, “I don’t really...” 

“I grabbed a few, why don’t you try one on?” He prompts. 

You hesitate then shrug. You turn back and see yourself reflect on the door. You only notice then that the light weave clings to the outline of your bra. You quickly hide inside and shuffle through the many hangers.  

You don’t realise how short the skirt is until you get it on. The lace lining sticks out the bottom and four little bows decorate the cream material. It’s sophisticated in a way you aren’t. You sift through and find a top you think matches. 

You steel yourself before you emerge again. Lloyd’s impatience seeps through with a clearing of his throat. You step out and clutch your hands behind you, staring past him. 

“Wow,” he breathes, “that’s nice, tootsie, we’re definitely getting that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about the white,” you sway, “it’ll get stained.” 

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying it but don’t be so pessimistic,” he chortles. 

“Sure, you’re right,” you agree quietly. “Well, still lots to go through.” 

You shuffle back into the change room, shivering at the rush of air that floods beneath the short hem of the skirt. You continue the tedious task of going through each and every piece. You can’t focus on any of it. You’re indifferent to even the nicest garment, things that you may have coveted in a clearer state of mind. 

Lloyd carries your haul to the counter after handing off the cups. His is empty and yours is cold. You put his in the bin near the desk as he pays. You look down, embarrassed. 

“Lloyd, you don’t--” 

“Sweetie, Merry Christmas,” he interrupts and smirks at the front desk lady. “Careful with that, don’t wrinkle it.” 

He might be nice to you but there’s those moments where he’s so... demanding. You wish he’d be a bit kinder to the people doing things for him. You offer the associate a sheepish smile then hide behind the cup. You taste the cold espresso and hover. 

Lloyd gathers up the bags and leads you back into the crowded mall. You drain half the cup and give up. You subtly toss it as you pass one of the many waste bins. 

“Well, you still need some basics,” he declares and glances at you, nudging you with his elbow, “you know, under-roos.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah...” 

“There’s a Victoria’s Secret right there.” 

“Victoria--” you gulp. “That’s fine, er, no, there’s probably somewhere else.” 

“Hello,” a woman calls as Lloyd struts towards the marquee of the lingerie store. “We’re having a promotion. You can spin the wheel and get a coupon.” 

You cringe and hide behind him. He spins and gets a coupon for thirty percent off. The woman is tall and her dark red hair is perfectly waved. She’s all in black that clings to her figure prettily. 

“Come on, tootsie roll,” Lloyd ushers you inside. The boutique is far too nice for you.  

You keep your arms crossed as Lloyd browses. He is unfazed by the crotchless lace and the sleek satin. You get to a table strewn with cotton thongs and thick-banded boyshorts. 

“You get the pick of the litter,” he declares, “you need a bra? Maybe six?” 

“Lloyd,” you murmur, “I don’t know...” 

“What’s your size?” He peeks at your chest then his brows pop up and he chuckles. “Sorry, just trying to help.” 

“Um, I wear... sport bras, so...” 

“Hmm, let me find...” He turns and strides off before he can finish his thought. 

You frown and look down. You see a nice pair of coral panties but when you turn them over, you find the have a narrow back. You just want your Walmart high-rise. You sniff and step out of the way of some other shoppers. 

“There she is,” Lloyd appears out of the crush, “Toots, this is Lara, she’s going to get you fitted.” 

“Fitted?” You utter. 

“Yeah, she can help measure you for your bra size--” 

“That’s okay--” 

“It’s five minutes,” Lara insists, “in the back.” 

“We want to get you something nice,” Lloyd argues, “don’t we? Get bang for our buck.” 

You don’t have it in you to resists. It’s nice. You’ve never bothered with anything like that. Everything you have just does the job. It doesn’t matter if it really fits, just if you can get it on. And everything you have is gone. You suspect his present is more charity than holiday cheer. 

Embarrassed, you nod and try to force a smile. Lara waves you toward the dressing room and Lloyd turns to peruse the table of panties. You cringe and drag your feet across the store. 

As you’re shut in with Lara, she has you take off your shirt. You’re uncomfortable as she measures you through your sport bra. It’s almost like a medical exam. 

“He’s really nice,” she says. 

“Hm?” You sniff. 

“Your boyfriend. Gonna be a really happy holiday,” she chimes. 

“Oh, he’s not...” you drone but don’t finish. 

“Husband?” She wonders. 

You shrug. You don’t bother explaining. You just want to get out of this place. All these strangers are making you dizzy. 

[tansyuduri]

Chapter Two of "To Break A King" Is up

“Well, she knows how to hold a grudge,” Merlin observed softly.

“Don’t talk,” Arthur ordered. Talking would use up the little air Merlin had more quickly.

As always, Merlin did not listen to him. Instead, he shook his head and, with what was clearly a great effort, managed to push himself up slightly to lean against the magical membrane.

“Don’t you remember, dollophead? I never do what I’m told.”

“Merlin! Don’t talk!” Arthur urged.

“I sort of have to,” Merlin continued. “Well, not really, but I want to say things.”

“ Mer lin!”

“I wanted to say, I love you. This is not your fault. And if this is it for me, I’m—” Merlin cleared his throat. “Well, I’m partly glad you're here… Glad you’re here for my sake, but not glad about you having to watch. You don’t think you might be able to close your eyes?”

Merlin looked toward him, eyes full of hope. Then he nodded in understanding, not waiting for a reply. “I don’t think I would be able to either if I was in your spot.”

“Merlin. SHUT. UP. You’re using up air!”

“I know… but you can’t reach me either way. And we both know I cannot go a few hours without air.”

Arthur strained harder, desperate to stop this. His fingers scrambled against the cold stone floor, just out of reach from giving Merlin his freedom.

“I’m trying to think of what to say so you won’t blame yourself. What might help you… But I don’t know what to say,” Merlin continued rambling, using up precious air.

“I suppose… I love you and I wouldn’t change a thing? Well, I would change being in here. But if the choice was having the time I spent with you and dying here or never having met you, I know that I’d pick…” A pause, “I’d pick being with you, just in case that was not clear.”

“You stupid self-sacrificial… idiot of a sorcerer,” Arthur gasped out, agony and love filling his chest.

“It's not very nice to insult someone who is dying,” Merlin responded. “But of course, you would. You’ve never had nice manners. You should probably work on that.”

Arthur could feel the tears running down his face. He hurriedly brushed them away, then went back to struggling to reach the membrane.

“I love you, Arthur. With all that I am. Please don’t let this break you. I don’t want this to break you.” For the first time, he sounded frightened. Merlin finally couldn’t hide his fear, and what he couldn’t hide his fear of was how this would affect Arthur.

Also, was it Arthur, or did Merlin’s voice sound strained in another way?

No, it was starting, Arthur realized as Merlin gasped lightly and then tried to normalize his breathing.

“I love you,” Merlin told him, sounding breathless. “Always have... Always will. Well, not at first, thought you were a prat then... But perhaps…” He cut off to take a struggling breath of air.

Arthur could see Merlin's trembling. It was the one reaction to what was happening to him that he couldn't hide. Because he was trying to hide it. For Arthur.

Merlin gasped a few times. Clearly struggling and managing the words. “Goodbye, clotpole…love… you…” He then looked away from Arthur, likely so Arthur could not see the fear in his gaze.

Read it here!

[whosscruffylooking]

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count: 9k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things ~1984~ a/n: this is the final rewrite chapter for season 2. the next few chapters will take place between seasons, before we jump into season 3. i'm torn between having the reader and steve already happily in love, or building their relationship with a slower, more gradual "slow burn" approach. let me know if you have a preference on which direction you'd like to see their story go. ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The house is still. Despite the number of people inside, everything—and everyone—feels frozen. The air hangs heavy, dense enough that even a falling leaf would plummet straight down instead of drifting aimlessly.

In that oppressive silence, Nancy’s hand rests gently on Jonathan’s shoulder as he murmurs soft, repeated apologies to his unconscious brother. Hopper’s voice thunders from another room, shouting into the phone at God knows who. The stark contrast between Jonathan’s whispered pleas and Hopper’s roaring urgency only adds to the weight pressing down on all of you.

Your gaze flicks between Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve. But Steve’s attention is fixed entirely on her. His expression is unreadable, a puzzle you can’t help but want to solve. Slowly, you step closer, your heart pounding as you search his face for some unspoken answer buried in his eyes. As if sensing your approach, Steve straightens, brushing a hand over his face in a failed attempt to mask the quiet sniffle that escapes. When his bloodshot eyes finally meet yours, you feel a pang of something you can’t quite name—pity, frustration, or maybe just the ache of knowing him so well.

This is the Steve you’ve always known—bold and self-assured, with a fiercely loyal heart that makes him impossible to walk away from. But tonight, his edges are frayed, his armor cracked under the weight of everything he’s faced. He doesn’t just observe the heaviness in the room; he feels it, wearing it like a second skin. As he watches Nancy with Jonathan—her hand on his shoulder, her gaze soft in a way Steve hasn’t seen in years—the truth settles quietly: Nancy isn’t his anymore. Her heart belongs to someone else. Yet instead of hurt, Steve feels peace—peace in letting go and realizing he might finally belong somewhere too.

Steve’s gaze shifts back to you, his jaw tightening, his hand flexing at his side as though resisting an urge he can’t quite act on. His eyes hold an intensity that sends a shiver through you. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen him look at you like this, but now it feels heavier, more deliberate.

His hand brushes lightly across your stomach, guiding you to follow him, his silent invitation impossible to ignore. He leads you into the kitchen, where he leans back against the counter. You steady yourself beside him, your fingertips accidentally grazing his, sparking a thrill of nerves. You hold your breath, unsure of what he might do now that Nancy’s here, lingering so close. But instead of pulling away, he surprises you—sliding his finger between yours, linking them together. In that small, quiet gesture, he says everything: I’m here. We’re here, and we’re in this together.

You both stay there, fingers subtly intertwined, as the kids reminisce about Bob.

Your mind drifts back to that summer you washed cars tirelessly, saving every dollar for a Walkman. You remember the pride you felt when you finally walked into RadioShack and handed Bob your hard-earned cash. He showed you how to use it, and from that day on, whenever he saw you, he made sure you knew about the latest and greatest models. He ignited your love for collecting them, and in a way, he fed your love of music. Bob is a hero, gone far too soon. Now, a fierce need for revenge against those monsters burns within you, alongside a deep desire to honor the memory of Bob Newby, the town’s unsung hero.

“We can’t let him die in vain,” you say, breaking the silence.

Dustin huffs in frustration. “Well, we can’t take down those Demo-dogs on our own.”

“Demo-dogs?” Max repeats, confused.

He shoots her an irritated look. “Demogorgon dogs. Demo-dogs. It’s like… a compound word. A play on words…”

You raise your eyebrows, giving Max a sarcastic nod. “Yeah, Max. Keep up.” She giggles despite the tension.

“There’s an army now,” Lucas says, his tone filled with doubt.

Mike’s voice cuts through the chatter. “His army.”

Steve perks up, his focus shifting. “What do you mean?”

The group gathers closer, ideas bouncing back and forth as Dustin pieces it together, dubbing the creature “the Mind Flayer.” You lean against the table, feeling Steve’s gaze on you again, steady and unwavering.

Nancy notices too, her eyes darting between the two of you. She sees the fear flickering in your eyes and the fierce determination in Steve’s to shield you from this nightmare. But it’s more than determination—there’s an intimacy there, a connection that echoes a past she knows the two of you share. She should feel jealous; after all, she spent the last year with this man, the one now looking at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever known. As Jonathan’s hand brushes hers, she feels something else—guilt.

Nancy squeezes Jonathan’s hand, grounding herself, but her gaze flicks back to Steve one last time.

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Here’s the next section revised into present tense:

At last, the plan is in place. You split into groups, and you find yourself alongside Jonathan, while Nancy and Steve head into the shed to transform it into something unrecognizable for Will.

“So… you and Nancy, huh?” you tease, nudging Jonathan lightly.

His cheeks flush, and he glances away. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not really. I just like to think I know you well enough to tell when you’re truly happy.”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything that’s happened. “I shouldn’t be, though. While I was with Nancy, Will was here… suffering.”

“Jonathan,” you say gently, your voice firm, “you weren’t just off with Nancy. You were uncovering the truth, fighting for justice for Barb, and exposing something that could have swallowed Hawkins whole. When we get Will back, he’s going to be so proud of what you did to help stop this.”

You rest a hand on his arm, offering reassurance, and for a moment, Jonathan meets your eyes. There’s gratitude in his expression.

In the shed, Nancy and Steve work tirelessly, stapling whatever they can find to the walls in a desperate attempt to reach Will. The air between them feels lighter, but there’s still a lingering tension, a subtle unease that neither of them wants to name.

Nancy hesitates, stealing a glance at Steve before swallowing her pride. “Hey. What you did—helping the kids, keeping them safe… that was really cool.”

Steve blinks, surprised by the compliment. Not long ago, her words chipped away at every ounce of confidence he had—in himself, in his worth as a boyfriend, even in the kind of man he wants to be. But now, as her words settle in, it isn’t Nancy he’s thinking about. It’s you.

He thinks of all those years when he’d felt a nagging emptiness—not smart enough to impress his teachers, not strong enough to earn his father’s respect, not sure he’d ever be the guy to win over the girl. And yet, through it all, you’ve been there. You were always there, quietly anchoring him in a way he hadn’t fully understood until now. All those fleeting touches, secret smiles, and stolen moments with you—the girl everyone teased him about, the one he swore he wasn’t in love with—have built something stronger than he ever realized.

The Steve of yesterday might have begged Nancy to reconsider, to tell him she’d made a mistake and still loved him. But the Steve of today doesn’t need to. He knows now that Nancy wasn’t meant for him, just as he wasn’t meant for her. He had known it the day he found her and Jonathan in the Byers’ living room, their hands bound by blood, their connection undeniable. They belong together, and maybe they always have.

But Steve also knows where he belongs now. For so long, he believed that love meant chasing, proving, or convincing someone to choose him. Yet when he looks at you—standing just outside the shed, picking up an axe with confident hands—it’s like the weapon belongs to you. You hold it naturally, without hesitation. Steve feels a pull so steady and certain it leaves no room for doubt. He doesn’t have to beg for your love because it’s already there, as it’s always been.

Nancy notices it once again. There’s that same feeling from earlier—guilt. Guilt for trying to mold Steve into a part of her life that never truly fit. Deep down, she has always known where her heart belongs. And now, watching the way you and Steve gravitate toward each other, she realizes something else: maybe his heart has never fully belonged to her either. The way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing keeping him from crumbling under the weight of it all—it’s a look she’s never seen him give her. And somehow, someway, she’s at peace with that.

You step into the shed, your steps hesitant as you cross into the quiet space. “Am I interrupting something?” you ask, your voice tentative.

“No! Not at all,” Nancy says quickly, offering you a smile that’s softer than you expect. “Actually, thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to get involved in all this, but we really need you.”

You blink in surprise at her sincerity but manage to find your voice. “Of course. I just… I wish I could’ve done more sooner. And I’m sorry. For… for Barb and everything else.” There’s a double meaning in your words, one that lingers unspoken, but you hope Nancy hears it anyway.

Silence settles between the three of you, awkward but not hostile. “Well,” you say, stepping back toward the door, “I guess you guys have it covered in here. I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get back to it.”

You leave quickly, your heart racing for reasons you can’t quite pin down. But as you glance over your shoulder one last time, you catch Steve watching you. You nod, and he smiles—soft and sure, like he’s been waiting for this. Then you step into the night, his gaze still lingering in your mind.

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While Joyce, Mike, Hopper, Jonathan, and Will are all out in the shed, the rest of you stay inside.

You wait in the dim living room with Steve, backs pressed against the wall. Tensions are high, but in this quiet moment, with danger pressing in around you, both your walls are down.

“So…” you start, biting your lip as you realize you’ve spoken just to fill the silence, only to find yourself without anything to say.

“So.”

“Are we… good?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.

Steve leans his head back against the wall, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down the lump that’s been there every time you two have drifted to the edge of this conversation over the years.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been this perfect.”

There it is. The words hang heavy in the air, and tears spring to your eyes.

He starts again, his voice softer this time. “Friends don’t make each other feel like this.”

“Like what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“Like if one of those monsters bursts through that door, there’s a chance I could lose my everything. My whole world. And there’s no chance I’d survive if that happened.”

“Y-your whole world… meaning?” The words catch in your throat, the weight of them hitting you before you can make sense of them.

He nods, his eyes locked on yours, confirming every word he just said.

“Not… not…” You glance toward the other room, where Nancy is sitting, unsure if you want the answer.

“No.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s firm. The vulnerability in his eyes is so raw it almost breaks you.

Your heart races. His whole world. You don’t need him to say anything else—the depth of what he’s admitting is clear, and yet you can’t find the words to match it. The truth of it hangs between you, painful and perfect, all at once.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you speak, your voice trembling but steady. “Then I guess we have to survive tonight… so we can have a very important conversation tomorrow.”

Steve sighs, his gaze shifting upward as he stares at the ceiling, clearly lost in thought. His breathing catches slightly as he imagines what he wants, growing heavier with each passing second. “If we get out of here, I wanna do a lot more than just have a conversation with you.” He finally looks back at you, his eyes dark with intent, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You swallow, your heart thudding in your chest, caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. You shift closer to him, trying to match his teasing intensity, but your voice comes out softer, playful despite the tension. “Then you better not let anything stupid happen to you tonight, Harrington.” You raise an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in your tone.

Right on cue, the ominous roars of the Demodogs reverberate in the distance. You, along with everyone else, rush to your feet.

“They’re coming!” Dustin announces.

“He found us,” you whisper.

Those who were in the shed, along with an unconscious Will, rush inside, their faces drained of color as the roars outside grow louder. Nancy grabs your axe from the table and extends it to you, a hint of mischief and excitement in her eyes. She secretly gets a thrill out of this, just like you do.

Your grip tightens around the axe, a firm resolve anchoring you. Just days ago, you didn’t even know the Upside Down—or the horrors within it—existed. But tonight, it’s as if you’ve been preparing for this moment your whole life. You look to Steve and tap your axe to his bat in solidarity. You’re ready to face whatever comes, together. There’s so much to defend now—not just your friends, not just your own life, but the fragile, precious hope of a future you’ve waited so long to finally feel within reach.

You all gather together, a mismatched group bound by a shared resolve, ready to fight with everything you’ve got to save your friend—and the town you call home. For Bob, you think.

The sound of the creatures’ footsteps surrounds you from every corner outside the house, making it impossible to pinpoint where to aim your weapon. Their skin-crawling screeches and chittering seep through the walls, sending an icy chill down your spine.

“What are they doing?” you ask, breathless with fear.

Suddenly, the screeching cuts off, and one of the creatures comes crashing through the window, glass shattering in every direction. You all step forward cautiously, you more than the others. After a tense moment, you tap it with your axe. “It’s dead.”

Before you can catch your breath, you hear the front door’s lock turn. In sync, everyone shifts their attention toward it. The door creaks open, and in walks a girl—dressed in all black, her hair slicked back, jeans unevenly cuffed. A trickle of blood runs from her nose.

This must be El—the girl Mike is in love with, the one everyone was so sure had been lost forever.

Mike rushes to Eleven, asking, “Why didn’t you tell me you were safe?” His joy quickly fades when he realizes Hopper has been the one hiding her. A fight erupts and Hopper rushes Mike into the next room.

Eleven turns to rejoin her friends, but her sharp, assessing gaze lands on Max. You step forward with a gentle smile, determined to diffuse the tension.

“I’m Y/N,” you say softly. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

El’s expression shifts slightly, her features softening as her piercing glare toward Max wanes. She seems to recognize something in you—an ally, not a threat.

“Thanks,” Max murmurs quietly, the relief evident in her voice.

You glance toward Steve, Nancy, and Jonathan, then back to Max, offering a knowing smile. “Believe me,” you say with a touch of humor, “I get it.”

Max’s lips twitch into a tentative smile, and for the first time, El’s icy demeanor seems to thaw just a bit. A quiet chuckle passes between you and Max as she begins to piece together the reason behind El’s frosty reception.

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Once everyone settles, you all reconvene to finalize the next steps now that Eleven is here to close the gate to the Upside Down. There’s a tension in the air, a quiet urgency to everything. Every minute counts, but there’s no room for fear—not now. The stakes are higher than ever, and all of you can feel it.

The plan is set: to free Will from the beast’s grip, he’ll need to experience intense heat. The thought of what he has to go through sickens you, but you know there is no choice.

Once again, you split into groups. Steve’s gaze lingers on you as you organize everything. It’s clear he wants to stay close, to keep you safe. And you want the same. But you can’t let that get in the way. There’s no room for distractions now.

Nancy, on the other hand, hesitates. Her eyes flicker to Jonathan, and you see the guilt in her expression—she wants to go with him, knowing he’ll be heading to Hopper’s cabin with his mom and Will. But something keeps her rooted to the spot. The ghosts of old decisions, the moments when she chose Jonathan over Steve, seem to haunt her every step. You know how she feels, even if she won’t admit it. It’s a complicated web, and there’s no way out but through.

Taking a steadying breath, you volunteer Steve and Nancy to sift through the yard junk for heaters. They both look at you with surprise, clearly not expecting to be sent together again. But you know they need this moment, this chance to work together. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll give them a bit of closure. Something to put the past behind them. It’s not much, but it’s a step.

They reluctantly go, and you busy yourself with whatever you can do to help the kids inside. It feels like everything is moving so fast, the world spinning, and you’re just trying to hold on.

Outside, Steve and Nancy busy themselves with the junk pile. The silence feels like it lasts an eternity.

“You should go with him,” Steve says to Nancy, his tone quiet but firm.

Nancy looks up, confusion written across her face. 

“With Jonathan,” he states.

She scoffs, shaking her head. “No, I’m not just gonna leave Mike.”

Steve steps closer, picking up a heater she’d found and handing it to her gently. “No one’s leaving anyone, Nance. I may not have been the best boyfriend, but… turns out, I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter. And besides…” He glances towards the house, where you’re trying to hold everything together, “I have help.”

Nancy looks at him, her voice softer now. “Steve…”

He smiles a little, though it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “It’s okay, Nance. It’s okay.”

There’s a long pause, and then Nancy’s eyes soften, her shoulders drooping in a way that shows the weight she’s carried for so long. “You know, I’m glad…” she says quietly, hesitating before finishing, “I’m glad you have… help.” She nods slightly in your direction.

Steve exhales deeply, feeling something in him finally loosen, as if Nancy’s words have given him permission to finally let go of the lingering tension. It’s a relief, but also a sad one. Because it’s not the resolution he wanted, but it’s the one that’s here. And for once, it feels like the first step towards peace.

“I actually have something I want to ask her,” Nancy says, giving Steve a quick squeeze on his arm as she walks away.

Nancy finds you inside, her hand gently grabbing your arm. “Hey, can I ask a favor?”

You look at her, unsure of what she’s about to ask. It’s strange, given everything that’s happened. Nancy’s been with both of your childhood friends, and you… well, you’ve been secretly in love with her ex. The air between you is thick with unspoken history and tangled emotions.

“Can you look after Mike for me?” Nancy asks quietly, almost nervously. “You’ve always been like a big sister to the boys, and… well, I can’t be there for him right now.”

Without thinking, you pull Nancy into a tight hug. “You know I’ll protect him like he’s my own little brother,” you reassure her softly, your voice steady despite the chaotic feeling inside.

Nancy lets out a shaky sob, her voice breaking. “I’m scared.”

You pull back slightly, wiping away a stray tear from her cheek. “I know. But if anyone can handle all of this, it’s you. In case you haven’t noticed… you’re kind of a badass,” you say, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

She chuckles, though it’s muffled by her tears. “Thanks,” she says quietly, her voice still cracking, but there’s a spark of something in her eyes—maybe hope.

You hold her for a moment longer before she pulls away, offering you one last sad smile before heading out.

As she walks away, you spot Mike, standing alone in the corner, his face a mask of quiet devastation. His tears are falling silently as he watches the girl he just got back slip away from him once again. Without thinking, you walk over to him and wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders. No words are needed. He doesn’t need to hear anything right now. All he needs is to feel your silent support, your steady presence in the storm.

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Inside, the kids have come up with a bold plan to help Eleven and Will. It’s risky, but it just might work. It requires going into the tunnels buried deep beneath Hawkins, the map that Will made. You can see the logic in it, but Steve is having none of it.

“Hey! This is not happening. No buts. I promised I’d keep you guys safe, and that’s exactly what I plan on. We’re staying here. On the bench. And we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job,” Steve says, his voice unwavering, protective.

“Does everybody understand?”

“This isn’t a stupid sports game,” Mike fires back.

“I said, does everybody understand that? I need a yes.”

You suppress a giggle at Steve’s surprisingly maternal tone. He’s serious, but there’s something comforting in it too—something that makes you feel, for a second, like everything will be okay.

Just as the tension peaks, the roar of an engine cuts through the air, making everyone jump. Max rushes to the window, her face draining of color. “It’s my brother. He can’t know we’re here. He’ll kill us.”

“Crap,” you mutter under your breath, panic setting in.

“What?” Steve asks, his frown deepening.

“I kind of forgot I had a date with Billy tonight.”

“You what!?” Steve exclaims, his eyes widening in disbelief, his frustration bubbling over. “You had a date with Billy?”

“I was bored, and he asked me out last week. I wasn’t looking for anything more than a distraction,” you explain quickly, trying to downplay the situation.

“And you had to pick him as the distraction!?” Steve says, voice dripping with exasperation.

“Steve, this is really not the time to have this conversation,” you say, nudging him toward the door, trying to push aside the tension building between you two.

You quickly motion for the kids to hide, and despite his irritation, Steve swallows his pride and steps into action, focusing on getting Billy out of the way. His annoyance with you fades—momentarily—as the bigger picture takes precedence.

Peering through the peephole of the door, you try to hear what’s going on outside, but the muffled voices barely reach you. All you can make out is that, somehow, both men look equally stunning in their jeans. Truly, works of art.

But it’s Steve who keeps your attention. This is King Steve in his prime. He’s cool, collected, calm in the face of danger—no trace of fear in his demeanor. It’s a side of him that always caught your eye, but now, in this moment, seeing him like this, your heart pounds in your chest. It’s a protective side of him, the side that would do anything to keep you safe.

Suddenly, both men turn toward the window.

You snap your head over and see the kids, wide-eyed and standing at the window like idiots. “What did I tell you!?” you whisper-yell, panic creeping into your voice. You turn back to see Billy slam Steve to the ground, his strength too much for the man to handle in the moment.

“Get behind me!” you shout to the kids, feeling the urgency in your voice.

Billy crashes through the door, his expression shifting from rage to surprise when he sees you standing there.

“Y/N,” he says, voice dripping with a mix of venom and curiosity. “You’re the last person I expected to see here. Although, I’ve heard some… interesting things about you and Harrington.”

You square your shoulders, refusing to show even the slightest trace of fear. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you I can’t make it to our date tonight.”

“No,” Billy sneers, closing the space between you. “I don’t want Harrington’s sloppy seconds anyway.”

He takes another step, his breath grazing against your skin. “Now step aside, and let me talk to my sister.”

You push your fist gently against his chest, unflinching as you meet his eyes. “Billy, don’t. They’re just kids—let them hang out and have fun.”

Something dark flashes across his eyes, his patience thinning. “I said, step aside,” he growls, pushing past you with force and locking his gaze on Lucas. You stand your ground, knowing you’re not backing down. You’ll protect these kids, no matter what.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max. And you know what happens when you disobey me. I break things.” He sweeps Lucas off his feet and slams him into the refrigerator. You run to his side attempting to pull him off of Lucas, to no avail. 

“Billy, stop!” You grab hold of his arms. He looks at you for a brief moment and Lucas takes the opportunity to knee him in the crotch. Billy doubles over, wincing in pain.

“You’re so dead, Sinclair! You’re dead,” he spits, his voice full of fury as he glares at Lucas.

Before you can even process what’s happening, Steve bursts in, shoving you and Lucas behind him, positioning himself between you and Billy with a protective stance.

“No. You are.” He says before landing a solid punch to Billy’s jaw.

Billy laughs menacingly, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like you’ve got some fire in you after all, huh? Been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone’s been talking about.”

“Get out,” Steve warns, his tone cold and steady.

And like a trigger, Billy is launching another punch at Steve. Thankfully, he evades it and rebuttals, his fist making contact with Billy once more. Billy swiftly recovers, his movements sharp and brutal. He grabs a plate from the nearby counter and smashes it onto Steve’s head, sending shards flying everywhere and disorienting him. Billy drives a knee into Steve’s throat. Steve gasps, choking at the impact.

You lunge forward, desperate to defend Steve, but he manages to choke out a barely audible, “No.” Billy seizes the opportunity, his attention quickly shifting to you, sensing your hesitation. Before you can react, he lunges at you, his hands reaching for your throat.

But Steve, still struggling to regain his strength, forces himself to push through the pain. His vision is blurry, and his head spins, but the sight of you in danger snaps him into action. With a growl of determination, he forces himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain as he tackles Billy to the ground, knocking him off balance.

Billy lets out a shout of anger, but Steve is relentless. He fights through his disorientation, throwing punch after punch, not allowing Billy a moment to recover. "Stay away from her!" Steve snarls, his voice filled with pure protectiveness as he shields you with his body.

Their struggle quickly moves into the living room, the sound of their grunts and the thud of fists against flesh filling the air. Billy, fueled by anger, overpowers Steve with brutal force. He pins Steve to the ground, delivering a hard punch to his jaw that sends a jolt of pain through Steve's entire body.

Fully depleted now, Steve endures blow after blow as Billy’s fists rain down on him. You want to cry, but the tears won’t come. Your body refuses to let you break down—not now. There’s no time for that. All that matters is thinking clearly and protecting your best friend.

The sedative. Where is the sedative they used on Will? Adrenaline surges through you as you search frantically, finally spotting it next to Max.

“MAX!” you shout, motioning to the syringe. She quickly hands it to you, and you rush to Steve’s side. With a swift motion, you jam the needle into Billy’s neck, pushing the plunger and releasing the toxin.

Billy looks at you, shock flooding his expression. Your breaths are uneven as you take a step back, trying to steady yourself. He staggers to his feet, the sedative starting to take hold. “What did you do to me?” he demands, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Don’t you ever touch him again,” you growl, stepping right into his space, daring him to make another move.

The silence after your shout feels suffocating, broken only by the shallow, ragged breaths coming from Steve. His bloodied face is pale, far too pale.

“Steve, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You promised me, remember?”

He stirs faintly at your words, his lashes fluttering, but his eyes remain closed.

“Lucas! Dustin!” you shout, desperation cracking through the last fragile shred of composure. “Help me get him up! Now!”

The boys rush over, wide-eyed and terrified. Together, they help lift Steve’s limp form, his head lolling against your shoulder. You cradle the back of his neck with one hand, holding him close as you stumble toward the car.

Max’s tearful voice barely registers, sharp and angry as she shouts at Billy. But you can’t care about him. Not now. Not when Steve is barely conscious.

“I swear to God, Harrington,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your voice tight with anger and fear.

You glance down at him as you help load him into the backseat, your hand trembling as it brushes over his bloodied cheek.

Reluctantly, you climb into the driver’s seat, stealing one last glance at him before gripping the wheel. Only a few days ago, you’d driven him home drunk from a party, his laughter slurring together as he teased you the entire ride. You never thought you’d be doing the same thing now—except this time, with blood on his face and fear in your chest.

“Where to?” You ask. “The pumpkin patch, we’ll direct you,” Mike replies. The engine roars to life, the car lurching forward as you tear down the road. “Keep him awake, guys,” you say, glancing into the rearview mirror. The boys nod hurriedly, their voices soft but urgent as they try to rouse him.

Dustin shakes Steve a little too aggressively. “Hey, buddy...It's okay. You put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a fight. You're okay.” 

The car jolts over a pothole, and you wince, glancing back. “Sorry,” you murmur, guilt twisting in your stomach.

Steve’s head shifts, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but all that comes out is a faint, pained sigh.

“Don’t even think about talking,” you snap, though your tone softens almost immediately. “Save it. You’re gonna need all your strength in a minute and don’t eyen get me started on tomorrow when I chew you out for this.” You force a bitter laugh, the sound more broken than you mean for it to be. “Trust me, Harrington, I will.”

A low groan escapes him, and his head turns slightly toward you, as if he’s trying to acknowledge your words.

Your hands tighten on the wheel as the car screeches to a stop outside the pumpkin patch. The boys jump out, voices overlapping as they shout about getting their supplies and jumping into the tunnels. But you stay frozen for a moment, staring back at Steve.

“I meant it, you know,” you whisper, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his face. “You’ve got one night to pull yourself together, Harrington. Because tomorrow? You and I—we’re not leaving anything unsaid.”

His swollen lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Oh, I’m holding out, alright. For what I’m planning to do to you when all this is over.”

Your breath catches, and you freeze, staring at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He lets out a weak, pained chuckle. “What? You think I’m gonna go down without giving you something to think about?”

You scoff, trying to keep your composure, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you. “Hawkins is literally falling apart, Steve. You’re half-dead, we’re about to crawl into another dimension, tomorrow could change everything between us, and that’s what you’re focused on?”

“Gotta have priorities,” he murmurs, the smirk still somehow hanging on despite the pain etched across his face.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the way your heart stumbles in your chest. “Unbelievable,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Just try not to get yourself killed before you can make good on all these big plans, Harrington.”

His smirk softens just slightly, something warmer flickering in his gaze before his eyelids grow heavy again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Now c’mon, let’s go play with fire,” you say with a wink before stepping out of the car.

“Wait! Wait!” Steve calls after you, hobbling out of the car despite the pain etched on his face. “You and the kids are not going down there,” he insists, his voice firm, though his winces betray him.

You spin around to meet him, crossing your arms. “Right. Because you’re clearly in peak condition to handle this yourself,” you retort, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

Steve takes a sharp breath, steadying himself. “It could be another ambush,” he counters, his voice softer now but laced with concern. His hand reaches out, catching your arm gently as if holding you in place will keep you safe.

You glance at his hand, then back at him. “Well…” You slip your hand into his pocket, fishing around, which earns you a heavy sigh and a wide-eyed stare from him. His breath hitches, his cheeks tinged pink.

“What are you doing?” he manages, his voice cracking slightly.

You pull out his lighter and hold it up with a smirk. “Good thing we have fire and they don’t,” you say, a teasing glint in your eye.

Steve exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, half in awe and half exasperated, but the small grin tugging at his lips gives him away.

“Now is not the time for your soap opera romance, people! Focus! Your job is to keep us alive,” Dustin grumbles, shoving bandanas and your weapons at both of you like an annoyed parent.

You stifle a laugh as you take one and wrap it around your face. Then, turning to Steve, you adjust his for him, tying it snugly behind his head.

“Thanks, mom,” Steve quips, his voice muffled through the fabric.

“Hey, at least she knows how to multitask,” Dustin fires back, rolling his eyes as he marches ahead into the tunnels.

You drop down into the dark tunnels behind the others, the strange, glowing particles swirling in the air like tiny stars. It’s eerie—ominous, even—but there’s a haunting beauty to it that almost distracts you from the danger. Almost.

“I’m pretty sure it’s this way. Follow me!” Mike announces, charging ahead with way too much confidence.

Steve stops him with an outstretched arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No way. If any of you get hurt—or worse—down here, it’s my head on the chopping block. From now on, I’m leading the way. Got it?”

The kids exchange uncertain glances, and you catch yourself smiling. Watching Steve take charge, all protective and responsible, makes your heart ache in the best way. He’d make an amazing dad someday—wait, what? Where did that thought come from? You shake it off quickly, heat rising to your cheeks. You haven’t even sorted out your feelings, let alone—

“Come on, let’s move!” Steve says, cutting into your spiral.

The kids glance back at you, silently asking for reassurance. You chuckle and wave them forward. “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation? A little hustle, huh? I’ll be right behind you.”

As you move cautiously through the twisting tunnels, the air feels heavier with each step. Pods of various sizes cling to the walls and ceiling, pulsing faintly as if they’re alive. The eerie glow from within them illuminates the otherwise pitch-black space, casting strange shadows.

You notice Dustin stop to inspect one of the pods, his curiosity getting the better of him. A pang of concern hits you, so you linger behind, keeping an eye on him to ensure he doesn’t fall too far back from the group.

“Dustin, don’t—”

Before you can finish, the pod above him bursts, releasing a spray of viscous fluid. Dustin collapses to the ground, screaming in terror.

“Dustin!” you shout, rushing to his side as panic sets in. He’s coughing and gasping, clutching at his face.

The others quickly double back, finding you crouched beside a flailing Dustin. “It’s in my mouth! It’s in my mouth!” he chokes out, his voice frantic.

You grab his shoulders firmly and try to make him focus. “Hey! Dustin, look at me. You’re fine! It’s okay!” His mask is soaked, so you pull it down and shake him lightly to break through his panic. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe!”

Finally, his gasps slow, and his breathing steadies as he leans into you for comfort. “I thought I was gonna die,” he mutters dramatically, clutching your arm like a lifeline.

From behind, Steve’s flashlight beam lands on you both, his expression a mix of exasperation and mild jealousy.

“Alright, Romeo,” Steve cuts in, stepping closer with a mock-stern glare. “Hands off.” He uses his flashlight to nudge Dustin away from you, shaking his head as the boy reluctantly lets go.

Dustin groans, “Come on, man. I almost died!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re fine. Let’s move.”

Finally, you venture into the hub that Mike was speaking of.

“Let’s drench it,” you say, your voice steady and determined.

Steve nods in agreement, hefting a can of fuel. “You heard her. Let’s get to work.”

The kids scatter, pouring the fuel across the floor and onto the vines, their expressions grim as they focus on the task. You work alongside Steve, each of you silently mirroring the other’s urgency.

“Careful not to miss a spot,” Steve says, glancing your way.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this,” you reply, pouring fuel over a particularly thick vine.

Nearby, Dustin struggles with his fuel can, muttering under his breath. “Why are these things always heavier than they look?”

Steve smirks and steps over to help, taking the can from him with ease. “Here, let me. And don’t spill it on yourself, genius, unless you’re volunteering to go up in flames.”

Dustin scowls but doesn’t argue. “I wasn’t gonna spill it. I’m not a total moron.”

“Debatable,” Steve teases, ruffling Dustin’s hair before handing the can back.

You glance at the kids, ensuring they’re staying safe and focused. “Alright, guys, keep spreading it evenly. We’re almost done.”

Lucas passes you, carefully pouring his fuel along the edge of the tunnel. “What if this doesn’t work?” he asks, his voice wavering slightly.

You crouch beside him, squeezing his shoulder gently. “It’ll work. We’ve got this.”

Once the fuel is spread, everyone regroups in the center of the hub. The tension in the air is almost suffocating as you all take a moment to catch your breath. You pull the lighter from your pocket, flicking it open and closed as you exchange a glance with Steve.

“Ready to light these bastards up?” you ask, your voice laced with defiance.

Steve adjusts the bat slung over his shoulder and gives you a small nod. “Ready when you are.”

The kids tighten their makeshift masks, and you do one last check of the group. Dustin looks pale but determined, Mike is fidgeting nervously, and Max’s expression is set with fierce resolve.

“Alright,” Steve says, his voice steady as he looks at the kids. “Masks on, stay close, and whatever you do, don’t breathe this crap in. Let’s finish this.”

You flick the lighter, the small flame dancing in the dim, oppressive air. For a second, the world stills. Everyone holds their breath, watching as you crouch and lower the flame to the fuel-soaked ground.

The fire catches immediately, roaring to life and snaking outward like a living thing. It licks up the walls and races down the tendrils of vine, consuming everything in its path. The flames glow an angry orange-red, casting the tunnels in an eerie, hellish light.

A deafening screech echoes through the chamber as the vines react violently to the fire. The tendrils convulse, writhing and snapping like cornered animals. They whip against the walls and ceiling, sending dust and debris raining down around you.

“Move! Move back!” Steve shouts, grabbing your arm and pulling you a safe distance from the inferno.

The kids scramble, their faces a mix of awe and terror as they watch the fire spread rapidly, overtaking the entire hub.

“What the hell!” Dustin yells, ducking as a tendril slams into the wall near him.

“It’s working!” Mike exclaims, his voice tinged with equal parts fear and exhilaration.

The vines’ convulsions grow more frantic, their shrill screeches reverberating in your ears. They thrash wildly, almost as if they’re alive—and dying. One massive tentacle swings dangerously close, slamming into a cluster of pods and sending a burst of fluid and ash into the air.

“We need to get out of here!” Max shouts, tugging at Lucas, who is staring in horrified fascination at the destruction.

Steve steps in, gripping Lucas by the collar and pulling him back. “Yeah, no sightseeing! Let’s go!”

You cast one last look at the flames, the fire consuming the heart of the Upside Down’s hold on Hawkins. The once-terrifying tendrils are now nothing more than flailing, dying beasts. For a moment, there’s a flicker of hope.

But the ground shakes violently beneath your feet, and you realize this isn’t over.

“Run!” you shout, ushering the kids toward the exit.

Steve keeps pace beside you, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure everyone is moving. “You heard her! Don’t stop for anything!”

The flames roar louder, the tunnel filling with chaos as the Upside Down fights back. The group is moving quickly through the winding tunnels, the glow of the burning hub fading behind you.

“Keep up, guys!” You call out, your flashlight bouncing off the walls as you attempt to find the exit.

Suddenly, Mike stumbles over a root jutting from the ground and crashes to the floor. Before you can help him up, a slimy tendril shoots out from the wall, wrapping around his ankle and yanking him backward.

“Mike!” you shout, sprinting toward him.

The tendril tightens, dragging him closer to the pulsing wall. Mike’s panicked cries echo through the tunnel as he claws at the ground.

“Help me!”

You  dive for his arms, your hands gripping him tightly. “I’ve got you!”

Steve spins around at the commotion, his eyes widening. “Stay on him!” he yells, rushing forward with his bat.

The kids surround Mike, grabbing onto his arms and torso as the tendril pulls with unnerving strength.

“Hold him!” Steve growls, swinging his bat at the vine. His first hit barely leaves a mark. The tendril writhes, nearly yanking Mike out of your grasp.

“Steve, hurry!” you shout, your muscles burning as you fight to keep your grip.

Mike’s voice is strained with panic. “It’s pulling me in!”

Steve delivers another blow, this time severing the tendril with a sickening snap. The vine recoils, flailing wildly before retreating back into the wall. Mike collapses into your arms, trembling and gasping for breath. “You okay?” you ask, brushing the dust off his face and pulling him into a quick hug. “I think so,” he croaks, his wide eyes darting to the now lifeless tendril. Steve leans down, resting a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Mike nods weakly.

“Good,” Steve says, his voice softer now, though he glances at you briefly, the tension in his face still evident. “Let’s move before that thing decides to grow back.”

You stand, helping Mike to his feet. As the group regroups, you catch Steve’s gaze. “You did good,” you murmur. “Yeah, well, keeping you guys alive isn’t easy,” he replies, smirking faintly before turning to lead the way again.

Then, a deep, guttural growl stops you in your tracks. Dustin freezes, wide-eyed. “That’s… not good.”

From the darkness ahead, a massive shape emerges, slinking into view with an unnerving fluidity. It’s Dart. The Demodog’s slick, reptilian skin gleams faintly in the dim light, and its jaws part to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. It lets out a shrill roar, the sound ricocheting off the walls.

“Of course it’s Dart!” Steve groans, shoving the kids behind him. “Why wouldn’t it be Dart?”

Dustin steps forward, desperation on his face. “Wait, wait! Maybe he remembers me! I can calm him down.”

Steve grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Yeah, no offense, but your little monster is definitely not in the mood for a reunion!”

Dart crouches low, muscles tensing, ready to pounce.

Uh, guys,” you say, your voice trembling as you slowly pull out the bat Steve handed you earlier. “We’re cornered.”

Dart takes a cautious step forward, sniffing the air. His dark, soulless eyes lock onto you, then shift to Steve, who raises his bat defensively.

“Stay behind me,” Steve orders, his voice low but firm.

“I’m not hiding while you get mauled!” you snap, gripping your weapon tighter.

“Guys!” Mike yells. “We don’t have time for this!”

Dustin tries again, his voice trembling. “Dart, buddy, it’s me! Remember the nougat?” He pulls a crumpled candy bar from his pocket and holds it out, his hand shaking.

For a moment, Dart pauses, sniffing the air again. He tilts his head, the faintest hint of recognition crossing his monstrous features.

“It’s working,” Dustin whispers, inching forward.

“Now, go!” Dustin orders. Steve grabs your arm and pulls you forward, motioning for the others to follow.

The group moves in a sprint, darting toward the exit, not daring to look back. Behind you, Dart is still distracted, munching on the nougat.

You push yourself harder, the adrenaline of escape keeping you going. “Almost there!” you call out, knowing Dart won’t stay distracted for long.

Finally, the light from the exit hits your eyes. As you and the group prepare to exit the tunnels, the ground begins to shake. The walls tremble, and the air vibrates with a low, ominous rumble. Dust falls from above, and a low, guttural growl echoes through the tunnel. The unmistakable sound of hundreds of Demodogs heading your way.

“They’re coming,” you whisper urgently, your heart racing. You turn to Steve, your mind spinning with the mounting pressure. “We need to get out of here, now.”

He’s already helping the kids climb up to the hole in the ceiling, pushing them toward safety as fast as possible. But when it’s your turn, the panic sets in.

“Your turn,” Steve urges, pointing at the hole, trying to push you towards it.

You shake your head, your expression firm but laced with concern. “No. You go first.”

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this!” He insists, the sound of the Demodogs’ claws scraping against the floor growing louder.

“Then I’m staying with you,” you say, your voice unwavering. 

Your pulse quickens as you feel the ground shake harder, the sound of the Demodogs’ approach growing closer with every passing second. “Y/N, please—just go! It’s not safe.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you say, your voice full of determination. “Not now. Not ever.”

You meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. The panic is consuming you both, but his steady presence is like a tether, anchoring you in the chaos. You can feel the weight of his promise, the silent pledge to protect you no matter the cost. You hesitate for a moment, but then something clicks inside you. You’ve been through too much together, and you’re not about to let fear make the decision for you. Steve looks at you, his expression softening, though the worry still lingers in his eyes. He nods, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you closer.

Suddenly, the ground shakes again, and you hear the unmistakable sound of claws scraping against the tunnel floor. The Demodogs are close—too close. But then, as if by some strange twist of fate, the creatures don’t come for you. Instead, they race past you, heading in the opposite direction, their growls growing fainter as they disappear down the tunnel. You freeze, your mind struggling to make sense of it. Why aren’t they attacking? Steve tightens his hold on you, his breath shaky as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” His voice is a whisper, full of relief but still tinged with concern.

You nod, still trying to process what just happened. “Yeah.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face full of worry and something else—a deep, unspoken relief. He brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, his voice low and steady, his hand still firmly holding yours.

You and the kids stumble out of the tunnels, breathless and bruised. The night sky feels cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat and chaos of the tunnels. But there’s no time to rest—you’re all still on edge, still feeling the tremors of what you narrowly escaped.

The first thing you notice is the light. A blinding, intense beam from the car ahead, cutting through the night and casting everything in stark relief. It’s almost overwhelming, too bright to look at directly, but as you squint into the darkness, you realize it’s the lights from the car, but something else is happening.

The car’s headlights seem to grow brighter with every passing second, as though mirroring the strength of Eleven’s power, forcing the rift to shrink back into itself. The ground trembles beneath your feet once again, but this time, it feels like something is being retracted, something is ending.

“Is it… over?” Max breathes, almost in disbelief, her voice raw from the tension.

Finally, just as the light from the car reaches its peak, it suddenly begins to fade. The ground stills beneath your feet, the air grows quieter, and the frantic pulse of energy that had been surging through the night starts to die down.

“It’s done,” Dustin says softly, a mix of wonder and disbelief in his voice.

Mike nods slowly, “She really did it.”

You turn to Steve. His eyes meet yours, and you can see it in the way he looks at you—relief, exhaustion, and something else. The world is slowly righting itself, and for the first time, you feel the quiet after the storm settle in your bones.

“It’s over,” you whisper to him.

A soft smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah… it really is.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, the sterile white walls of Hawkins National Lab feel like a cold reminder of everything that happened. Doctor Owens moves through the room with practiced ease, checking your vitals with a detached professionalism, while he hands you a stack of non-disclosure agreements to sign. You nod, eyes unfocused, your mind drifting in and out of the haze of the previous night.

As you sign the papers, you catch a glimpse of Steve across the hall, another doctor checking on him. Your eyes meet for the briefest of moments, an unspoken connection hanging in the air before you quickly look away, your heart sinking with the weight of unasked questions. Did he mean it? Was it the chaos of the night, the adrenaline of survival, that made him say what he did? Or was there more to it?

After the checkups, you find yourself outside the lab, the fresh air offering little relief from the turmoil inside your head. Steve’s there, waiting for you, his expression uncertain but soft. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “You okay?”

For a split second, you want to reach out, to let him comfort you, to talk about everything that’s been weighing on you. But the doubts won’t let you. Not yet. You force a tight smile, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Can you just give me a ride home?”

Steve nods, but his face falls, disappointment flickering in his eyes. You can see it—the same uncertainty that’s been eating at you, mirrored in him. He doesn’t push, doesn’t try to make it better. You get into his car in silence, the tension between you palpable. The ride home feels endless, the space between you growing with each passing mile.

Steve’s thoughts swirl as he drives. He can’t help but wonder if it’s the fear of last night still lingering, or if something deeper is at play. Maybe you don’t believe him, or maybe you’re just scared to believe it’s real. Either way, the distance between you both hurts in a way he didn’t expect. He thought that after everything, after all the danger, you two would finally have a chance to be honest with each other. But now, all he can do is drive, silently aching for a chance to bridge the gap—if you’d only let him.

[brighteststar707]

Set towards the end of V's route, after the explosion at Mint Eye. Seven asks questions he doesn't want the answer to.

Circling the Drain

“Will you please tell me about him?”

He tries, really tries, to not sound desperate. He’s not sure if he succeeds.

This is the first time they’ve broached the subject so openly. Ever since he connected the dots (and finally addressed the growing elephant in the room), he had been grasping for every shred of Saeran he could hold on to.

She swallows visibly and she starts to fidget with the stack of papers in front of her. They’re all scraps, things he was using to jot down sporadic notes on earlier now left over in a heap on the table.

He isn’t sure he’s ready to hear it, truth be told. He is fighting the urge to simultaneously grill her for every little detail she has and also cover his ears and start humming. Having to let go of that image of the smiling, happy boy he had clung to for so long feels like pulling up the anchor and letting himself be carried by the waves. That memory was the only thing that kept him grounded for so long.

The result is this badly-hidden desperation that he can tell she’s pretending not to notice. A small kindness.

It hangs in the room for a moment too long. He can see her assessing, maybe cutting and polishing some pieces for him so they won’t slice into him when she tells him. Or, maybe, she’s just trying to make it all fit together in her head too.  

He doesn’t fill the space. He doesn’t know what else to add. He doesn’t know how not to sound like he’s begging.

They’ve been talking for less than two weeks, but when she looks at him, he knows that she can see straight through him, down to the bone. If it’s because he’s hiding his own feelings badly for once or if she just knows him well enough already, he’s not sure.

She clears her throat. Then, voice shaky, tries to start.

“Ray… was kind.”

He notes her use of the past tense and tries not to move. Not to scream or run or bash his head against a wall.

“He was gentle and sweet. And timid. He was always worried about my wellbeing, despite the fact that I wasn’t doing anything.”

She purses her lips together. A small crease forms between her eyebrows, and Seven can see the gears turning.

“Yet he had somehow rationalized kidnapping me and holding me hostage. He genuinely believed he was keeping me safe. It’s strange, because it was obvious that Mint Eye was hurting him, even if he never said it.”

Seven flinches.

“I mean – not in front of me but it seemed – ” And her voice cuts. There is no recovery. They both know it.

“I never saw him eat properly. Or rest. He seemed to always be awake; I mean, you saw that too. And…”

A breath.

“He was scared. He pretended not to be in front of me, but he was. Of the outside, but also of Mint Eye itself. As if it was going to hurt him again.

Towards the end, he was so… desperate. It scared me, but I still can’t stop thinking about the fact that he was there till the end. Alone.”

Oh. No polishing for him then. It slices clean through him and he’s grateful for the sting of it.

He sits there, knotted around himself, waiting (hungering) for more. There has to be more. She was there, with him, in the flesh. He wants to wring her out for every little detail. Maybe, if they can remember him properly, they can bring him back somehow.  

“I’m sorry, Seven.”

He shakes his head. “No. Thank you.”

He tries to unwind himself, piece by piece. She watches. It feels like his whole being is shifting to accommodate this new information. The brother he once knew. The stranger he fought for hours.

He stands upright, unmoored. The waves toss him back and forth and he doesn’t know which way is up.   

“I’m going for a walk now.”

He will ask her again. Once the DNA results come back and he is reduced to a chasm, he will beg with a lot less composure. He will hear the good and the bad and the ugly and the scary and will spend many hours trying to piece a person back together.

But for now, he will walk until day breaks and refuse to believe the worst.

[aggro-my-beloved]

here’s a blurb from a dasher fic i’m working on. it was originally going to be for soulmate sept, the print being soulmates that save each other from near death experiences. let me know if it’s worth finishing…TW: descriptions of violence, gore, ptsd and insomnia

▼△ ▼△ ▼△

The last fortnight has taught Asher to despise silence. His ears still suffer residual chimes with credit to Milo severing the ward. The nightmares are nonetheless merciful. Babe’s admitted to stop waking him in the middle of the night when they feel the uncontrollable twitches of his body rock the mattress. As much as it pains them to do so, they’d rather their husband suffer a full night’s sleep than be a zombie in the aftershock. Only when—if the screaming starts, do they unshackle him from his subconscious with vigorous shakes and desperate pleas to come to. His crisis counselor assigned eagerly by the department following the disastrous elemental games knows this, they’re in his head right now. But Asher refuses to let them fester on even more of his trauma in order to recommend some new, up-and-coming meditation tactic. It’s already enough to breathe and hold on counts of four when David’s present.

“David Shaw—he’s your alpha, correct?”

Damn. Asher counts to four on his inhale, and strains out an answer. “Yes.”

“Have you been confiding in one another since the incident?” The department worker crosses one slack-painted leg over their opposite knee and entwines their hands. Asher knows this pose well. They have found more of his pain to gnaw on.

He plays dumb. “Confide how?” The counselor releases a displeased sigh.

“You know, Asher, there’s only so much I can understand about your situation. I was not present that day in the stadium when…everything occurred.”

“But you’re supposed to be who I confide in. That’s what the department bribed you for. My friends aren’t being paid to treat me.” He sinks back into the uncomfortable polyester chair. The backing digs into every vertebra of his stiffening spine as he crosses his arms.

“Of course you can confide in me. I am licensed to treat those suffering with post-traumatic stress and grief. But I was not beside you to witness the full extent of what happened that day. David was, hmm?” They raise their eyebrows in a silent challenge. Does Asher see where they’re going with this? He does. But he stays silent and stoic in his seat. He counts: one, two, three, four…

The end to this conversation is predictable. But hearing his best friend’s name urges the healing gash on his abdomen to ache. He knows David was covering him (and failed) as the shade’s piercing talons raked his side. Waking to the sight of his alpha’s amber eyes swimming with tears and trembling hand’s gloves in crimson walks the fence of fever dream and religious experience for him. But of one thing Asher is certain, it wasn’t Sam who’d saved him in the arena.

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 16

Masterlist

Jason had been planning on waiting to call Phantom until a bit later in the day, he had, really! But after a few hours of trying to sleep and a few dozen more muffins, Jason was bored out of his mind and fighting the urge to storm Danny’s apartment and ask him what the fuck he wasn’t telling. So instead of freaking out the only kind of normal person he’d kind of befriended (and really wanted to have the chance to get to know better) he decided to get answers from someone who’d basically offered them.

That’s how he found himself standing in the alley beside a coffee shop (the same one he’d met Danny at to discuss tutoring the boys) in full gear in the middle of the afternoon holding out a piece of paper with a summoning circle on it. The directions on the back said to just hold it out and say his name three times and he shall appear (was that real or was Phantom making a stupid ass joke?) like bloody mary or some shit.

But it worked and only a few moments after he’d said ‘Phantom’ for the third time there was a glowing, blinding light.

“I thought we were going to get coffee, eh sugar?” The ghost’s voice was strange, it sounded layered and loud and yet…. Something about it was soothing, gentle, like he was meant to hear it.

Jason snorted. “Didn’t think summoning you inside the coffee shop was such a good idea.” He looked in the general direction he thought the ghost's eyes would be but his glowing was making it difficult to see.

The ghost floated closer to the ground until he landed gently and the light emanating off of him dimmed enough to really see what he looked like. He wore knee high white boots with loose fitting black pants tucked into them (Jason did not note that the pants were tighter around his hips- he didn’t- he most certainly was not checking out this stranger), a white belt that helped break up the black pants from the black undershirt he had tucked into the pants, some silver chains hanging off his belt, a cropped black sweatshirt that hung just below his ribs with the sleeves tucked into white gloves that matched the boots, and a symbol on his chest. The symbol wasn’t something he recognized.

“Fair enough. I actually slept well for once so I’m not in desperate need of coffee like usual.” smirking, as if he’d just remembered something, Phantom side eyed Hood. “I can think of a few other things I’m in desperate need of.”

Rolling his eyes and ignoring the butterflies in his stomach (what was he- a twelve year old girl?), Hood crossed his arms. “I was unaware a king could be desperate for anything.”

Waving a hand dismissively, the Ghost chuckled. “Believe me, there are many things I desperately need as a king, one of them is to not be the king but, well, what’re you gonna do? But you didn’t call me here to talk about that, what can I help you with, hot stuff?”

“You wanted coffee, I have questions, seemed like a good enough reason.” Hood shrugged.

Phantom pretended to pout. “I’m hurt. You didn’t just call me here for a date?”

“You don’t even know me.” Hood responded flatly.

The king shrugged. “I know you’re a hero in the eyes of my people. I know you’ve got a bit of a dead thing going on.” he wiggled his fingers at Hood. “I know you’re hot.” He smirked as Hood clenched his jaw, Danny flashing through his mind for some reason. “I know if you weren’t curious about me you wouldn’t have called me here. So, I’ve got a couple of hours, and I believe I promised you coffee.”

The looks they got when walking into the coffee shop were admittedly hilarious and Jason vowed to go out a little more often as Red Hood in broad daylight just to see it. Although it might not have been the crime lord walking around midday but the glowing ghost who floated beside him that earned them so many looks. They placed their orders quickly and got their drinks even quicker.

Hood gave him an inquisitive look as he headed for the exit. “Best not to talk about all this around civilians.” He paused before offering another smirk that Hood was growing far too used to. “Unless you like when others watch.”

Jesus Christ Phantom was going to be the death of him. This time he wouldn’t come back. Would he be a ghost? If he were a ghost and Phantom the king of ghosts- 

Jason cut that line of thinking off with a firm shake of his head.

The pair made their way to a nearby rooftop and sat on the edge in silence. Only for a moment though while Phantom was drinking his tea, then he broke the silence.

“Well? Let’s hear your questions.” 

Hood didn’t know where to start. “Why are your eyes green?”

Phantom gave him a strange look. “Why… are my… eyes green? That’s what you’re going with? Why are you built like a brick shit house?”

A brick- what?

“Huh?” 

“You can ask me- the ghost king- anything you want, and you ask about my eye color?” Phantom scoffed.

Hood stared trying to figure out how to ask about their matchy glowing green eyes without outing himself. “No I- fuck, listen- I have a friend.” He finally settled on. “Something happened and he was angry and beating someone- someone who deserved it, mind you. When I pulled him offa the guy he was beating up, his eyes were green like yours. Like, glowy neon green.”

“Is this a ‘I have a friend’ situation where you're actually talking about yourself?” Phantom asked slowly and wow, okay. Sure, it was kind of, but not really either. How the fuck did Phantom manage to read him like a book?

“If I say it’s not?”

Phantom smirked. “I’d say you’re lying. But whatever.” He shrugged, setting his tea down beside him and clasping his hands together. “My eyes are green like ectoplasm- kinda like the lifeblood of ghosts in a sense. Anyone whose eyes glow green like mine have likely been around ectoplasm and- more likely- have died. Not all ghosts' eyes are green, but that’s my best guess for why this ‘friend’ of yours has glowing eyes.”

He supposed that made sense. He and Danny had both died but- “But why does it come and go?”

Phantom eyed him for a while, oddly quiet, before responding. “This friend of yours. What’s his name?”

And- okay, that wasn’t information he was sure he should give out. Danny had told him in confidence about his death and all of the ghost things that came along with it so he didn’t want to go around spreading his business. At the same time this was the ghost king- he could probably figure out who Jason was talking about if he really wanted to. But still! He didn’t want to do anything that would hurt Danny-

As if sensing Hood’s discomfort, Phantom spoke again. “I’m just going to take a guess and say it was Danny Nightingale?” When Hood neither confirmed nor denied, he continued. “Danny’s a bit of a special case. The guy is kind of dead, kind of alive. Sometimes his powers flare up even in his human form. It’s… disturbing to hear that he lost control of his powers while hurting someone, but it’s not unusual for his eyes or hair to change color. Especially if emotions are high.”

“You mean emotions being high makes him lose control?”

“Eh, not exactly. Ghosts are created through emotions. Ghosts are formed when someone dies with a lot of emotions attached to their death. That means ghosts tend to be pretty emotional, they feel things stronger than normal people and emotional pain is worse than any other kind. Emotional pain can even cause serious harm to our cores.” Phantom explained casually, as if they were talking about the weather.

That made sense. For the short time he’d known Danny he had noticed that the man seemed to feel emotions a lot more than others. He was still affected by killing the Joker despite being fine with the man's death, he flew into a blind rage when someone was going to hurt people he loved, one thing he’d noticed about Danny a long time ago was that he emoted so much more than others.

Though, Hood’s understanding of normal emoting was based on his family and they were... Probably not a good comparison for that. Either way, he liked that he could read Danny through his emotions that he had no problem displaying for anyone to see. It was refreshing for someone who hid behind a mask fifty percent of the time.

“So… if someone came back from the dead and… all they felt was… blinding rage… would that just be a normal ghost thing?” Fuck that sounded stupid.

Phantom tilted his head, considering. “Um. Depends I guess. I’m going to assume this is another ‘my friend’ situation. Do you mind if I check something real quick?” Thinking it was going to be like a phone or something, Hood nodded. “This will feel weird.” He didn’t expect the fucking ghost king to reach his hand into Hood’s chest and root around.

Hood let out a very undignified squeak as the feeling of someone poking around inside his chest overwhelmed his senses. Just as he was growing accustomed to the feeling and taking the time to examine Phantom’s face up close (Holy fuck his freckles were stars and they were glowing and when he bit his lip his fangs dug into it and this man had been flirting with Hood and he hadn’t been flirting back because of Da-) he felt the hand leave his chest and involuntarily exhaled.

“Okay, so- that’s… not great.” Phantom started, holding his chin in one hand in deep thought. “I think I know what will fix it so that’s good at least.”

“What’s wrong with me, doc? Give it to me straight, am I gonna live?” Hood asked sardonically.

Phantom rolled his eyes, amused. “I don’t know how, but you’ve been- for lack of a better word- infected with toxic ectoplasm. Not sure how, or even where you came across it but that stuffs nasty. Luckily the fix is easy enough. You need to be getting healthy ectoplasm- you aren’t going to find stuff good to fix what you’ve got going on in Gotham- But! Hanging around myself or someone like Danny Nightingale will help filter out the toxic stuff and replace it with a healthier version.”

Was that why he hadn’t been feeling the pit as strongly recently? He’d been to the manor willingly, he’d been feeling good- happy even, was that because he’d been hanging around Danny? If so, would he be able to hang around Danny more without having to explain himself? They did still need to have a conversation about what they’d talked about last time, but things had gotten busy and he hadn’t had the chance.

“Just tell Danny what I said and he won’t have a problem with you hanging around.” Phantom shrugged.

“I can’t just crash into the guy's life and make him fix me- that’s rude.” Hood growls. Who was Phantom to think he could just decide what Danny did and didn’t do? 

Giving Hood a hard look, Phantom repeated himself. “He won’t have a problem with you hanging around. He likes helping people.” He paused before thinking of something. “I’m not saying this as like, the king ordering one of his people to do something. I know Danny- personally. Not everyday a kid dies, comes back as half ghost, and becomes a teen vigilante who stops ghosts- my people- from disrupting humans’ lives. Obviously, I know Danny.”

Oh. Well that…. Kinda made sense actually. Obviously Phantom wouldn’t know every subject but if there was one subject who was keeping a bunch of other, more unruly, subjects in line, the king would start to take notice. “Like you know him or you know of him?” Hood asked.

“I know him, Hood. Is that good enough for you? Now let’s get any other questions out of the way, I wanted to enjoy our date before I have to go back.”

Hood pushed past the fact that Phantom had called this a date again (why would you push that aside you fucking dumbass a voice in the back of his head screamed, he’s hot, he’s interested in you, you’re single, what more could you fucking want?) and continued with the questions. “How’d you know to show up at the Daycare yesterday?”

“Danny obviously has one of my personal summoning cards.” Phantom shrugged. “He used it before tackling that scarecrow guy- which, by the way- your city’s rogues are fucking crazy.”

Letting out a genuine laugh, Hood agreed. “Yeah, they are.”

“Like I’ve dealt with so many weird things- but they’re ghosts with powers- scarecrow’s just a fucking weirdo! Thank god Joker’s gone cause I do not fuck with clowns.” Phantom held his hands up in a giant ‘X’.

But- wait…

“How did you know the fuckhead clown’s gone?”

Phantom froze for a millisecond. “Danny may have mentioned it.”

Danny mentioned it? The same Danny who said he didn’t want anyone to know about it? The same Danny who’d said he had barely slept since accidentally killing the Joker? He hadn’t realized that Danny was so close with the ghost king. It made a negative emotion boil in his stomach but he wasn’t sure why. Why would he be upset to learn that Danny had someone he was close to that he could tell about the terrible and traumatic things he’d gone through? 

That’s probably how Phantom knew he was talking about Danny earlier too- Danny told Phantom about beating the shit out of Miguel and Santiago’s sperm donor and the rage he felt. He told himself to be happy that Danny has someone to talk to- he and Phantom must be really close if they talked about things like murder. So why wasn’t he happy? 

“Hood?” Phantom prodded.

Snapping out of whatever daze he’d gone into, Hood focused on his date. “Just out of curiosity… did that fucker become a ghost?”

“No- fuck no.” Phantom shuddered. “He’s for sure in hell though, don’t worry, that guys never going to hurt anyone again- I’ve made sure of that.”

That made Jason feel a bit better. He tried to think of his next question but it seemed to be Phantom’s turn.

“Have you heard of the GIW, Hood?” The humor in his voice was gone, replaced with solemnity. Hood shook his head. “They are a branch of the American government whose goal is to capture, experiment on, and exterminate my people.”

“What. The. Fuck. What do you mean?” Hood growled deep enough to rival Batman.

Phantom fiddled with the sleeve around his tea cup. “I had to put strict conditions around my people visiting earth anymore because of what the GIW will do if they catch them. I didn’t know how to deal with them, I hoped… I’d hoped someone like the Justice League would see what was happening and step in before I had to. But they didn’t. And who suffers because of my patience? My people.

“I didn’t just call you here for a fun date.” Phantom offered him a smirk but it was far less playful than before. “I need help taking down the GIW before they hurt anymore of my people. If they had their way they would commit genocide with a smile and say they’d done it to better the world.”

Hood crushed his cup of coffee, spilling hot coffee onto his hands but he barely processed it. “So you need help bringing them to light?”

“No. What they’re doing is legal. I need it to be illegal and punished severely.”

“How is it legal?” Hood demanded. 

With a sigh, Phantom looked into the distance. “When I was a teenager, something called the Anti-Ecto-Acts was passed. It declares all beings who use or produce ectoplasm to be non-sentient and non-sapient beings, belonging to the government to be done with as they see fit. And they see fit to torture us.”

There was no way something like that had flown under the JL’s radar. There was no way it had flown under the BAT’S radar. Jason would have to talk to Tim and Oracle ASAP to dig up everything they could find on the GIW and these Anti-Ecto-Acts and get the fuck rid of them. Anyone who uses or produces ectoplasm would include Danny and- and him. The bats were going to be capital ‘P’ pissed. 

“I’ve never heard of them but I’ll get the bats and the JL on it immediately.” Hood promised. “Bats ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

Phantom gave him a small smile. “It’ll be nice to finally have some help. I- to be honest… I wasn’t sure when I was going to do anything about them. So many other things have been added to my plate recently and I kept pushing back the timeline to deal with them but… well frankly the attack last night has forced me to move things forward.”

“Why?” What about Scarecrow’s attack could possibly change the timeline for a government agency hellbent on committing genocide against ghosts?

Phantom bit his lip, Jason’s eyes drifting down to follow the motion before meeting his eyes again. Thank god for his helmet. “Well, apparently the attack was on the news. Everyone now knows that the daycare- Danny’s daycare- was attacked in Gotham. There are…” Phantom twisted his fingers anxiously before stilling and letting out a sharp sigh. “To put it bluntly, the GIW would like nothing more than to capture Danny again and have their way with him.”

Again? Despite Phantom’s presence, green seemed to seep into his vision. Hood felt his heartbeat pick up and heard his blood pounding in his ears. What had they done to Danny? He wanted to ask. He didn’t want to know. Who would want to hurt Danny? Danny who opened a daycare because he saw a need and filled it, who got mugged by a kid and offered to give the kid a safe place to live, Danny who’d died and used his death as a way to protect his town from ghosts.

“Not only is Danny in danger, but Santi and Miguel will be too. I can’t have that. So I’ve reached out to my team and alerted them to the situation. I’ll also be speaking with my council about this new development, but it would be a great help to have someone like Batman or Superman on our side.” Phantom rubbed a hand across his forehead tiredly.

Interesting how the straw that broke the camel's back was the danger posed to Santiago and Miguel. Hood also hadn’t missed how Phantom called Santiago, Santi, which seemed to be something only those he deemed close enough got to call him. Each passing comment painted a new picture of how close Danny and Phantom were and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Hood discarded the cup he’d thoroughly ruined and tried to shake out the coffee that had soaked into his glove. “Listen, Phantom, I promise you, there’s no way in hell Batman knew about any of this. I’ll tell him about this and he’ll light a fire under the JL and we will get this sorted. Or- you know, I could just kill every GIW agent out there and then… problem kind of solved.”

Phantom snorted. “While I wouldn’t mind that, the laws would still be a problem. And if you- someone with ectoplasm- killed them all it would be the opposite of helpful. But I’ll keep you in mind if I ever need someone dead.”

“You can keep me in mind for more than that-” he cut himself off before he could call the KING of the INFINITE REALMS ‘doll’. It didn’t matter though, the tone was clear in his voice; he was flirting.

Whipping around to face Hood full on, Phantom squinted. It was a long dragged out moment of confusion but not discomfort as Hood wondered what Phantom was staring at. “What else should I keep you in mind for, casanova? Cause I can think of quite a few things.” He looked Hood up and down, suggestively biting his lower lip and -wow, okay, his fangs were really digging in and Hood couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like if he dug right in-

Clearing his throat, Hood looked away- why was it so hot in his helmet? 

“Well, this has been lovely,” Phantom smirked, standing up. “But I’ve got some responsibilities to attend to and some explaining to do so I’ve got to head out. Let’s do this again sometime eh Mcdreamy? Call me.”

Before the ghost could disappear Hood grabbed his wrist. “I’ll summon you when I’ve spoken to Bats about it. We won’t let this happen to your people.”

Phantom offered a tender smile that almost reached his eyes. “Thank you.” With much less blinding light than before, Phantom disappeared, leaving Jason alone on a rooftop with a crumpled paper cup and a weight in his chest. That interaction at the end… Hadn’t that been exactly what he’d said to Danny the other day?

Oh.

Fuck.

Of course.

Hood couldn’t believe he’d been such and oblivious fucking idiot. The whole ghost thing, Danny having so much money, Phantom being a king, Danny coming to Gotham as a ‘favor’ for a friend,  Phantom saying the GIW was after Danny, Danny telling Phantom about the Joker, Phantom knowing about their flirting the other day (even if the flirting had been as Jason and not Hood)- it all made sense.

Danny Nightingale was dating Phantom the ghost king.

As he headed home for the day, Hood couldn’t help but feel a confusing amount of disappointment.

~~~~~~~~

Oh fuck- of course.

It made so much sense- Jesse had told him but he hadn’t believed her because why would he when what she was saying didn’t make any sense! But then the whole dying thing and the vibes were similar and the cookies! The cookies Jason had brought tasted so much like the ones Hood brought and it just makes so much sense that they’re dating!

Danny couldn’t believe his luck. The two hot men he’d been flirting with were already dating each other! Fucking Ancients- he’d never find someone at this rate! Just then a memory popped into his head.

Yeah one of them.

Woah- no no no Danny, time-out! You are not going to be in a throuple with the Red Hood and Jason- they probably weren’t even interested-

Well.

They had been flirting with him.

Technically Hood’s flirting had been with Phantom and Jason’s had been with Danny so maybe they were in an open relationship? 

No! He shook his head wildly. You’re way too busy for one boyfriend- there’s no universe in which you can handle two!

Though he would love to handle them. Ancients with Hood’s muscles and his thighs that could crush a watermelon and Jason’s eyes that couldn’t seem to decide if they were blue or green and both of their inclination towards leather and-

No! Bad Danny!

“You’ve got two kids to go home and explain your deadness too, stop drooling over taken men.” He grumbled to himself as he crossed the hallway and knocked on the boys’ door. Ancients, this was going to be a long conversation.

~~~~~~

“Told you he wasn’t human!” Santi shouted, pointing a finger at his brother.

Danny frowned, looking between the gloating and pouting boys. 

“I never said ‘e wasn’t not human! Jus’ didn’t care enough ta ask.” Miguel shrugged.

“Okay wait- stop.” Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. “You guys don’t… have any questions?”

“Like what?” They looked at each other and then him blankly.

“Like- I don’t know! I’m kind of dead, kind of alive, I’m the king of ghosts- you don’t have any questions?”

Danny had come back to find the boys sticking post-it notes to the wall with different theories about what had happened to Danny, who was at fault, and when he’d be back. There were some pretty wild theories and ‘is dead?’ was among them somehow, but not in the way that was true. They thought when he got summoned he might have died. He was grateful that they didn’t break down in panic but also confused at the composure they’d kept.

“C’mon man, you wouldn’t DIE die on us, I ain’t worried.” Miguel shrugged uncomfortably.

He’d swallowed back the tears that threatened to formulate if he thought too deeply about Miguel’s sudden trust for Danny and moved on. But now they were just bickering back and forth about his identity and what it meant.

“Who cares? I was right!” Santi jumped up and down before freezing. “Does this make us princes?”

Danny looked between the two of them, not daring to breathe for fear of Miguel getting upset at the implication.

“Yeah, does it?” Miguel asked quietly, not meeting Danny’s eyes.

“Uh, well.” Danny swallowed. “If you’d… If you’d like to be my sons then- yes. But you don’t have to. I would never expect either of you to want to be my kids or to make it legal or anything like that and I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“Old man.” 

He kept rambling. “I know you both have issues with your bio dad and I understand if you never want to have a dad again, I mean that’s what I did and I’m doing fine! I mean, I’m not *fine* after everything my dad did- but you know what I mean!”

“Old man.”

“And really- it wouldn’t change anything if you said you never wanted to think of me like that- I mean I kind of think of you as my kids but not in the way that I’d introduce you as my sons or anything, I’d never cross that boundary! Miguel made it clear that he didn’t want me acting like a parent so I’ve been trying to behave like a cool older brother but I’m not sure how I’m doing because I’m not one and I don’t have one and-”

“Old man!” Miguel shouted, cutting off Danny’s embarrassing ramble. Santi and Danny whipped around to look at the usually quiet and reserved boy. He met their stares with uncertainty. “I already said you were dad-shaped.”

And it was like someone filled the room with pure ectoplasm as Danny registered what he was saying. Forget cloud nine, Danny had far surpassed the troposphere and landed somewhere in space where he felt the giddiest and he couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his face. “Are you… are you sure, Miguel? ‘Cause I’d like to make it legal if that’s what you’re saying.”

“Yeah whatever, do what ya want old man, ain’t gonna change nothin’. You already take care of us.” He shrugged casually and left the living room, likely trying to hide from the emotions he’d expressed.

Santi watched him go, eyes wide. “I think you broke my brother.”

Letting out a sharp laugh, Danny covered his face. Fuck he didn’t know what he was doing. Guess he had to call his friends and tell them they were right. He was a dad.

Prev. Next

[loulooser]

Oh the undying urge to put my head on their shoulder when I sit next to them

[butnotbubblegum]

using the tags to vent my current emotional state into the void bc ig story feels like a bad plan for this, read at your own risk.

[cashew-milkk]

genuinely how do you not end up killing yourself? or at least harming yourself in some way? 8 years clean and the urge to self harm is so fucking strong that i can’t find any reason not to anymore

[sahkuna]

OH, HIM? HE'S SPOKEN FOR — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: one too many women at this wedding think they've got a shot with gojo satoru. but what they fail to realize is none of them are you, the one who holds his unwavering devotion.

content warning(s): non-curse au, plot before the eventual smut so 18+ mdni, afab/fem! reader, mentions reader wearing a dress, established relationship, unprotected sex, gojo's impatient so you guys get it on an empty room upstairs, exhibitionism (sorta kinda?), brief mentions of jealousy, pet names.

word count: 4.6k+ // i lurve weddings.

For the fifth time this evening, Gojo’s teeth catch his inner cheek, biting back a smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

You’ve got a cute habit of toying with pieces of your clothing or whatever object was within your range whenever something’s nagging at your mind. He wonders to himself if this was something you were aware of.

Unconscious of Satoru’s intense gaze on you, you idly gulp down a cold glass of water and breathe a heavy sigh.

As the evening persists, you’re starting to feel your social battery deplete by the second. It’s been almost a whopping 5 hours since the wedding reception began, and with every hour that crept closer to midnight the more you wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

The poor music selection blaring from the speakers stationed around the venue— a collection composed by the newlywed couple, you presume— didn’t aid in your fight to stay here any longer than necessary.

Your index finger mindlessly loops and unloops around the straps of your attire, and Gojo can’t help but softly knock his foot with yours underneath the table to pull you out of your daze.

Rather than blatantly asking what was wrong, Satoru settles for something else. 

“Relax,” he says in an attempt to settle your nerves. Any effort that he’s previously made to stop himself from smiling is ultimately shot down the moment your eyes catch his. “You look nice, quit worryin’.”

Though you did look nice, the word alone wasn’t enough to bring any justice to how you looked tonight. The venue’s warm and orange lighting flattered and illuminated you too well. There’s more he wants to say, and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

But Gojo opts to sit back, eyes soft as they make a trail across your bare shoulders, eventually working his gaze up to your face. There, he traces your features slowly, from your eyes down to your cheeks and they finally stop at your lips.

And his eyes just stay there for a few seconds, lingering on your mouth.

He wants to kiss you so badly. 

To him, it didn’t matter if there was a group of old geezers who you two had to share a table with. Gojo would tune them all out if he had to. But knowing him, the moment his lips would press against yours he wouldn’t be able to pull away on his own accord. 

And you’d rip him a new one if you two ever became “that couple” engaging in heavy practices of PDA in front of such critical eyes.

So, picking up the same glass that you drank from, Gojo drinks from it, swallowing down the rest of your water along with the nagging urge to nip and lick his way into your mouth.

Huffing at the fact that he’s chugged down your drink in one go— despite clearly having more than enough in his glass— you wrestle the cup out of Gojo’s grasp and place it far from his reach.

“Thank you for that, Satoru,” you respond, to both his compliment and how he’s done away with all your water.  

Gojo hums in acknowledgement, completely missing the snarky tone your voice carried. “I’m serious though, you look really good.” 

You flash him a small smile at this. However, it’s short-lived because seconds later your lips pull into a soft pout. 

Noticing the drastic change in your mood, Gojo scoots his chair closer to you so he can get a better read on the situation.

He presses his finger to your forehead, tapping once, then twice. “What’s going on up there, hm?” he inquires.

A bit apprehensive, you start with a drawn-out, “Well…”

Throughout the evening as Gojo's plus one to his distant relative’s wedding, you’ve noticed that no matter where you step the guests at this venue seem to have eyes on you. Or more so to speak, who you came with.

It’s no secret that Gojo draws attention to himself wherever he goes, that part doesn’t need much explaining— especially when his appearance sticks out like a ridiculously beautiful, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sore thumb. But today his magnetic charm has pulled much more than you expected.

Like now.

A couple of tables away from where you two sit— perhaps two or three— is where you spot them. There’s a small group of women who hide their blushes and bashful smiles behind their hands, giggling and blatantly ogling at your dashing boyfriend.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you.

…Because it did, big time. 

Suppressing the urge to cringe physically, you turn your sights toward Gojo. “Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask, nodding your head toward the table of women who were whispering amongst themselves.

You could count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to pretend not to eavesdrop whenever one of the bridesmaids would muster up their courage and make their way up to Gojo whenever he was away from you— which was rare because despite being the one who invited you to the wedding, Satoru stuck to you as if he knew no one here.

Humming for a bit, Gojo throws an uncaring glance over his shoulder to view the mini fan club he had unknowingly accumulated tonight. A few have the decency to abruptly look away when he does so, not wanting to be caught in the act. But the others? They boldly send him flirtatious smiles and shy waves, accented with blushing cheeks.

None of which he returns, but you still feel a gnawing ache settle in your stomach.

Gross. 

Finally answering your question, Gojo meets your troubled gaze. “Nah, not really,” he replies. “It gets bothersome, sure, but I usually just ignore it all.”

You don’t respond to this and decide to flick your gaze elsewhere. If he isn’t bothered by it, then this isn’t even that big of a deal. Don’t let it get to you. It’s fine! Perfectly fine.

Blue eyes trail along your face, tracing your expression slowly. Gojo’s face softens, and his hand slips under the table and brushes against your knee before he squeezes. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Does it bother you?” 

Yes. “No,” you respond a bit too quickly.

“‘No’?” he tries again. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to crack.

“Fine. It does a bit,” you hiss bitterly, your poker face falling into shambles completely. Gojo’s smile stretches a little wider. “So can we leave now, please?”

You don’t know if you can withstand another hour in here with all things considered. 

It’s also essential to note how you gradually find yourself nodding off to sleep every ten minutes or so the longer you’re here at this venue. You’re hoping and praying Gojo takes the bait so he would finally shoot Ichiji a text telling him he should be coming to the venue to pick you two up soon. 

Behind his rounded shades, confusion swirls in his gaze and a subtle pout tugs at his lips. “But they haven’t even handed out the cake yet!” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

You want to throw your head back in exasperation at the fact that the sole reason why you guys were staying out so late was over a damn cake. 

Throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder, you spot the culprit. An extravagant-looking tower of vanilla fondant stares back at you, where it’s situated many tables away from you and over to where the bride and groom sit. 

You don’t know why Satoru likes that crap anyway, fondant is known for its notoriously awful flavour because of how it tastes like an extremely sugary, yet stale donut glaze left out for far too long.

“Oh my God,” you wail, but you’re abruptly aware that your volume has garnered a few pairs of curious eyes to land on you and Satoru from various tables around you.

Smiling awkwardly at your tablemates, you’re prompted to lean in close to the stubborn white-haired man and lower your tone so only he’s privy to what you say next. “Can’t you ask Ijichi to grab something sweet for you on our way to your place?”

Unyielding, Gojo shakes his head. “I’ve tried, believe me,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. “But he's always on about how impractical it is for a sweets shop to be open at this time of night.” 

He can’t be serious right now. You think you’re starting to reach your wits' end. “You’re kidding me.”

Thinking you also find Ijichi’s claims outlandish, Gojo leans back in his seat more comfortably. He’s relieved you’re taking his side. “Right?! I tell him all the time that there’s bound to be—”

“I mean you, Satoru,” you say, flashing him a face of disbelief. Gojo wilts a little at this and pouts. 

Pursing his lips, it seems like he’s seriously giving your question some thought. You don’t fault Gojo for having a sweet tooth, but sometimes you wish you could ween him off it. Especially since they got you into predicaments such as this.

But, there is one more thing that Gojo Satoru loves more than his sweets. 

And that’s you.

“Those women really did a number on you, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you throw an incredulous look Gojo’s way. The abrupt topic change flipped so fast it could’ve given you whiplash. He’s purposefully trying to provoke you. 

But why?

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, “What does that have to do with—”

Gojo pushes his chair away from the fancy table and shoves himself up to his feet. Just where does he think he’s going? “You wanna leave, right?”

Like this, you’re able to drink in just how appealing he looks tonight. It’s no wonder since walking in, everyone seemed to rubber-neck their attention to where you two were seated.

You nod slowly, and your hesitant nature has him practically purring when he says, “So let me take you upstairs then. Show ‘em that I’m spoken for already.” 

And at that very moment, you swear you hear the middle-aged woman whose chair is seated one space away from you choke on her drink— you don’t blame her. 

But there’s no way she could’ve heard everything… let alone understand the connotations of what he’s said, right?

She aims a displeased once over toward you and Satoru’s direction and dramatically shuffles her seat closer toward her unsuspecting husband. “My goodness,” she mutters under her breath.

Okay, so she’s heard everything.

Gojo laughs under his breath at the guest’s over-the-top antics and your blood runs a little hot.

Pushing his frames off the bridge of his nose, Gojo’s hand slides them past his hairline to rest on his head. He offers you his hand. “Come with me.”

And you’re sitting there, staring dumbly at his perfectly glossed lips that are decorated with a wicked smile because he knows. He knows you’ll let him whisk you away upstairs to do what even God wants nothing to know of. 

Carefully, Gojo wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you to your feet. “Let’s go.” Delicate fingers slide down past your palm and lace themselves with yours. You move with him when he pulls you toward the back of the venue, near the huge wooden double doors and toward the exit. Leaving behind many shocked guests and a dejected party of bridesmaids.

Which reminds you…

Before you both slip out from view entirely, over your right shoulder you childishly poke your tongue out at the group of women right as the door is about to click shut. 

A sense of relief washes over you when you both finally step out of the ballroom and into the vacant grand hallway. There’s no boisterous noise to pound away inside your skull, just the gentle sound of you and Satoru’s footsteps padding down the marble flooring.

There’s a mix of emotions that swirl inside of you with each step that’s taken toward the main staircase and up to whichever room Gojo wishes to… well, fool around with you in. “You stick your tongue out at them?” he asks.

How in the hell would he have been able to guess that? You stare long and hard at the back of his head, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a third eye you didn’t know was there. However, there’s nothing but white tufts of snowy, white hair glaring back at you.

Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“By accident,” you murmur, not even bothering to think up an explanation for your weak excuse.

Repeating your answer to himself, Satoru grins. “Cute.”

Stopping in front of one of the doors, with your hand still in his, he knocks on the door with his free hand, silently waiting for a response. 

When there are no signs of life on the other side, Satoru twists the knob and carelessly kicks the door wide open with his black leather shoe. The action was so harsh that the metal knob clunks loudly against the wall,— seeing that there was no door stopper— its sound reverberating off the many walls inside the building.

“Satoru!”

Uncaring for the commotion he’s made, Satoru squeezes your hand before he releases his grip and pulls you inside the small room. 

“Relax,” he drawls, before flicking on the light and kicking the door shut behind him— this time with a little more tact. “It’s fine, no one’s here anyway.” 

No longer tethered by your intertwined hands, Satoru plops himself down onto one of the two leather couches and sinks into the seat. 

Exhaling softly, you shake your head and follow your boyfriend to where he’s seated. You’re about to sit down adjacent to him until his hands abruptly shoot out to stop you.

“Y’know…” he starts, and you’re prompted to stand in between his open legs. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders when he glances up at you, cerulean eyes shimmering when he tells you, “It was kinda cute seeing you get all mad down there.”

“I wasn’t mad!” you deny, a half-truth and half-lie. “It just got to be too much is all.”

Pulling your body closer in between his spread legs, you feel something firm press against you. He couldn’t possibly be… “Are you seriously…” You swallow and clear your throat, trying to not let the heady tone of your voice take over. “Are you seriously hard right now?!”

You emit a pathetic squawk when Satoru’s hands brush up against the back of your knees. His palms run higher and higher up your legs, and the fabric of your dress pools around his forearms until they stop right under the swell of your ass.

“What can I say?” he breathes, his eyes burning with intensity the more he stares at your face, searching for something. “I like it when you get jealous over me.”

This man…

“Wasn’t jealous, either,” you say, leaning more into his touch. The more you stay like this without the two of you doing anything to combat the growing sexual tension, the more desperate and needy you become.

“Yeah?”

A heavy heat settles through your entire body when you slide down and sit on Satoru’s lap. “Yeah…”

His breath heaving in his chest, Satoru leans forward and kisses you, sighing blissfully against your mouth the moment they’re pressed together. Eyes closing, the gentle press of Satoru’s lips— soft and warm— has got you smiling against his skin, to which he returns one of his own.

Dragging his mouth away from yours, he presses a trail of searing, lingering kisses from your cheek and down your jaw.

Pressing in closer, a puff of warm air fans out over the curve of your neck. 

“I’ll make you forget aaall about them,” he whispers his promise to you, fingers curling into your waist. “Make you feel so full.”

Growing flustered with how explicit he’s become with his words— a habit of his that seems to materialize only when you two get like this—your face is screwed tight with embarrassment and you faintly nudge his face out from your proximity and bury yours into his neck. 

“You… you talk a lot,” is all you can muster as you pull him tighter into your embrace.

Satoru’s lips curl into a small smile and he squeezes your hips. The deliberately slow trail of his fingertips smoothing their way from your waist down to the bottom hem of your dress had your mind dizzy with anticipation. 

When they slip underneath your attire, you’re not surprised when he starts to get more handsy. Palming at your thighs before ultimately winding up to the lacey material of your underwear. His index fingers hook around them, making an effort to tug them off you, but he can’t seem to do that just yet due to the obstacle of you sitting on his lap. 

Groaning, Satoru jumps his shoulder, prodding you to lift your face from his neck so that you may see what he wants from you. “Help me out, will you?”

You’re more than happy to oblige by a simple lift of your hips off his lap. With the weight of you temporarily gone, Satoru lowers the underwear down your thighs and to your knees.

One leg at a time you step out of them, leaving nothing but the cool, air-conditioned air of the room breeze past your exposed cunt.

Bunching the garment in his hand, Satoru skillfully tosses it across the room… only for it to land unceremoniously atop a fake fern tucked into a corner of the room.

“Hey!”

Breezing past your sudden exclamation, Satoru's hands slide up your bare thighs and his fingertips tease over your skin, eventually grazing your pussy. When your hips inadvertently jerk back the moment they brush over your clit, your boyfriend holds you still against him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he asks, turning his head to press an affectionate kiss onto your warm cheek. “That’s one of the things I like most about you, how reactive you are.”

Not stopping with his ministrations, your boyfriend’s fingers stroke your bud, rubbing excruciating slow circles against you that send you reeling at the palm of his hands. 

Sounds of content are breathed out from his lungs when he starts to feel you grow wetter and wetter the more he toys with you. Your heart’s pounding loud against your chest, and you’re positive that if Satoru were to press his ear against you and listen real close, he’d be able to hear it.

Groaning, you exhale a pathetic string of nonsense into your boyfriend’s clothed shoulder, tugging harshly at his tie when you start to feel that familiar searing heat start to come undone when he slinks a finger inside you— gathering at the slippery arousal pooling around your inner thighs— only to take it back out again, drawing intricate shapes onto your clit.

“Oh my God,” you mewl, riding his hand now, shedding out of the once flustered facade you had moments prior.

Whispering your name, Satoru unwraps his arm from your waist so he may turn your face to look at him with the free hand that isn’t currently hidden underneath your dress. The tips of your noses brush and he watches you silently with unadulterated desire as you practically come undone by his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, his palm pressing against the back of your nape to bring you closer to him, and you do as you’re told. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, your boyfriend presses one wet kiss after the other against your mouth before his tongue slides inside. The kiss is sloppy and fevered, and your whines are consumed by Satoru when his fingers are poking and curling inside you with passion.

You don’t think you can keep up with him if this continues.

Gasping, you pull away from an all too eager Satoru, who chases your lips only to be met with your cheek when you turn away from him. 

Pouting, the white-haired male searches your face for an explanation. “Why?” he whines, and a brief flash of disappointment strikes his features.

“It’s too much,” you murmur. At this, you feel Satoru’s fingers slow down inside your receptive pussy, but there is the subtle wiggle maybe once or twice to let you know he’s still there. “If you keep going like that I’ll—” You fling a lame hand in the air, hoping the unspoken gesture would speak for itself.

Seemingly catching your drift, a boyish and devilish grin is tacked onto his lips. “Want me to put it inside, then?” He bucks his hips up against your core, not caring if you’d make a mess of his lap. “I want you to feel all of me before that happens. Will you let me, sweetheart?”

There’s some sort of strangled scream that’s caught in your throat the moment the precious pet name drips off his tongue.

 You nod dumbly, to which Satoru laughs sweetly in response.

Lifting you off him, he settles you down onto the black leather seat beside you, not before hiking the bottom half of your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him. He presses your back down into the cushion and rests his knee between your legs.

Peeling off the black blazer from his shoulders, Gojo lets the article of clothing drop to the floor before his hands unbuckle his ridiculously expensive belt.

He’s taking his sweet ass time and he knows it because there’s an amused glint that swirls in his eyes the more he looks down at you.

“Hurry. Up,” you bite, unsure if you can withstand any more of his teasings. 

“You’re impatient as ever,” he jabs, tone laced with artificial annoyance.  Finally undoing his zipper, Satoru frees himself from the confines of his slacks and boxers before his hand finds the back of your knee, pushing it down toward your chest to get you ready for him. 

Right before the crown of his head can slip past the entrance of your slit, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking down the hallway catches your attention.

Shit, shit, shit!

You make moves to sit up and at least get yourself together, in case the oblivious stranger miraculously chooses your room out of all the others to walk into for God knows what.

However, Gojo has a different agenda. 

The corners of his lips quirk up as the sounds of what you predict to be two people, approach closer and closer down the hallway and toward your door. Satoru pins you back down and offers you a few words of encouragement along the lines of how good of a job you’re doing, before the thick head of his cock slides into you.

You both moan at the intoxicating sensation. However the sound of his runs deeper, like a pained grunt. It was as if he were a man possessed.

Fucking himself sweetly inside your tight, greedy hole, you can’t stop thinking of the fact that with each step you hear, the closer you are to toeing the line of you and Satoru being walked in on.

God, what would even do in such a situation? Keep going? Stop altogether?

“Fuuuck,” Satoru breathes, the vulgar somewhat audible sounds of your bodies grinding and bucking together had you thinking with other body parts rather than your head.

Yeah, no shot were you stopping anytime soon.

“I should’ve known he was taken, Airi!” You hear a voice exclaim from down the hall. “I mean, look at him!”

Yeah, look at him.

A furious pink blush crawls up Satoru’s neck and hues the tips of his ears as his hips drive in and out of you at such a gruelling, slow pace. His mouth is slightly parted open and the harsh sound of his laboured breathing can be heard echoing off the room’s wall with each thrust he sends inside your pussy.

He looks positively debauched right now. 

His tie (if you could even call it that now) barely can hold itself together, and a few buttons of his linen white shirt are now loose— revealing the milky expanse of his chest. He can’t seem to control his facial expressions either because one moment pale, white brows are furiously pinched together as he obscenely stretches your insides, and the next moment pleasure is etched onto those angelic features of his.

A second voice chips in, who you assume to be the woman’s friend. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

You can hear the sulk in the woman’s voice when she mutters, “I guess…” 

You’re half relieved when you hear their footsteps walk past your door entirely, unsuspecting of the pure filth that was going on behind it. 

But deep down in you, tucked somewhere far away is the feeling of excitement, knowing that you and Satoru could’ve been sniffed out at any second had you been a wee bit careless and more loud

With the coast clear, you cry out as Satoru sinks his throbbing hard length deeper inside you. His cock expertly works you open, leaving you twisting and writhing in pleasure as you start to near orgasm.

“Feels good, right?”

“So good,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him impossibly closer to you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop, Satoru,” you beg him weakly, you feel like you’re about to explode. It’s too hot. It feels too good and a bundle of nerves in your core is ready to snap.

With one hand secured on your leg, supporting how it rests around his slender yet muscular waist, Satoru’s other hand comes up to palm and kneads at your clothed breast.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans, kissing you through your panting breaths. “You take me so well, just hold on…”

Giving into the pleasure, Gojo’s hips now snap faster into you, his big hands gripping and squeezing your ass possessively, pinning your hips to the couch.

Rocking harder and faster now, Satoru’s whimpers reach a whole new octave as he’s forced to pull out of you when his balls start to pulse threateningly, alerting him that he’s nearing his release.

Shuddering, Satoru strokes mindlessly and you gasp when something warm and gooey dribbles down your lower belly and toward your pubic bone.

“Agh! I—” He’s still pumping and there are small beads of cum weeping out the slit of his tip when’s rubbed all that he’s had left to give out. It drools off his dick and drips onto your lips. “I couldn’t help it…” he responds, knowing that he had nothing nearby to wipe you off with.

At least he had the sense not to come on your dress. 

Content with his performance, Satoru gives your butt one last cheeky pinch before tucking himself back into his pants. You close your legs. “We should do this more often.”

Shimmying your dress back to its proper state, you turn to him with a questioning glance. “What— What do you mean?” you ask.

You’re hyper-aware of his cum that’s beginning its slow descent down your leg. You need to take of that and fast.

Gojo points a tired finger between you and him, and then circling it around the room, he adds to this by saying, “Getting it on in public? I like it, it heightens the ‘experience’.”

You push him away from your body and mutter for him to shut up as you prop yourself off your back and into a proper sitting position. 

Throwing an arm across his face with his forearm shielding his eyes, Gojo laughs a little. “So, are we heading back in?” he asks you. “They must’ve cut the cake by now…”

You have the most insufferable boyfriend known to man. After this whole ordeal, he was still thinking about that fucking cake. 

“I can’t stand you, Satoru.”

thank you for reading :)

[wilsons-hotlittleprettyboymouth]

Okay I’m currently furious that migraines are often so blindly easy to treat and I had to find this out myself at the age of 26 when I’ve been to a neurologist since I was 11 lol so I’m about to teach you two neat and fast little tricks to deal with pain!

The first is the sternocleidomastoid muscle, or the SCM muscle.

This big red section is responsible for pain around the eye, cheekbone, and jaw, as well as some temple pain. Literally all you have to do is angle your head down a little, angle it away from the side that hurts, and then you can gently pinch and rub that muscle. I find it best to start at the bottom and travel upwards. The relief is so immediate! You can increase pressure as you feel comfortable doing so.

Here is a short and easy video showing this in action

The second is a fast and easy stretch that soothes your vagus nerve, which is the nerve responsible for calming you down. The vagus nerve, for those unfamiliar, is stimulated by deep breathing such as yawning, sighing, singing, or taking a deep breath to calm your anger in a tense situation.

You can stretch this out by sitting up as straight as possible (this does not have to be perfect to work) and interlacing your fingers. Put your hands on the back of your head with your thumbs going down the sides of your neck and, while keeping your face forward, look all the way to one side with just your eyes. Hold that until you feel the urge to breathe deeply or yawn, or until you can tell there’s a change. Then do the same thing on the other side. When you put your arms down, you should clearly be able to turn your head farther in both directions. If the first session doesn’t get rid of your migraine, rest and repeat as many times as necessary. I even get a little fancy with it and roll my eyes up and down along the outer edge sometimes to stretch as much as I can.

If you need a visual here’s a good video on it. I know some of the language they use seems questionable but this is real and simple science and should not be discarded because it’s been adopted by the trendy wellness crowd!

I seriously cannot believe I didn’t hear a word of this from any doctor in my life. Additionally, if you get frequent recurring migraines, you may want to see a dietician. Migraines can be caused by foods containing histamines, lectin, etc. and can also be caused by high blood pressure in specific situations such as exercise, stress, and even sex.

If any of this information helps you I’d love to hear it btw! It’s so so fast and easy to do. Good luck!

[fairy-angel222]

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—your boyfriend does not appreciate you, but his uncle toji does.

pairing: toji x fem! reader

content: smut, cheating, unprotected sex, choking, petnames, praise, a little degradation, toji’s hot ass has tattoos, belly bulge, cumming inside you

You couldn’t really pinpoint when things went wrong. When your boyfriend just lost interest in you. You couldn’t even date back the last time you had been fucked. Simply turning his body when you tried to start something, or using the excuse that he wasn’t in his mood and that you needed to stop being so needy.

But how could you? You just needed to feel something. Anything. You were so tired of using your fingers when he left for work. Or the shower head on your clit when you showered alone, which was now always.

Your relationship was failing, but you couldn’t find it in you to break up with him.

You were quite confused when your boyfriend invited you over for a dinner at his parents. Getting to meet all his family as he introduced you with a wide smile, hands on the small of your back to guide you from person to person.

There was somebody who stuck out like a sore thumb. And you couldn’t take your eyes off of the man was probably twice your age and most definitely twice your size. Tall, broad and muscular with tattoos of all shapes and sizes trailing down his neck and onto his toned arms.

You swallowed hard, ignoring the heat you felt in between your legs as you ogled the greek god infront of you. With his messy black hair and dark eyes, a smirk spread across his handsome face as he tilted his head to stare you down. Hands in his pockets as he strolled towards you, your hand gripping your boyfriend’s shirt as you felt yourself getting smaller and smaller under his gaze.

“Now who’s this pretty thing?” The deep voice questioned, looking down at you with the subtle bite of his lip as he let his gaze run over your figure. “You’re not gonna introduce your lil ole uncle to your girlfriend?”

Your boyfriend scoffed, rolling his eyes and pulling you closer into him. “I have no need to. Now beat it.”

You frowned at his harsh tone. Toji’s hands raising in defense as he chuckled. “Just trynna be nice.” His smirk widening when he turned to face you fully. “Now, what’s your name doll?”

Your knees grew weak at the deep rasp of his voice, avoiding eye contact when you felt yourself face getting hot. “uh.. y/n, my name’s y/n.”

Toji hummed, grabbing hold of your hand and bending down to place a kiss to the back of it. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He winked.

“Okay that’s enough. You can go now.” Your boyfriend fumed, your eyes never leaving the older man’s as he took his leave, leaving you with a short. “Nice to meet ya, doll” before he walked away.

“We’re leaving.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriend’s words. “What? Baby why? Your family seems so nice we can’t just leave.” You tried to convince him.

“We can when you’re looking at my fucking uncle like he’s a five course meal.”

You resisted the urge to scoff, maybe you wouldn’t have to if he did what he was supposed to. “I promise you, i wasn’t. Now let’s at least enjoy an hour for dinner before we leave. Okay?”

Your boyfriend only scoffing before shrugging your arm off of him and walking away into the kitchen.

Great. This was just what you needed.

The dinner was awkward for you. Your boyfriend wouldn’t talk to you and kept glaring at his uncle. Who only added fuel to the fire by sending short smirks your way, his muscles flexing as he ate.

You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, fidgeting with the food in your plate as you bit down on your lip.

“Y/n, dear? Are you okay?” your boyfriend’s mother asked in genuine concern. “You have barely touched your food honey.”

You gave her a smile. “Sorry, i’m just feeling a little sick right now.”

“Oh dear, would you like to go to the bathroom? Darling, show her the way.” his mom insisted. Your boyfriend not even sparing you a glance when he spoke, “I’m sure she knows the way, mom.”

You sighed, a piece of you missing the relationship you once had. Giving a tight lipped smile and assuring her that you knew the way before getting out of your seat and heading to the nearest bathroom.

You stood staring at yourself in the mirror, rubbing at the bridge of your nose while telling yourself to get your act together. You gasped when the door swung open. A smirking Toji closing the door behind him and leaning onto it, his hands crossed over his chest as he looked you in the eyes.

“You know, for a girl pretty like you, you sure are stupid.” He laughed, “Don’t you see you deserve better than my scumbag of a nephew?” Closing the gap between you two until you were backed up against the sink’s counter.

Toji’s hand reached up to stroke gently under your cheek, trailing his finger across your lip as he bent his neck to look down at you. In turn looking up at him through your lashes when his other hand held onto your waist.

“You gotta know how a real man treats a lady. How a real man fucks. You want that doll?” Waiting for your shy nod of approval before sitting you on the cool marble top. Your legs hooked around his waist and your hands gripping the counter’s edge when his rough lips met yours. Kissing you hard before trailing soft bites down your neck, careful enough to not leave any marks.

You let out a moan, Toji’s hands moving to peel off his shirt so his rock hard abs were on display. Grinding lightly onto the hard surface with a whimper at the full sight of black ink spread across his pale skin. A grin on his face when he went back to attacking your neck, hand slipping under your dress and pressing against the heat of your panties.

“This wet for me already? I’m flattered.” His fingers making their way to rub between your folds through the side of the fabric. Collecting your wetness before dipping a finger into you. “Think you can take it doll? You’re so fucking tight. Practically a virgin again, how long’s it been since you were given a good fuck?”

You truly didn’t know the answer for yourself. Only moaning as Toji pulled off the lace material, spreading your legs wider and pulling his thick cock out the confinements of his jeans. You whimpered when Toji stroked his length, the size being bigger than anything you’d seen before. “‘S alright, ‘m gonna mold her round my cock.” he groaned, lining up with your sopping hole before slowly thrusting into you.

“Nnhg— so big, T-Tojii— can’t take it.” you mewled, Toji’s hand latching over your mouth to muffle your pleas as he forced himself deep into you. “Gonna make it fit doll, just sit real pretty for me and take it yeah?”

You nodded with a shaky moan, your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth as he bottomed out inside you. Grunting heavily at how tight you were around him, his cock so deep that he could see himself bulging in your stomach through the thin fabric of your dress.

Toji started off slowly. Your moans increasing in volume as he sped up. The burning sensation turning into nothing but pleasure as he fucked into you, ricking your body back and forth with each thrust.

Toji’s hand fell from your lips, the tattooed skin finding itself wrapped snugly around your neck instead. His cock grazing your gummy spot as he leaned into your ear. “This is exactly what you need doll. Need me to fuck that pretty little pussy so good.” he grunted. “Exactly what your dumb boyfriend failed to do.”

You could only let out a cry, your smaller hands holding tightly onto the arm around your throat. Digging your nails into his flesh as you moaned out into the air. Your lips parted in a string of mewls as the older man’s cock pierced deep into the depths of your insides. Fucking perfectly into your g spot before bullying its way to the entrance of your cervix.

The unfamiliar sensation making you cry out even louder as your head fell back. “T-toji- ahh— so good Toji, feels s’ good.” you cried, your legs trembling around him with curled toes.

“Careful now doll, as much as i would love for him to hear me fucking you right, there’s other people out there.” he teased, your pussy clenching when your eyes met his. Your eyes glassy and your head fuzzy as you were fucked into oblivion.

Letting out a whimper when his grip tightened unintentionally on your throat. Drool falling past the sides of your lips as your eyes fixed on his v line, up to his abs then further until you reached his face. Finding his dark irises staring back down at you hungrily before pulling you closer to him.

His large body swallowing yours when he pressed you up against him. Your moans and cries getting noisy again as you felt yourself getting close. “Tojiii— nnh, ‘m so c-close, ahh— gonna cum.”

“Yeah doll? Close f’ me? Gonna make a mess on this old man’s cock?” he rasped, broad hips still rolling hard into yours as he watched your mouth hang open slightly, your eyes rolling back before closing completely as you reached your high.

Body shaking and pussy spasming around him as your pussy held onto his cock like a vice, letting out a choked scream muffled by Toji’s knowing kiss as you came. Squirting messily onto his cock with the quiver of your hips.

“So fucking hot.” Toji groaned as he pulled away from you. Your breathing noticeably heavy as he fucked you through the aftermath of your orgasm. “Fuck, gonna cum. Where’d you want it?” he breathed.

And you let out a mewl as his thrusts grew sloppy, veiny cock twitching against your walls as he got ready to release. “Fuck, gotta hurry up and tell me doll.”

“Nnhg— inside, want you inside.” you moaned, “C-cum inside me.. please.”

Toji’s pupils dilated and his grin grew wide. “You’re a slutty one in disguise aren’t ya? ‘S my pleasure baby.” His thrusts becoming merciless as he slammed into you. Using your pussy to stroke his cock as you choked out little cries at the fast pace.

“Fuck, gon’ fill you up so good.” he panted, “Gon’ stuff you so full that you’ll be begging to be my good girl again.” his cock throbbed, “Shit— there we go, that’s it doll.” Spilling spurts of his hot cum into your cunt. Making you moan at how easily he filled you up.

Toji gave his final slow thrusts before he was pulling out of you, letting his cum seep out as he helped you put back on your panties. Trapping his seed deep inside you with a hum. “Feel better doll?” he smirked, giving you a short kiss to your lips and laughing as you tried to not let him go.

“Come back to me when you gain some sense and drop that asshole, okay? I’ll be waiting.” Pulling his shirt back on and tucking himself into his boxers, giving you a wink before trying to fix his hair. Your eyes glued onto his back as he walked out the bathroom door.

Leaving you touching your lips that just felt his tongue. Your heart beating faster before you were startled by hard knocking on the door followed by your boyfriend’s voice. “Can you hurry up in there? You’re making my mother think you’re dying or something.”

You closed your eyes and let out a breath, thoughts of Toji plaguing your mind and keeping you calm. “Coming!”