#My heart aches when I think that I will never see them again

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

�� masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[revelboo]

laying my coveted collection of three (3) muppet dvds down at your feet/general offering table. my soul for some bluestreak, if you wanna. if not then enjoy the muppets- but! i never knew they did cover songs for stuff like "got my mind set on you" by george harrison and kokomo until recently!! or that bluestreak brought "the muppets take manhattan" with him onto the lost light!! idk i really like the mental image of this giant sci-fi robot next to kermit the frog, not doing anything in specific or whatever, just... vibing. if some cybertronians think humans are like weird protoforms, i cant help but wonder what they think of muppets, ykwim??? either way, have a happy new year!!

Blue needs some love and he’s such a goober sometimes. I can see him absently humming Rainbow Connection

Where I Belong Pt 10

Bluestreak x Reader

• Carrying you back to his quarters, he absently rubs a servo against you and warms when you hook an arm around it to hug him. “Sorry about worrying you. I didn’t want to bother Ratchet and it wasn’t really that bad. I’ve seen worse and-” Trailing off when you look up at him. Because he knows he’s rambling, but you don’t huff at him. Don’t tell him to shut up. You never do and every time you don’t his spark aches with it. With all the things he wants to say, but doesn’t dare. “Sorry.”

• When he smiles that self-depreciating smile, that sense of a lost boy lifts through you again. He’s older than you, much older, but still it’s there in the fear you see in his optics sometimes. An unsettled feeling you don’t know how to deal with, but that makes you think the smiles and chatter on the surface are all for show. That he’s still reaching for you like he had that first time, desperate and afraid. “Don’t apologize. Just take care of yourself. I like having you around.”

• Do you? No one else does and his servos flex around you as he lets himself into his quarters and sits on the side of his berth with you. Reluctant to give up your warmth. Feels bad about clinging to you like he does, but can’t make himself stop. Optics shuttering as he braces for the rejection, he mass shifts. Hears you yelp as you end up in his lap and he wraps his arms around you, chin on top of your head. “I like having you around, too.”

• Heart racing, you shudder and try to shake off that awful feeling of falling. Not even sure why you’re surprised by anything at this point when you live with a giant alien robot. Shrinking? Sure. Why not? “Warn me before you do that next time.” Or you might get sick on him. Distracted when he so gently curls his fingers around your wrist and pulls it to him. Watching him line up his palm with yours and even smaller, his hand dwarfs yours.

• “Sorry.” You’ve always been so small and fragile to him, but putting himself closer to your size really drives it home. Your hand so tiny in his. “I just wanted to hold you. And I can’t normally because you’re so small and you’re still small. I feel like you’re going to break,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You’re always touching his servos, hugging them, trying to comfort him. He wanted to return it, but still can’t. Like he can’t begin to explain how much he loves you for being with him. For not abandoning him when he’d needed you. For keeping him from being so alone.

• “I’m not made of glass.” Shifting more to sit across his lap, you reach back and find his other arm and pull it around you. Encouraging him to hold you like he’d wanted and you lay your head against him, seeing his door wings lift from the corner of your eye. “See?” You can hear his internal systems and the thrum of his spark as he cautiously rests his hand on your hip. “This is okay.” Breath catching as his head dips and his cheek brushes yours. That hand still curled around yours tugging so he can brush his mouth against the inside of your wrist, his optics still shuttered. That gentle touch spreading warm through you.

Previous

[romanscool]

Hey I love ur stories so I was wondering if u could give me recommendations for the best AO3 MAXIEL stories you've read if u don't mind, thnx 💜💜

hi anon! thank you so much for this ask!! I always love recommending maxiel stories,,,

i have way too much, but I've tried to skim through them and pull out the ones I could read over and over again without ever being bored of it. so anyways, here you go, my fav 13 maxiel fics in no particular order:

I know your name (but not who you are) by @prongsofficial (rated G)

“Hi, Daniel,” the man at his door says, tentative with a sideways smile. There’s sweat on his hairline and two cage-like boxes in his hands. He hears a meowing come out of them when he shifts to set them down. “Max,” Daniel breathes out, floored and caught in the way Max rubs at his own arm awkwardly. Max just smiles. -- Based on the Stick Season (Forever) album by Noah Kahan

a hauntingly beautiful nine-chapter non-linear fic about what could've happened if Daniel had to retire after his hand injury in Zandvoort 2023. Gorgeous. Just the right amount of angst, fluff and crushing dialogues.

dead heat by @powerful-owl (rated E)

"Oh my god. Okay, you’re an alpha. Yeah, Max? You’re an alpha?” Max looks up, tongue lapping at the webbing between Daniel’s fingers. He waits for his thoughts to print into words: paper roll unfurling, sticky nozzles stamping please, need, yours. He just nods. “You’re an alpha.” Daniel laughs, reedy and weird. “Max, what the fuck. Why are you on your knees?”

I'm not usually into a/b/o fics but this one. this hit and still hits me everyday. I have read it almost three times now (keep in mind this is a 35-chapters/200k words fic) and I can't believe how well written it is. the smut is beautiful, angsty and punch-to-the-gut. worth every seconds spent reading it. I also really liked the fact that this is not your traditional a/b/o dynamics, with the little weak omega getting roughly fucked by perma-rut alpha. nope. it's so much more.

breaking every rule for you by @magicalrocketships (rated E)

Daniel's always been competitive. He's never backed down from a challenge, even if it's one he doesn't understand the rules of and doesn't remember signing up for. But he knows this: if Max sends him a dick pic, then Daniel sends one back. Or, it’s Daniel's first year at Renault, and Max hasn't spoken to him in months.

soul-cushing, kink-finding, whatever the fuck even fic. no words to describe this one I think. it's messed my brain up. anyway. 200k words of max and Daniel being idiots, max with a girlfriend he doesn't love and Daniel not accepting he's in love with max. all that while sending dick pics everyday. hot. beautiful. made me cry and bite into my own arm because of how I wish I could just grip both their heads and smash them like barbies so they can kiss.

that's where I am by @flawlessassholes (rated E)

“Her name is Emily,” Daniel says softly. Max’s eyes snap down to the baby, still sleeping on Daniel’s chest. It’s—she’s snoring a little. In that snuffly way that babies snore. “Short for Emilian.” His eyes snap back to Daniel’s face, so serious, and Max knows it’s a joke, of course, but he still opens his mouth to say— Then Daniel’s face breaks into that wide grin, the real one, the one Max hasn’t seen since. Well. In a while. It feels at once so familiar, and also like seeing something rise from the dead.

There’s a month between Melbourne and Baku. A month to convince Daniel to return to racing. A month to learn and relearn how to love. A month for everything to feel right amidst a season that has felt nothing but wrong. A month to create a family, and a month to maybe lose it all.

daniel has a baby and max learns how to deal with that. all that while Emily (dan's kid) is the cutest baby ever. made my heart ache in the best way, had me having a baby-fever for 8 chapters. the smut is gorgeous, the story had me weeping and I could not believe how someone could even come up with such a well-rounded idea. gorgeous.

haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? by vivienne_xoxo (rated E)

Daniel is on the verge of quite possibly nothing in his last year of high school. Max is on the verge of everything in his sophomore year. The one thing that connects them is soccer, squash, and track and field. Being at different schools, they only see each other once per season for games. However, they find themselves meeting in the spaces between, unknowing of what it all really meant. As Daniel nears graduation with a GPA of a whopping 2.0, a sexuality crisis, and a blonde twisted in his bedsheets and his brain, the one thing he really knows is that he's so, so fucked. OR: A sports rivals with benefits, strangers to lovers Maxiel fic that no one really wanted. Literally just the school I go to right now but with changed names.

everything a teen!maxiel fic could ever want to be. teens in love, max and Daniel going through everything that comes with that. sexuality crises all over the place, hormones, too. love it. this is the fic that made me want to start my own teen!maxiel. it's funny, angsty, has way too many crack-worthy dialogue. I love it.

a sure thing by @thewindowatkirkland (rated E)

Afterwards, once they’ve headed back inside on unsteady legs and showered in Max’s insane ensuite, Daniel pulls on his clothes and watches Max do the same. He’s always quieter after sex, once the adrenaline and dopamine have receded some. Daniel gets it, the whole hooker thing is more awkward for most people once the fucking is actually over. “How much do you charge for a full night?” Max asks, after he transfers the fee for today, the little notification pinging on Daniel’s phone. M. E. Verstappen has sent you a payment. Daniel doesn't bother to check the amount, Max will have rounded it up to the nearest thousand anyway, just like he always does. OR: daniel is an escort, max is a five time world champion, and also one of his regular clients. (aka, the hooker!dan au)

gorgeous. no words. 30k of hooker!Daniel that had me going a little crazy. so many good smut scenes, so many insane dialogues, so many insane angsty moments that aren't angst but feel like it... love love love it. I've read it a couple times already and it always has me on the floor. beautiful and breathtakingly so.

growing sideways by @thewindowatkirkland (rated E)

“We’re in Monaco,” Max says, “and you haven’t lived in either of those places for a very long time, Daniel. Since 2013.” It must be fucking amnesia, Daniel reasons, because when he went to bed last night it was July 2012. And here a grown up Max Verstappen is, telling him 2013 was a very long time ago. OR: daniel wakes up in a bed he doesn’t recognise, next to a man he doesn’t know.

what if Daniel woke up as his 2012 self with braces and awkward limbs but he's in his 2024 self bed, next to his 2024 self boyfriend (max) and he can't understand how any of this is happening? that's it. that's the plot. loved the little references, the race watching, the max trying to make Daniel learn everything they've had since 2012. the virgin smut. hot. but. everything about this fic is so, so sweet. it's gentle. like a hug after a long day, it takes you in and you never want to let go, especially because it has Daniel's fucked up teeth/braces in it. (joking but you know how I am with teeth, right?)

(just let me) adore you by @sillystappen (rated G)

One night, Max confronts the monster under his daughter's bed. Turns out, that monster is a very kind mothman called Daniel.

adorable. mothman!daniel (beautiful, beautiful, woah) takes car of max's daughter because other monsters might want to hurt her. so, so sweet. max is gentle but obsessed, and who can blame him even, Daniel is gentle, gentle, gentle, and caring, and so. argh. sorry. I'm obsessed with the fluff, the daughter, the developing bond between max and moth!Daniel. short and so cute.

auditory stimulator by togenkyo (rated E)

There are no rules for falling in love. It can happen to anyone, anytime, anywhere. Max may not be well experienced in love, but he's pretty sure that "Falling in love with a guy you met when you accidentally picked up the phone at a sex hotline." should be a rule.

so funny. had me giggling in a public space over silly roommates trying to get max laid/in a couple. so fun and quirky, really had pulled in from seeing 'Phone Sex Operators' in the tags. I'm glad I read this. great dialogue, story and characters.

hey, remember that time by @powerful-owl (rated E)

There’s a snowstorm outside and a snowstorm in Max’s head. “Yes, okay. What.” “I think I’m gay? Pretty sure. Or like. Hella bi. Cause I think I’d still – if you were a – sorry. My body likes you, Max.” — (Max owns an inn and Daniel has amnesia.)

so funny... love, love, love. I always love those kind of stories, the AU with amnesia and all, but this one is genuinely the best I've ever read. I love all of @powerful-owl 's fics, but this one. it has me in a chokehold. read it again during the holidays for the snowy/angsty/smutty vibes and the scenes always have me giggling or crying. sometimes both at the same time. can't believe she has the power to write such good scenes like the bathroom one. description is just gorgeous, smut is always really good and goofy and. yeah. love it. can't say I've ever been let down by one of her works.

new wave (new emotions) by nothoughtsjustvibes (Kitkatieb) (rated G)

In which Max realizes he’s in love with Daniel and flies to Colorado to make it Lewis’s problem. Lewis just wants him to leave – preferably on a plane to Australia.

so so fun. lewis' POV, which is always really fun to read, especially since it's maxiel. just. lewis objective on the whole 'yes max, Daniel is in love with you, too' situation without actually saying it out loud. cause max has to figure it out for himself. really, really cool and original. loved reading.

two's company, three's a crowd by Whippasnappa (rated E)

“I need to be good at these things so it does not matter when. When they see.” Max says. He's- Daniel's chest feels like its caved in. Max looks so fucking ashamed, and his eyes are wet, lashes fluttering like he’s trying to blink away tears. “See what? Max?” He can’t- there’s nothing about Max that Daniel could imagine would be so off-putting that someone wouldn’t want him. Clearly there’s more to it, then, the reason why Max hasn’t hooked up before. “It is small.” Max says.

whippasnappa is a genius on this one. small dick!max is alway shy fav max but this one,,, gorgeous. breathtaking. couldn't stop staring at y screen even if I died. could've died actually. had me having three heart attacks. have never come back from this one. arghhhh

we predict blue skies and tight pants by dontburnme

The sight just made him dizzy. The hottest man he’s ever fucking seen flipping off a cliff into the murky Oslo waters twenty seven meters high up. Or, Daniel’s a Red Bull high diver and Max experiences an out of body experience watching him.

in which, Daniel is a diver and max watches him dive. and dies, a little. it's crazy, crazy good. had me a little crazy, pulling my hair out by the end of it. I, too, had an out of body experience. crazy, crazy, crazy, and such a fun concept. alway love me some short and sweet AU-fics.

bonus!!: high and dry by @jermeows

real cowboys ride cock, y'know right?

technically not a fic but. it's such wonderful fanart I HAD to include it. maxiel cowboys; what more is there to say...

[tkdb-hell]

Hi~ do you still taking req for kisses prompt list? i want to req #39 haru x GN reader

you can ignore this if it's already closed^^ thank you

#39 - Kissing tears from the other’s face.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

This was probably supposed to be Haru comforting the reader but idk I just really wanted to make Haru cry sorry!!

The sound of Haru’s uneven steps echoed through the dim hallway. You recognized the familiar shuffle of his gait, punctuated by the occasional stumble, and opened the door to find him leaning against the frame. His orange vest was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and his usual cheerful expression was nowhere to be found. His eyes were still closed, as always, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed his exhaustion.

“Haru,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Rough night?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and thick, the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him. “Sorry to bug ya. Just… needed to see someone who wouldn’t ask me if I’m okay.”

You closed the door behind him, watching as he shuffled to the couch and collapsed with a heavy sigh. His sling bag, the one he always carried Peekaboo in, was absent. The emptiness hit you harder than you’d expected and gave you some extreme reason for concern.

“You’re always welcome here,” you said, sitting beside him. “But you’re clearly not okay. What happened?”

Haru let out a hollow laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Found one of my little guys… gone this morning. Natural causes as far as I could tell. Nothing I could’ve done. But it still feels like… like I should’ve known, y’know?”

Your chest tightened as he spoke. Haru rarely let his emotions show like this. He was always the bright, unshakable force of the Jabberwock house, the one who carried everyone else through their troubles. To see him unravel like this was almost surreal.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “Which one?”

“Artie. That fluffy little ball of fur with the curly tail, and the beady eyes,” Haru said, his voice cracking. “She always hopped around like she had springs in her feet. Never stayed still. Just like me, huh?”

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, trailing down his pale cheeks. He sniffled, shaking his head as if trying to will the sadness away. “It’s dumb to cry over this. They’re anomalies. I know they don’t last forever. But… it makes me worry about Peekaboo. What if—what if I lose them too?”

His words broke something in you. Without thinking, you reached out, cupping his cheek and brushing away a tear with your thumb. “It’s not dumb, Haru. You cared about Artie. You care about all of them. That’s what makes you such an amazing captain.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned into your touch, his usual defenses crumbling. The sight of his vulnerability stirred something deep in your chest, an ache that demanded to be soothed.

“Haru,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You leaned in, pressing soft kisses to the trail of tears on his cheek. His breath hitched, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. “You’re not alone in this. Peekaboo’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

Haru exhaled shakily, his head tilting to rest against yours. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You’ve got no idea how much that means.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the weight of his grief shared between you. You could feel his breaths evening out, his body relaxing against yours. When he finally spoke again, his voice held a hint of his usual humor.

“Y’know,” he said, “if you keep this up, I might have to start crying more often. These kisses are pretty effective.”

You laughed softly, your heart lifting at his attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t push your luck, Sagara.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and you felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smile against your temple. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Though the pain of his loss would linger, for now, he had you—and that was enough.

[queenjunothegreat]

The Tumblr link thing won't work so have an ugly ass hyperlink, I GUESS

Alrighty! It's time to ring in the new year, and I think it's only appropriate that my first post of the year is HoJ! :D @demigod-shenanigans and I were talking about what scenes I should do from MoA and we talked about Charleston and Jason not really remembering (or really even knowing) what happened there with Reyna but he DOES know that his best friend kinda got weird and distant, so he's got all this anxiety about Piper going to talk to that very same entity. Instead, I wrote this. Sorry, bestie <3

Now, may I present LEO Takes a Tumble: A Mark of Athena Scene

As Leo fell once again, he realized that he hadn't been scared when he was falling before. He hadn't been scared because he knew Jason was there and he knew with every fiber of his being that Jason would catch him. Jason wouldn't let him fall. But now they were both falling, and Leo wasn't really sure whose job it was to catch Jason. *** Leo free falls to his certain death. This is only really about half as dramatic as it should be.

As Leo fell through the air following Frank ‘Butterfingers’ Zhang’s spectacular performance (seriously, how did a giant eagle manage to drop him? Leo was suspicious of a deliberate attempt on his life) his only thought was a deep, heart-aching regret at the thought of the salsa he'd made the night before. It had been good right after he'd finished it, obviously, but after a night of letting it rest? Of letting all those flavors marry and meld? There wasn't much that could beat that. But now he'd never get to have it because Frank had gone and dropped him right above a demigod free-for-all throwdown. Somehow, the crew of the Argo II was managing to hold their own against the platoon of soldiers who'd attacked them, which was honestly a little embarrassing for the Romans, come to think of it. 

Before he could think too much about that, he was tackled in midair and brought in close to a remarkably familiar chest. He looked up to see Jason, all of his features sharpened with concentration, and he couldn't help but bite his lower lip in a grin and waggle his eyebrows. “Well, if it isn't the one and only Superman himself. Come here often?”

“Focusing right now,” Jason chided, ignoring the pink on his cheeks. “Be quiet.”

“You know me, Mr. Serious here. I'm practically stoic.”

Jason scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Unfortunately, even that brief moment of distraction was enough to sign the warrant on their certain doom. There was an explosion in the air right in front of them (Leo blamed Hedge) and Jason didn't have time to react. He didn't drop Leo, but he did lose control of the winds and the two of them were suddenly tumbling through the air like abandoned dolls. 

As Leo fell once again, he realized that he hadn't been scared when he was falling before. He hadn't been scared because he knew Jason was there and he knew with every fiber of his being that Jason would catch him. Jason wouldn't let him fall. But now they were both falling, and Leo wasn't really sure whose job it was to catch Jason. 

“Jason! Hey, man! Can you hear me?” Jason just continued to stare at nothing with that same dazed expression on his face, so Leo squirmed one of his hands out from where it was crushed between their chests and gently smacked Jason’s cheek until blue met brown. “Wake up, Jason!”

Jason blinked hard a few times to focus his vision, and when he did his eyes widened in terror at the sight of what Leo assumed was the rapidly approaching ground beneath them. “Hang on! This is gonna get rough!” he ordered over the sharp whistling in Leo’s ears. Then he tucked Leo’s head under his chin and squeezed him tight right as a powerful gust of wind slammed into them from the side. 

Leo clung tight to Jason, hands fisted in the front of his shirt, as the two of them tumbled through the air like one of Leo's failed projects. They were headed straight for a nearby hill, which Leo assumed was Jason’s plan, and Leo braced himself for a very hard landing, followed by getting squashed into a pancake by 230 pounds of solid Roman demigod muscle. Only, that didn't happen. The landing was hard, even harder than Leo had originally assumed it would be, but at the last second, Jason jerked in midair, making sure he hit the ground first. They rolled a few times, which did definitely squeeze the air out of Leo’s lungs but left him otherwise unharmed, until they settled with Jason sprawled out flat on his back and Leo on top of him.

Leo blinked hard a few times to get the stars out of his eyes before his attention turned to Jason. He was lying there, completely still with his eyes closed, and Leo was horribly reminded of the sight of him in the infirmary bed after New Rome. Panic welled in the back of his throat and he started smacking his cheek again, a little harder than he had in the air. “Jace? Jace, you there? C’mon, man, please? Houston to Superman: Come in, Superman!”

“Superman to Houston: Stop hitting me, please,” Jason groaned, weakly batting Leo's hand away from his face.

Leo didn't care. He grabbed both of Jason’s cheeks up in his hands and gave him an absolutely blinding smile. “Jace!”

Jason just smiled back at him for a moment before his eyes went wide and he sat straight up, forcing Leo to sit up with him. His hands started patting Leo down before he desperately raked his fingers through Leo’s hair and cupped his hands around his jaw. “Leo! Oh my gods! Are you okay?”

“I'm Gucci, bro,” Leo grinned through his forced fish face. Jason just wrapped him up in a hug so tight, Leo couldn't help but wonder if they were going to start their free fall again. He frowned when Jason started trembling. “Jace? Are you okay?”

“You were falling,” Jason muttered quietly from where his face was hidden in Leo’s shoulder. “I don't like watching you fall.”

Leo felt his heart twinge in sympathy, and he patted the back of Jason’s head. “Hey, man, don't sweat it. I never do. I've got my own personal Superman to Lois Lane me when I need him, remember? He'd never let me fall too bad.”

Jason huffed out a quiet chuckle before he emerged. He carefully pushed Leo off of his lap and got to his feet so he could scowl down at the demigods fighting below. “Dammit. This is not how I planned for this to go.”

Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah? How did you plan it? Were you looking for a hot date down in Charleston? Gonna hold somebody's hand while you walk them through the fort and gush about Civil War battle formations?”

Jason flushed maroon and he scowled at Leo, which just made him grin. “Shut up.”

“It's okay, buddy,” Leo comforted, patting him on the arm. “Next time we find a historical site, you can hold my hand and tell me stuff I won't listen to, if you can't find a real date.”

Somehow, Jason got even redder. “Shut up.”

Leo mimed zipping his lips, and Jason rolled his eyes. “Come on,  Houston. We need to get back to the ship.” He held out his arm like he was offering Leo a side hug. “You ready?”

“For you, Superman? Always,” Leo grinned as he took up his position. Jason's arm wrapped around him, and they shot off into the sky.

[beef-brisket]

Adam groaned as he tried to reposition himself. The cage floor was about as comfortable as he remembered.

The room was eerily silent. Only Adam's breathing could be heard. His body still ached from the blood, letting Seth do to him. Thankfully, his chest was mostly fine.

He wasn't sure how long he had been here. It felt like weeks, but each passing second, Adam missed Lucifer more and more.

At least with him ruling Hell, Adam shouldn't be able to do anything that'll put him in danger.

Adam: Or ruin his life... I'm such a fucking idiot... s-should of let him kill me in that basement...

Michael: Already with the self-pity? Oh, Adam. You haven't even been here for a day yet! Though, it is fun watching you struggle~.

Adam jumped when Michael started talking. He looked out into the room but couldn't see anything. The darkness was too thick.

Michael: I, for one, am glad you're still alive. After thousands and thousands of years of watching you abuse your power, I finally get to see you at your weakest, your most pathetic. Which was a very low bar for you to reach, by the way. You could have benefited Heaven, Adam. If only you didn't get on your high horse when that offer was made to you.

Adam groaned as his shoulders started cramping: I-I'd never would have said yes to you-.

Michael laughed: And there's that pride again. Even when you're nothing but a useless ape, you still think you're better than us. Do you know my official title, Adam?

Adam: I don't give a fuck.

Michael: I am the Right Hand and Sword of God. The Greatest Enemy of Hell. I protect Heaven from all dangers, and that would usually include you, but look at you. Captured by Satan of all demons and humiliated by a sinner. Ha! Even my father couldn't write something so hilarious!

Adam: ...The fuck do you want with me?

Michael: Hm. Good question. Retribution. Have fun, Adam. I will return shortly~.

Adam squinted as a bright light filled the room. It was only for a few seconds, but it was strong enough to blind him long after the light had died out.

The cell's door creaked open, but by the time Adam registered it, there was a hard kick to his face.

Adam: F-Fuck...

Raphael: Easy, you almost broke his jaw.

Cas: Like I give a shit.

Raphael rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers. A chair appeared in the far corner of the cell. Sitting down, Raphael smiled at Adam.

Raphael: Don't mind me, I'm here to heal you. Wouldn't want you dying yet, would we?

Adam heart clenched. He never thought he'd be terrified of Heaven's healer. But here he was.

Cas: That would really ruin the fun, but-.

Adam gasped as the angel grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back.

Cas: It would be a sight to watch your corpse he paraded around the streets of Heaven~. Who knows, maybe we'll do that while you're still kicking.

Raphael: Please do, we don't need the smell of death polluting the streets again.

Cas rolled their eyes and dropped Adam, unfolding his wings. They made sure to stand where Adam could see them.

Cas: Do you know how many angels you've killed? The destruction you've caused? With that fucking axe of yours?!

Raphael: Language~.

Cas: Seriously? I'm about to torture a dude.

Raphael: Hm. Fair enough, continue.

Adam: Y-You captured me- locked me away- I wanted to fucking leave.

Cas was silent for a moment before looking at Raphael: Oh, so he can swear, but I can't?

Raphael: He's Adam. Who cares about him?

Cas rolled their eyes. Adam winced as they snapped their fingers, and an axe appeared in their hands.

Cas: Oooh FUCK yeah-! Such my ass, Raph, I. Swearing while I do this. Recognise it, Addy~?

Adam jumped as the axe slammed into the floor next to his head.

Cas: I can see why you liked this thing so much! How many have you killed with it? How many have you ruined? But you don't need an axe to do that, do you?

Cas knelt down in front of Adam's face and leant against the axe that was buried into the floor.

Cas: You're the worst of us, you know that? Worse than every sinner in Hell, worse than the commander of our army. I'm honestly surprised you didn't turn this thing on yourself!

Raphael: Oh, now that would have been funny! Hunting you for so long, only to find you with your axe embedded in your chest!

Cas: Exactly what was thinking!

Adam stayed silent as Cas grabbed the axe and pulled it from the floor. He could hear the angel walking around the cage. What Adam didn't expect was a sickening pain shooting through his arm and back.

His ears were ringing, and warmth flooded through him in the worst way. He's not a stranger to pain, but dealing with his weakened state and his body trying and begging to run from the pain was something horribly new.

Adam could hear the angels talking and was that laughter?

His whole body lurched, his muscles tensed, trying to fight for an escape. His mouth watered, drool mixed with tears he didn't know he was shedding.

Cas: Don't heal him, not yet.

As his eyes slowly started to focus, he weakly watched Cas kneel in front of him, but something else was in his hand other than his axe.

Cas: Look, bud! You're waving!

Adam would feel sick, but it felt like his whole body froze as Cas smiled and waved a disjointed arm in front of him. It looked so familiar but foreign at the same time.

He flexed his fingers, and he felt sick all over again. Only his right hand responded.

Cas: Hm, we don't want him running again, do we Raph?

Raphael chuckled: It was a real waste of resources, not to mention angels. We could all tell how much you loved killing them, Adam. It was... despicable. No, Cas. We don't want him running again.

Cas grinned and dropped Adam's arm. The bloody limb landed in front of his eyes. Adam wanted to watch Cas, but he couldn't. His ears throbed as the sound of his axe dragged along the cell floor released a piercing noise. He could only focus on the arm.

Over the next hour, Cas removed Adam's legs, taking at least three hits to cut through his femur. He doesn't know if it was mercy, but he left him with one arm. Maybe it was more of a joke than anything.

Even as his whole body was feeling nothing but blinding pain, Cas continued to insult him. Reading a letter from the new Devil that sounded so much like Lucifer. Demanding his death and his head as repayment for a life of hiding and fear Adam had forced him in to.

At first, he thought it was fake. He wished it was fake. But Raphael was turning a black ring around in his fingers. Adam recognized it immediately. It was Lucifer's ring.

Even now, he hopes it is a trick. A trick that made him cry till he had no tears left.

He didn't acknowledge any angel that came in. Only Raphael was a constant presence. He healed his wounds but only to the point where he stopped bleeding. And he only started to heal him when Adam was starting to lose consciousness.

Adam wasn't sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that his skin and the cage floor were soaked in his golden blood. His had long gone hard and cold, drying and clumping together on his skin. The feeling only added to his frustration.

He heard another voice enter the room, but he couldn't focus on it, even if he tried. But he did recognise it.

Michael.

Maybe he was he was here to end him. It would be mercy at this point. He couldn't beg Lucifer for pity, not after everything he's done to him, not after those letters. And the ring Raphael didn't even have the courtesy to show him.

He was speaking to someone, though Adam couldn't completely focus on what he was saying.

Michael: He was meant to be an angel... oh, please, he's a fool. He wasn't even meant to be created. It was only by accident that his soul went to earth... I don't care what he is now or what realm he's ruling. He's nothing... powerful, yes. He nearly gained his true form when he had this fool raided Heaven thirty plus years ago... True. Now leave me, I have a guest to see to~.

Was he talking about Lucifer? He had to be. He was the new Devil, so it would make sense. And if what Cas read was true, Lucifer wasn't communicating about him, which stung.

Michael: My my. Look at you. Looking a bit light, aren't you~?

Adam couldn't respond, only being reminded of the situation again.

Michael: Raphael. Leave.

Raphael looked hesitant, but he walked out without saying another word.

Adam screamed as Michael kicked him, pushing him onto his back, and his missing arm and the deep cut into his back.

Michael: I know about you, Adam. About your little... affliction. And, now that you're officially divorced-.

It happened so quickly, and the next thing he knew, his wedding ring was pulled off his finger and thrown somewhere in the cell.

Michael: You're free to fuck around~. Well, not that you have a choice. This is what you were made for.

Adam wanted to kick Michael away as he pulled off his pants off.

Michael: You must be begging for it at this point! And you're lucky I'm so merciful~. It's not often someone gets an archangels cock~.

He wanted to beg for Lucifer, but he's doing better without him. He won't be able to hurt Lucifer from here.

He deserved the worst of whatever Heaven did to him.

I miss our God!Adam Au

Sequel 👀

In Canada Eh! Lmao

CANADA FOREVER

Yes plsss! I miss our stupid, power-hungry boy 😫😫

[bluetenderness]

When I went to Rome some days ago I helped a french couple who booked the same hotel I booked because they didn't speak italian and were struggling to find their room. we all are humans and we should help each other every time we can and of course I helped them. but like. they bought a cherry pie in the evening and told me to have a slice as a thank you.... my heart bursts with love for humanity in moments like this. The next morning over breakfast the woman told me to sit with them and that she was happy she met me. It made my entire life I swear. I can't stop thinking about them

[heeliopheelia]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cursing, crying, neglect, tiny mention of bleeding

a/n: i think i win the contest of overusing commas with this one 🤍 tbh this fic is just yapping so pls deal with me... it's good to write some proper angst again tho, i missed it :(( hope you guys like it and don't find them too repetetive!!

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

It's been two weeks since you got the opportunity to take a proper look at Heeseung. And now as you do, you find it hard to recognize your fiancé who looks like he's about to collapse from exhaustion, to say the least. 

“I never asked you to mother me or worry about me so much. Stop getting into my business so much. I’m not a child, YN.”

It’s like he was blind to how hurt his words and actions were making you feel. It’s so unusual for him, so out of character and unfamiliar to you, that you can’t help but think that maybe it really is your fault for riling him up this much.

“I worry about you because I’m your fiancé and I love you, you jerk!” You scoff at his careless words and take a step back, the aching in your heart only increasing. “I only want to look after you because you clearly don't know how to do it yourself. I mean, look at yourself! You look as if you haven’t slept in a week and I know you haven’t been eating either. How can I not worry about you when all you do is neglect yourself?”

“Dunno, maybe find yourself something to keep you busy enough. You stay at home all day, do as much as nothing, no wonder you’re so damn nosy. I would be too with this much time on my hands.”

He’s so indifferent to everything you say, you try to recall where it all started going so wrong. All you did was ask whether he’s eaten at work or not, and now the two of you are snapping at each other as if you weren’t lovers, and trying not to hurt each other was a long forgotten thought by now. 

“If you’re so unhappy with our relationship – with me, maybe it’s best we take a break,” you say as you feel your throat tighten painfully. 

“Agreed. I never even wanted this marriage in the first place,” he scowls, silencing you, words rolling out of his mouth way quicker than his brain is able to process it. 

He bites his words back quickly when he watches your face dropping along with your shoulders, and fuck, you look as if you’ve given up on him right then and there. 

You walk away then, tears streaming down your face, muttering something about how ungrateful he was being, and all Heeseung could do was stand still as if plastered to the floor, in utter disbelief of his own, untrue, words.

After his cruel statement echoes through his head for the fourth time, he finally snaps out of the self pity and rushes after you to the kitchen where you’re leaned over the counter, head buried in your hands as you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. He walks up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for everything I said, sweetheart.”

He turns you around gently and feels his chest tighten at how fucking sad you look. He never wants to see you like this. He never wants to be the cause of this ever again.

And when he looks to the side, his throat closes and dries completely at the sight of your engagement ring laying on the counter right behind you. 

“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” You ask, wiping the tears away with your hand pointlessly as another stream follows right after. “Things like that don’t come out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t, love, I swear I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him by your neck again. 

Never again. Never fucking again. He keeps telling himself in his head as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, just where your ring was supposed to be sitting snugly. Then he lowers it and places your palm against his chest, right above his heart, and covers your smaller hand with his.

That was too close to losing you, and himself, for that matter. Because he would never recover if you were gone from his life and all because of him. 

“Then why did you even say it?” You sob pitifully as you feel the warm tears dripping down the tip of your nose.

“I don’t know,” he shushes you gently, trying his best to not break you any further. 

You pull away once you feel calm enough, hands clutching his t-shirt. “It's not too late to call off the wedding, Seung,” you manage out breathily, raising your palm to cup his cheek. “I'd rather not take the step further than have you unhappy.”

“Darling, no.” Heeseung bends down to minimize the distance between the two of you and peppers your face with loving, warm kisses. He just wants to erase those atrocious thoughts out of your mind as quickly as possible. “Please, there's nothing I'd ever want more than to make you my wife. That was stupid of me to say. I'll never be happy if I'm not with you, my love.”

“I just don’t want to force this marriage on you. You need to want it as much as I do, otherwise it’s pointless.”

Heeseung almost chokes on air when he rushes out his answer even before you can properly finish your sentence. “I do want it. Please, you have to believe me.” 

“Really?”

Heeseung smiles at you softly as he wipes your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Really. Scout’s honour.”

You breathe out, feeling relief, and look up at him with squinted, puffy eyes. “Sometimes I just wanna strangle you to death, Lee Heeseung.”

He chuckles lightly before pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Aren't you just so adorable? You should add this to your wedding vows.”

“Maybe I’ll add this to your eulogy instead if you pull shit like that again.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue with a grin pulling on his lips. “Touché.”

PARK JAY

The atmosphere in the living room is so heavy that your chest starts to hurt. You’re standing barely two steps away from the man you love the most, yet you’ve never felt more far away from him than in this moment. 

His eyes – cold but still undoubtedly full of love, drill holes in the side of your head as you turn your face away from him to try and gather your thoughts.

Arguments with Jay were rare. You always tried to work things out immediately, keeping your heads cool. But something has broken over the last month and you can’t see each other eye to eye anymore. At the very beginning of your relationship you made a promise to never go to bed angry. To never leave things unresolved. Yet now Jay’s been sleeping on the couch for the past week, and you fail to understand what the fuck has happened to the two of you. 

And you can’t help but think that, maybe, sometimes love is just not enough. 

“You’re not even trying to find the middle ground anymore. All you do is snap at me the second I come home. I’m fucking tired of it! Would it hurt to give it a rest for a day?” 

The tension is almost palpable. You hate how you can’t seem to back away from any argument but only keep hurting him instead. 

“Put effort into our relationship first, then we’ll talk,” you spit out instead, against your better judgment.

“It’s funny coming from you who’s done nothing but put a fucking distance between us!”

“This doesn’t make any sense anymore, Jay. We need some time apart,” you finally speak into the dull silence, eyes casted downwards at the floor as your hand keeps twitching, only to finally grab for your ring finger and slip the silver band off of it. You didn’t think much of your action, hell, you didn’t even process it properly. 

Well, not until you hear the shaky exhale leave Jay’s lips. 

Silently, he presses his lips together and nods his head before turning on his heel and leaving the room. You listen intently to the shuffling, then ringing of the keys and eventually the door being shut. 

A moment of silence turns into minutes of you staring at the ring on your palm with tears burning your eyes mercilessly. 

With your heart falling low to your stomach, you drop down on the couch and tug on your hair slightly, cursing yourself for acting so mindlessly. 

You wallow in self pity in the dead quiet room. The shiny ring feels so heavy and burning in your clenched fist. You take in a deep breath, then quickly slide the band back onto your finger, feeling instantly shielded with it being on its righteous place again.

And just like that, you spend the next three hours on the verge of losing your sanity. With no word from Jay. He’s left your messages unread. He’s left your calls unanswered. 

You don’t know whether he’s okay or hurt or simply gone. All that combined is enough to leave you panicked and terrified, unable to have a second of peace. 

You never meant to take it this far. This – your words and rapid actions, that will forever remain as one of your biggest regrets. You don’t like the idea that you made your other half feel like you’ve taken him for granted. Or for what’s worse, like a person that you can use for unloading your frustration on. 

There’s this throbbing pain in your chest as you realize that maybe he’s not coming back because why would he if you can’t even love him properly?

Your fingers are bleeding from how hard you’ve been picking on your cuticles. 

And then you hear the jingle of keys and soon the front door opens quietly. You know that even after all of this he’s still being careful to not wake you up. It’s killing you how he thinks you’d ever be able to get a wink of sleep without knowing he’s safe. 

You’re quick to drop your phone on the couch and shoot up on your legs, rushing over to the door and throwing yourself on Jay’s neck. 

“I was so worried about you!” You gasp out, clinging onto your fiancé desperately as tears unknowingly make their way down your cheeks. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”

“Sorry, my phone died,” he replies after a second or two, bringing his arm up to wrap around your waist and keep you close to him. 

He’s still upset but he understands where you’re coming from, knowing well that if it was you instead of him he’d probably go insane from worry. 

He can feel your heart hammering against his chest, so he lifts his hand and strokes your hair to help you calm down. But then you start crying, feeling his gentle touch even after everything you said, that was enough to push you over the edge. You clench your trembling hands on his sweater as you burst out with choked sobs, slouching against his warm and comforting body. 

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you weep into his chest like a mantra and Jay can quite literally feel his heart cracking at your miserable state. 

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hot air hitting your ear before he presses a soft kiss to its tip. “Don’t cry anymore, honey. We’re okay.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you,” you whimper quietly. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Don’t say that,” he scolds you with a frown. Your whimpers twist his guts even more than your harsh words from before. “It’s not the first nor the last time we’ll have an argument. It’s not worth losing your pretty head over it, okay?” 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat one last time. “I promise I'll never take it off again. I’ll never lash out on you like that ever again too.”

Jay grabs your hand and runs his thumb over the thin silver band, the same one he was picking so carefully for weeks, and a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. He hates how shameful you sound. 

He’ll never tell you how the sight of you pulling your ring off your finger made him physically sick to his stomach. He can't have you feeling even worse than you already do. So instead he brings you close to him and rests his forehead on yours. 

“I’m so stupid,” you whisper quietly as you close your eyes, your heavy eyelashes letting go of another few droplets of crystal tears which Jay’s lips soak up instantly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually left.”

“You know me better than to think I’d let us break it off over such a petty fight.” And, yes, you do. But your lip wobbles with silent agony at the sole thought of that. “Hey,” he tries again as he presses a loving kiss to your red nose. “I’m not leaving, okay? How could I ever?” 

“I love you.”

With his thumb caressing your burning cheek so tenderly, you feel at peace again.

“I love you too,” he replies without skipping a beat. “No one can handle you as well as I do. And no one sees me for me like you do. We complete each other. We belong together.”

He kisses you silly then, until there’s no more tears left in your body and you’re barely able to breathe anymore. He kisses you until your legs give in and he swoops you up to carry you into your shared bed for the first time in what seems like forever.

He kisses you until it engraves in your mind that there’s no other person for him in this world but you.

SIM JAKE

“Baby, I already apologized.” A groan lingers at the back of his throat but for his own sake he stifles it inside. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

You sit on the edge of your shared bed and clench your fingers on the silky duvet. “How about you start showing up to things we both agreed on attending to?”

He runs his hand down his face. “I know. It just slipped my mind, that’s all. You know how busy I’ve been this week.”

“This shouldn’t be my business only, though. I mean, for christ’s sake, it’s our wedding! I would really appreciate it if you participated in something for once!”

Flowers and cake. That’s literally all you’ve asked of him to go and pick with you for the wedding reception. Knowing his tight schedule, you picked the date carefully so that it wouldn’t meddle with his work and you could even go grab some dinner afterwards. But your plans all went out the window when he didn’t even bother showing up or giving you a heads up text, standing you up yet another time when it comes to your wedding preparations.

You’re honestly getting tired of it.

“I’ll be there next time,” he assures you quickly as he nervously taps his fingers on the doorway of your bedroom. 

“You said you wouldn’t do that,” your voice wavers as your shoulders drop with resignation. With the back of your hand, you wipe off the tears that made their way down your cheeks. “You promised to help, Jake. But you left me alone with everything, as usual.”

“It’s not even that big of a deal. This can be rescheduled any time. Baby, stop stressin’ so much.”

“But it is a big deal to me!” You cry out, palm reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You breathe out heavily. “I don’t want to do everything by myself! We’re supposed to be in this together! If getting married means that I’m gonna be alone with all the responsibilities that you don’t consider important enough, I’m not even sure I still want it.”

To back up your words, your hand moves half-consciously to your ring finger and you twist the cool piece of jewelry in between your fingers. 

“No, no, no, no.” Jake moves quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes towards you to desperately clasp your hand in his two and stop you from whatever the hell you were about to do. He drops to his knees in front of the bed, right at your feet. “Baby, you promised you’d never take it off.”

You’re at a loss of words as you look into his wide eyes, the seriousness of your actions only catching up to you now. You gasp quietly, eyes watering just like his, quickly relaxing your tensed hand in his and letting him slide the ring back down your finger, just where it belongs.

Silence envelopes the two of you, besides the sound of your sniffles. 

You feel awful. 

Jake feels even worse. 

Leaning forward, you press your face to his shoulder and melt instantly when he brings a hand to caress your hair. 

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, clenching your hand to feel the cool ring against your skin. “I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to.”

“I know,” he soothes you just as softly. He stands up from the floor and carefully maneuvers the two of you so that you’re placed on his lap as he sits with his back against the headboard. “It's my fault. I'm sorry. I never meant to disregard your feelings like that.”

At the end of the day, both of you would rather set themselves ablaze than watch the other one hurting. 

You nod silently, heart pounding in your chest before you bring your arms up and throw them over his neck.

“I’m sorry I was so impulsive.”

“No. You did nothing wrong.” His soothing voice carries over the room, enveloping you with warmth. “I promise I'll be here whenever you want me to from now on. I don’t want you to feel neglected by me, especially now when you’re this stressed over the wedding. I won’t let you down, again.” 

“I just need a little help, that’s all,” you mumble tiredly into his skin.

“I know.” His warm lips press to your forehead lovingly. “I’m sorry for being an insensitive douche. It won’t happen again. I’ll take some days off next week, hm?”

The tears on your face dry slowly as your hold on him tightens. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s done. I'll be all yours and you’ll be all mine then,” he hums and noses at your cheek, finally bringing out a small giggle out of you. After all these years, he still melts at the sound. “I won’t let things get this out of hand again, YN. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Tilting your head up and bringing his down towards you, you join your lips in a kiss that you’ve been longing for for days. His movements are slow and careful as he tries to soak up as much of the moment as possible. 

His kisses slowly put your broken pieces back together. He never knew how much seeing you cry like this would hurt him. And he’ll make damn sure he won’t ever have to experience that again for as long as you're with him.

“If I have a life to spend, it'll only be with you, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice to match yours, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're it for me. I'll never give you a chance to doubt that ever again.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re never home! There’s always a hundred things more important to you than spending an hour of your time with me. Your fucking fiance! Are we really about to get married when you’re clearly so tired of me already?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally voice out everything that’s been sitting on your chest for the past month. Things have not been working out well with the two of you, much to your despair. He’s been neglectful, always too busy to help you with anything – even the wedding related things that you should’ve gotten done weeks ago. 

And you know that he’s swamped with work and it's not his fault. You understand everything. But to ask him to spare you an hour or two of his day shouldn’t be too much. It shouldn’t make him snap at you unlike what he just did the second he came back home. You slowly begin to lose your hope.

“God, have you always been this needy? Why can’t you accept that I can’t always put you first? No matter how much I’d want to, sometimes I just can’t! Deal with this!”

“Fucking- Fine.”

Your hand moves quicker than your brain, and the next thing you know, your shiny ring is being pulled off your finger and resting in the palm of your other hand. 

You can see the disbelief flashing through his face briefly before it completely morphs into a scowl. 

“You really think that this will solve the problem?” He asks, eyebrows narrowed as he glowers at you from across the room. “Really? Does that ring mean so little to you that you go and throw it away with any minor inconvenience?” 

You try to blink away the frustrated tears, hand raking up to brush your hair away from your face. “No, fuck, I just- I don’t know what to do anymore, Sunghoon. I feel like I’m the only one in this relationship. I need you to give me something more because whatever you’re doing now is not enough for me.”

“Well, I’m putting out everything I have, YN! I love you! If that’s still not good enough for you, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”

The silence that falls in the room doesn’t last long as your sudden sob pierces Sunghoon’s ears quickly, making his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. His heart wrenches and twists as the anger simmers down and evaporates from his body within a second, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses at the sight of you breaking down right in front of him. 

“Can’t you just try?” You cry into your hands, shielding your face away from your fiance. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Is it really so hard to try?”

No, it’s not. Sunghoon knows it without a second of thinking. It’s not too hard to try, never if it’s for you. And his throat dries so quickly when he basks in the weight of his words that finally made you break as well. 

“You don’t know how much it hurts to feel like you’re too much for your partner,” you wail with a small voice, shoulders trembling and hands quickly getting damp with tears. “You’ll never know how it is to feel unwanted, because you’ll never have to when you're with me. Because I love you, asshole, but now I’m doubting if you’re saying it back just for the sake of it.”

With air getting stuck in his throat, Sunghoon looks at you wide-eyed before quickly crossing the living room and enveloping you in his arms. His warmth wraps around you in what you've always considered to be safety, but now it just makes you cry more. 

He finds it hard to breathe. The hesitation in your eyes feels like a stab to his chest.

“Of course I still love you,” he says, voice muffled by your hair. 

He hates how he made you feel the opposite. He hates how you’re right and he never had to worry about any reassurement of such kind from your side because you’re just that good to him. And his heart breaks with the realization of how much of a lousy partner he’s been to you when all you ever were was nothing less than perfect.

So he places his hand on the back of your head and presses you even closer to his shoulder as you cry, his own eyes burning with tears at the sound of your sobs and sniffles. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling,” he apologizes with a heavy heart, fearful of what’s about to come next. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this much. I could say that I’m tired and the work has been a lot lately, but I know these excuses are not enough to make up for my actions.”

You’re mad and hurt, but you love him and would never want to give up on him, so you wrap your arms around his middle and hold him almost as tight as he holds you, burying your wet face in his chest. 

“I love you more than anything, YN.” He pulls away from you only to cup your face and make you look at him. His long fingers wipe away the tears with gentle touch, soothing your stinging skin instantly. “You could never be too much for me. I want all of you. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll love you better.”

And when you’re looking up at him with these shiny eyes of yours, he closes the distance and presses a loving kiss to your swollen lips, hoping to take at least some of the pain away. He doesn’t think he can hold you any tighter. He can’t love you any stronger than right now, and it messes with his head how easily he could’ve had it all ruined only minutes ago. 

He’ll never take your love for granted ever again. Because if he did, he’d never be able to pick up the parts of whatever was left of him, and put himself back together ever again. 

You can feel his warm hand opening your closed palm before he takes the ring you've been clutching so tightly and holds it in between his fingers. 

“Can I put it back on, baby? Please.”

You nod wordlessly while you try to tame your tears. You hold your slightly trembling hand up to him. He takes it, gently, and watches as your bottom lip wobbles while he slides the ring on your finger just like he did months ago. 

“I'll never screw up like that again. You have my word for it.”

You sniffle quietly when he kisses you right on the cool band adorning your skin. “You better not, Park Sunghoon.”

His long fingers caress your cheek, wiping the remains of the tears away. “Can you forgive me, darling?”

You don't need to think long of an answer. “You know I can never stay mad at you. Even if you're a idiot, I'll never stop loving you. You have my whole heart, Hoon. Please, don't ever make me regret trusting you with it.”

permanent taglist + taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi @nichoswag @s00buwu @dazzlingligth @goreconsumer @i4kt @heehoonsnemo @seongslutt @seongclb @iamnotalicia

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[shvdwscng]

kalore  had  kept  much  locked  away,  every  inane  detail  of  his  childhood,  of  his  younger  brother,  of  his  parents,  and  the  string  of  events  that  led  him  down  this  path,  serving  a  family  he  had  no  iota  of  desire  to  serve,  an  deep,  innate  hatred  that  threatened  to  consume  him  most  days,  but  perhaps  didn't  because  of  her.  that  each  time  he  was  angry,  he  would  think  of  her  and  in  a  moment  all  of  his  emotions  were  replaced  by  something  he  feared,  a  desire,  a  longing,  an  ache  that  was  unlike  another.  a  understanding  that  he'd  never  be  whole  again,  and  then,  slowly,  piece  by  piece  he  felt  parts  of  his  soul  and  heart  return  when  his  attention  fell  to  the  shadowsinger.  it  was  so  strange  to  even  entertain  the  thoughts  that  another  creature  could  exist  that  would  settle  within  his  being  the  way  she  has.  he  has  seen  it  all  around,  with  his  parents  who  complimented  each  other  so  well.  watching  the  way  his  own  mother  complimented  his  father  in  every  way,  and  to  him  then  it  had  been  what  a  perfect  love  look  liked.  they  were  never  openly  expressive  or  affectionate,  but  he  knew,  both  their  children  knew  without  a  doubt  their  parents  loved  one  another  infinitely.  not  for  once,  did  the  daemati  believe  he  would  ever  have  any  of  it.  not  to  the  fault  of  others,  but  due  to  his  own  sharp  edges,  the  shattered  fragments  of  him  that  would  never  be  whole  again,  but  alas  he  was  wrong.  kalore  had  taken  after  his  parents  entirely,  unable  to  express  all  that  he  felt  for  siara  so  easily,  all  the  while  siara  learned  to  read  all  that  he  did  not  say.  he  supposed  it  was  why  she  never  feared  his  responses  nor  his  reactions,  slowly,  she  had  unraveled  him  and  with  it,  claimed  his  heart  just  as  he  had  with  hers.  it  was  no  surprise  that  the  commander  fell  for  her,  this  was  bound  to  happen,  he'd  known  the  moment  she  entered  his  mind  and  his  heart  and  never  left,  no  matter  how  much  effort  he  place  to  watch  her  as  he  did,  think  of  her  as  often,  that  even  in  the  midst  of  his  tasks,  she  was  always  lurking  in  his  mind.  how  he  remember  his  every  interaction  with  her,  the  way  she  teased  him,  that  in  the  moment  annoyed  him,  but  later  he  found  amusement  in.  it  was  quite  disturbing  how  he  recalled  every  detail  of  her  appearance,  of  what  she  wore,  what,  she  smelled  like  at  any  day.  "truly,  you  ought  to  cease  referring  to  me  as  such.  i  appreciate  the  sentiments,  but  surely  you  can  find  far  better,  creative  endearments  for  me."  his  onyx  gaze  gleamed.

now  for  then  ever  he  ached  for  his  abilities,  if  he  could  even  have  a  taste  of  them  now  only  to  slip  into  her  mind  and  allow  siara  to  see  herself  as  he  did.  all  that  he  still  had  difficultly  conveying  with  his  words  was  far  more  visible  in  his  mind.  "i  have  much  more  i  wish  to  offer  you,  when  my  our  abilities  return."  instead,  he  offers  a  promise  in  the  meantime  that  she  deserved  far  more  from  him,  and  he  intended  to  offer  her  the  moment  he  was  able  to.  with  this,  all  the  secrets  he'd  kept  to  himself  were  easier  to  show  than  it  was  to  say  aloud,  until  she  knew  every  inane  detail.  he  feared  it  still,  even  knowing  nothing  he  did  perhaps  would  frightened  her  off,  but  it  was  one  that  remained  until  he  could  open  his  mind  to  her.  her  words  of  wishing  to  do  the  ceremony  sends  a  thrill  right  through  his  veins,  and  her  certainty  that  she  knew  she  did  not  need  anything  to  confirm  what's  been  true  since  the  moment  they  met.  "the  moment  we  return  home,  this  is  what  will  be  done  before  all  else."  another  promise  he  offered,  and  he  prayed,  he'd  never  prayed  ever,  but  he  prays  now  that  fates  would  allow  them  the  chance  to  do  this.

the  words  were  there  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  but  he  waits,  claiming  her  lips  in  a  kiss  that  was  bother  tender  and  fierce,  a  tenderness  he  isn't  certain  he  was  capable  of  but  he  learns  siara  draws  much  from  him  he's  not  fathom  he's  capable  of.  he  kisses  her  for  a  long  while,  uncaring  as  to  who  bore  witness,  it  was  not  as  if  this  was  not  common  knowledge  but  simply  wishing  to  relish  in  this  moment  as  her  words  echo  in  his  mind.  her  love,  her  commander,  her  partner.  they  settle  into  him  and  he  swears  he'll  hear  the  echo  of  them  every  night,  and  every  moment  of  the  day.  his  arms  are  tight  around  her,  pulling  back  just  slightly  to  gaze  at  her  when  she  whispered  the  words.  "nor  i,  siara,  but  i  suppose  we're  simply  waiting  for  one  another  -  waiting  until  we  found  one  another."  there  was  a  sense  of  elation  he  felt,  of  being  her  first,  and  her  only  love,  just  as  she  was  of  his.  "i  am  honored  to  be  your  first  love,  and  your  only  love,  and  your  last  love.  as  you  are  mine."

END.

"  no  it  doesn't.  "  she  says  with  a  laugh.  though  she  also  understood  when  was  not  the  time  to  tease  him  and  chose  not  to.  even  when  siara  was  simply  out  to  annoy  the  commander,  to  get  a  rise  out  of  him,  she  did  so  carefully.  picked  her  moments  wisely.  siara  liked  to  be  a  thorn  in  his  side,  but  she  never  wished  to  cause  actual  damage.  she'd  learned  how  to  read  him  very  quickly,  and  it  seemed  that  had  been  her  opening  through  the  walls  he  placed  about  himself.  it  hadn't  even  been  hard,  which  was  perhaps  frightening  if  it  weren't  for  the  way  he  did  the  same  to  her.  siara's  upbringing  was  many  horrid  things,  but  it  was  also  the  reason  she  was  able  to  stare  into  his  gaze,  unwavering  and  unfearing.  he'd  never  scared  her,  his  reputation  had  only  served  to  interest  her  further  in  figuring  out  how  the  man  worked.  what  further  drew  her  in  was  his  way  of  possessing  so  much  power  within  their  court  but  not  screaming  about  it.  he  had  a  quiet,  commanding  way  of  whispering  his  control  and  from  the  moment  she  met  him  all  he  ever  did  was  catch  her  curiosity  and  snare  her  in  deeper.  each  gaze  cast  her  way  had  cut  through  her,  but  never  scared  her.  in  truth,  only  once  had  she  been  worried  around  him  –  and  that  had  been  when  she  learned  of  his  daemati  abilities.  she  hadn't  flinched,  she  only  hoped  he  wouldn't  poke  into  places  uninvited.  and  for  all  she  knew,  he  hadn't.  it  was  one  of  the  many  reasons  she  trusted  him,  despite  his  lack  of  understanding  how  she  could.  and  as  she  learned  him  more  her  confidence  grew,  in  her  own  abilities  as  well  as  her  pleasure  at  knowing  she  was  the  only  one  able  to  do  certain  things,  and  able  to  pull  certain  things  from  him.  the  game  became  her  addiction  –  he  became  her  addiction.  slowly  that  trust  she  had  in  him  was  something  she  felt  him  return,  and  eventually  it  became  shared  in  a  way  neither  trusted  any  other.  she  had  a  dangerous  power  over  kalore,  but  he  did  the  same  to  her.  when  everything  finally  crashed  between  them,  every  wall  and  every  ounce  of  stubbornness,  it  had  been  the  awakening  to  something  siara  never  thought  she'd  have.  he  belonged  to  her,  made  for  her  and  her  alone.  everything  they  had  been  doing  before  was  simple  foreplay,  leading  them  to  where  they  were  always  destined  to  end  up.  "  well,  you  were  always  my  favorite  toy.  "  she  teases,  but  her  words  mean  a  lot.  she'd  never  enjoyed  someone  as  much  as  he,  and  while  it  was  quite  backwards  in  most  courting  definitions,  the  way  she  poked  at  him  had  been  a  marker  of  her  interest  long  before  she  realized  it.

"  i  don't  expect  to  regret  anything  between  us  kalore.  but  i  shall  take  everything  you  offer  me  happily.  "  greedily  so.  it  was  incredibly  ironic,  how  easy  it  was  now  for  her  to  show  him  parts  of  herself  she  caged  away,  ignored  and  pretended  did  not  exist.  she'd  chipped  away  at  kalore's  armor,  but  he'd  done  the  same  for  her.  siara  was  a  different  creature  for  it,  but  only  for  him.  the  rest  of  prythian  still  saw  the  guarded,  cold  hearted  shadowsinger  of  the  nightmare  court.  she  knew  the  same  went  for  him,  opening  up  to  her  but  not  to  a  single  other.  these  moments  were  for  each  other  and  none  else.  when  kal  spins  her  away,  it  allows  siara  to  remember  where  they  are,  and  when  they  rejoin  the  words  he  offers  settle  inside  of  her.  the  idea  of  the  mating  ceremony  was  not  something  she  shared  lightly,  and  she  knew  kalore  understood  that.  siara  had  never  been  one  to  share  traditions  or  offer  rituals  to  anyone,  let  alone  someone  who  was  not  even  illyrian.  while  she  didn't  need  the  ceremony  to  know  he  belonged  to  her,  his  willingness  to  embrace  the  heritage  she  had  so  often  ignored  settles  into  her  soul  in  just  another  way  that  seals  her  fate  to  him.  hearing  him  say  as  much  nearly  leaves  her  breathless,  only  siara  isn't  a  pining  lady  of  the  court,  she's  a  warrior  who  knows  how  to  measure  he  reactions.  "  i  don't  need  anything  to  know  you  are  mine,  but  i  think  i  would  like  to  do  the  ceremony.  "  admits  she.  it  would  also  create  an  actual  bond  between  them.  for  illyrians  it  ranged,  from  knowing  where  one  another  was  or  even  feeling  their  emotions  if  they  were  strong  enough.  siara  wasn't  sure  what  the  ancient  magic  would  do  for  she  and  kalore,  especially  with  his  ability  and  her  half  blood  status.  she  wasn't  afraid,  though,  she  wanted  him  in  every  way  he  was  willing  to  give  himself.  siara  held  a  lot  of  importance  in  illyrian  rituals,  even  if  she  would  deny  it  to  anyone  else.  it  marked  the  side  of  her  blood  she  hated  due  to  her  father,  but  they  were  also  so  beautiful  she  couldn't  deny  it.  she  wasn't  often  sentimental  or  sappy,  but  for  this  she  found  she  was.  the  spymaster  ignored  or  avoided  talking  about  such  things  with  anyone  else,  but  with  kalore  she  found  the  words  tumbled  out  without  her  permission.  they  were  meant  for  him  to  hear.  for  so  long  the  pair  of  them  danced  around  the  unspoken  truth,  of  their  feelings  for  one  another  not  needing  to  be  spoken  aloud  to  be  felt.  and  siara  was  fine  with  that.  words  were  sometimes  difficult,  but  their  actions  and  gazes  had  been  more  than  clear.  love  terrified  her,  it  always  had,  but  it  seemed  she  had  no  choice  in  feeling  this  with  kalore.  nor  would  she  have  it  any  other  way.  but  the  time  to  say  those  avoided  words  had  barred  down  on  them,  and  she  relished  in  the  press  of  his  lips  when  she  finally  let  them  out. 

the  kiss  was  full  of  the  fierce  passion  they  shared,  but  also  the  tenderness  only  kalore  could  possess  that  nearly  left  her  trembling.  his  firm  grip  on  her  frame  is  all  that  keeps  siara  standing,  though  she'd  be  hard  pressed  to  admit  it.  the  spymaster  melts  into  her  commander,  hands  fisted  into  his  jacket  to  support  her  body  against  his  own.  this  kiss  was  more  too,  it  was  a  promise  and  an  affirmation  that  neither  could  run  from  the  four  letter  word  any  longer.  and  then  they  part,  and  the  words  he  utters  leave  her  in  a  whole  new  state  of  being.  siara  always  thought  she  was  unbreakable,  but  it  she  could  now  see  she'd  been  wrong.  his  words  shatter  her,  but  the  broken  pieces  fit  back  together  how  they  were  always  meant  to  be.  his  love  puts  her  back  together  the  right  way,  healing  from  all  the  broken  examples  of  love  she'd  been  offered  before.  "  i  didn't  expect  to  ever  hear  someone  say  that  to  me.  "  she  admits  softly.

[acid-ixx]

ch.2: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

*"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 13.

i hate everything. i hate my family. i hate my father, i hate my brothers, i hate my classmates, i hate alfred, i hate this place, i hate my mom, i hate everyone.

why can't i ever get what i wanted? what do i have to do? i tried so hard to be everything for them, but why do i only amount to nothing? it's been a year, or two, i don't know. it hurts trying to remember when was the last time i saw him. saw, not talk, because he never talks to me, bruce never even looks at me. and i hate myself for trying to get him to look at me.

is he disgusted at me? does he see my mother in me? does he hate me that much? i don't know, i don't want to know, it hurts to know. i don't know why i'm trying anymore, i don't know how longer i can last in this hell. i can feel it, the longer i stay here, the more i lose a part of myself. i don't want to be here.

i don't want to pray anymore.

so if there's any god out there watching over me, then i wish for you to burn, to suffer, to go through the same thing i have been experiencing for years— all for putting me in this place. i would've been fine living in the streets with my mother. i would've been alright providing for our small family, i would've known to never get my hopes high, but you took her away from me!—

i hate you."

"master (name), are you awake? dinner is ready."

you had to shut your diary at the sound of the knock and alfred's voice.

"alfr-"

a cough, hoarse and croaky, cuts you out from calling his name. it was accompanied by uncontrollable sniffles, mucus blocking your nose from breathing properly. your room was dark, save for the lamp that lights up your bedside, where you currently were seated on your bed to write another entry, grip on your pen unknowingly harsh. you didn't even have to look at your reflection from your phone laying beside the diary to know that hiding your tears were fruitless.

salty were the crystalline droplets that streaks your face, but bitter were the emotions that had your heart ache.

you hear a sigh from the other room. before he could muster a reply, you beat him to it.

"i'm not eating dinner, alfred," you hate hearing your voice, sounding so obviously scrathy from the hours of wailing. "at least not with them. i don't want to get out at all."

"then may i at least bring them over to you, master (name)?"

his answer was final, you have no choice on retaliating and starving yourself like you did for the past few days. but it wasn't your fault that you had forgotten your body's needs. it wasn't your fault that your mind blanks itself out on the dinner table. it wasn't your fault that bile quickly crawls up your throat at hearing their voices.

you simply lost your appetite seeing them happy without you.

alfred pennyworth would never play favorite.

it was drilled into his head ever since he had sworn to serve the wayne family and its extended members— he is to serve anyone and everyone, regardless if they respect him or they do not; as long as they do not pose any danger within the manor, then he is to attend to them.

you'd think that in his decades of service for the wayne's - with all the contrasting personalities he had to deal with - he would maintain professional standards and tell everybody in the world, "i, of course, do not favor anyone within the family, i live to serve and that is truth." when in fact, he wouldn't hesistate to admit that he does, in actuality, have a favorite.

and no, it wouldn't be the eldest child, dick grayson, as much as he is alfred's pride and joy, nor would it be the youngest, damian wayne, who had been slowly correcting his mistakes. it wouldn't even be the head of the house, master bruce.

it would be you, (name) wayne, the infamous, yet forgetten child of the wayne family.

it wouldn't be a far fetch for alfred to admit that you weren't like the others. in all of the years that he served the wayne's, you were a contrast of the family.

the first few hours that he had picked you up from the police department upon the news of bruce's secret child, he knew you were more than just a child raised by the brutal streets of gotham.

you pose secrets that speak of the underground.

he remembers your seated form on the stiff chair of the interrogation room, pose unnervingly straight, as if you had solidified yourself against the metal seat. your fingers were the only signs that showed life, twiddling with each other as if it's some form of distraction.

you stared at nothing.

not even at the police as your name was called for pick up.

it took merely a signature of confirmation to dictate the future years of your life.

what's left of your belongings were given to alfred. the police officer, a woman with a kind smile then had to walk across the interrogation table to pat your back, gesturing for you to stand up and follow her and alfred on the way outside of the station, where the car was parked.

you hadn't uttered a word nor snapped out of your dreamlike gaze. not even when you were greeted with a thousand clicks of the cameras, the buzzing crowd that drowns the police station, or the hundreds of voices that yell at you to look at them.

(name) (last name), now formally adopted by bruce wayne, would be (name) wayne. it wouldn't be a shock that your sudden appearance as the child of a scandalous relationship between a prostitute and a billionaire would cause immense reactions. news would be spreading left and right, most of which were negative on your side.

he had to shield you from the crowd of photographers and journalists itching their way to the crowd to get a glance on you.

yet you didn't display any discomfort. you had only sat on the car obediently, fastening your seatbelts robotically and ignoring the lenses that unsettlingly tried to poke through the car windows to take pictures of you.

you were more like batman than you were bruce.

alfred had tried to get you communicate with questions like, "how are you over there, master (name)?" yet you would only mumble unintelligible responses to his questions without any ounce of emotion. he had to look at the rear view mirror to take in your stiff form. again, your eyes were set on nothing, even if they were casted down on the carpeted floorboards of the car.

when he had first met bruce, that child was overflowing with anger and vengeance for his parent's killer, yet you, who refused to explain your mother's disappearance, are devoid of anything.

the silence was defeaning throughout the ride. the only comfort that was provided was the rain that began to patter against the glass windows.

alfred throught you would retain the same behavior the entire day.

yet it was only when you first walked up the steps of the manor did your demeanor change, fingers immediately reaching up to hold the cuffs of his sleeves, pulling it as if you were hesitant to step in.

the first emotion you had shown him was concern, like a switch had flickered you out of your trance. it was the first time in a while that alfred had to do a double take to check if what was happening was real.

"can you... hold my hand?" and it was the first time he had heard you speak, voice unnaturally scratchy from the lack of water. you stared at him with wide, doe eyes that refused to blink, waiting for answers. alfred had to gaze at your entire body to finally notice that you were covered head to toe in sloppy bandages with blood seeping through the grime-filled gauze. your shoes were worn, your clothes were ripped, and other uncovered scars littered your body.

the most conspicuous color on your shirt was crimson red.

yet you do not display pain.

a child, five years of age, had been through more than enough anguish to know how to block their pain out.

you were unlike the rest, truly, you were unwavering of the world's cruelty.

the world does not deserve someone like you.

alfred takes it in himself to always hold your hand after that.

through the mansion doors, inside the kitchen, on your way to school; whenever and wherever, as long as he had time.

even if it were filled with scars and bruises, dirt and grime, he will always hold your hand if it meant guiding you through the darkness of the manor.

you may not consider yourself bruce's child, but you will always be alfred's.

another knock on your door had you snapping out of your trance. time passed by so quickly in the manor. well, it does when you have nothing to do but stare at your diary, draw on your sketchbook or scroll through your phone. yet time would always be the quickest whenever you drown in your own misery.

"come in," you croak out, aware that it would only be alfred who would come by your room. it was long ago since you had given up on awaiting for dick's visits.

a turn of the knob, then the door swings quietly; the hinges creak, you need them oiled sooner. alfred walks in, you notice he holds a tray that contains two cupcakes and a plate of your favorite dish, but you don't notice the small box with a bow hidden skillfully from the back of the tray. from over your seat, you could already smell the aromatic herbs that flutter in the room and see the colorful frosting from both cupcakes; an already lit candle sticking in from one.

the candle at least provides just a split second of light inside your dim room; the moonlight just like your family, absent.

alfred graciously places the tray on your nightstand, on the left of your diary. your room was still too silent.

you could only hear yourself.

"master (name), are you simply going to sit there and stare? or would you rather i spoonfeed you like i had when you had broken your wrist?"

you blink it out again, oblivious to your very own hyperawareness. alfred's still here. you hope that, in the presence of darkness, he wouldn't see just how much of a mess you are. how your hands could barely grip onto anything, hair unwashed, face stained with tears, difficulty breathing through the buildup of mucus, foot tapping up and down erratically— you wished he would pretend to be blind about your suffering for just this once.

"no—" came your sudden reply, "i can- yeah, i can eat by myself."

it's harder to lie to yourself than it is to others.

he looks at you with doubt, it makes you shiver.

despite you wishing for company inside the manor, you could never be used to attention. it would never be normal for someone like you. though, you wish it was. you wish you never hesitated when someone gives you attention.

you hear your mattress creak, there's a dip on your bed. alfred sits beside you, only then did you realize just how quickly you lean into his side, craving for warmth in the solace of your empty room.

everything hurts, it truly does.

you wish you were strong enough to cease the sudden burst of tears when his one hand circles your shoulder and the other holds the cupcake with a candle near your face. and you wish that you weren't so weak in the presence of another, trying to find a semblance of your worth in their attention.

you at least try to stifle your sobs—

"happy birthday, master (name)."

— but you were always weak, yet alfred never seems to mind, patting your back to console you from your wailing.

you blow the fire out with a single promise to yourself, crying a bit more when alfred had given you a gift box, laced with a ribbon of your favorite color.

it was one of the few gifts you would cherish, fondness seeping into the cracks of your heart.

though it wouldn't erase the bitterness that fills your being either way, knowing your family is still downstairs, unaware of the anguish the torment that they have put you through— it's still enough to let you hate alfred a little less.

"alfred?"

it was your meek voice, one that was always drowned out by the sound of the dishes clanking.

"yes, master (name)?" yet alfred could always strain out the sound of anything just to hear your talk. after all, you were a silent kid throughout your childhood.

"—if i move out of this place; would promise you wouldn't forget about me?"

... (name) wayne was full of surpises.

even at the ripe age of seventeen, and in the near fourteen years of raising you, alfred could never predict your words nor your actions.

you had always said things spontaneously, carrying an aura of awkwardness in your tone, reminiscent of someone who had their personal growth (moreover their social life) stunted.

but now, with the way you had said your resolve so confidently, it felt like he was looking at a different version of you; all the more confident and resilient.

except... you were behind him when you had said that - so he wasn't really looking at you - eating the first batch of his cookies whilst he was polishing the dishes with a cloth.

when he had turned around to look at you, though, you were still the socially inept child he knows and love, sitting on the breakfast bar and twirling around the stool as you attempt to not get crumbs everywhere. you were still so young in his eyes.

it's just, the way you had looked at him expectedly like you needed his approval that shocked him. it was always your eyes that had expressed the most emotions, glazing with anticipation for his response.

he knows it when you lie, and right now, you were dead serious in your resolve.

alfred had to relax the crease on his brows before he ages faster than he already is.

"well, master (name)," he continues, turning back to wiping the dishes clean before he could fully face you. "i would fully support you in your... journey, but what warranted you to be suddenly motivated on moving out?"

alfred had finished setting aside the dishes, but he still doesn't look back.

"i mean, i thought i already told you? i have a scholarship for college but it's on the other side of gotham and...

— i kind of don't want to be chauffeured by a limo around the campus everyday, you know? so the next best thing is to get a dorm."

alfred knows it when you lie. and right now, your hesitance tells him everything he needs to know.

you may have proved a point, but that point was an entire lie. with a person name wayne flaunting across a city whilst riding a limousine, you might find yourself into more trouble than anything else.

but he had always been the one to pick you up and drop you off from elementary and halfway through your highschool life— and you never seemed to mind until now.

it doesn't take a genius to know that you had already deviced a full plan of moving out and taken it into action; all you had to do was confront the only man in the manor who had cared about you enough to raise you about your worries.

it wasn't enough to convince him to let you go, though, especially not right after an incident that had occured prior to you highschool life. if he allows you to gain independence in gotham, he wouldn't know how long you would last.

but when he looks back at you again, he couldn't bring it in himself to oppose to your whims. you need a new environment; one that provides you a way to gain independence and, most preferably, social skills. staying cooped up in a manor with barely anybody talking to you does more harm than good.

and being ignored by your own family for almost fourteen years wouldn't be a great way to celebrate your already nearing eighteenth birthday.

alfred doesn't want to admit it, but if he keeps you here any longer, you would never grow up. one person could only do so much.

he whips out a sigh, looking at you with resignation in his eyes. but you know it in yourself that he swears his life on the promise.

"master (name)," he walks over to you, eyes darting at the cookie crumbs that litter around your mouth making a note to scold you on your manner later. he sits directly in front of you, hand patting your head as you merely stare at him expectedly.

"i have raised you for almost fourteen years, it's like you are my very own child. i would never forget you." he takes your hands in his. "but you have to also promise me to stay safe out there, master (name). call me once you're there."

alfred would find a way to get you to come back eventually, even if it meant utilizing your family's neglect, which was primarily the reason why you had moved out on the first place.

he just hopes you wouldn't connect the dots and pin the blame on him once you're back and safe in the manor.

and now, it had only been months since you had gotten away from the manor. he was proud of your development, of your choice and overall, you, but he wouldn't lie and say he doesn't miss you.

he misses hearing your voice directly, the line on the phone being too blotchy to properly hear you. he misses it when he would sit on your bed as your only audience whilst he watches you paint on your canvases, drawling on and on about highschool's latest drama. he misses it when you would always be the first to taste his dishes, face lighting up whenever the food was seasoned up; now he has to constantly remind you to eat a nutritious diet, even offering to send you money whenever you mention you were short on it.

in the good of your heart, you would always decline, even going as far to deny him of any liberty to track you down and bring you a meal himself.

alfred misses you.

does he regret allowing you your freedom? not really, no. but he knows it in himself that a greedy part of him prefers it if you were would visit the manor occasionally during your vacations, at least to bond with him. but you simply chose not to, even going as far to legally change your name once you had become eighteen so you wouldn't be associated with your father's last name.

but that wouldn't erase the past you had tried to meticulously cover.

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid leaving a police station and entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

and most importantly, you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, could only be described as this palace overflowing his its abundant history and fame.

it was a castle that houses a boy who had lost his parents and became gotham's very own vigilante who stalks through the night to lessen the very evil that devours its citizens. it was the training grounds where the robins, sidekicks dressed in colorful attire, opposite to batman, were raised to be worthy enough to stand by the dark knight's side. but most importantly, it was a home for troubled children who were in their journey of their very own personal struggles.

yet even in its exterior splendour, it would always be innately overcome with loneliness.

for someone like bruce wayne, he embraces this desolation just as he embraces his alter-ego, batman, who wears a suit of black and dons an aura that demanded fear.

even if he carries the persona of 'brucie wayne' a ditsy, playboy who enjoys galas and sleeping with women every other night, he prefers solitude over the sea of interviewers who throng around him like he was a piece of meat.

it would be the only time he could focus on his countless of stacked paperworks to sign and his plans to ransack another criminal's master plan.

before winter could cover gotham in its sheet of pure, white coldness, rain would always terrorize the skies. he finds this the perfect atmosphere; dark grey clouds prevent the sun from peaking through, droplets of rain would pelt against the vast windows that surrounds his study, and there was enough background noise to block out any sounds that would pass through the door.

bruce wayne was focused on his work, and that meant disturbance wasn't allowed inside the manor. thankfully, it was a quiet, uneventful afternoon today.

in fact, it was all too abnormally quiet.

his scarred hands work through signing papers effiently and effortlessly, practiced fingers signing papers after he would meticulously scan over the paragraphs of texts that scale from business deals to partnerships to buying a piece of land. then later, once the moon rises, he would have to patrol with damian and disrupt another drug trade that had been recently dealing with children on the alleys of gotham.

that means he has to sign or reject at least half of the papers before evening falls through, so he could have alfred send them over through the post office tomorrow morning.

he was at least a quarter way through his work, though, when his flow was disrupted by a courteous knock by the mahogany doors.

he didn't have to look up or ask who it was, knowing it was alfred, his butler.

"master bruce, i have your tea ready, along with news to bare," bruce could hear the tone of urgency and a tinge of sullenness in alfred's voice. it was rare for alfred to be emotionally distressed, as he was typically the most composed out of everyone in the family.

"come on in, alfred," bruce's vocal chords were gruff, raspy whenever he's too engrossed in whatever he was doing.

but he was piqued at the news alfred was eager to share, the butler expertly turning the knob and entering with a tray that holds a hot serving of tea.

bruce stopped signing the papers, putting down his pen as he watches alfred, composed as always, place the tray down on his desk, not a single clank that was produced from the metal sheets. he watches as alfred reflexively pours him a cup of tea.

it was only after that action that the two share eye contact, alfred stationing himself to the right of bruce's desk.

if he wasn't a detective, he wouldn't have noticed the furrow of alfred's brows, which was uncharacteristic of the composed butler.

he reckons he should address the elephant in the room.

"what is it that you want to tell me, alfred?" bruce swivels his chair to face alfred, fingers tapping the mahogany desk rhythmically.

"master bruce, i figured you should have known this for quite a long time ago, but your third child had moved out on their own and now lives at the opposite side of gotham. right now, they may have been struggling to make ends meet."

huh?

"what do you mean, alfred? you're aware that tim is currently living in the manor—"

"no, master, i am talking about your third, not fourth child; master (name)."

... (name)?

ah, his... other child.

alfred looks at his seated form, expecting the befuddled reaction from bruce.

it doesn't take long for bruce to recover from his thoughts, eyebrows furrowed the same way as alfred as he leans against his chair.

"and what of (name)? why was i not updated about them?"

alfred had to stifle a groan as he then glares at bruce with what he could suppose was exasperation.

"i had already told you about their leave months ago, master bruce. you had simply waved me off whenever the topic is of master (name)." the butler's glare hardened, reminiscent of the times where bruce was scolded as a child. and like a child, he doesn't know what he had done wrong.

"i feel it is time for you to take it into your hands to deal with master (name)'s situation right now. i do not have access to their location and just like you, they are stubborn and refuse to accept any financial aid that comes to them in any form—"

to make matters worse, alfred had the gall to stop midway into his explanation, sighing and blinking unnervingly which catches more than bruce's attention.

"they would rather not admit it, but if they were to fail to pay for this month's rent of their apartment, they would get evicted from their very own living space."

at pretty much the last sentence, bruce's gaze hardened. not at alfred, no, but at the thought of you; his... forgotten child. if it was money that you need, why had you not ask for any allowance in the first place? bruce would admit that, well, it had been too long since he had last seen your face, nor even... remember it—

but you were still a child of his and he wouldn't deny you of an allowance if it meant persuing your... highschool or college dreams...?

shit, what grade are you in?

why didn't he know you moved out in the first place? wait—

"alfred, how long has it been since they had last moved out?"

"roughly six or seven months ago, master."

"ah, but having a place of your own as a minor would be prohibited by law."

"master bruce, they're eighteen. they're old enough to live in their own apartment."

eighteen years old...? how long had it been since he had last seen or heard of you? if what alfred had said was true, that the butler had attempted to reach out to him about you, then why had he not remember in the first place? you were a quiet kid, sure, but for someone like bruce, people would always not be overlooked.

it wasn't in him to easily forget, but he hates how he couldn't muster up a single memory of your face— not even your hair color nor your eyes. did you even... exist in his eyes? there was not a single memory of you that he could come up in his head.

his child was eighteen now, how could he not have known in the first place? how could he not recollect a single birthday of yours? or any celebration or gala that had you in it?

alfred's sigh snapped him out of his trance once more.

bruce looked up, seeing resignation upon alfred's face. he simply stood there, posture straight as always, but bruce couldn't wash away the shame that cages his heart when there was not a single image of you that pops up in his mind— alfred's disappointment merely worsened

the tea in his desk had long since gone untouched, but bruce couldn't bring it in himself to drink a single drop of it, even if his lips were dried and his throat was begging for even a single droplet of water.

he denies himself of any relief.

"i figure i should leave you in your own, master bruce, to at least compose yourself before nightfall. please do take your child into consideration, though, enough time has passed since you have last seen them." alfred states, as if it was a matter of fact. and it was, bruce should've known about your leave, as your father and as the man who took you in, he should've.

so before the butler could even take a step, bruce hastily stands up from his seat, pen long since discarded on his desk and a quarter of the papers are now messily stacked upon each other, but bruce pays them no mind.

"take me to (name)'s room right now, i need to see things for myself."

if bruce couldn't even remember a single instance of you, then maybe a trip to your room would be enough for him to remember.

but if that doesn't work then... bruce would a find a way, he always would.

and as your father, he needs to at least support you, even financial no matter your stubbornness? even if the shame he feels right now is so immensely disturbing, and the migraine is quickly finding its way into his head— he needs to know more about you, his actual third child.

bruce wayne needs to see your face just once.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: 5k+ words. no beta, we die like jason todd with a crowbar. my least favorite part of writing the chapter is literally starting it. i had at least 5 drafts all lined up and it took me an hour in the bed to think about how should i start it. i literally hope you guys enjoy the chapter hehe, and start to yk, notice the patterns and the parallels between your perspective and bruce's perspective bec ur literally his child, u guys share some habits even if u never once talked to him lmao. the most emotionally draining scene was writing the birthday scene, i had to take breaks from typing it out hehe. bruce's descent to yandere-ism isn't as quick as dick's but it would be worst in the next chapter.

also, i hope you guys are able to notice the bad habits that the reader eventually collects because it's important for the next chapters. it would be better if anyone of u could... point them out in my asks or comments, i love rambling about it yk, and a lot of you are absolutely brilliant in making theories that are absolutely right. anyways, i hope u enjoy this chapter because this was one hell of a ride for me and i appreciate all the reblogs and comments despite me not replying to a lot of yall but u guys truly are my motivation so thank u lots :(((<33!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa, @maicenitas, @ilovvmyhusband, @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony, @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts, @darling006, @starringyau, @rosecentury, @jaythes1mp, @pi1nkl0ver, @i-thirsty-boi, @sharks-r-cool-l, @silverklaus, @samanthathanes, @traumaramacenter, @maddimoon, @anxrq, @thedarknesslord, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @lazy-idate, @googeecat44, @simpingfor-wakasa, @zvghfgn, @0patito0 (if i had forgotten to put any of u in a taglist please forgive me, it's hard to keep track !!)

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day sixteen.

Breeding Kink (3.2k words)

summary: Since the moment he met you, Lando knew he wanted you to be the mother of his children, and that feeling only intensified when he saw taking care of your nephew.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talking, breeding kink.

To anyone else, and as people would expect, seeing your significant other with a child should warm your heart; it should give you a soft spot for the person you’ve vowed to spend the rest of your life with. 

Lando did feel like that when he saw you interact with any kid, like when you were walking in the paddock and a kid came up to him and you always made conversation so they wouldn’t feel so shy, or when a driver brought their kid to the race and you immediately leaned down to talk to them, sometimes even holding their tiny hands as they swore they had the coolest thing to show you.

That was the first few times, at least. But he will never forget how everything inside him shifted when you first met his niece. She instantly fell in love with you, and she needed to drag you everywhere. Who could blame her, really; that’s just the effect you have on people.

But god, the effect you had on him? That was another level, because the way he felt that weekend when you picked up a motherly role when you were with her made him feel something he had never felt before, something he never imagined, and quite honestly, he couldn’t explain it. That was until you were saying goodbye and the little girl nearly cried when her mother took her from your arms, and his hands instinctively landed on your tummy when he walked you back to the car.

The thought of you carrying his child and taking care of them the same way you did with his niece — now that is a fire he could never put out, not until it became a reality. He wanted- no, he needed to make you a mother; he desperately needed to put a baby in you in a way that was almost primal.

You and Lando have been together for years, and it was common knowledge that he wanted kids. Sure, you have talked about having a family one day after getting married, one day, but sometimes he just wishes you could skip all of that and make a baby once and for all. 

For months, he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to ruin what you had just because he couldn’t contain his desire buried for a little longer; that was until you babysat your 5-year-old nephew, Charlie.

He came back home sometime in the afternoon, eyes tired and body aching for the intensity of the past weeks. He wanted nothing more than to be with his girlfriend and forget about the world, but as soon as he stepped into your apartment, he heard the TV and loud chuckles coming from the living room.

His brows frowned in confusion as he dropped his bags next to the door and followed the noise, his heart nearly stopping when he spotted you playing with the little kid.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” He said with a huge smile.

“Oh hi, you’re home,” you sprinted towards him, hugging him tightly when he caught you in his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he kissed your temple. “And how is this little guy doing?" Lando walked towards Charlie, kneeling next to him to be at the same level. 

“Good, we are playing with the puppies,” he exclaimed, his tiny finger pointed at the TV. 

“Yeah? Are they fun?” He just nodded and ran closer to the glowing screen, completely forgetting about Lando’s existence and jumping again as his tired eyes followed the dogs.

“Don’t worry, my sister will pick him up in a couple of hours.”

“It’s fine. He seems happy.”

“And very tired. I think it's time for a nap, what do you say?” You walked towards him, trying to pick him up, but he refused.

“No! I wanna play racing again.” 

“We can play some other time, I promise.” 

He looked up at you, the corners of his mouth turning down as his eyes quickly filled with tears. He shook his head and ran back to Lando, who was still on his knees, as he caged himself in his arms.

“I wanna play racing,” he repeated, this time to your boyfriend, sniffling and wiping his tears.

“Yeah? We can play for a little while.”

“Lando-” The way he just betrayed you, you would never forgive him.

“He’ll want to go to sleep soon, don’t worry.” You saw them walk to Lando’s streaming room, Charlie skipping as he held his hand.

You rolled your eyes and followed them, crossing your arms as you rested against the door frame. Lando tried to pick him up, intending to sit him in the sim, but he nearly lost his mind, as if Lando had no idea how playing racing worked.

“No! Auntie.” Lando freaked out and out and put him back down, looking at you as he begged for your help with a single look.

“I’m right here, sweetie.”

You stepped closer to them, sitting on the chair as you picked him up and put him on your lap. He was happy again, his little feet kicking in the air as he gripped the steering wheel.

“We’ll do one more, okay?”

“Yes!” He happily exclaimed.

Lando watched the both of you in awe as you started the game, showing Charlie all the cool cars he could choose from.

“I want the blue car again!” He said, pointing at the Red Bull. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lando joked. You giggled at this, but chose the Red Bull for the race.

It was a free practice session, so you weren’t actually racing other cars, but you still got to drive it super fast, which is exactly what he liked. 

As the session started, you placed your hands just below his. You were doing all the work, but the illusion was still there. 

It was a little harder to drive like this, but you still managed to put up a few good laps without messing up too much, but even when you did, he was enjoying it, giggling and pointing at the screens as he turned to Lando to ask him an excited “did you see that?” Any time something happened, and every time, Lando would just nod and match his enthusiasm.

The session ended, and just like you did earlier today, you congratulated your nephew for his amazing driving. He took the compliments proudly as if he just won a championship, but his head soon fell on your chest, yawning as he snuggled closer.

“Okay, time for a nap.”

He didn’t resist this time. Instead, he nodded as his eyes closed. Lando helped you get up as you held Charlie close to you, walking towards the guest room; that was the room he preferred, saying your room was too scary and probably haunted.

You carefully laid him down, taking his shoes off and covering his body with a blanket. How was he already in a deep sleep? You had no idea, but you envy him.

While he was asleep, you took the time to clean up the mess he made earlier, picking up all the toys he brought and putting Lando’s helmets back where they belonged. You loved your nephew, you really did, but man, it was really challenging to take care of a child. Not only were they messy and unpredictable, but they had so much energy you could barely keep up. You often wondered how your sister did it. 

Once you finished up, you dramatically collapsed on the couch. “I need to sleep for like a week,” you joked, your boyfriend laughing at your antics.

He made his way to the couch, sitting next to you as he pulled you in a warm embrace, hands caressing your sides as he placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head. “Me too, and I was only here for like half an hour.”

“Imagine! I’ve been with him since this morning. I’m never babysitting again.”

“No? But you love Charlie.” He looked at you expectantly, trying to decipher if you were being serious.

“I do, but it’s too much sometimes. I honestly don’t know what we’ll do when we have our kids.”

Our kids. Two simple words that opened up a can that you would never be able to close. He stayed silent, mentally cursing the tent forming in his pants for betraying him in such an innocent moment.

You didn’t think anything of it, nor did you realise what those two words did to him, so you just reached for the remote control and browsed the channels. You ended up picking a cooking show, paying attention as if you would ever cook anything like that.

The entire time, Lando was paying attention to you — all of you. He admired your face, your hands, your hips… your tummy. He couldn’t stop himself from placing both his hands on your stomach, imagining what you would look like carrying a child. His child. He was well aware he was getting ahead of himself, but after witnessing today’s events? God, he needed to do something about it.

Another hour went by, and you were already catching up to your boyfriend’s intentions. To you, everything seemed normal at first, but the lower his hands got and the way his thumb was rubbing soft circles on your stomach, it clicked. You knew how Lando felt about having a family with you, but it never crossed your mind that seeing you with kids affected him so much. Though it all made more sense now, any time you were near a kid, even if you didn’t interact with them at all, his hands would be all over you, and when he got you alone? That’s another story, but you never connected the dots until now. 

Suddenly, a phone call made both of you jump. It was your sister calling you to let you know she was in the building, ready to pick Charlie up. You gathered all his things as Lando greeted your sister, walking her in and guiding her to the guest room.

“Aw, he looks so peaceful.”

“Well, you should’ve seen him two hours ago,” you joked.

“I know,” she laughed with you. “Thank you for taking care of him on such short notice, you saved my life today.”

“It’s okay, I love spending time with Charlie, and I’m happy to do it any other time.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. He honestly loves you, you have no idea how happy he got when I told him we were coming here.” Your sister was about to carry Charlie in his arms, but Lando offered to bring him down to the car. 

Okay, now you got it. You had to admit that seeing Lando carry a little kid did things to you, and since your realisation a few minutes ago, you couldn’t stop thinking about a family; how did you suddenly get your own case of baby fever? Sure, you were still young, and that probably wouldn’t happen for at least a few years, but fantasising couldn’t hurt anyone. 

You walked back to the apartment holding Lando’s hand, his grip so tight you thought he could break your hand if he squeezed a little harder. As soon as the door closed behind you, he grabbed you by the hips and turned you around, his lips crashing into yours in an intense kiss.

Kissing him back, your arms wrapped around his neck as one hand played with his hair.

“You looked so pretty today, taking such good care of the baby,” he mumbled against your lips, biting it sofly. You couldn’t contain the moan that left your mouth, only encouraging him further. 

He carried you to your bedroom, immediately throwing you in the bed and hovering over you. He pressed himself further into you, making you very aware of his hardening cock as he nudged his bulge into your lower stomach. You moaned again, your legs going around his torso to pull him down.

“I wanna put a baby in you. God, you would look so perfect.” He didn’t know what to do with you. He wanted to kiss you, bite you; he wanted to touch you everywhere, his own mind making him feel overwhelmed. 

After quickly taking off your shirt, he started kissing you everywhere, a trail of wet kisses making their way down your body. His touch was electric, making you nearly squirm beneath him as your fingers kept a tight grip on his hair, and his words only made the feeling intensify. 

“Lando,” you moaned, he hummed in response, “do it,” you simply said. God, the way everything inside him shifted is something he wanted to remember for the rest of his life. He looked up at you, eyes filled with a hunger and desperation you had never seen before. 

“Yeah? You want me to put a baby here?” He asked you, his big hand falling on your lower stomach as he kissed it. 

“Mhm, yes.” Your heartbeat was as strong as ever, and you were already having a hard time focusing. You needed him to do something and you needed it now. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as his hips involuntarily thrusted into the mattress. His lips kept exploring the lower part of your body as his hands worked on getting rid of your joggers, hands falling on your thighs immediately after to move them to rest on his shoulders. 

“Please, I need you so bad,” you begged, and he assumed you were asking him to pay attention to your poor pussy, which you were, but his mouth is not what you needed right now, so you stopped him after one firm lick. “Inside me.”

“As you wish, my love.” 

He got off the bed to quickly discard his clothes as you did the same with your bra, falling back on the bed as you eagerly waited for him. You felt like his gaze was piercing you as he lowered his body, pressing himself against you.

You moaned in anticipation, your arms wrapped around his neck as you felt your pussy starting to drip with desire. He moved his fingers along your sides and all the way down to your hole, collecting your wetness and spreading everywhere, finally getting to your clit as he rubbed soft circles for a moment.

He moved his mouth to your chest, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he whimpered, and his mind instantly went to how sensitive and full they would be once you were pregnant, and he couldn’t wait any longer. “You look so fucking sexy tonight, sweetheart... I wanna fuck you so bad.” He was practically drooling as his fingers left your pussy and grabbed his cock, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it to your entrance.

You couldn’t help your gaze dropping to his member, already swollen at the tip and bubbling with precum. It seemed impossible, but you were sure you had never needed him this bad.

He pushed into you, making both of you moan loudly as his eyes met yours for a moment before pressing a kiss on your lips, whispering a little “I love you.”

He didn’t give you that long to adjust. His hands went under your ass, moving you up and down his cock. As if your sex life wasn’t already rough, the intention he had in mind just made him go crazier, because the way he was thrusting into you was bound to leave you sore for days. 

The room was filled with whimpers and slick noises the whole time, moans of each other’s names joining from time to time. “Gonna fill you up so good,” he breathed, his hands squeezing your ass, “fuck, can’t wait to see your tummy grow.” All you could do was moan, the words leaving his mouth putting you under a spell that you could never escape. “Do you want that, love?”

“Uh- huh,” you managed to spit out, fingers drigging into his strong biceps.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

“Fuck- ah. I want you to put a baby in me.” You replied, eyes focusing on what your words did to him.

His hips began to speed up, thrashing your head against the pillows as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot deep inside you. He was so deep you could practically feel him in the pit of your stomach.

“Harder,” you whimpered, and he immediately started to drill into you, the air nearly getting knocked out of your lungs as his grip tightened. 

“You feel so good around me, so so good for me,” he pants, looking down to where you were connected. “Fuck.”

“Ah- Lando.” It felt so good. So good that you are too far out of reality to form any thoughts; you could only think about him and how good he looked above you, with his mouth hung open in pure pleasure as he panted.

One of his hands made its way to your tummy, pressing down where he could feel himself. It was so simple yet so effective; he could feel his cock moving deep inside you. He gragged it further, his fingers catching your clit.

“Fuck,” you let out a broken moan, “just like that.”

He smirked at this; it was like you were begging him to get you pregnant as you began to tighten around him. He knew you were close; he could not only feel it but see it, the way your eyes were squeezed shut as your legs started to quiver.

“You wanna cum? You wanna cum while I fill you up?”

“Fuck,” you screamed as your head frantically nodded. 

“Cum with me, I’m gonna put a baby in there.”

With that, your orgasm began to take over, squeezing around him tighter, triggering his own release. He slowed his movements down and both his hands took a hold of your waist, keeping you in place so you wouldn’t waste a single drop.

Both your moans were even louder as he did his best to continue pushing into you through his orgasm, wanting to pump as much of his seed into you as he possibly could. When he physically couldn’t keep going, he stopped, keeping his cock deep inside you as he tried to catch his breath. 

He looked down at you, a smile adorning his face as he looked down at the mess he made. Slowly, he pulled out, his fingers quickly replacing his cock as he pushed his cum back into you, making you squirm and whimper at how sensitive you were. 

“Gonna have to squeeze for me, love, you gotta keep it inside.” The sight almost made him want to fuck you again; he couldn’t believe how pretty you looked filled up to the brim with his cum.

His eyes locked with yours, fingers going inside his mouth as he licked them clean. He had lost his mind; you were sure of that, but fuck, you couldn’t deny how hot that was.

With a satisfied smirk, he fell next to you, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you once more. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

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[kateschi]

in the stillness

synopsis: after an injury leaves you in the hospital, your husband stays by your side and watches over you, silent for a moment.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: him saying 'my wife' does things to me tbh

the steady beeping of machines fills the quiet hospital room, but katsuki can’t hear anything except the pounding of his own heart.

his eyes stay locked on you, lying still in the bed, wrapped in bandages that make his gut twist every time he looks at them.

he’s sitting beside you, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched like he’s fighting back the urge to scream.

there’s a storm brewing behind his red eyes, and you can feel it—see it in the way his shoulders are tense, in how his leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since he got here.

“you can go home, y’know,” you murmur with a weak smile. “you don’t have to stay.”

his eyes snap to yours, his scowl deepening. “absolutely not,” he growls. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. you think I’m leavin’ you like this?”

you chuckle softly, even though it hurts a little to laugh. “I’m fine, katsuki. it’s just a few bruises. you’ve seen worse.”

“doesn’t matter,” he snaps, but there’s a roughness in his voice, something he’s trying to bury beneath the anger. “it doesn’t mean I’m leavin’. I should've been there faster. you wouldn’t be in this damn bed if I had been.”

you frown at his words, knowing exactly where his mind is going. “katsuki, it wasn’t your fault. I’m a hero too, remember? I know the risks.”

he scoffs, looking away from you, his hands tightening into fists on his knees. “don’t give me that crap. I’m supposed to have your back, and I didn’t. I was too slow.”

his voice wavers for a split second, and you see the guilt eating him alive.

“hey,” you say softly, reaching out to grab his hand. he flinches at the contact, not because he doesn’t want it, but because it’s you—hurt, reaching out to comfort him when it should be the other way around.

“I’m fine, katsuki,” you repeat, squeezing his hand gently. “you got there. that’s what matters.”

his gaze locks onto yours, fierce and frustrated. “no, what matters is that you wouldn’t be here if I’d been quicker. I shoulda seen it comin’. should've—”

you shake your head, cutting him off. “stop. you’re beating yourself up over something you couldn’t control.”

“that’s bullshit,” he snaps, standing up abruptly, pacing in the small space between the bed and the wall. his hands run through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. “I wasn’t fast enough. you could’ve died, because of me being too slow.”

the words hang heavy in the air, and you can see how much they’re weighing on him, tearing at him. this is katsuki at his rawest—angry not because of anyone else, but at himself.

he’s always been his harshest critic, and now, seeing you hurt, he’s taking all that anger out on himself.

you sit up a little, despite the dull ache that runs through your body. “but I didn’t, katsuki. I’m right here. you saved me.”

he stops pacing, standing still, his back to you. his shoulders are tense, and you can hear him take a deep breath, trying to reign in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

when he finally turns around, his face is a mixture of anger and vulnerability—two emotions he’s never been good at handling.

“damn it,” he mutters, stalking back toward you. he sits on the edge of the bed this time, closer than before, and his hand finds yours again, this time holding on a little tighter.

“you don’t get it, y/n. I can’t—” his voice falters, and for a second, you see something crack in his usual tough demeanor.

“I can’t just sit here and act like it’s no big deal,” he says quietly. “seein’ you like that… I’m supposed to be stronger. supposed to be the one protectin’ you, and I couldn’t even do that right.”

your heart aches at how hard he’s being on himself, but you know this is how katsuki is. he carries the weight of responsibility like it’s his personal burden to bear, and any sign of failure hits him harder than it should.

you squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “you didn’t fail, katsuki. you got there. you stopped it before it got worse. that’s all I need.”

he doesn’t respond for a moment, just stares down at your intertwined hands, his thumb running over your knuckles absentmindedly. there’s a long silence before he speaks again, this time softer, more controlled.

“you’re my wife,” he mutters, almost like he’s reminding himself of it. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. you don’t get to get hurt like this.”

you smile, tugging lightly on his hand to bring him closer. “and I’m supposed to protect you too. we’re in this together, remember?”

he huffs, clearly still not happy with himself, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a little. “yeah, yeah,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair again.

but his hand never leaves yours, gripping it tightly like he’s afraid to let go.

“you’re not gettin’ rid of me,” he says after a long pause, his voice a little lighter now, though the worry is still there, lingering under the surface. “I’m stayin’ here until they force me out. and don’t even think about tryin’ to convince me otherwise.”

you laugh softly, the sound easing some of the heaviness in the room. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

for a moment, neither of you says anything, just sitting there in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s still watching you like he’s waiting for something to go wrong, but you know he’ll calm down eventually.

he’s stubborn, protective, and always pushing himself harder than anyone else. but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

“rest, will ya?” he mutters after a while, his voice softer now. “I’ll be right here.”

you nod, letting your eyes close as you feel the exhaustion start to catch up to you. his hand is still holding yours, warm and solid, a constant reminder that he’s there, just like always.

you can barely catch him raising your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[skyrigel]

“Sweet nothing”

Pairing: Benjicot “davos” blackwood x fem!reader

Benji masterlist

Between war, blood and chaos, your husband founds himself running home to your sweet nothing.

Nsfw, Benji being a tease but absolutely feral for you, bath chamber hinted sex, kissing and biting, nudtidy, groping, consent is sexy, domesticated!ben, fancast! Benji.

“ Darling, did you miss me ? ” You opened your eyes to find your lord husband strolling in your bath chambers.

All the servants were walking out with their head bowed down and knowing closed smiles, Benji grinned when he caught your eye, before he trailed his gaze down at your naked body, drinking you in with a smug tug of his lips, rubbing his jaw.

“ I missed you.” you breathed, feeling your heart ache to touch him, to hold him, to breathe him in.

You were beginning to get out of water when Ben shaked his head, mouthing a 'love' before stripping off his clothes, one by one.

He was being torturous with the pace, he knew well how driven you were, your mouth agape as you saw him, so so long. He tossed his tunic, because teasing you was one of his greatest amusement, but then again, he was dying to be in your embrace and let everything mute in the background, and regardless to say how pretty you looked, like those sirens they talked about, luring him and he would, he would crawl and beg and plead and surrender, for you he was insane.

“ My lord.” you whispered, giving him that, ‘I'll never sleep with you again’ look and it only took a moment before he was stepping down in the bath, beaming.

His naked body disappearing in the mist of water, you followed his movements, his smile climbing to a grin as he reached you, taking your hand and pressing it to his chest. Beneath your palm his heart was beating for you, loud and rhythmic.

“ You have no idea how much I missed you.” you pressed a soft kiss on his chest, just near a bluish bruised wound. You hoped they were all dead, all of them who hurt him.

“ you can always give me a idea, don't you think my lady.” He pouted, sensing your worry as he lifted you chin with his finger tip, eyes sparkling with mischief, you pushed forward your hands to cup his face, needless to say about him. He was everywhere, cupping your ass cheeks to kneading your breast, pulling your waist as he placed sweet kisses all over, like a starved man and he was, a very starved man for your love, your affection, your body and all of your sweet nothings.

“ I missed this.” he bited at the crook your neck, you arched back, allowing more access.

“ And ? ” you asked because Benji liked that, liked knowing everything that swirled in your mind, to know what you thought about everything and nothing.

You couldn't see him as he was sliding down your body, open mouthed kisses all over your skin while you tugged at his soft hair, but you knew how stupidly he would have smiled.

“ And this.” he bumped his nose to your navel, looking up to meet your gaze.

“ Tell me more.” you whined, dropping your head back, Benji wrapped your legs around his waist, taking you out of the water as he laid you on the floor, climbing over you.

“ More ? ” He smiled, leaning to kiss your nose tip, then claiming your in hard embrace and clatter of souls, his lips soft and warm and sweet.

You were flushed under him, you didn't dare look between him and you because the hard length that pressed against your thigh was enough proof of how madly you drived him crazy.

Benji watched as your breath hiccuped in your throat, watching your heart swell and eyes dazed with lust, like blown back.

“say it my sweet love.” He was propped on his elbows on either side of your head, his own voice shaky, he wanted nothing less to dive inside you, take you all and leave nothing, to devour and to worship you. But he needed you to say it first. “c'mon sweetheart” He nuzzled his nose at the side of your neck, breathing in your scent, humming along.

“ yes...Ben.” you bited your lower lip as his shaft was leaking with pre cum, weakening your legs and the pressure in your pit grew, dazing your senses.

“ huh.” Ben perked up, relaxing in a smirk, pecking down your jaw as he raised one eyebrow, like he didn't listen. Bastard.

“ T-take me.” you demanded and pleaded and that was all he needed to hear, before his lips parted in a gasp, He's bloody going to moan every sweet nothing out of you. Oh, how sweet.

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[luveline]

hi! i just remembered a scene from friends where chandler says to monica it's ok she's high maintenance cause he likes maintaining her and i think this is soooo spencer and bombshell!reader coded. you're ok with writing this as a request? love u jadey

ty (ily)!! fem!reader

Spencer’s feet ache dully with each step he takes, but you have your hand in his, and you’re pulling him along with a smile. Your smile could cure anything, he thinks stupidly. It’s completely outside of his beliefs, goes against every book on medicine he’s ever read. 

“Why are you frowning?” you ask, swinging his hand as you turn the corner together. 

“I’m not.” 

You step closer, arm stuck to his arm, nearly one body walking together against the summer breeze. “You’re frowning, Spence. You have a very obvious pout. It is so so cute.” You lean in to kiss him quickly, his heart turning to a pitter-patter under his ribs. 

“I’m tired,” he explains, not wanting you to think his bad mood has anything to do with you. 

“You’ve had a long day, that’s why. When we get back to your place I’ll give you an incredible foot massage and everything will be okay again.” 

“I don’t want a foot massage. My feet don’t even hurt,” he lies.

“Don’t bother.” You untangle your fingers from his and wave him away. “I know all your tells, baby boy,” —he laughs through a wrinkled nose— “nothing gets past me.” 

“Why’d you choose a dry cleaners so far from your apartment?” he asks. You could’ve picked the one beside work, which has a yellow pages worth of fantastic reviews. The one second closest to his place is new but raved about at length. This dry cleaners is nearly twenty-five blocks away.

“They do things exactly how I like it, I guess. I never have to worry about it when I give them my best clothes, and it’s kind of expensive if they were to accidentally ruin something, right?” You have expensive taste; you like things sturdy, fitted, and fashionable. 

“Do you think I should get someone to do my laundry?” he asks. 

“You can afford it. But maybe not. There’s nothing wrong with your own washing machine and a steamer.” You side eye him carefully. “Maybe I’m over the top.” 

“You’re high maintenance,” he agrees. “Is it expensive, getting your clothes dry cleaned all the time? I could pay for that.” 

“What? Why would you pay for it?” 

“‘Cos we’re together?” He’s more worried than dry about it. “I’d like to pay for your manicures and your hair, too, but I didn’t think you’d let me.”

“And I won’t… s’kind of nice you want to though. Really nice, um.” You’re blinking funny. “I think that’s more of a husband thing. You really want to pay for me to get manicures?” 

Spencer pays for lots of your stuff because he loves you. Good food mostly, but treats, clothes, anything he might think you’re interested in, actually. He likes to spoil you. You tend to spoil him back, if not with money then affection. “I like maintaining you.” 

You curl your arm through his. “That’s a funny way to say it.” 

He laughs at your obvious delight. “I like taking care of you,” he admits. “You like being high maintenance, it makes you happy, and I like making you happy.” 

“Thank you very much,” you say, softer now as your hand works up his neck and you turn his face to you, the sidewalk and the streetlines melting away under your warm touch. “You make me happier than you know.” 

His cheeks turn pink. He doesn’t need to see himself to confirm. It’s a high statistical probability. 

“Kiss?” you ask, voice still soft. 

Spencer walks you back nearer to the side of a building and out of the way, his hands at your neck and waist as he leans down just a touch to close your gap. He acts selfishly, perhaps, taking your hand from his face in order to hold yours in both of his without anything in the way of it. He kisses, he breathes you in, his head tilting more heavily to the side as the kiss lengthens, lingers. You’re like a flower in his hand, blooming slowly under the effects of a little heat. 

“What if you pay for my dry cleaning,” you begin, a smile evident in your voice though Spencer keeps his eyes closed. Tracing the hill of your cheek with his fingers just a moment longer. “And I pay for yours?” 

Spencer thumbs along your jaw. “I don’t want anything from you, just you.” 

“Well, what if I treat us to some Indian takeout tonight?” you ask. “Would you eat that? Or am I enough to sustain you, my love?” 

He could enjoy being taken care of in turn, he thinks. 

[princessbellecerise]

You Kiss Their Scars

Summary ✩ How your lover reacts to you kissing their scars

Warnings ✩ Mentions of violence and blood

Jacaerys Velaryon

You were amused as your lips pressed against the teeth shaped scars, in the shape of tiny little bite marks that Jace explained were from Vermax

“He used to bite me plenty when we shared a crib,” Your husband told you. “He was a nasty little thing. Mother was afraid he’d take a chunk out of my arm—but he never did. He stopped doing it when I bit him back,” He revealed

You giggled as you imagined baby Jace and baby Vermax—both the same size at one point—going at it while Rhaenyra tried to separate them. “So I suppose you’ve both always been temperamental then,” You said

It was no surprise that your husband, who also had quite the temper, related so much to his dragon. The two were one of the same, and you guessed that’s why they got along so well

“Yes,” Jacaerys agreed, a fond smile on his face as he recalled the memories. “We were quite a menacing pair indeed.”

Aegon Targaryen

“She did it again,” Is the only thing Aegon had to tell you in order for you to pull him into your arms, kissing the spot where a nasty red bruise was forming

It was no secret that your husband and his mother did not get along, but never did you think that she would have the audacity to strike him after an argument

It was appalling to you every time it happened, and you wanted nothing more than to march towards her and give the same treatment, Queen be damned

It wasn’t fair that she took out her anger out on Aegon but he begged you, no pleaded with you to not do anything

“It won’t do any good,” He’d tell you sadly, and your heart would ache as you saw the brokenness, the sadness on his face. “She’ll just hate me even more if you act.”

Aemond Targaryen

“Hold still.”

You jutted your tounge out in concentration as you cleaned Aemond’s scar, making sure that it was sanitized properly for the day

Your husband trusting you with such a thing was an act of love itself. The fact that he trusted you to see his deepest insecurity meant alot to you, and all you could do to repay him and hopefully bring up his spirits was pepper light kisses on the skin surrounding it

“There, all done.”

“Thank you, my love,” Aemond smiled slightly as he touched the spots were your lips touched, still wondering how he got so lucky as to find someone like you

Cregan Stark

“Ow! Be gentle, woman,” Cregan said playfully, wincing as you brushed over his ‘scar’ with a wet cloth

Somehow, for some reason, your dear husband thought it would be funny to wrestle with his dire wolf and then he had the nerve to come crawling to you, asking you to patch up his wounds after the beast had bitten him

Of course, it wasn’t really that big of a deal and Cregan wasn’t really hurt, but you still smirked as you pressed a kiss to it like it was a real wound

“There. That should ease some of the pain, you big baby,” You teased, rolling your eyes

Cregan chuckled as he checked your work, looking at the bandage you had placed over some ointment

“What do you suppose it’ll look like when it heals?” He asked you seriously

“It’ll look like you simply have a freckle, Creagn,” You responded sarcastically, and then you giggled as he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap

“Don’t make fun me, wife. You should be proud,” He said, flexing the arm where the bite was. “How many men do you know have taken on such a beast and lived to tell the tale?”

“Only you, husband. Only you.” You snorted at his dramatics, wondering just what you were going to do with your silly, drama queen of a husband

Benjicot Blackwood

There was reason they called your husband ‘Bloody Ben’

You found this out when one day, he came limping home after solving a conflict in the Riverlands, covered in wounds and blood—so much blood

Thankfully, most of it wasn’t his but Benji still did have a few wounds that needed looking after

The Maester was busy, having been sent by your husband to tend to the other men, so you got the pleasure of dragging him to your chambers, making sure that he was clean before you began to stitch him up

The entire time you worked, Benji barely even flinched which amazed you

By the time that you were done with his top half, he’d barely said a word or complained which led to you kissing over a few of his stitches as a reward

“What was that for?” He asked in wonder, a small blush on his cheeks while you grinned

“That, my love, is for being such a good patient,” You told him cheekily, and you did not expect what Benji did next

Standing up, he loosened his trousers and then he grinned as he pointed at the area beneath his small clothes

“Well in that case, I’ll need plenty of kisses here, too. No promises that I won’t move if you touch me there though.”

“Benji!”