#and no sometimes you don’t need to have everything at hand’s reach

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

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

@daydreamerwoah

[soeyekonic]

— ✩♬ ₊˚. TE PERDÍ ⭑

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary daniela messed up- badly. now, she’s standing in the rain, desperate to fix what she broke. but sometimes, wounds don’t heal, and some love stories don’t get second chances.

disclaimers: angst... because it's fun. cheater daniela (sorry), i used lizeth selene as a face claim, but there is no physical description in the fic, so you can imagine whoever!

01. 25. 25 10:43 pm

"hey, y/n... it's me. again."

"i know you probably won't listen to this, but i just -fuck, i don't know. i don't even know why i keep calling. i just- i can't stop thinking about you."

"i messed up, i know that. but please, just call me back."

01. 27. 25 12:17 am

"saw your post today. you looked good... happy."

"i mean, i guess that's the whole point, right? you're moving on. you're showing me that you don't need me. but-"

" - i need you."

"please, y/n. just let me talk to you."

2:04 am

"you wanna know the worst part?"

"i wake up, every morning, reaching for you. i still sleep on my side of the bed like you're gonna walk in any second and crawl under the covers like you used to... like we didn't fuck everything up."

"like i didn't fuck everything up."

"just tell me how to fix it... please. tell me what to do. say anything. say you hate me... just... don't leave me in silence."

—

you stared at you phone, thumb hovering over the play button on the next voicemail. 4:38 am. you don't press it. you already knew what it would play.

another broken apology. another desperate plea.

you should've blocked her. you should've deleted these messages days ago.

but some part of you -maybe the part that still remembered how daniela used to whisper 'I love you' against you skin- couldn't bring yourself to do it.

not just yet.

a loud knock at the door made you jump, breaking you out of a trance.

you already knew who it was.

you debated ignoring it, letting her stand out there in the rain until she finally got the message. But you knew dani. you knew she wouldn't leave until she had her answer.

exhaling sharply, you opened the door.

and there she was.

daniela avanzini. drenched, from head to toe, rain dripping from her lashes. her hoodie, soaked through

but her eyes- they were what undid you the most.

they weren't cocky, weren't full of the usual cheeriness daniela held.

they were just...pleading.

"y/n..." her voice was hoarse- desperate. "please."

you didn't say anything.

daniela swallowed hard, shifting on her feet. "can i-just five minutes. that's all i'm asking."

you hesitated. but then stepped aside.

daniela entered, dripping water onto the floor, but neither of you seem to care. she was too focused on you- like she was scared you'd disappear if she looked away.

"i fucked up," daniela started, voice raw. "i know that. and i know i don't deserve a second chance, but i need you to hear me."

you crossed her arms. "fine."

daniela let out a shaky breath. "i was an idiot, okay? i thought... i thought i could have it all. you. the group. the late nights. the fans." her voice grew quieter. "the girls."

you clenched your jaw.

daniela noticed and stepped closer, eyes shining. "but it wasn't real. none of it was real, y/n. it was just- just...bullshit. and by the time i realized that, by the time i realized you were the only real thing i had -" she stopped, shaking her head. "it was too late."

you inhaled sharply. "you cheated on me, dani." the words cut through the air like a blade.

daniela flinched. "I know." her voice was barely a whisper. "but i need you to know that it didn't mean anything. that she didn't mean anything."

you scoffed. "and i'm supposed to believe that?"

daniela's face crumpled. "you're supposed to believe that i love you."

you looked away, blinking hard. "you don't do that to someone you love."

daniela exhaled shakily. "i was scared.

you chuckled, head snapped up. "of what?"

daniela ran a hand through her wet curls, frustration flashing across her face. "of getting too close. of needing you more than i should." her voice cracked. "and i did. i needed you. and i fucked it up because i was too stupid to realize that needing you wasn't a weakness-"

all you could do is stare at her.

daniela stepped forward, hesitantly, like she wasn't sure if she was still allowed to.

"i can be better. i want to be better. for you. for us." she swallowed hard. "just give me one more chance."

you let out a bitter laugh. "one more chance?" you shook your head. "do you know how many times i've given you one more chance? how many times i let the late-night texts slide? the flirting? the bullshit excuses?"

daniela's shoulders sank.

"i loved you, daniela" you whispered. "god, i loved you..." your voice wavered. "and all i ever wanted was for you to love me enough to choose me. just me."

daniela's breath hitched.

"but you didn't." you swallowed the lump in your throat. "and i'm not gonna be the girl who keeps waiting for you to figure it out."

daniela took a step forward, eyes shining with something desperate. "but i have figured it out." her voice was breaking now, cracking under the weight of it all. "i choose you, y/n. i choose you right now. please, don't let this be the end."

your eyes burned. you wanted to believe her.

gosh, you wanted to.

But you couldn't.

you had spent too many nights waiting. too many nights wondering if you was enough.

and you refuse to do it again.

you exhaled softly. "i can't daniela."

daniela sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly. "y/n-"

"i can't," you repeated, firmer this time. "i won't."

daniela's face crumpled. for a second, she looked like she might argue again, like she might drop to her knees if it meant you would take her back.

but she didn't.

instead, she let out a slow, shuddering breath and nodded.

daniela glanced at the door, then back at you, memorizing you like it was the last time she'd ever see you.

because it was.

and when she finally turned and walked out, you didn't stop her.

you let the door close.

and outside, the rain kept falling.

and somewhere on your phone, another voicemail went unheard.

"i know i couldn't give you what you gave me”

“and even though i'm dying to have you here, i know i lost you... te perdí"

a/n: te perdí was literally the best song from rebelde. netflix was messy for not putting it on spotify. also this is my first time writing a fic so please lmk how it was 😭🙏

[mommyslittlebird]

Oral fixation

A cut segment from my stepmom!Wanda x reader fic (hopefully coming soon)

Cw: stepmom!Wanda, oral fixation, MOMMY ISSUES, Wanda defends the oral stage and is high key jealous of R’s actual mom. This one’s a little Freudian.

Stepmommy Wanda, seeing the way you lick your lips when you catch a glimpse of her bare chest. She watches you struggle with the sudden urge to have something in your mouth. She chuckles a little as your fingers “subtly” find their way into your mouth. It was silly. 22 was way too old to be having these urges. But it was sticking in your brain like an itch nonetheless.

You whine when she grabs your wrist and gently pulls your fingers away. Your face burns with a deep red blush as you realize she caught you. You furiously try to hide your face away, but instead you’re gently guided back to her chest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy understands,” she soothes. “See, sometimes when mommies don’t feed their babies their milk like they’re supposed to, their babies still need to be nursed even when they grow up.”

Your face grows hot and you hide against her chest. She couldn’t seriously be okay with this, could she?

“It’s okay sweetheart. You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she assures, lifting your head and looking into your hazy eyes. “You’re too little to understand, honey. Just leave all the big girl thoughts to mommy, okay?”

You hesitantly make your way towards an exposed nipple, taking it between your lips. The relief was immediate. You thought you’d never suck on your fingers again if this was the alternative. You couldn’t help but melt into her arms.

Wanda hums in satisfaction, combing her fingers through your hair. She reaches her other hand down to caress the swell of your stomach, pretending it was filling itself with her milk. Her chest was empty, of course, but she enjoyed the fantasy regardless. What a magical thing it would be if she could provide her precious little angel with sustenance.

She was both furious and envious of your actual mother, who had every opportunity to care for you like this, and didn’t. She would’ve been so better, she thought. She would’ve cared for you like the miracle you were. But now was not a time for fury or envy. She had everything she ever wanted right here.

“Mmm that’s a good girl. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’re doing such a good job letting mommy take care of you. I’m sorry you didn’t have a good mommy when you were little. But it’s okay. I’m here now, honey. I’m gonna take much better care of you.”

[meadowfics]

doomed by the narrative

kang sae-byeok x f!reader

this is a prequel to this fic I have written for sae-byeok

warnings: comforting prequel.

you and sae byeok were a team.

always had been. always would be.

two shadows slipping through seoul, stealing just enough to keep yourselves afloat, just enough to survive another day.

neither of you were proud of it, but pride didn't keep the heat on or food in your stomachs.

survival came first.

sae byeok was the strategist. she knew the streets, the markets, and the blind spots in convenience stores for someone who has not lived here for long.

she timed everything to the second, knew when the shopkeepers got distracted and when the security cameras turned away.

you were the distraction, the one with the quick hands and quicker tongue.

she hated when you made yourself the center of attention, but she never stopped you.

"you're going to get yourself killed one day,"

she'd mutter after you slipped a wallet from someone's coat and passed it to her as you walked.

"not as long as you're around,"

you'd reply, bumping your shoulder against hers.

she'd roll her eyes, but you caught the flicker of amusement in them.

nights were spent roaming the city together, dodging police, avoiding the places where debt collectors lingered.

when the cold got unbearable, you'd sneak into subway stations and sit on the farthest benches, hands tucked into each other's sleeves for warmth.

"we should go somewhere warm one day,"

you murmured once, watching people step onto a train you couldn't afford.

"somewhere far,"

sae byeok agreed.

every few days, she'd visit cheol.

you never went inside with her, never got too close, but you always walked her there.

always stood across the street, hands stuffed in your pockets, waiting while she sat with her little brother by the park that the orphanage owned.

sae byeok's face was soft with cheol in a way you never saw anywhere else.

sometimes, she’d come back to you, eyes shining like she was holding back tears.

"he’s getting bigger,"

she'd say, and you'd squeeze her fingers between yours.

"he’s safe,"

you always reminded her.

the debt was always there, hanging over your heads, but sae byeok had a way of making it feel small.

she promised you that things would be fine, that you'd figure it out.

so you believed her. as long as she was beside you, you believed anything.

"you’re all i need,"

you whispered to her once, late at night, on the rooftop of an abandoned building where you both sometimes hid.

"don’t be stupid,"

she said, but her fingers curled tighter around yours.

the last time you saw her before everything changed, you were walking her home.

the streets were quieter than usual, the buzz of the city muted under flickering streetlights.

sae byeok’s shoulders were tense, like they always were when she thought too much about the future.

"you staying?"

she asked when you reached her building.

you hesitated. you always stayed with sae byeok each night.

tonight, you had somewhere else to be.

"I can't tonight.. I have to see my family since its my sister's birthday,"

you said, shifting on your feet.

sae byeok nodded, but there was something in her expression.. something unreadable.

"don’t take too long," she said finally.

"wouldn’t dream of it."

after a kiss goodbye, you walked away, hands deep in your pockets, already counting down the hours until you'd be back by her side.

then, in the subway, he found you.

the man in the suit.

the game.

the card.

the beginning of the end.

you never made it back to her apartment. you never got the chance.

you did not see sae-byeok again until the start of the games, inside of the hellhole that would ruin anything good you've ever had.

the second part to this fic

[777bae]

THE RIGHT MOMENT WILL SMITH

Summary :: In a quiet moment with Will, the world around you fades as he leans in for a kiss, turning a simple touch into something deeper—something both of you have secretly longed for. (REQUESTED :: prompt 11)

Warnings :: kissing

Word count :: 2.1k

The evening air carries a cool, crisp bite, but it’s not enough to dull the warmth that spreads through you as you walk alongside Will. The arena’s sounds still echo in your mind—shouts from the crowd, the scrape of skates against ice—but here, out on the quiet streets of San Jose, everything feels calmer, more intimate.

You keep your hands buried in the pockets of your jacket, your steps slow but sure as you walk alongside him. For the first time tonight, the thrill of the game feels far away, and it’s as if the world around you has shrunk to just the two of you, caught in the spell of the post-game glow.

Will’s laughter fills the silence between you. “So, what do you think? Pretty good for a rookie, huh?” He raises an eyebrow in your direction, a playful glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes with a smirk, despite the flutter of something you can’t quite name curling up inside you. “A rookie, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now? You’ve been playing hockey for what, a few years?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, the motion casual but confident. “Just getting started,” he teases, nudging you gently with his shoulder.

It’s the way he’s always been—lighthearted, charming in that effortlessly disarming way—but there’s something different tonight. Something underlying in the way he looks at you, the way his smile lingers a little longer than it usually does. You can feel it, too—an energy that shifts the atmosphere around you, making your skin feel just a little bit warmer.

There’s an undeniable pull between the two of you, something deeper than just camaraderie or friendship. You can’t deny the way your heart races a little faster every time his hand brushes against yours, how his laughter sends a wave of warmth through you, or how his presence has become something you can’t quite imagine your life without.

You think you’ve known him well—his jokes, his competitive spirit, his dry sense of humor—but now, in this quiet moment between the two of you, you realize there’s a lot more to him. Something behind those blue eyes that’s been there all along but never quite surfaced.

Will falls quiet as you both make your way to the park, his gaze flickering toward the water. He seems to be thinking about something, lost in thought, and it’s then that you realize you’ve never truly understood him—not the way you want to, at least.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice soft as you step up next to him, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability that you’re not sure how to navigate.

He exhales, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and you watch him closely. “Just thinking,” he says quietly. “About the game, mostly.”

But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t quite match his words, a faint sadness or exhaustion that you can’t quite place. You reach out, instinctively, placing a hand on his arm. The warmth of your touch seems to pull him from his thoughts, and he looks down at you, surprised but not pulling away.

“You know you don’t have to carry all that weight on your own, right?”

Will’s eyes soften, and for the first time tonight, he looks at you with something raw, something unguarded. His smile falters, just for a second. “I know,” he says, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. “But sometimes… it’s hard.”

You don’t push him for more; instead, you just stand there with him, offering him the kind of quiet comfort you know he needs. There’s something sacred about this—about sharing these unspoken moments.

It’s then that Will looks back at you fully, his eyes catching yours with a depth that sends a flutter through your chest. For a second, time seems to slow. The air feels thicker, heavier, and every nerve in your body feels electric.

He’s standing closer now, and the space between you feels smaller than it ever has before.

“I don’t know what it is about tonight,” Will says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “But I feel… like everything’s different.”

You meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. You know exactly what he means.

Everything about tonight feels different. The way his hand brushes against yours when he speaks, the way his eyes linger on yours a little longer than usual, the way your heart skips a beat each time he smiles at you. There’s an unspoken tension hanging between you now—raw, intense, and impossibly close.

He steps forward, and you instinctively mirror his movement, closing the distance until there’s barely any space between you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You can see the question there—unsaid but clear. And you realize, for the first time, that the answer is already on the tip of your tongue.

Before you can respond, Will reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he presses too hard. And for a brief moment, you close your eyes, letting yourself savor the feel of him so close. The steady rhythm of his breath, the warmth of his hand, the feeling that you’re standing at the edge of something monumental.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” Will says, his voice so low it sends a shiver down your spine.

The words hang in the air like a delicate thread, each syllable weighted with sincerity. His voice is hushed, almost like he’s afraid the world will hear him, but it’s also full of longing—raw, untamed, and vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard from him before.

You feel it—the undeniable pull of his presence, the tension between you that’s been building up ever since the game ended. The world around you feels distant now, muted as if you’re caught in a moment that’s too powerful for anything to intrude. It’s just the two of you, standing in the park with the quiet sound of waves lapping at the dock. The city’s busy hum is a faint backdrop, but all you can hear is his voice, so close, and the thudding of your own heart in your chest.

You stand frozen, your heart hammering in your chest as the air between you seems to thicken with every passing second. The words he’s just spoken seem to echo in your mind, over and over, almost like you’re afraid they’ll disappear if you don’t pay attention to them. You’ve known, deep down, that something has been building between you two for a while now, but hearing him say it out loud—so simply, so honestly—makes everything click into place. The confusion, the unspoken tension, the electricity that you’ve both been dancing around for what feels like forever.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re both caught in the weight of it. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, and you’re caught in his eyes—those deep blue pools that seem to see straight through you, to the very heart of your soul. It’s like the world outside you no longer matters. There’s just him. And you. And the unspoken truth that lingers between you.

His chest rises and falls as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for your response. You can feel the way his entire body is attuned to you, like he’s waiting for a signal, a sign that this moment is right. And you know—without a doubt—that it is.

You step forward, just a fraction, your body instinctively responding to the pull. You’re not sure what’s happening anymore, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His words, his presence, the feeling that everything has been building up to this exact moment. It’s like all the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you lean in closer. The space between you feels impossibly small, and then, in a heartbeat, your lips meet his.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, like neither of you wants to rush through it. There’s something soft and delicate about it, as if you’re both savoring the moment, uncertain and yet so sure at the same time. His lips are warm against yours, gently pressing in, and you feel your heart skip a beat, the thrum of his presence filling every part of you. His touch is tender, almost unsure, like he’s testing the waters, trying to gauge how far he can go. And you can’t help but let out a quiet breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to him.

You feel his hand gently cup the back of your neck, his fingers brushing over your skin, sending a ripple of warmth through you. It’s a simple touch, but it’s enough to send your pulse racing, to ignite something deep inside of you that you’ve been trying to ignore. His fingers press lightly into the nape of your neck, urging you closer, and you respond without thinking, your arms slipping around his waist, pulling him in just as tightly. You can feel the steady beat of his heart against your chest, the intensity of the moment taking over everything else.

The kiss deepens, and it’s everything you’ve imagined and more. His lips move against yours with a sense of urgency now, as if he’s afraid it might slip away, and you can’t help but melt into him, your body pressing closer, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket. Every inch of you is on fire, every sense heightened as the kiss becomes more passionate, more intense. The slow burn ignites, spreading through you like wildfire.

You lose yourself in him, in the heat of the kiss, in the electricity that zips between you both. It���s not just about the physicality—it’s everything. The emotion, the need, the unspoken words that have been building up for far too long. It’s everything you’ve been holding back, everything that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

Will exhales into the kiss, the sound soft, almost relieved, as if he’s been holding his breath this entire time, waiting for the moment to be right. It’s a sound that resonates deep within you, filling you with warmth. His hand moves from your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing over the curve of your cheek, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, the care he’s taking with you. It’s like he’s savoring every second, making sure it’s everything he’s been wanting and more.

The kiss becomes slower, more deliberate now, as if he’s afraid to break the spell, afraid that if he pulls away, it might all vanish. But it’s impossible to ignore the way your body is responding to him—how the kiss is no longer just a simple connection, but a release, a moment where all the tension, all the longing, finally finds its resolution.

And yet, despite the intensity, it’s gentle. There’s something tender about the way he holds you, the way he’s kissing you as if you’re something precious, something he’s been waiting for. It’s like every part of him is pouring into this kiss, into this moment, and you feel it all—the depth of it, the emotion behind it, the desire.

Eventually, he pulls away, just a little, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you breathing heavily, your faces flushed, your lips still tingling from the contact. The space between you is just as charged, even though your lips are no longer touching. Will’s eyes are closed for a moment, his breath shallow as if he’s gathering himself, trying to calm the storm that’s rushing through both of you.

He opens his eyes, and they’re softer now, almost vulnerable, as if something inside him has shifted. He looks at you like he’s seeing you for the first time, or perhaps like he’s finally allowing himself to see you in a way he hasn’t before.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve just been… waiting for the right moment.”

His words are raw, unguarded, and they hit you like a wave, crashing over you in a rush. The weight of everything he’s been carrying, everything he’s been holding back, is suddenly so clear, so real. You can feel it—his desire, his fear, his hope—and it makes your chest tighten with emotion.

You smile softly, a warmth spreading through you at his admission. Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, gently brushing over his skin. “I think the right moment is now,” you whisper, your voice steady but filled with the depth of everything that’s been building between you two.

Will chuckles softly, his lips curling into that familiar grin that makes your heart flutter. “I think you’re right,” he replies, his voice still laced with the same mixture of relief and wonder.

And as the night stretches on, the world around you seems to fall away. The city’s lights twinkle softly in the distance, the sounds of life are distant, fading into the background, and all that remains is the feeling of him—so close, so real.

[xoxostiles]

Bellamy Blake — The Protector

🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀

Bellamy Blake doesn’t just protect with words or empty promises—he protects with action, with instinct, with everything he has. It’s in his blood to keep the people he loves safe, but with you? It’s different. It’s deeper. Because losing you once nearly destroyed him, and he refuses to let it happen again.

1. Physical Protection – He’s Always Between You and Danger

Bellamy doesn’t just stand by when there’s a threat—he moves. Always putting himself between you and danger, always the first to react. If a fight breaks out, his body is already shielding yours. If there’s a gunshot, his first instinct is to push you down and cover you.

It’s automatic. Instinctual.

• If the Grounders attack, he’s in front of you.

• If you’re injured, he’s carrying you.

• If someone threatens you, he’s ready to put a knife to their throat.

He doesn’t care who it is—enemy, ally, even a member of his own camp—if they make you feel unsafe, he’s making it very clear that won’t fly.

“Say that again,” his voice drops, dark and dangerous, stepping closer to whoever dared disrespect you. “See what happens.”

Bellamy isn’t reckless—he knows when to pick his battles—but when it comes to you, there is no battle too small.

2. The Subtle, Everyday Protection – He Watches Everything

Bellamy’s protectiveness isn’t always loud. It’s in the little things:

• He watches you. Constantly, even when you think he isn’t. He notices the way your hands shake when you’re exhausted, how you wince when you’re injured but try to hide it, how you shrink into yourself when you’re overwhelmed.

• He keeps you close. Whether it’s walking beside you instead of in front, keeping a hand on your lower back, or making sure you sleep next to him at camp—Bellamy is always within reach.

• He makes sure you eat. He’ll push extra rations your way, hand you a piece of fruit without a word, or glare until you take a bite. “I don’t care if you’re not hungry,” he mutters. “Eat.”

• He makes sure you rest. If you’re running yourself into the ground, he’ll step in—dragging you away from whatever you’re doing, sitting you down, and pressing a water bottle into your hands. “Five minutes. Just breathe.”

3. The Way He Fights for You – Even Against Yourself

Sometimes, the biggest threat isn’t the world—it’s you. Bellamy knows that better than anyone.

If you’re spiraling, if you start blaming yourself for things out of your control, he won’t let it slide. He won’t let you carry the weight alone.

“You’re not doing this.” His voice is sharp, but his hands are gentle as they frame your face, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t get to act like you’re alone in this. You have me.”

He means it.

He sees you, even when you’re trying to hide. He knows your tells—the way your shoulders tense when you’re overwhelmed, the way your breath hitches when you’re about to break. And before you can push him away, he’s already pulling you in.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, arms wrapping around you, strong and steady. “I got you.”

Because no matter what happens, no matter what battles you face—you will never fight alone again.

4. The Jealous, Overprotective Side – “She’s With Me.”

Bellamy isn’t the kind of guy who gets jealous easily—but when he does? You know it.

He doesn’t need to say much. Sometimes, it’s just the way he stands a little closer when someone flirts with you, how his hand finds your waist, fingers pressing just enough to remind you he’s there. Other times? It’s not so subtle.

• If someone won’t take a hint, Bellamy steps in, gaze dark and unforgiving. “She’s with me.” His voice is low, a warning, a promise.

• If someone so much as touches you the wrong way, he’s throwing punches. No hesitation. No remorse.

• And later, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll grip your chin, tilting your face to his. “You don’t let them talk to you like that, you hear me?” His thumb brushes your cheek, voice softer now. “You’re mine.”

It’s not about possession—it’s about protection. About making sure you never doubt just how much you mean to him.

5. The Ultimate Promise – “I Won’t Lose You Again.”

Bellamy has lost too much. His mother. His childhood. He lost you once, and he swore he’d never let it happen again.

That promise isn’t just words—it’s in everything he does.

• It’s in the way he pulls you against him at night, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

• It’s in the way his lips brush your forehead, lingering as if to remind himself you’re real.

• It’s in the way he fights for you, every single day.

And if you ever doubt it, if you ever think for even a second that he wouldn’t burn the world down for you—he’ll prove you wrong. Every time.

🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀 - 🎀

xoxo Alexa <3.

[grayskies2525]

Inevitable (male sneezing, contagion) | Part 3/4

Here we continue to follow Evan through the worst cold of his life. There will be one more part after this!

Part one Part two

Another obvious CW for mess!

Word count: 2,200

*** 

Part 3

Bed.

A single monosyllabic word that currently means everything to Evan. The mere thought of having a bed to come home to after his shift is the only thing keeping him going. 

He stands now with his gaze unfocused off in the distance as he tries to even out his breaths. He’s been at the front registers for an hour and he’d estimate he’s sneezed twenty times at least. He’s had the good sense to keep tissues on his person at all times. There’s one tissue that’s been living out its life in Evan’s left hand for a good while now. Evan has deemed this his “wiping” tissue, using it for a quick swipe, or sometimes to clasp it desperately against his nose in efforts not to send a deluge of fluid onto the items he scans. He refuses to blow into this tissue. No, that’s a job for the fresh tissues — the tissues he allows himself to pluck from the box he keeps next to him. These are the tissues he quickly disposes into the  — now close to overflowing — wastebasket.  

Then there’s the tissues he sneezes into. He keeps these in the pocket on the right side of the jacket he’d slipped on earlier when he’d started feeling chilly. He figures it’d be a waste to throw these tissues away if they’re only coated in a light mist. There’s, of course, been many tissues that haven’t survived some of Evans more… forceful sneezes. The tissues with holes or an abundance of thick stickiness were fated for the wastebasket that has now, effectively, become a tissue cemetery. 

God, he just wants to go to bed. And maybe have a bowl of hot soup — tomato soup with Goldfish crackers, and possibly a grilled cheese sandwich to go along with it. But, then, he’d have to make the soup and sandwich and in his current state, he’d rather die of starvation than put in that effort. Maybe Marcus will take pity on him and make it. It doesn’t even need to be homemade. Surely they have a can of Campbell’s somewhere in the cabinet. 

“EDT’shuuuuHHH!”

Evan feels proud the sneeze, while coming on too quickly for him to cover, is only a fine spray. Sure, it does absolutely drench the store’s phone, but in comparison to what was happening to Evan earlier, this is practically nothing. His constant tissue use has kept away the more viscous type of mucus from shooting out of him. He spares a moment to contemplate how he’s reached the point where he considers sneezing all over a phone to be a success just because it wasn’t accompanied by strings of snot.

Kate, one of the associates working the registers today, sighs as she sees him trying to wipe off the phone with a tissue. “I’d tell you to go home, but I know you can’t. But, listen, you’re going to start a literal outbreak at this rate. Like, I’d be surprised if everyone in town doesn’t come down with this thing in a few days time. So, would you consider wearing a mask? There’s a box in the break room.”

Evan stares at her. Yes, wearing a mask would prevent spreading the virus, but that would only work if he could keep the thing on.

“Uh, I don’t really know if that’s feasible, Kate,” he says, wiping his nose with the tissue he has on hand, as if to illustrate his point.

Kate stares at him, her mouth in a thin line. “Well, you should try. It’ll at least give the impression that you’re attempting not to spread your cold to all our customers.”

Evan sighs heavily before turning and heading off to the break room.

* * *

The problem with masks is that their main purpose is to prevent droplets dispersing when people speak, cough, or — of course — breathe. Evan imagines they could be good at preventing sneeze spray from entering the air, providing the sneezes are the light and misty type. Otherwise, after a few sneezes, a person is going to have to dispose of the mask and get a new one— which would be fine if the person only sneezed here and there.

Evan is not sneezing here and there.

“AHD’tshhhUUUHHHH! ADT’SHHHHH! HEhhh HH HEH EH-TSsSHHHH!”

He notices the warmth first, then the wetness. 

It clings to his face, which forces him into having to smell the strong scent of his own saliva and mucus, both of which are teeming with viruses. He needs the mask off now.

But there’s a customer literally speaking to him. A fact he nearly forgot.

“... And I’m just saying if you don’t want customers to think something is on sale, then you shouldn’t have an ‘on sale’ sign so close to the item.”

Evan snorts thickly and holds up a finger in the universal sign for “wait a minute” as he turns around to pull off his mask. It stubbornly clings to his face, as if glued to it, but he manages to pull it off, though he does have to hold back a gag at the sight he’s met with. He pulls a bunch of tissues out of his pocket — the ones previously reserved for sneezing — and wipes up the mess before turning back around.

He plasters on a smile for the customer. “Yes, I agree that sometimes our signs can create confusion if they’re not properly switched out, or if they are too close to another product. So, refresh my memory — you’re saying you thought this 10 quart air fryer was on sale for… for 15 dollars?” he asks, frowning, trying to actually process the words the woman’s been saying.

“Yes. But that lady over there —” she says pointing to Kate who’s working one of the other POS stations. “Told me the sale was actually for mixing bowls. But if the sale’s for mixing bowls, then the sign should have been closer to the mixing bowls and not the airfryers.”

Evan stares. Something about the woman — perhaps her tone of voice, or her pursed lips and self-righteous looking expression — gives Evan the idea that she knows exactly what she’s doing. There’s no way she thought a three hundred dollar airfryer would be on sale for fifteen dollars. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one who moved the sign next to the airfryers. People like this annoy more than someone who outright steals.

“Right. I understand what you’re saying, but — EDT’SHHuuuuHHHH!” 

He managed to aim the sneeze downward at the counter. He watches the droplets settle on a notepad in spots — some large, some small —  all over the top page. He frowns, then looks up.

The woman’s face is contorted into a scowl. “If you’re sick, you should stay home.”

“I — ADt’SHhhhhhhhh! AD’TSHHHHHH!”

Evan can’t even feel ashamed this time of sneezing on someone. She shouldn’t have been so close, and more importantly, so damn annoying. Though, as he stares at her face covered in the glistening evidence of his cold, he does begin to feel a miniscule amount of shame.

“Uhmb, liste’d, I amb so sorry.” He snorts, trying to lessen the congestion he hears in his voice. “Hodestly, I’ve got a killer cold righdt dow ad I —”

“You realize this is unacceptable, right?” the woman says, her tone drenched with bitterness. “You have no business being here getting customers sick. I will be complaining. Give me the name of your manager,” she demands.

He blinks. “Uhb, so the madadger today is actually mbe, so ubm… cobplaidt doted I guess?” he says, giving a heavy snort, exhaustion tugging at every inch of his body.

The lady glares. “I can’t even understand what you’re saying. I’ll be filling out a survey later. I’ve been a regular customer here for years and I hate to say it, but I don’t think I can ever come back.”

Alarm bells flash through his mind as he remembers his training videos. But then the tickle from hell takes sudden residence in his sinuses and he snaps forward. 

“AHHgt’shuuuuuhhhh! AHHHHGG’tSHHUUUHHHhhhh!”

This time there are strings. And they hang down in thick, unbreaking strands. Instinctively, he brings up his bare hand to collect the mess. He stares at the woman, helpless to do anything but stand there with a hand covering his face. The woman’s mouth is curled in disgust, and she gives a quick shake of her head before turning to exit the store. 

Well, that’s the third customer he’s scared away today with his sneezing. Although, the second could hardly count as a “customer” he supposes.

* * *

“Trevor, please," Evan begs as he sits at the break room table, feeling thankful to be alone in the room. "I will take your closidg shifts dext week if you just cobe id today. I hodestly dod’t thidk I cad make it through four bore hours of — of this ihh’shhHHOOO! SHOOO! SHOOO! SHOOO! SHOO!” He takes a deep breath before immediately resuming the pattern. “ACK’SHOOOO! SHHOOO! SHOOOOO!”

Eight sneezes. 

Eight.

He’s dying. 

Each sneeze scraped against his throat and made his head throb. They also tore through the one tissue he’d brought up just in time. There’s a large hole in the middle and a slimy mess coating his hand. At this point, all he can do is sigh.

“Please, Trevor. I’ve dever beed this sigck befo — Eck’SHooOOOOO!”

More spray. More strings. More sighs.

“Jesus,” Trevor says, from the other end of the phone. “Fine, I get it. You’re sick. But, it’s just that, you know…I had plans… and, well, can’t you just call Bethany or something?”

“Already did. Bethady’s at the ebergedcy vet with her dog. You’re literally by odly hope. Please. I’b sdeezi’g all over custobers ad everythi’g, Trevor. Like, you have do idea. I just wadt to get sombe rest so I cad shake this thi’g ad — I — HEH!”

Evan sets the phone down on the table and pulls several tissues from the box on his lap, quickly burying his face into them.

“ECK’shhUUUUUuuuhhhhh! ECK’Shhhhhhhhhh! Heh hh hhh HHHH MPfff’tshhhuuuhhh! MPT’SHUUUHHHH!”

“Goddamn,” he hears Trevor say from his phone, but Evan’s too focused on trying to keep himself from literally drowning. He blows and blows his nose, the sound gurgling. He feels slimy dampness run all down the side of his hand. Clearly he needed more tissues than he grabbed.

“Fine,” he hears Trevor say with a groan. “But we’re definitely trading shifts next week so I don’t have to close.”

Evan’s throat feels scratched all to hell from the sneezing. He clears his throat to alleviate the scratchiness only to find himself lost in a coughing fit. Like, the sneezing wasn’t enough.

“Evan? Did you hear me?”

“Yes, thagk you, Trevor. Ad I promidse I’ll take your evedi’g shifts dext week.”

* * *

“Dude, wake up. I drove forty minutes on my day off to come save your ass just so you can go home to sleep off your sniffles. So, go home.”

The voice is one Evan knows. In fact, he thinks he heard it not too long ago. But, going back to sleep sounds immensely more appealing than trying to figure out the owner of the mystery voice.

Someone’s shaking his shoulder. 

“Dude,” the voice says again, sounding irritated.

Evan’s the one who should feel irritated. He’s just trying to get some sleep and now someone’s shaking him and also he has to — 

“Hmmph’SHHHhhhhh! HEH’tshooooo!”

Evan, instinctively, sniffles. It turns out there’s a lot more than he’d realized to sniffle back up, so he finally raises his head a little from the table he'd apparently fallen asleep on.. He sees large globs of mucus across his arm.

Then he remembers. 

He slowly sits up and finds Trevor’s gaze on him. 

“Jesus, Evan. Clean yourself up.”

Evan wipes his nose with his arm, leaving another trail along his skin. 

God, he needs a shower. 

Trevor’s eyebrows go up and his eyes widen before he shakes his head as if in disbelief. Evan watches, mind still half-asleep, as Trevor dampens a paper towel at the sink in the tiny kitchen section of the break room.

Trevor jogs over to Evan and holds out the paper towel. “For your arm. Man, you are a wreck.”

“I dod’t feel very good,” Evan says, sniffling and looking at the paper towel, feeling dazed.

“No shit,” Trevor says before his expression softens. “Listen, clean yourself up and get home and rest. And don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll cover for you. Just take one of my shifts when you’re feeling better.” He looks back down at the paper towel in his hand. “And for the love of christ, please wipe off your nose. It's pouring like a faucet. I don't even know how that's possible with how stuffed up you sound.”

Trevor reaches the paper towel out again to Evan. Evan goes to take the towel, but since he seemingly no longer has any control whatsoever of his respiratory reflexes, he sneezes.

All over Trevor’s outstretched arm and into the air. Because of course he does. 

Evan takes the paper towel and for reasons he doesn’t understand, begins awkwardly wiping Trevor’s arm with it.

It’s hard not to when there’s little globs of mucus on Trevor’s skin. After this cold is over, Evan hopes to never have to see another “glob of mucus” again.

Trevor just stares down as if in horror, until he finally snaps. “Okay, that’s enough, Evan. I’ve got it. Get yourself cleaned up and for the sake of everyone, go home.”

“Sorry,” Evan mutters before going to do just that.

Part three

[loadsofcats]

Hate hate hate digitalisation hate only being able to pay with credit cards hate touchscreens instead of people hate cashierless shops hate how ai is causing less jobs and less privacy and hate generated art and generated stories and aaaaaaaaagggghhhhhhhh

[quietwingsinthesky]

there’s a progression in there, somewhere, of even going from ‘the master might kill me any day now :(‘ to ‘the master is going to kill me :) she’s not going to let someone else do it after all this time’

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[ellana-ravenwood]

“Batman, you need to-IS THAT A BABY ?!” - Batfam x Fem!reader

Synopsis : Bruce and Batmom bring their newborn daughter to the Watchtower, so she can meet their friends (or vice versa). Includes an overprotective Damian, League members who cannot believe the Batman is smiling, and other shenanigans.  

Oop, I’m back (?). My dudes. It’s been TWO YEARS since I last posted here. Two. Years. I posted like, two life update...don’t know if some of y’all saw it, but long story short : I got married, I have a son now, and everything is going so well in my life that I didn’t really need the validation I got from writing online...Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, I still love writing. And so, after quite a long break, here I am :). Hope you will enjoy this, don’t hesitate to let me know if you do : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

________________________________________________

“You’re evil, you know that right ?” You say, raising an eyebrow.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” He answers, a small smile on his lips. You turn to him and...Oh that smug look, that smug look you loved so much. He definitely DEFINITELY knew what he was doing. 

And that it was utterly...evil. 

“It’s going to be FUN !” 

Ah, and here’s his little devil. Damian himself. He loved this. Partly because he thought it was funny to mess with everyone, partly because he liked showing that you guys were a family. 

“They won’t believe their eyes !” His little voice kept going, followed by a big roar of laughter that sounded, by all means, more childlike than devilish. 

“That they won’t, they always seem so surprised when Bruce acts like a human.” 

Jason. Still not calling Bruce “dad” (except sometimes, by “accident”, and even him don’t realize he did), he’d only slowly been back at the manor, with all of you. And, for sure, a certain important event which happened about four months ago made it so he came back to live at home.

Dick chuckled and added : “Who would blame them ? We’re talking about a man who eats his burgers with a knife and fork !” He gestured to his father with his left thumb, his other hand shielding part of his mouth as if he was telling them all a secret, as if he was trying to be discreet, so his dad wouldn’t hear...Always quite the little clown, that eldest son of yours. With his exaggerated mannerism, and that sparkle in his eyes, in his smile. 

“I’m certain some of them thought he was genuinely a cyborg for YEARS” Tim added, quite seriously, his tone the opposite of his older brother (and that was just his way of joking...you think). And honestly ? Yeah, you were pretty sure some of your friends at the JLA thought your husband was a robot, at one point. 

Oh yes. That’s where you were going, to the JLA’s headquarters. To execute Bruce’s plan. Quite the evil plan indeed. 

“Hell, even I thought he was one before I met you guys !” Duke chimed in, and that made Cassandra smile widely, as she shook her head up and down pointing at Duke as if to say : “what he just said”. 

And in a very Bruce manner, your husband kept a straight face, ignoring his children’s teasing. Only you, saw that twinkle in his eyes, that smile that might not reach his mouth, but was definitely dancing in those bright blue eyes. 

Oh yes. Yes, your friends were in for quite the surprise. 

************

Meanwhile, in the Justice League headquarters : 

“Oh, hey ! Look, Batman’s zeta tube is turning on ! We haven’t seen him in a while right ?”  

Indeed they haven’t. Because, well, let’s put it this way : Batman’s wife just had a baby. 

A baby girl (finally, right ? You and Cass weren’t TOO outnumbered anymore). 

And Batman had been VERY busy doting over his baby girl. 

Batman had been busy being Bruce Wayne. 

Just a man, who thought he’d never be happy again, not knowing how to handle all those feelings he had for his wife (for you), for his children. 

That was happiness then, right ? 

So, yes. Batman hasn’t been much at the JLA’s headquarters lately. But your husband thought, it was finally time to go see his friends a little bit. He knew they were all up there, because it was their monthly reunion (once each month, they gathered to talk about the state of the world, the universe, what threat lingered, what lurked beyond...and to get very drunk, and see their friends, the only ones who knew what it meant to be a “hero”). 

And that what’s made him particularly evil. 

He knew, they would all be there. He knew what their reaction was going to be. After all, his memory was amazing, he definitely hadn’t forgot the way they reacted the first time they saw you, the first time they learned he had children (childrEN, plural !). 

And he knew they were a little worried about him. 

He had missed their last three reunions, and only answered : “Everything is ok” to their messages asking if he was alright (they hadn’t dared to go see if he was indeed ok, because last time they did that, they found him bed ridden with all the bones in his body broken, and he got so mad at them for butting in his business he worked twice as hard when he was fine again, and didn’t talk a WORD for months...that was, of course, years ago, before you were in his life, but the experience was still in their minds and so, they decided to respect his privacy, he would come to them when ready). And he never pushed his “red button”, him, or anyone in the family. 

They just assumed he was busy, they hoped it wasn’t anything bad. 

Yes. They were worried. For him. For you. For your kids. For Alfred. For your dogs, your cats, your cow...They. Were. Worried. 

And Bruce knew. 

You told him, when your pregnancy was confirmed, to tell his friends. That they would be happy. But after his own initial happy thought, his surge of hope and love at knowing he was going to be a dad again, he started to make his plan. 

Why tell them, when you could toy with them ? 

“They deserve it.” He told you, and you weren’t sure if they did, but you weren’t about to fight him on that. After all, you too, thought it could be amusing. Amusing to hide your pregnancy, making up excuses as to why they couldn't come see you, and you didn’t come up the headquarter. Amusing, to even hide it quite expertly from any form of news (Bruce was a MASTER of disguise, not only for himself), so it would be a real surprise. 

Amusing, to have your little girl in secret, with only your family. Amusing, but also what you wanted. For this good news to be just between you, your children, and Alfred. Your close family. Because you had too few things that just were yours. 

This had to be yours. Your thing, your secret, your own happiness. Yours, and only yours. And you found it was good, that you guys spend the first few months of your daughter’s life only between yourselves. 

It was nice, to go out “disguised” as a normal couple, and show your daughter Gotham (and how her little eyes already tried to take the entire world within them). 

It was nice, to live in total privacy for a little bit. 

So, yes, you had been a little selfish. And he had, too. You knew it wasn’t just to prank his friends, he kept it all a secret. That it was also to have some quality time with his family. To spend the first few months of his daughter’s life being the only one being utterly smitten with her. 

Though, this last thing wasn't true...You were, too. And your children ? Let’s just say your daughter had not been alone ONCE since she was born. And she seemed to love it. 

Whenever she made the slightest sound, smiled, laughed (or cried), they were there, Bruce was there, absolutely loving that little baby. 

She was almost 4 months old now, and Bruce thought that the gist had to be up. What scale did he use to measure this amount of “readiness” ? You had no idea. You thought he was just now ready to share his happiness with his friends, and not just his close family. 

And so here you were, after months of secrecy carefully crafted and orchestrated by your husband, in the JLA’s headquarters, along with your family, the little new addition to said family in your husband’s arms. 

Evil. Your husband was downright evil. 

He knew that what was about to happen would have a massive impact on his friends. He. KNEW. 

And as the zeta tube brought all your family up there, you knew that as he saw their faces, your husband was a little TOO happy with himself for his little “prank”. 

************

“Batman, are you al- IS THAT A BABY ?” Very typical, very in character : the first to react was Flash himself. 

None of the other noticed, and they seemed inclined to think Barry had lost his mind but then...

Bruce’s face didn’t move an inch, he just held that little “package”, and had his same stoic expression except...Except there was a little hand grabbing at his chin. 

Then another hand appeared out of that bundle Batman carried, with a bat plushie bunched in a tight fist, shaking it and...Cooing. 

Cute little sounds, and the way- EXCUUUuuUuuuUSE ME ?

The way Batman just softly looked at her, the way his cold expression was replaced by a tender one as he lowered his eyes to her ??

WHAT ?! 

They knew. They knew he had THE softest spot for his family. They knew his scary aura greatly dimmed when he was around his wife and children. They knew that when they weren’t there, he was only made of shadows. They were his light, his salvation. 

They knew he didn’t have the same face expression, when they were around.

Well, when they were looking at him...Barry swore that Batman loomed around his family, standing menacingly behind them, his eyes cold and calculating as if he was ready to fight any seconds to save his loved ones, and then whenever they turned to him his feature would instantly soften. He will ALWAYS remember the first time he met little Dickie, 9 years old and so full of joy and life, and how whenever he would look at Batman and talk to him, said Batman got a softer expression somewhat, but then when Dick turned around, Batman looked about to murder them whenever they came too close from him. 

Once, Tim, also 9 at the time, years after the JLA met Dick, told Barry matter of factly : “He doesn’t kill people. He could break your knee caps though” in a very Tim fashion. The kid was serious. And had noticed the aura surrounding his dad, how it changed when he was around (he noticed more than his siblings, because for a while, Bruce had been really cold and distant with him, since he met him not long after Jason’s death..understandable. So he was the only one who had this sort of behavior aimed at him, the shield Bruce put in front of him to keep everyone away so he wouldn’t be hurt, the shield that now was lowered for them and only them). 

It was his eyes. His eyes that were always hard and cold, became different when looking at you or his children. 

Not to say that his family never exasperated him, or that he never had his “mask” around them. After all, Bruce’s stoic expression was his face by default. It’s just that he was often too focused. And that he spend years practicing hiding his emotions, practicing keeping a blank face. Because Barry also remembered seeing Dick perched on his father’s shoulders, letting himself dangle in his back, his head upside down, whistling and kicking his feet, and Bruce having this stoic mask on, concentrated. 

Anyway, they knew all that. It had been years, since Bruce finally trusted them enough to bring his wife here, and his kids. But yet, yet they were still surprised sometimes.

Like today. 

The picture of Batman holding a baby was...a little weird. 

Even if he opened up to them over the years, he was still mostly very cold, distant and aloof. You know, Batman. That’s just who he was. So sometimes, to see him so devoted to his wife or kids, it was odd to say the least. 

And right now, as he walked towards them with a baby in his arms, the shock was real. Damn it, will there be a day when the Bat didn’t surprise them with something ? 

How did none of them notice you were pregnant ? Proof again Batman was a master of his craft. And that little girl...

Oh your daughter was such a beaming ray of sunshine, that in his arms it was particularly a jarring image. 

The big scary bat, tall, broad shouldered, muscular in every way, his face void of expressions, holding a tiny baby who kept smiling at everyone around, and playing with her plushy. 

Odd. 

Yet, sweet. 

Were they surprised ? Yes. 

Were they a little mad he hid something (AGAIN) this important from them ? Definitely. 

Were they shocked that his daughter was so darn cute and smiling and laughing that much ? Not really, because you were his mom too. 

Were they happy for him ? For sure. 

Were they going to adore that little girl ? Probably as much as they adored his other kids already, which meant...yes. Yes they were going to. 

Damn that bastard Bruce. Always so sneaky. 

Hal, couldn’t help but think : “First, he’s not a vampire, then, he’s married with children, and now, he has that cute baby. This guy ??!!” 

***********

The initial shocked passed, and only after your children MOCKED all of your friends (you had to give it to Dick, he knew how to imitate them so well..and when Damian joined in ? Oh, oh it was a fit of laughter impossible to fight that attacked them), did they approach your daughter. 

“Her name is Martha.” Bruce said “We named her after my mother.” and it wasn’t his usual flat tone he used as Batman. No, it was a soft voice he usually only reserved for his kids. And the reason he was using it now ? Well. He didn’t want to scare his daughter, as he still held her. 

She beamed at him when she heard her name, and babbled some baby nonsense. She then turned towards all those new faces, and you saw Bruce’s hand hold her a little tighter. 

Your beautiful, sweet soul husband. He clearly was worried she’d be scared, meeting all those new people. Especially since they all wore mask. But Martha-

Martha let go of her bat plushy (which Damian caught before it touched the floor, rolling on the ground in a way you thought was quite comedic. Oh, that boy), and lifted her arms up towards- 

“What a sweet little girl !” Diana said with a voice you NEVER heard her use. You realized it was her “voice reserved for babies and domestic animals”, and it made you smile. It was higher than her usual voice, and full of softness. 

You thought your daughter reached for her because she could feel the warmness in your friend. And after all, amongst all of those gathered here today, she was probably the one that adored babies the most. 

Diana looked at Bruce, who only inclined his head a little to give her the ok to lift her from his arms but-

Another arm stopped her, and took the baby away. 

Damian. 

Damian, the one who took his role as a big brother a little too seriously. 

He held Martha protectively against him, and literally sneered at all your friends. 

************

Damian deemed most of them unworthy to hold his baby sister, and only Clark ended up being allowed to carry her. And that was partly because Clark was the only one who knew about Martha, the only one who saw her already, and he had months to convince your son to trust him with her. 

Being an extremely close friend and all, you just couldn’t hide this from him and... no, really, you literally couldn’t hide this from him as he was the immediately noticed that second heartbeat when he listened in to make sure you and your family were safe. Bruce hated when he did that, but Clark wasn’t about to let them be in danger without moving an inch.

Anyway, Clark was allowed to hold her, but he gave her back to you rather quickly because your son’s stare made him uncomfortable. If eyes could kill, right ? 

Damian took his job as an older brother very seriously. He would protect her at all cost. And you had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to burn the entire world down if it meant saving his family. 

Damian only glared at everyone, letting them approach ONLY after they put on a surgical mask so they wouldn’t give her their “viruses or whatever”. 

You had to admit he was a bit much, and you asked him nicely to calm down a little. He relented on the face masks, but made them all wash their hands (twice). 

You ruffled his hair affectionately, what a sweet little boy. It broke your heart, how so many people judged him too fast. He really was, a nice kid. With a heart of gold. He just didn’t have much luck for the first few years of his life. 

But he chose to be like this. Chose to love, instead of hate. Chose to protect, instead of attacking. 

Although, right now, as Diana came back towards his sister, he definitely seems ready to high kick her (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt the amazon). 

************

It was a hassle, to convince Damian to let go of his sister so they could hold her. As per usual, it’s Dick who managed to convince him, saying Martha was all soft and cute, and everyone deserved to hold her at least once. Adding that if one of them dropped her, he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted to them. 

Some of the mightiest heroes of the planet were gathered hear, but the threat didn’t fall on deaf ears. Damian could be a little intense, and scary sometimes. 

They weren’t fooled by Dick’s agreeable smile either. A smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. They knew if they messed up, he would find every way to rip them to shreds. Dick was often seen as the calmest of your children, but his anger issues from when he was a child were never far. And he could be ruthless.  

Diana held her first, and your daughter babbled to her excitedly. 

Of course, being only 4 months old, she just talked gibberish. And it was so sweet, how Diana answered her : “What ? *babbles from your daughter* Noooooo. *more babbles from your daughter* I can’t believe he said that. And then what ? *babbles babbles babbles*”. 

After that, Dick took her back, and asked if someone else wanted to hold her, under yours and Bruce’s watchful eyes. 

Then again, in the room, many were also already parents and knew how to hold a baby. They weren’t too worried, except-

Except Dick, that little sh-, had found a new game in recent weeks. Whenever he gave his little sister to someone else...he pretended to drop her. 

And it made him laugh and laugh and laugh, to give mini-heart attacks to EVERYONE whenever he gave them his baby sister to them, as they always all panicked and screamed seeing her dropped (Dick always had her secure, he only pretended to drop her of course). 

“Oh no careful !” He’d scream, dropping his arms suddenly (she looooved it) while still gripping her, and they’d scramble to catch her, and he would just laugh. 

“You little-” Hal’s colorful words were...imaginative. And Damian was inclined to agree, since his brother pranked him oh, I don’t know, only about A HUNDRED TIMES since their little sister was born. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but it made you laugh a little too. Even if he got you a few times as well, pretending he was going to drop her. Then again, you trusted your eldest son. Once you and Bruce wouldn’t be around anymore, you knew he would hold this family together. 

************

Martha was a calm baby. She let people hold her, curious enough to not fuss and watch them all intently. It made Barry uncomfortable, how she held his gaze and would just stare at him. 

She would stare, and stare, and stare, and her bright blue eyes were EXACTLY like Bruce’s, it felt like being stared down by a miniature version of Batman. 

He didn’t like it. So he gave her back to whomever was closest, which happened to be Jason

Jason, who was always very delicate with his little sister. He handled her as if he’d break her. It broke your heart, to know he probably literally thought that. 

He refused to hold her at first, sure he would hurt her. But she kept reaching for him, crying when he wouldn’t take her, and she was so adorable and-

He caved, of course. After a little while. And he was oh, the fixture of a patient older brother. You knew he would ALWAYS be part of her life, and step in whenever she needed to. 

Right now, she was grabbing his hair, which were getting quite long, and pulling hard on them as babies do and- He didn’t say anything. He just let her do it. 

You really hoped she wasn’t going to take advantage of this when she’d get older, even if you already had visions of her having her brothers and father wrapped around her little finger, having her sister too, and...apparently, the entirety of the JLA. 

************

“How can such an a-hole make such a cute baby ?” Hal said, looking at the little girl he held. She was sort of dozing off, which for sure was adorable. 

Bruce only glared at him, which amused Hal greatly. He just gave him the shock of his life, he could laugh at his expense a little, right ? 

“I believe, to make a baby, you need to-”

“Um, no, Jon, please, I know how to ! It’s just-Oh, forget it.” 

Flustered, Hal Jordan was flustered. Jon J’onzz didn’t seem to get why, but then again, human sarcasms and irony were still very foreign to him. He always answered pragmatically to people. 

Talking about pragmatism. Hal handed back your daughter to Tim, who slipped her in his favorite new contraption : the baby carrier 3.0 (of his own design). Made so he could do all sort of work while having her strapped to him. Keeping an eye on her at all time. 

Tim adopted the use of a baby carrier, so he could still work while taking care of her (he stole the idea from his dad, who definitely hung around with his daughter EVERYWHERE with that thing...which was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen, this tall broad man and this tiny baby attached to his chest). 

It was so cute to see her little feet dangling while he was working. Damian nearly lost it when he found Tim WELDING two pieces of metal together with the baby carrier on his front. Tim merely said : “I made her baby sized goggles and a fireproof pyjama, she’s fine, and she likes it” and indeed, your daughter didn’t have a scratch, and cried when Damian hauled her away from the sparks. Ooooh the smug look on Tim’s face as his brother gave her back reluctantly. Damian’s was utterly vexed. 

Vexation he forgot just a few minutes later, when Martha decided she had enough of sparkles and made little sounds of protest (not quite cries), and reached her little arms to him. 

As of now, Tim had her in this baby carrier again, and was strolling around the JLA headquarters, showing his new little sister to everyone. 

************

Cassandra didn’t say a word, as per usual. She never liked big crowds, only spoke to those she trusted the most. Her brothers, her parents. 

She only gestured to others. Remained quiet. But she monitored every little movements. 

Hawkgirl approached her sister ? Noted. Carefully studying every move. Martian Manhunter asked if he could hold her ? Noted. 

Superman made little babbling sound at her, while her dad held her ? Noted, with amusement. It was funny, to see one of Earth’s mightiest hero grimacing to a baby to make it laugh, while said baby was held by another mighty hero who was utterly stoned face. Cass’ smiled at her dad, who smiled back for a fraction of seconds before Clark shifted his head up to look at him too, and Bruce went back to his : “ -_-” face, by reflex really. 

Cassandra never spoke much, but she loved a lot. And her way of loving her little sister ? It was to always keep a watchful eye on her, so she could react to whatever she needed. And give her space when she needed to. 

She had many brothers, she often joked that if she lost one, she could just replace him (a joke you didn’t like much, because you knew it was just a self-defense from her, to shield her heartbreak at the mere idea of loosing a sibling), but only had one sister...

Yes. Your youngest child definitely held a special place in everyone’s heart. 

And you could see her slowly creep in every members’ of the Justice League’s heart too. 

Gods, you couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the person who would one day try to hurt her. You could bet, though, he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed (to say the least). 

************

Martha was particularly fond of Duke’s inuit kiss. He had the capacity to instantly calm her, and he could easily feel her inner emotions. 

As she was passed around everyone, and she started to be tired and cranky, he simply retrieved her and brought her to Bruce, because he knew that was her preferred spot to fall asleep. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and sure enough, she was asleep before he could pull away. Your husband put a warm hand on Duke’s head, a warm smile on his face. That boy could always tell what others felt. It was a gift, really, and sometimes a curse as others’ feelings could leak into him. Which is to say that sometimes, when others were sad, he would be too...

But for now, he felt content. At peace. Because his dad was, too. 

And indeed, Bruce, holding his sleeping daughter against his heart, his hand supporting her head gently, was utterly at peace. 

He loved the idea that his arms were his daughter’s favorite place to sleep, and never refused to hold her to help her sleep. You sure were a little jealous, but he told you : “They all always come to you when they need comfort, one kid out of six, you surely can give me, right ?” and though you knew he was joking, it broke your heart a little. 

So, you let go of your jealousy, and let him have this indeed. Martha was definitely a daddy’s girl. And that was good. You could see the impact on your husband, how having a baby in the house soothed him. 

He loved his kids so damn much. He often said they were his lights. And the fact Martha found comfort with him ? 

It reminded him of his own parents. How he would go to his mom, a Martha too, to find the same comfort. To fall asleep in the same way. 

You let go of that small jealousy, as you saw her falling soundly asleep, cuddled up against her dad. And it was funny, how Bruce would take his usual Batman persona, stone faced, standing straight and- 

Having one of two fingers held tightly by both of his daughter’s little hands. She grabbed them as he took her, one hand holding her (she was so tiny...and he was a big dude), the other, she used as a sort of comfort plushy. She held them with all her might, as she slept. 

And Bruce was speaking battle plans, and you had to fight the laughter in you as all your friends couldn’t help but stare at the scene, not knowing how to feel. 

Hal snickered at one point, and he made a gesture for him to zip it, and it was quite an odd scene, as he held his daughter and did that childish gesture. 

Seriously. That guy !! 

************

Batman smiling was...different. 

They all got caught staring at him, when he had his daughter in his arms. Staring because his broad smile was-

Well. Broad. 

It wasn’t his signature smirk. It wasn’t a soft smile. It wasn’t a half-smile. It wasn’t a smile that you could only see in his eyes. 

It was a full on big ass smile (as Barry would say). 

And sure, they already saw him smile like that (although he schooled his face back to “stone mode” when he noticed them looking), never that much. 

As if the birth of his daughter gave Batman another new light, and it was just impossible to yield to his old demon, to brood, when holding that ray of sunshine. 

It made them all feel...soft. And warm. 

It was nice, to know the bat wasn’t just a machine. They forgot it sometimes, that he was, in the end, “just” a man. They forgot why he became Batman. The pain and guilt he held inside. But moments like this, they were reminded of it. 

That the Batman didn’t exist because of hatred, but because of love. 

Because he loved his parents, his city, and now- 

His family. 

It was nice, to get reminded that there was a man below the mask. And though he could be an “a-hole” sometimes, there, holding his baby, he was just that. 

A loving man, who wanted to protect others. 

************

You made a note of every moments you would cherish forever of you introducing your daughters to them all : 

1. The shock on their faces as they beheld the sight of THE BATMAN holding a baby against him, and being so delicate. 

2. Your daughter being the star of the show, all of them smitten with her !

3. Your friends wanting to hold her, and how they beamed at her (and she beamed back, except with Barry, whom she only stared at for some reasons). 

4. Dick’s “game” of pretending he dropped her, and their panicked reaction. 

5. The success of Tim’s baby carrier, and how now, there was always one up in the tower. 

6. Diana and how it definitely seemed like she would move mountain for that child. 

7. How Clark’s eyes filled with tears again, as he looked at Martha. Because it made his friends so happy. You and Bruce. And especially Bruce. And Clark was an emotional man, who suffered too, and was just so happy “The Batman” was happy. 

8. How Jason seemed at peace with his little sister, and how whenever he held her, he seemed less weary than usual around everyone. Like Cass, he didn’t like much being amongst too many people. But now, it felt like he had an “emotional support baby”. Ah. 

9. Their reactions, past the shock, welcoming that new life in the world. 

10. How Bruce monitored his daughter being held by his friends, holding your hand. Even after all those years, when he acted close to you in his Batman costume, it made you...feel things. He always kept a facade as Batman. A facade that would crumble with his kids, and especially with you. PDA weren’t rare. And even after years at his side, it always made your heart beat wildly when he showed affection towards you in public, because it meant- 

Oh it meant so much. 

And you had so many more moments forever ingrained in your heart from that day spend up at the JLA’s headquarters. 

Too many to count. Some sweet, some hilarious- 

All positive feelings. 

And as you and your family stepped back in the zeta tubes, your friends saying “byyyyye” to Martha especially, with their baby voice (making Bruce roll his eyes), and as she waved at them- 

Waved for the FIRST TIME ever oh. 

Oh it felt like you would die of happiness. 

And still, Bruce’s hands held yours tightly. 

He knew. 

He knew, you were the source of this happiness he thought he could never find again. 

He knew. 

He never loved like that before. 

Yes. It felt like you could just die of happiness.

__________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to comment and/or reblog, it’s always greatly appreciated :). 

Also, initially, the child was going to be Thomas (their son in my “main” storyline, if you already read a few works from me), but last minute, I was like : “wait no, I want to give Bruce a daughter, and the boys a sister. Also, poor Cass eh ?” and here we are. I really hope you liked this; I’m nervous for some reasons. Anyway. See you soon with another one ? 

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe loves to put his fingers in sensitive!reader’s mouth & her favorite place in the world is his lap...

c/w: rafe being mean & making her choke on his fingers, heavily suggestive, size kink, use of daddy & dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.6k

in love w this man so more of him on the way xx

this is an additional part to this & u can read more here

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

Rafe has had a bad day.   

She notices it immediately by the way he greets her with only a brief peck on her cheek; carelessly throwing his jacket on the couch before slumping down against the cushions and letting out a washed-out exhale.   

For the entirety of the week, gloomy clouds have painted over the dusty, colorless horizon and wet water puddles have saturated the socks of passing pedestrians and dog walkers alike. However, Rafe is not someone who particularly minds rainy days, which is why she assumes that the reason for his disgruntled mood has something to do with business, as it more often than not does.    

He scratches at the buzzed hair still slightly damp from the rain while she simply stands there and blinks; unsure whether he wishes to be alone or not.    

“What are you doin’? C’mere,” he suddenly orders in a somewhat of a stern tone and she has no choice but to pad over to his sprawled-out legs, lowering to sit on top of him and letting him paw at her waist as his beefy arms pull her closer. And she can't really complain when the heat of his body seeps into her flesh in such a comforting way; makes her insides feel all fluffy and featherlight.   

In the same way that Rafe seems to enjoy her needing him to take care of her when everything feels like too much, she loves being there for him; likes to feel useful, needed. 

“Do you wanna...talk about it?” the muted melody of her vocal cords reaches his ears as vivid raindrops pitter patter against the glass of the windows and he groans in exhaustion at how perfect she is for him.    

“Not really,” he dismisses her with a shake of his head. “How was your day, hm?”   

“It was uh, okay. I don’t know, the usual. Had some boring lectures, almost fell asleep…questioned every decision I’ve ever made,” she huffs out and settles her palms on his strong biceps.  

“Mm,” he’s only half listening; beginning to mindlessly twirl a strand of her hair around his index finger.    

And she takes that as her cue to continue blabbering out complete nonsense as she begins to grow slightly restless being this close to him. Truth be told, she’s pathetically been missing him the whole day; the only thing granting her the motivation to go about her routines being the thought of seeing him at the end of it all. And now that he’s here, he seems frustrated; mind entirely elsewhere and she doesn’t know what to do except ramble on and on about her dull day.    

Then, completely out of the blue, he’s grabbing her jaw into his massive hand and hushing her.   

“Shut up for one second, yeah?” he mutters out before he’s tucking a thumb past her lips; a surprised squeak leaving the back of her throat at the sudden intrusion because he was the one who asked for her to talk in the first place.    

However, she can’t exactly say that it’s unexpected. He often gets a tad bit meaner whenever he’s had a dreary workday and takes it out on her in some form or another. And regardless of how unhealthy all of it might seem, there’s a crooked part of her brain that yearns for it; wants him to come to her whenever he’s upset. If she’s utterly honest, the thought of him searching for solace in anyone else makes nausea creep up her bones.   

For some reason, the firm pad of his thumb making her tongue feel heavy in her mouth placates her; turns her brain into a needy, dingy muddle in a way that only Rafe is capable of.   

“Shit, just needed somethin’ to suck on, huh?” he pushes down on her tongue, making her swallow around the digit with a whimper.    

“So fuckin’ pathetic sometimes, you know? Just take anythin’ daddy gives you,” a low-pitched chuckle thunders from his chest, seemingly amused by the ease in which she gives into him.    

However, there’s also something gooey, syrupy beginning to whirl in the pit of her tummy. It reminds her of the countless times she was perched on the park swing as a little girl during the balmy summers of her childhood; thinking she could reach the fluffy clouds with the tips of her sneakers if only she could fly a little higher.    

“Feels nice to have somethin’ in your mouth, doesn’t it?” he ogles her, mesmerized with intrigue twinkling in the Carolina blue that has always made her think of the sky.    

She lets out a faint moan when he drags the digit out and then back in, making her gag around it; her hips involuntarily rutting against the growing bulge straining against the zipper of his pants, desperate for some sort of friction if even through the soft material of her sweatpants.    

“Didn’t give you permission to move, did I?” he feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows that gets her to reluctantly halt her shifting.    

“Daddy, need your...” her words are cushioned against the obstacle he’s planted between her teeth.  

“Can’t really hear you, baby,” he mocks before he’s pulling the thumb out of her mouth altogether.    

However, the next thing she knows, he’s stuffing in his index and middle finger both at the same time. They reach far deeper; a muffled sound of gagging following his actions as he seems to discover a perverted sense of satisfaction from her struggle.   

"What did you say?" his lips twist into a cruel smirk when she whimpers pitifully and tries to draw away from him in order to catch her breath but his other hand only grips her jaw tighter, keeping her exactly where he wants as she’s forced to breathe through her nose.    

“I think you can take it for a bit longer, yeah?” his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he simply stares, seemingly absorbed into the obscene scene before him.    

And she should feel embarrassed, demeaned even. And she does! However, the humiliation of letting him do whatever he wants as if she’s nothing but a cheap toy for his entertainment blurs over the lines when her cunt throbs in response to his degrading attention. She flutters uselessly around nothing; powerlessly begging for some sort of alleviation with a whine that merely earns her a tut of his tongue.    

Therefore, the only thing she can do is sit there like an obedient animal because he’s already scolded her once. She hasn’t turned entirely dumb just yet; knows firsthand how ‘daddy doesn’t like to repeat himself’ and that the next time she misbehaves will result in a punishment her poor cunt probably wouldn’t be able to handle in this helpless state of hers.   

“Don't think you could take dad’s cock even halfway in this pretty mouth,” he mindlessly croons, thumb smoothing over the skin of her throat as she swallows the spit beginning to dribble down her chin.    

The thought manages to pique her curiosity because his cock has been at the forefront of her mind for a couple of weeks now, due to him constantly teasing her with the notion of letting her suck him off properly. He keeps murmuring about training her throat and fucking it raw but never actually doing it; merely allowing for her to drool and mouth over the tip because apparently, she's 'not ready yet'.    

She’s beginning to turn into something desperate because whenever she tries to take more of him into her mouth, he stops her with a click of his tongue and big hands lifting her head off him. “Don’t be greedy now, sweetheart,” he’d scold her but she's certain she’s going to die if she doesn’t get to feel his cock nudge at the back of her throat soon.    

“Ray…” she tries to fruitlessly speak but he’s not exactly making it easy as he keeps stroking against her tongue. However, she doesn’t need to say anything. He knows what she wants.  

“I mean, can barely fit into this tight cunt, don’t know why you keep whinin’ about wantin’ me in this mouth so bad. Don’t think you’d even enjoy it that much. It’s a lot, you know?” there’s something almost patronizing in the way he’s speaking to her as if he’s not the one who brought the idea up in the first place.   

It’s like he’s trying to talk her out of it yet his fingertips keep prodding past her gag reflex every few minutes, almost as if testing the waters before plunging in and it’s making her head spin.    

She whines and tries to defend herself but the digits fussing with the inside of her slobbery mouth don’t allow for her to form anything audible as she begins to grow troubled.   

“What was that?” the line of his mouth curls when he pokes deeper once more, causing her to moan with watery eyes pleading him for anything at this point.    

“Such a dirty girl. Bet you’d like choking on my cock, huh?” he grunts and she hums in response; nodding fervently before he’s finally withdrawing his hand and smearing the spit-stained fingers against her pouty lips.   

They’re both panting heavily as he gently swipes at her under-eyes in order to catch the teardrops ready to trickle down before petting at the apples of her cheeks with a tenderness reserved only for her.  

“Shit, always know how to make me feel better, don’t ya?” he rumbles fondly against her mouth; following his saccharine words with a messy kiss soon after. Maybe he’ll finally allow her to have what she so badly craves. 

[greengoblinswifey]

Trust— Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

summary— based on season 4 episode 9, slight spoilers. rafe is convinced he can help you relax, take your mind off the drama on the ship and make you trust him.

warnings— manipulation, oral, praise kink, degrading kink, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

Rafe looked up as you entered the small, cramped bathroom, his blue eyes narrowing before softening a bit as he registered your expression. “Come to check on me again?” he drawled, his voice low and rough after days of confinement. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of something else in his tone, something that felt almost, relieved.

“Yeah,” you replied, sighing as you slid down to sit on the floor next to him, finally giving yourself a break from the chaos upstairs. “I needed to get away from everything. JJ's out of control, everyone’s on edge, and it’s just—it's all a lot.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, shifting a bit to get more comfortable despite his tied-up position. “Sounds like a mess,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “But not surprising. I’d be losing it, too, if I were up there. Though, you don’t seem the type to lose it.”

You exhaled, glancing away. “I don’t know, sometimes I think I'm just about at my limit. It feels like I’m the only one who, I don’t know, tries to keep it all together by being civil.”

Rafe smirked slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to, you know. Keep it together all the time,” he murmured, his voice taking on an edge. “Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam.” His voice dropped, a bit huskier. “Maybe even relax a little.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your pulse quicken.

You frowned, glancing at his wrists, still bound. “Rafe…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone almost too smooth. “Untie me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held your gaze with an intensity that made you falter. “Let me help you relax.”

Hesitating, you chewed on your lip. There was something, different about him right now, and you couldn’t quite pin point it. But, against your better judgment, you reached forward and undid the ropes around his wrists, slowly freeing him.

Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, and he pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was both rough and gentle, catching you completely off-guard. You melted into it, the tension you’d been carrying washing away under his touch. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself leaning in closer, craving the connection.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured against your lips, “So naughty for letting me loose like this.”

Flustered, you pulled back slightly, breathless. “Rafe…”

He only smirked, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “It’s alright,” he whispered, holding your gaze with a soft, challenging glint. “Now that I’m out, maybe I can return the favor and help you feel a little better.”

You slowly nodded. You couldn’t deny the way he was making you feel.

Rafe’s hands moved slowly over your bare stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your skin, sending shivers up your spine. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, watching your breath hitch as his hands continued their slow exploration.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, feeling vulnerable but completely unable to pull away. Rafe’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your skirt, and with a quiet confidence, he slipped it and your thong off, leaving you feeling even more exposed. He let out a quiet chuckle, his hands never leaving your skin.

When he pulled off his own shirt, his eyes never left yours, and then he moved closer, his presence between your legs grounding you in the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low as he leaned in, and before you could fully process the warmth of his breath, he began to press soft, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re so—” you managed, words slipping away as he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, his gaze unrelenting.

“So what?” he teased, “I haven’t even started.”

Your breath grew shallow, anticipation building as his hands traced along your hips, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

His mouth attached to your clit and it sent a spark through you, his touch patient yet undeniably intent, and you couldn’t help but give in to the sensation, letting yourself relax under his steady hands. His tongue was precise, lapping up every part of your pussy that was soaked with your juices.

“Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. His constant sucking and flicking over your clit made your orgasm wash over you, leaving you completely captivated, and all you could do was let yourself melt into the moment, trusting him entirely.

“I’d say you were my good girl and you are but fuck, you’re such a slut just letting me make you cum like this, I thought you and your friends didn’t trust me?” he chuckled, sitting up til he was beside you. You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed that he was right.

“Oh that’s okay baby, don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed, “you know what would make it all better? Me doing to you what they did to me.”

Your head shot up, confusion etched across your face.

“Not like that baby, you’d be willing wouldn’t you? Would you let me tie you up and use you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked huskily.

Slowly, you nodded. You couldn’t deny his words made you throb. You’d let this man do anything to you. He smirked at your obedience and took up the rope, beginning to tie you in the same position he was before. The rope was tied firmly, but not firm enough to hurt or bruise you.

“Is that okay baby? You like being all tied up for me?”

“Y-yes Rafe,” you muttered, eyes big and full of need.

He slipped down his boxers and your eyes went wider, gasping at the size of him. He was so thick and leaking for you. You needed a taste.

“Open up that whore mouth,” he growled.

Immediately, you did what was told and he shoved his cock straight to the back of your throat making you gag.

“Breathe baby, breathe, I know you can take it, you seem like you’d be such a good cock sucker.”

You wanted to prove him right, you wanted to be exactly what he thought of you. As he slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue went to work, swirling over the base and the tip, getting it as sloppy as you could. He moaned deeply above you, as his thrusts grew faster, your lips suctioned around him, making the sweetest little sounds.

You would’ve played with his balls if your hands weren’t tied and so, you leaned your head down, slurping and sucking on his balls as he threw his head back and shivered.

“Fuck, I knew you could do it, I knew you were a little whore, what a fucking mouth.” He slipped back into your mouth, his hands now going to your curls as he held you down on his cock, but before he could shoot his load down your throat, he pulled out.

“I know you’d swallow every last drop of my cum like the whore you are but I’d rather your pussy swallow it,” he chucked.

Heat rose in your cheeks as you thought about him filling you up. You weren’t on any form of birth control and you knew for a fact him or anyone on the ship did not have a condom in their possession. He’d definitely get you pregnant, just like his sister was at the moment. Ironic.

“Now, I have an idea.” You looked up at him curiously then gasped as he lifted your lower body, your hands in a slight awkward position as he held you up to fuck you mid air.

“Think you can take it— oh who am I kidding, you’re going to fucking take it,” he muttered, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Your pussy is so wet and pretty, so happy you just gave it up to me.” You both moaned in unison as his cock slowly penetrated you. In that moment you partially wished your hands weren’t tied so you could’ve placed it on his abdomen, halting him from any further movements.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began pounding into you, your tits spilling out of the skimpy top you had on. His cock was deep inside you due to the angle, the feeling making your pussy quiver.

“Who’s making you feel this good huh?” he asked, his hands squeezing your hips harshly.

“You are Rafe, you,” you cried out. Your friends had definitely heard your screams.

“Good girl, trust me now?” he chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yes Rafe, I trust you. Faster, please,” you pleaded.

His rough thrusts sped up and the sound of your sloppy pussy and your loud moans filled the bathroom, possibly alerting your friends above.

“I need to feel you cum on my cock baby, you can do it,” he urged.

He went faster and deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you to draw the orgasm out. Before long, you screamed his name, your pussy squirting all over the bathroom walls as he continued fucking you through your high, pulling everything out of you.

“You’re so fucking hot, good girl,” he cooed.

He began chasing his own orgasm, his hand wrapping around your neck and his other skillfully holding under you as his thrusts grew more sloppy.

“Clench around me baby, I’m gonna pump this sweet pussy full of my cum. Gonna get you fucking pregnant, have you carry my babies inside this sexy body.”

You couldn’t protest even if you wanted to and your walls clamped around him, milking him of every ounce of his cum as he slammed into you. His thrusts grew slower and slower and he held you with one hand, the other unbinding your hands and when he did, he held you close to him, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

You both shivered under each other’s touch, panting slowly subsiding.

You shifted off him, the feeling of his big cock slipping out of you making you wince and whimper at the loss and you sat beside him.

“You look so beautiful and relaxed,” he smirked, pushing your curls behind your ear.

“Well you were right, you could help me relax,” you giggled.

“I’m always right. I meant what I said by the way, you’re gonna carry my babies inside that sexy fucking body,” he smirked, rubbing your stomach.

Before you could respond, there was a pounding on the door, it was your best friend.

“Y/N, what’s all that noise? What’s going on in there?” Cleo called out.

[screampied]

‘ CANDY BOY ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. who would have thought that the #1 camboy in your city was no one other than your virgin roommate gojo, who’s totally putting on a show for his fangirls. he talks too much, but maybe you can shut his mouth and put his sweetened little fantasies to reality.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, camboy!gojo, college au, gojo's a virgin, switch! gojo, unprotected, dirty talk, he gets pússy drunk quick, overstim, "good boy" usage, cunnilıngus, premature ejaculating, nipple play, lots of spıt, handjōbs.

if someone would have told you that your loser of of a roommate who stuffs his mouth with a bit too many sweets, cries at romcoms, and is just an overall dork was a camboy, you’d call them crazy. batshit crazy even, yet that’s exactly what happened—

gojo was rightfully one of the top camboys in the city, probably in the world too. he was sort of a household name, it was more of a side hustle for him. he did it only for the money—sure, he adored his fans, even the ones that went a little too extreme with the provocative thirsting. but that’s all part of the job, he’s about seven months strong in his little gig. every saturday and sunday, he logs on under the user of: @/GOJOSLUTORU.

the moment that same notification pops up that he’s live, a plethora of his fans join immensely, wondering just what their favorite camboy satoru was up to today. his streams would last for a good two hours—longer sometimes if it was some kind of special event where he’d reach a massive amount of donations, a special treat for his fans. gojo was beloved for his flirty personality, he’d make his fangirls swoon with his words, despite knowing full well he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a lady.

that’s until you came along—more like catching him right in the act. it couldn’t have been any more embarrassing though. eleven thousand eyes were cheering him on, showering him with lewd "good boy" praises until you drop your bag.

“satoru?” you utter, curling your brow into a surprised furrow once you take in the scene in front of you. tossing the spare set of keys into the bin, you glance at your roommate—he freezes mid stroke with the most flustered expression. his hands were a bit … occupied, and a glimpse of a familiar cloth you once wore catches your eye. “are those my panties?”

“no….?”

with a deadpan, your shoulders drop before you drag your feet towards him to take a quicker look. oh, those were definitely your panties. so that’s where they ran off too. gojo tries to shield his nude exposed lower half with a nearby towel but it’s no use—you saw everything you needed to see.

“anywhooo,” he swallows, taking a brief peer at his chat that was flooding with all types of questions. they wanted to see you, they wanted to see gojo’s pretty roommate who he’s always rambling about on stream. clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before pitching his tone. he tries to sound more attractive but ends up butchering right away, stuttering at his first pathetic sentence. “ i- i didn’t think you’d get here so early. how was the exam?”

“it was … fine,” you mumble, barely acknowledging his words. your mind was racing vigorously, trying to process how you’d just seen your roommate half naked. going up behind him, you lean in towards his neat set up—you grew a bit curious, immediately, your eyes meet the other eyes that stare back at you. near the top right displayed his large following of eight hundred thousand, the top left displays his current view count, a whopping amount of almost twelve thousand. peeking at the chat, you’re met with dozens of freshly new comments saying how pretty you are, asking if you’re his girlfriend he always talks about, and so on. “you’re a camboy?”

“heh, camboy’s kind of an exaggeration but,” and he’s nervous, you can hear the slight tremor in his voice. it’s cute, gojo was prepared for you to judge him for his side hustle but instead you don’t. he relaxes a bit, shifting his attention away from his crude chat and towards you. “i like to label myself as a um, streamer..”

you have a growing simper. “i don’t think streamers usually get naked for their audience,” and you take a quick stare at his attire—he was practically shirtless, his boxers were covered although he was wearing some kind of tank that had ‘submissive and breedable’ printed on the very front. you furrow your eyebrow, though you choose not to question it. his nervously sly smile only grows once he catches your eyes quite literally checking him out. glancing at the comments again, you hum. “why do they keep asking if i’m your girlfriend? you don’t have a girlfr-”

“woah, s-shut up!” he whines, cupping a hand over your mouth. you giggle, feeling the warmth of his palm rub against your lips. gojo lowers his voice, speaking in a faint whisper. “they think you’re my girlfriend,” and he peels his hand away before running a finger down his nape. “i told them that because-”

“satoru,” you roll your eyes, noticing how he was quite stiff with his body language. being this close to you, your mere elegant fragerence was so exhilarating for him. you made him this nervous, truth be told ; you were far too caught up in your academics to even realize your roommate had a little crush on you. however, you do wish you found out in a more … non less of a lewd way, a way where he wasn’t caught red-handed fondling with a pair of your pretty sage-colored panties. with a sigh, you mumble to him. “you wanna fuck, don’t you?”

that’s definitely not what he thought you was gonna say,

with pouty shimmery lips, gojo’s eyes widen before a sheepish grin marinates against his features. “pft. do i wanna fuck, whaaat?” and he doesn’t even last a second before sighing, dropping his head down in defeat. “y-yes..”

the ringing from his monitor — dozens of women sending him gifts, tickets, donations, begging for their favorite camboy to notice him only gets more disruptive.

the ringing grows louder, the repetitive chiming sound of bells, the blaring notification it makes whenever someone sends him a sweet contribution. pretty soon, he was on the verge of meeting yet another goal. ever since you got spotted on the stream, his viewer count doubled.

“well, why didn’t you just ask? besides, there’s other ways than using my panties to get off.” and a wave of embarrassment washes over his face. the towel’s still covering his torso before he shoots you a shy smile. any closer you could’ve got to him and he thought he was gonna explode. the heat radiating from you had his head going in a crazed ditz. stroking his cheek, you speak softly.

“i’m sorry,” he whines, bottom lip poking out. you end up sitting flat on his lap, and instinctively, the curvature of your waist was met with two big hands snaking around it. you’re so pretty like this, he wanted you so so bad. swallowing, he peeks towards his chat before you cup both of his temples to stare right back into your eyes. “i was gonna ask you but- but i’ve never done this, you know,” and the way you slide a finger behind his neck, skimming the texture of your middle finger down his undercut snatches a purr from him. “i- i want you, but i just don’t know what to do with like .. i wanna make sure that i don’t embarrass myself.”

oh, he couldn’t have been any more cuter,

you heard the slight crack in gojo’s voice at the end of his candied sentences before you sling your arms over him. “don’t be embarrassed,” you softly reply, still straddling his lap. “i can always show you how.” and he gulps, your voice was smooth as silk. sweet as honey, the more you strum your thumb down his undercut, the more he can hear the rapid pulse of his heart beat throb through his ears. the simplicity of your touch was enough to have him weak.

“please..” he murmurs in a hushed tone, loving the way how gentle, how tender you were with your touch. gojo mewls out a needy whimper, feeling a sudden tent rise near between his legs. he was hard, you’d giften him a pretty solid boner and whilst you were propped up on his lap, you felt it rub against you all too well.

gojo awaits for you to make the first move, but you’re teasing . . seeing if he was going to initiate, and he does, inching his sheeny lips into yours.

your roommate pulls you into a deep kiss, he tastes like candy, candied. with your arms still occupied, wrapping around him, you glide your tongue against his, parting lips, teeth clashing amongst each other in sync. you could hear the faint sounds of whimpers run from his lips, he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands though—so gingerly, a hand of his strums down your back, giving the fabric that stuck against your skin a soft yank. he wanted you, the strain beneath his half on boxers only grows the more he starts to suck on your tongue.

heavy, wheezing breaths collide against each other, hitting each moving muscle like a wave,

he’s so eager,

gojo’s mind clears everything out of his head and he’s just focused on you. the saccharine tang of your signature lip gloss, he tastes it and it’s so delicious.

through cerulean-pristine hazed peripherals, gojo looks towards his chat to read some of the comments . .

chososdoublehomicide: i miss choso

zorosthroatwarmer293: i wanna be gojo >:( she’s so pretty

secksybabeamy: Hey hot stuff ;) Subscribe to my only fans!

throatgoatemily: His whines omg

as the kiss deepens, gojo whines once your hand slithers its way down between his legs. slowly removing the towel that sheaths his exposed body, you feel against his dick. at first touch, he whimpers, then whines, then whimpers again.

he was so pent up—you could feel it, you were gentle with your fingers, brushing it against the length of his dick before gently wrapping a hand around its girth. gojo moans in your mouth, feeling hitched breaths arise from his lungs. he could never get enough of how fucking sweet you were,

and he didn’t even want to.

pulling away for a long gasp of fresh air, he bites his lip as he looks down to feel your hands stroke his cock. gojo had quite the staggering inches on him, he shivers at how precise your hand movements were—

up and down,

with a hand of yours gripping over his fat length, a thumb of yours runs down the vein that coats his shaft. its pulsing, he’s needy for more of your touch so bad that it sends shockwaving static to rigorously coarse through his bouquet of neurons.

“y-your hand feels so much better than mine, heh,” he breathes, swallowing the imaginary balled up lump that resides near the back of his throat. blue irises, dilated and all stares at you—a hand reaches towards your back before his thigh starts to bounce. “not to be weird but i kinda had a dream about this, angel.”

“a dream about me stroking you?” you hum, amused before sneaking a wet kiss near the crook of his twitching lips.

gojo nods wearily, forever deeply captured by your beauty. your hands swiftly resumes to stroke him, feeling the tender skin that lives near his frenulum peel back every few seconds. gojo moans, burying his face into the very depths of your neck. so desperate, he wanted more and more. “aw, is this too much? should i slow down?”

“no.. don’t stop,” and his desperate plea was so sweet, though he wanted to go further. you giggle once he suddenly lifts you up, dragging you towards the bed. “f-fuck, ‘m sorry. can’t wait anymore,” and he hovers over you with that crazed look of total desire. “can i … eat you out?”

with a coy smile, you’re laid on your back as he just stands over you — eyes gawking at your entire physique, the way your thighs were all out with the short hem of your shorts reaching against your ass. you could tell gojo was impatient, that hungry stare in his eye never once faded.

“yeah,” you coo, parting your legs slowly. oh, you were a fucking tease.

not only were you a tease for him, you were a simple force to be reckoned with. no panties on either, gojo felt himself get hard yet again before he kneels down. with your roommate positioning himself between your legs, he lets off a soft sigh.

combing your fingers through his soft tangles, he looks up at you with a craving yet impish expression. you giggle, making him look right into your eyes. peering at his chat that was going ballistic over his girlfriend, you speak in a soft tone. “do you know how to even eat pussy, ‘toru? i can h-”

“girl i know how to eat pussy,” he grumbles, and he sounds almost offended at you asking if he needed any sorts of help.

sure—gojo literally didn’t know the first thing of eating a woman out, maybe visually.

but now that he’s up close, he has to stop himself from folding right then and there. so soaked, he gets a full view of your slick entrance, your pussy was the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes upon so far.

as he’s a few inches a apart, with sprawled open thighs—the last thing you’d expect was for to gojo to start drooling all on your cunt. a stringy, syrupy concoction of his own saliva pours out of his mouth and onto your folds. just a quick glimpse and he’s pussy drunk. fuck, he’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been but he can’t help it. gojo didn’t even get a taste and he’s already salivating at the sight of your sopping wet arousal. a thumb of yours wipes the spit that dribbles near the corner of his mouth and he whines at your touch again before he finally digs in.

lolling out his tongue, the very tip licks near the inner moistened entrance of your pulled out labia. gojo for probably the umpteenth time lays his tongue flat before he goes all in. a broad left hand of his attach towards the fat of your thigh as he remakes a long striping lick. “s-shiiit, ‘toru.” you gasp, the coldness on his tongue taking you by sheer surprise.

the texture of it .. you’re weak, gnawing on metaphoric bars of your enclose as well as the skin on your lip, you whine.

for someone who’s never had much experience, let alone no experience, you’d easily second guess. your back arches forward while gojo’s tongue rummages through every part of your clit. he sucks on your nub, closing his eyes and fully sinks into bliss. gojo’s pristine white brows cock into a furrow before he slides a thumb down your wet entrance. he just can’t get over how wet you were for him. sopping wet, inept lips of his constantly quivers before he gives your cunt a sweet kiss.

wet for him, he breaks his lips away for a few seconds just to smear his face against your pussy.

“m-mhm,” he whimpers, wanting your scent to linger on his face for as long as it could, your scent .. it was hard to not get obsessed, a few minutes in and he already felt his mouth watering.

as bundles of minuscule taste buds of his tingle with excitement — his tongue swiftly swirls through every orifice, not missing any spot. he searched through the gooey crevices of your walls, lips moving in complete tandem. his dick strains between his thighs that it’s almost painful.

if eating you out tasted this good, he only imagined what it’d feel like to be inside,

shoved deep into your pussy, stuffing you full with his luscious thickset inches . .

that same repeated whine that always sounds raw dies straight out of your esophagus, you yank on the strands of your roommate’s messy hair as his pace quickens by a mile. in the midst of devouring your heat, a broad hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs—he kisses the long slope inside of your entrance, lips all glossy and glittering with gloss thanks to you. that same panging throb starts to grow within you again. your toes curl up tightly before your eyes meet the drywall splattered on the ceiling. his tongue, the way it continues to scrabble all through every part of your cunt, he grows addicted almost immediately. gojo can’t help but lather a few sloppy kisses on your folds, sliding his tongue through your slit.

he even starts to tongue fuck you, softly thrusting the swollen tip of his tongue in and out until you’re about to whine out again for him.

that was his favorite part by far, pushing his tongue in and out of your puffy folds — relishing the way your pretty pussy coats the underside of his chin with a lustrous amount of sweet, burnished slick.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you’d wail, and your hips start to jitter against his face. he doesn’t mind . . in fact, gojo brings two hands to grip against the curves of your hips.

once he maintains a secure grasp, he lets you rub your wetness all over him. with his tongue thoroughly exploring in every part, he starts to whine too .. so eager to touch himself but he wants to keep his hands on you. a whiny whimper wrenches from the back of your throat before you start to babble. “satoru, ‘m gonna cum, fuuuck. jus’ like that, keep l-lickin’ there, baby.”

he was such a quick learner, part of you thinks he maybe had more experience than you oughta thought. gojo can’t help but attack your sweet syrupy folds with a multitude of kisses, drooling lips of his making you more sticky than you already were. your legs could barely hold themselves open.

he had to pry them open with clammy hands, slurping in every drop as if he was dehydrated with thirst. a thirst you happily quenched with him being propped between your legs. after a while, he runs a thumb down your slit once more, pretty eyes glancing up at you, wanting to see your sweet face. “a-am i doin’ a good job?” and his voice was a bit hoarse, the way he speaks, drooping eyes and a sheepish grin—visibly pussy drunk, you grab onto his strands before rocking your hips into his mouth. he giggles, muffled noises eliciting from his mouth, taking your eager jittery movements as a yes.

he just couldn’t get enough of his roommate’s taste.

occasionally, he likes to depart his lips to gather a nice concoction of saliva—only to then spit right onto your sopping folds, whining at how it was so shiny. so pretty, he’s mesmerized again at how it looks, and you end up cumming with the cutest shrieking orgasm. it snatches out of you roughly, your speech is slurred for a moment as your legs quaver in utmost pleasure.

you’re shaking, feeling him clean you up with the flatness of his tongue—gojo moans, white lashes fluttering as he takes your beauty in. this was so much better than one of his risqué wet dreams. so much better,

without even a single word leaving from his lips, he gets up to pull you into a kiss. almost immediately, you taste yourself that lingers on his tounge. it tastes sweet, gojo props himself between your thighs as you sit up, a free hand of his sliding between your stretched out legs. the constant rings of his donations continue to scream out that same annoying chime before he leans in to shut his computer. he’d probably have left so many—thousands of his fan girls devastated, but there was only a new fan girl he was fixated on.

you.

gojo was addicted, with tongues colliding against each other, hot breaths wafting against each own, he feel his breath hitch at your touch. a hand of yours snakes down to feel on his erect dick. he whines, gnawing at the bottom of your lip before his tongue gets more curious. he licks the bottom of your chin, the side of your mouth, only to then pull you into another deep kiss. “f-fuck, ‘m so hard,” he rasps between sultry kisses, heaving from each breath. you still couldn’t get over the taste of yourself that loiters all on the flat of his pink tongue. “i wanna feel you from the inside, angel.”

“but your stream,” you tease once he finally pulls away, taking a second to catch your breath yourself. you felt the heat roam across the room before stroking his cheek — flushed lips of his burn with such intensity, you had him feral. “your fans, i wouldn’t wanna interrupt them, ‘toru.”

“fuck them,” he pouts, the cute frown on his face tugging against his lips. “okay that’s mean, they help me pay rent but just- i want you right now,” and he’s so needy. he paws at your t-shirt, glossy eyes widening, god. his bottom lip pokes out, squinting for two seconds before seeing how your nipples invitingly poke out. so perky, he could feel his mouth watering sporadically. he lays you back before swallowing, a loud gulp before he hovers over you. “you knew this was gonna happen, didn’t y-you? such a tease.”

you simper, opening your legs for him and he gets a good glimpse. gojo sucks his teeth, still so soaked. he only dreamt of what you’d feel like inside.

probably so tight and warm,

the more he thinks about it, the more he could feel himself starting to drool. gojo’s panting as if he’d just finished a marathon. a hand of his wraps around his length—giving it a few solid pumps. “i thought you’d wanna do doggy for your first position,” you sweetly say, and oh, he pouts for you again. you sit up, awaiting for him to take the lead first before smiling. “missionary though? you’re not so good with eye contact, baby.”

“i know how to do missonry.” he grumbles.

“missionary,” you correct him with a titter.

he pouts again, preparing to align himself. so wet, your pussy was sopping wet, swollen from just being eaten out so good. a warm breath fans out through his lips before he rubs it against your slippery slit. “and don’t call me baby,” he moans, although the simple pet name for him a lot harder than he thought it would. slowly, gojo’s fat leaky tip continues to ghost against your folds. you hold back a sweet moan, laid all out on display for him on the mattress. he’s waited for this moment, had dreams about it, even fantasized about it. “fuck,” he’d huff out, and his voice cracks. you’d laugh but he’s staring at you the entire time with that cute pouty expression. “can- can we hold hands? for you know, leverage?”

“leverage, sure,” you play along, your fingers locking against his. damp, perspiring palms squeeze against yours before his rounded tip starts to slowly make its way inside. immensely, a breath gets caught in his throat and he whines. the warmth he’s rudely greeted with makes him gnaw his pearly whites together. “you’re kinda b-big, so go a little slow, ‘toru.”

“i’m big?” he repeats—cutely enough, it boosts his ego that you think so, yet his confidence fades the further he dumps a few hefty inches into your entrance. as you expected, you were a bit tight and stiff for a few seconds—unyielding against him for a moment, you moan. saying gojo was big was a mere understatement, he couldn’t help but lean in to lay against your chest. “how’s it feel? s-slower?”

“it’s good. that’s good,” you start to heave, gasping once he inches his head closer to latch his lips against your neglected cold nipples. he doesn’t even lift up your t-shirt, he runs his tongue through the fabric and sucks on your perked tits. “t-toru, fuckk.”

it was a soft twinge sensation at first before he’s close to bottoming out . . so close,

it’s at the moistened tip of his tongue. gojo’s shaft resumes to go in further, you feel him pulse inside before once he’s all the way in, he’s already out of breath. with his mouth occupied—he’s still sucking on your nipples through the shirt, whiney. a free hand of his runs gives your left thigh a nice firm grasp before he starts up a single few thrusts.

you whine, tossing your arms over him and he glances down at you—beads of sweat race down the sides of his brow before he sits up in a proper position. gojo can’t get over how pretty you look for him like this, he’s fully in and he sneaks a kiss onto your lips. “can i m-move?” and the falter in his voice was adorable, gojo’s breath continues to get more heavy before you give him a nod. he peppers various kisses near your mouth, neck, and of course, your precious chest. his personal favorite,

with frail arms wrapped around him, pulling him close—you run your ankle down his back and he moans. “oh, ‘s even better than i imagined,” he whispers against your ear, hot breath sending you antsy judders. the more his breath goes against your skin, the more you smell how minty it was. fresh, you desperately yearned for more so you pull him into another kiss for the nth time. “ugh. the way you clamp down, ‘s gonna kill me,” he babbles in a low puff. he’s speaking between staring up at decent pace for you to get accustomed to. you whimper, trying to get adjusted to his barreling length but he was just so fucking big. it was an ongoing rumor that between gojo—and his best friend suguru geto had the top biggest dicks. of course, you always wondered exactly how whoever started that rumor would even know, but gojo was definitely a packer. he stretched you out in ways you’ve never felt before. with strained breaths, he coats your mouth with many wet kisses. time and time again, the feeling of himself going into you raw has him drooling again. “pussy’s so wet, ‘m gonna die, oh my god.”

“don’t be dramatic, you’re not gonna die.” you try to reassure him. the grip on your hand only grows tighter, crimson lips of his suck against the underside of your chin.

so damn needy,

mussed strands of white tickle against your forehead the closer he presses his body into you. gojo was shivering, just a few minutes in pussy and as if it was a game—he’d be on the last level, game over. albeit, you feel it too. the warmth, it turns into a sweltering hot. as his hips rock, his whines start to become more vocal. he sneaks a hand down to feel the area that’s being stuffed, a thumb skims against your tummy before he moans,

“feel me t-there, yeah?” he whispers, a cute attempt at dirty talk but alas, it’s subtle. gojo easily folds once your eyes meet his gaze.

you moan, intertwining your fingers with his, moaning out a soft, “yeah,” and you sound out of breath yourself.

he’s jerking back and forth — his pace, his tempo . . wasn’t too slow or two fast, perfect.

with a quivering bottom lip, he leans in to lick against the outer shell of your ear. your cunt’s singing in harmony, sloshes of wet that leaves its metaphoric vocal cords and you start to get a bit louder. “f-fuck, ‘toru right there—fuuuck.”

“s-shit, you’re so pretty,” he pants, repeating his ways at coating your entire face with his wet kisses. you had him weak, entirely. you found it a bit silly considering how this could have happened anytime—anytime at all, all he had to do was ask. but gojo being gojo, he was not only a man with barely any experience, but he was nervous. he’s always had a bit of a crush on you but confessing sounded way scary. it was as if this entire thing was mere coincidence though, you happen to find out he’s not only a sloppy eater but,

he’s a camboy.

part of you wonders what he does on his streams. if you saw him rubbing one off while thinking about you—you could only imagine what other lewd antics he participated in.

gojo’s rutting into you at a much more quicker pace, he’s whining into your neck;

forgetting to praise you, and it’s more of the other way around. you’re cupping his face, stroking his cheek before repeating in that same melodic voice, “good boy, ‘s so good, makin’ me feel good, ‘toru baby.”

your voice, oh your voice, he could listen to it all day. you feel the constant twitch of his cock inside you and he whines every time your ankle rubs down his back. with the way your pussy holds him hostage— it’s so provocative, his reaction time was as slow as a sloth, droopy eyes stare at you before he grunts out a pleading, “f-fuck, ‘s gonna come,” and his voice sounds like a soft purr, gojo was like a kitten to you— so cute, his pout always make things more true too. he’s groaning in your ear, fat balls thwacking against you before his ears starts to ring. you’re moaning with him, bodies thrusting in sync that it’s almost like a pornographic choreography. “ugh, i- i feel it, ‘m gonna cum so much. so hot, gonna die.”

“breathe, baby,” you whisper, pulling his face closer to you. his chubby cheeks squish together once he’s within your grasp, the sharp piston of his hips makes you moan. his thrusts gets a bit sloppy and you press a kiss onto his mouth. “mwah,” you hum, watching how flustered he gets at a lick of your affection. “you wanna finish inside, don’t you?”

gojo whimpers. “yeah, yeah. really bad,” and the moment you suggest that, his ears perk cutely. he’s gotta be careful though—with a cunt as addicting as yours, he just might end up falling in love.

speaking of love, it’s as if heart eyes pour into his irises as he glances at you—again, metaphorically of course. gojo gulps at the tender touch of your fingers, leaning in to nip a kiss near your neck. through muffled words, he mewls. “i wanna fill you up. ‘s only fair since you’re milking me s-so much, ‘m so thirsty,” and he’s just babbling, pulling him close—he whines once he feels your finger glide through his sensitive undercut again. “hngh, gonna break me. let me make a mess in you please? i’ll even eat it out of you once ‘m done.”

you’re tempted at his pleads, giggling before dragging him into a deep kiss. “such a blabbermouth,” you tease between kisses, staring to feel the tears of sweat race down the sides of your forehead also— with a sly smile, you lick the drool that was about to run down the side of his lip. “finish in me, ‘toru. it’s okay. be my messy boy.”

his eyes dilated once he hears that,

your messy boy.

he even repeats it, “y-your messy boy, yeah, ‘m so messy for you, roomie,” and as he’s preparing for his inevitable release, he sinks into your warm embrace. “one more kiss, h-hold me.” and as if on command, you yoke his head in close, giving him a deep, passionate kiss. his pulsing heart beats through his ears. gojo—by this point, he was already whipped. the way his hips pick up, growing more sloppy and deranged—he’s feral.

the feverish under parts of his thighs burn, longing for its incoming conclusion climax—yet, as your smoldering heat gnashes against his, it finally comes.

with a primal gasp, it’s here.

the nirvana—euphoria, whatever it could have been called to describe this feeling, it was here.

gojo whimpers, going into a complete spazzing fit once he feels the slow orgasmic waves of himself starting to shoot literal humid blanks inside you.

it’s hot, parching hot— your heat against smelts his, it scratches a fervor itch in your brain. his tongue rummages the inside of your mouth again as he’s painting the insides of your gummy walls with his snowy white color.

satiny ropes of your roommate’s seed trickle into you, it’s so gooey and hot that it starts to stick against the inner parts of your thighs. each rough kiss reflects the same desire the both of you share before he shudders.

slow thrusts, he’s barely moving as fast as he was before but he’s still active. he wants to make sure you feel every inch he’s saved for you,

for weeks, months, maybe even years—

“god,” he whimpers out, pulling away from your glossed lips—a pretty cobweb of spit departs from each and he happily laps it up with his tongue. who knew your roommate was nothing more than a mere freak.

not you, not by a long shot.

it takes a moment for him to catch his breath, with a flustered look— gojo’s now clingy.

he doesn’t wanna move away from you, nor does he wanna exactly pull out. not just yet, he’s plugged you full of sticky cum that was threatening to ooze of your hole before he kisses the bridge of your nose. “that was so awesome.”

and just like that, the mood’s ruined—you pant, he’s hovering over you, his weight barely on you before you sigh.

“you know,” you change the subject, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “your moans, you sound more like a girl than me, ‘s kinda hot.”

“whaaat?” he grumbles, his sweetened pout forever returning. “that’s not nice, ‘n besides if it’s anyone who moans louder it’s you, angel.”

you kiss near the twitching corner of his lip, watching his sudden attitude shift like a light switch and he’s now a puddle. “you finished a bit early though,” and with your arms wrapping around him again, you speak in a soft voice. “wanna go again? you’re a natural, ‘toru.”

“please,” he whines with a nod, feeling how sweltering hot it felt to be still buried into the comforting tightness of your cunt. “this time, i wanna try doggy.”

“okay, pretty boy,” you tease, leaning in for another one of gojo’s sloppy, need kisses. just before he could pull out, the door springs open. the hinges scream once it pulls back and the two of you both look to see what the racket was.

as the door opens, it was geto—gojo’s best friend, and he had the most disgusted look on his face.

with a scrunched up face, he utters. “i’m never running errands for you two again, what the actual fuck.”

and as he turns his heel to leave, gojo snorts. “suguboooo! aw, don’t leave just yet. you can always joinnn.”

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

thanks for reading, and please reblog if you enjoyed it <33

feel free to share your thoughts, i'd love to hear them!

this is where i got the dividers

[rafecameronssl4t]

dad!rafe request where in mabel has a phase where she's clingy to her mama instead of being usually clingy to rafe

Mama’s Girl || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Miss Mabes is what I call my puppy sometimes so I had to include Rafe saying it 🥲

Warnings: noneeee

Word count: 860

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

The soft light of early morning filtered through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting a golden glow over the space. You were barely awake, caught in that blissful haze between sleep and consciousness, when you felt a tiny hand patting your face. “Mama?”

You opened your eyes slowly, finding Mabel’s wide, curious blue eyes staring back at you. Her unruly bedhead made her look even more adorable. “Mama,” she repeated insistently, her voice a little louder this time. Rafe stirred beside you, groaning softly as he rolled over and draped an arm over your waist, pulling you and Mabel closer.

“Miss Mabes, it’s too early for this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. But Mabel wasn’t having it. “Mama!” she declared, wriggling her way into your arms and snuggling against your chest. You chuckled softly, running your fingers through her soft hair. “What’s up, baby?”

“Stay with Mama,” she murmured, her little arms wrapping around you tightly. It had been like this for the past week—Mabel clinging to you like a koala, refusing to let you out of her sight. Normally, she was Rafe’s shadow, following him around the house, insisting on helping him with everything from mowing the lawn to fixing her toys.

But now, she wanted nothing but her mama. Rafe, still half-asleep, cracked one eye open and gave Mabel a mock-offended look. “What happened to Daddy’s girl, huh? You ditching me?” Mabel buried her face in your chest, mumbling something unintelligible. “Oh, I see how it is,” Rafe teased, propping himself up on one elbow. “You’re leaving me for Mama. After everything we’ve been through?”

You laughed, gently stroking Mabel’s back. “Don’t take it personally, Rafe. She’s just going through a phase.” “A phase where I’m chopped liver,” he muttered, though the amused glint in his eyes betrayed his faux-pout. Mabel peeked up at him then, her expression softening. “No, Daddy,” she said, reaching out a hand to pat his cheek. “I still love you.”

Rafe melted instantly, his signature grin spreading across his face. “That’s more like it,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But don’t forget, you were my girl first.” The rest of the day followed the same pattern. Mabel insisted on staying glued to your side, whether you were cooking breakfast, folding laundry, or simply sitting on the couch.

She held your hand tightly, looked up at you with those big blue eyes, and said, “Don’t go, Mama,” every time you tried to step away. By the time evening rolled around, you were feeling the weight of her newfound clinginess. Rafe, ever the doting husband and father, noticed your exhaustion and decided to step in.

“Alright, Mabel,” he announced, scooping her up as you cleaned up the remnants of dinner. “Daddy’s turn. Let Mama have a break.” “No!” Mabel protested, wriggling in his arms. “Mama stays!” Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Mama needs to rest, sweetheart. Come on, let’s go read your favourite book. I’ll even do the funny voices.”

Mabel hesitated, her little brow furrowed in thought. Finally, she nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Thank you,” you mouthed to Rafe as he carried her off to the living room. An hour later, you found them snuggled together on the couch, Mabel fast asleep against Rafe’s chest. He looked up as you approached, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“See? She can’t resist Daddy forever,” he whispered, his hand gently stroking her back. You sat down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re both pretty irresistible,” you admitted, your voice tinged with affection. Rafe kissed the top of your head, his voice low and warm. “You know, I don’t mind her being clingy with you. She gets it from me, after all.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with love for the two of them. As you sat there, the quiet hum of the evening surrounding you, you realised that no matter whose phase it was—Mama’s or Daddy’s girl—your little family was your greatest joy. And in that moment, with Mabel nestled against Rafe and his arm wrapped around you, everything felt perfect.