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lightseoul · 12 hours ago

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TWENTY-SIX (4.3k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. your boyfriend's spending his birthday oceans away from you, and there's absolutely little you can do to celebrate his special day...right?

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-ch 431: more, established relationship, lots of cussing AND banter, explicit themes (which i will not describe in great detail for the element of surprise, but know that it's explicit), a little present for my fluff/smut girlies out there <3 (also me)

a/n. happy birthday to the (fictional. sobs) man of my dreams <3 i wanted to whip something special up for his birthday this year, especially since i started writing more seriously last september. since then, i've made so many friends on here primarily over our shared love for katsuki, and it's just been a blast (pun intended). this one kind of got away from me—this was just supposed to be a short drabble, but it ended up the way it did. still, i think it's a great read (if i say so myself), so i hope you enjoy this. once again, happy birthday, kats <3

“and then they fucking—told the waiter that it was my birthday.”

“no.”

bakugou sneers, his grimace just slightly distorted—a digital mosaic of rose-colored pixels. “it was fucking embarrassing.”

you try to imagine the picture of your boyfriend sitting awkwardly as the foreign restaurant’s staffers sang him a happy birthday, and you have to tamp down the smile that’s fighting to encroach on your lips.

“let me guess,” you quip—just loud enough for him to hear you over your phone’s built-in microphone, “it was denki’s idea.”

that grants you an eye roll, which is so animated, it doesn’t even matter that the hotel’s internet connection is so crappy, bakugou’s face morphs into an indistinguishable blob every two minutes or so.

“don’t remind me,” he retorts, “for dunce face’s sake.”

“or what?” you laugh, “are you gonna give him a good ol’ spanking?”

“fuck, no. for all i know, he’s probably getting spanked by ears as we speak.”

from a few feet away from you, a sudden sound akin to that of someone choking on their spit resonates, and you barely catch yourself from reflexively shooting a glare in that very direction. instead, you keep your gaze trained on your screen and on the ash-blonde who’s lying on his stomach with a pillow propped up underneath him, trying not to let the panic show on your face.

you’ve come this far, the last thing you need is for denki to—

“what was that?”

despite yourself, you stiffen. “what was what?”

“that sound,” bakugou points out, straightening up himself. “wait, where did you say you were again?”

“ochako’s,” you lie. she was one of your only friends whose apartment’s walls were almost the same color as the hotel bakugou’s currently staying in. and denki. and jirou.

the very same hotel you’re—

“that sounded like a guy, though,” comes bakugou’s cautious response, and it takes you a second to realize how the situation is looking like to him.

“izuku’s here as well,” you quickly supply, wishing to any divine being out there that he doesn’t ask you to point your camera at either of the couple.

thankfully, he doesn’t. what he does, instead, is furrow his eyebrows in equal parts confusion and disgust.

“they’re listening to our conversation?”

“chill, bro,” you force yourself to chuckle, “we just finished eating as well. we’re all just hanging out in the living room.”

now, if bakugou’s catching on to your deception, he doesn’t show it.

at least, by much.

“huh…”

“…yep.”

another scrutinizing squint. “and you’re sitting on round cheek’s floor because…?”

shit. right.

“i’m just charging my phone,” you fib, and before bakugou can get another word in and catch you in your deceit, you pipe up again.

“actually, it’s getting late, kats. i think i’m gonna head home.”

“but—”

“i’ll message you the plate number, don’t worry.”

at that, bakugou huffs, and you have to swat away the guilt that washes over you at the sight of his disappointment—disappointment that’s palpable despite his obvious attempt at eclipsing it with his worry for your safety.

he doesn’t say anything for another beat, and you take that as your cue to unplug your imaginary charger and lift yourself to your feet.

“well, i should get going,” you announce, just as he blurts something out that you fail to catch.

“…sorry,” you laugh—genuinely this time, “what did you say?”

“just—” he starts, voice lowered into a hushed whisper, suddenly appearing shy. “can we—i don’t know—call again when you get home?”

you hesitate, then remember that if things work out the way you planned them, you wouldn’t have to worry about the idea of it. still, you keep up the concerned act. “sure, kats, but don’t you have an early start tomorrow?”

“yeah,” he replies, “but another thirty minutes or so wouldn’t hurt.”

you can’t help it—you smile at that. bakugou seems to flush at the sight of you grinning knowingly, bringing up a scarred hand to rub at his face—a habit you’ve noticed he does whenever he feels embarrassed.

and, because you know telling him you miss him too would only fuel his embarrassment even further, you instead bite your tongue and wish him another happy birthday, but not before promising him you’d call as soon as you’re in bed and settled in your pajamas.

you wait for the tell-tale chime of a video call ending to go off before you dare to heave a sigh of relief.

the clamoring ensues in an instant.

“who knew bakugou was such a lover boy?”

from where she’s lounging on her suite’s expansive sofa, jirou flashes you a teasing smirk.

“excuse me,” denki exclaims from the queen-sized bed, “are we just going to breeze past the way he insulted me?”

you’ve got half a mind to comment on how you’d bet good money he’s already been pegged by the hearing hero, but decide against it—you still needed both of their help, after all. so instead, you bite your tongue, and gesture to the refrigerator.

“we don’t have much time, so we better get moving.”

“right.”

“o-kay.”

fortunately, it doesn’t take you a while to get things ready. denki manages to get the balloons inflated in record time, while jirou’s got the cake and champagne all set as you got changed into a much more flattering dress and touched up on your makeup. by the time you’re supposed to have arrived at your apartment unit way back in japan, the three of you are standing by the entrance of the musician’s hotel room, birthday paraphernalia placed in a fancy-looking cart you borrowed from reception, the air around you buzzing with nervous anticipation.

you check your watch for the umpteenth time, before looking back up to the two. “are you sure you guys don’t want to surprise him with me?”

jirou shakes her head. “nah, we already celebrated with him during dinner. we ought to give you guys some privacy to celebrate on your own.”

“yeah,” denki adds, “plus, i don’t want to be there in case things get nasty real fast.”

“denki!”

“dude!”

“what?” the electric hero cries, “kacchan can make sex jokes while i can’t?”

“you need to work on your timing, dipshit,” comes jirou’s reprimand, to which denki only pouts petulantly.

“well, i should get going,” you begin, reaching out to open the door. “he should be waiting for me to call by now.”

the two whisper their well wishes as you carefully roll the cart through the space, and you manage to mouth a quick thank you just before they quietly shut the slab of wood behind you.

you wait in the hallway for a second for denki to come out of the room and go back to his own, but that never comes.

well, then. you guess they’re not set on beating the allegations, either.

once you’re sure denki’s not coming out anytime soon, you take a shaky breath. meticulously, you let your eyes trail the row of doors that line the hallway, before they land on the number jirou supplied you with earlier today while you were still at the airport. pushing the cart that contains the lit cake and champagne—and even the dark orange balloons marking his age—right up to the doorway, you take another wobbly inhale.

suddenly, and in the face of finally seeing your boyfriend after over a month of being literally oceans apart, the exhaustion of travelling for hours dissipates from your system, leaving you almost shaking in nothing but excitement.

and you were about to lift your hand to knock on the door—really, you were—when, to your horror and without any warning, the door flings open, and you find yourself face to face with no other than the birthday boy himself.

you can only blink at the man who’s frozen midway through the passageway, his pretty face mirroring the utterly bewildered expression you’re sure you’re sporting right now.

you manage to gather your bearings first, the sole thing you can muster being: “…surprise?”

now, in the split second of thinking time this situation has granted you, you figured he’d likely curse in disbelief, maybe ask you what the fuck you’re doing here, but what you didn’t expect was for him to stand—unmoving—for a couple more seconds, before unceremoniously lifting you into a bone-crushing hug.

“katsuki!” you squeal, looping your arms around his neck and your legs around his body, holding on for dear life. “put me down!”

bakugou only squeezes you tighter in response, and you have no choice but to cling onto him for a beat longer, until he effortlessly puts you back on your feet, that same unbelieving look still painted across his features.

“what the—”

“—fuck am i doing here?” you finish for him, and he nods, scoffing out an astounded laugh.

you gesture to the cart beside you, and you make a swift mental note that the candle’s gonna go out anytime soon. “i wanted to surprise you for your birthday.”

and before he can say something in response, you jut in. “quick, make a wish and blow before it goes out.”

to your confusion, bakugou doesn’t even spare the cake a glance, gaze fixed on you.

“don’t have to.”

you frown. “what? hurry up, kats, it’s gonna—”

“i said,” he interjects, pulling you closer by your waist, and your hands shoot up to plant themselves against his chest, “i don’t have to.”

looking up at him, you gulp. “w-why?”

a smirk. “because you’re already here, dumbass.”

that's all the foreboding you’re given before you’re seized into a scathing kiss, and you barely manage to bite back a groan at the simultaneously foreign yet familiar feeling of bakugou’s lips against yours, even more so as he presses himself further against you, deepening the kiss. you let your hands snake up to bakugou’s neck as you feel his caress your sides, and you have to fight to ignore the shot of arousal that courses through you the moment his tongue breaches your mouth’s entrance, exploring it so hungrily like he hasn’t done so a million times before.

you probably stand there stuck to each other for a couple of minutes when a particularly hard bite on your lower lip lurches you back to reality—the reality that you’re very much still in a public space and that the last thing bakugou needs is to reach headlines for being seen aggressively making out with his girlfriend.

and so with much reluctance, you take a step back, and another when bakugou moves to chase your lips, before he finally gets the message and lets his arms drop to his sides, albeit somewhat begrudgingly.

you take the opportunity to chance another glance at the cake, and sure enough, the candle is already dead.

“we can just cut out the parts where the wax melted,” bakugou suggests when you don’t say anything for a minute, and you look back at him and smile, nodding.

neither of you says another word for a beat, resorting to just staring at each other with your mouths pulled taut into goofy grins.

it’s bakugou, though, who breaks the silence.

“you’re so fucking pretty.”

you flush, although you snort to hide your fluster. “i can’t be surprising my boyfriend looking like a hot mess, now, can i?”

“you can, you know,” bakugou replies without missing a beat, gesturing you inside, “and i’ll still think you look fucking pretty.”

you punch him in the arm as you file into his suite, which he takes in stride before pushing the cart in step behind you.

“since when did you become such a smooth talker?”

at that, bakugou laughs that gruff laugh of his as he closes the door and turns to regard you. “well, sue me for flirting with my girlfriend.”

“stupid,” you chuckle as you shake your head in amusement, before tossing him the sincerest smile you can muster. “i missed you, kats.”

before you know it, bakugou’s back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around your torso almost too tightly, although you can’t find it in you to mind. “i missed you, too, baby.”

“were you in jirou’s room the entire time?” he asks after a moment of just standing there, limbs interconnected.

“yeah, they helped me keep the entire thing under wraps.”

“huh,” bakugou muses, rubbing absentminded circles on your waist. “didn’t know they were damn good actors. i had no idea.”

you grin. “i’ll take that as a win.”

a pause.

“you being here certainly is.”

you let out an exaggerated groan, pushing the man away and walking towards the foot of his bed, plopping yourself down onto the firm mattress. the motherfucker only laughs at you, although he’s quick to trail behind you and sit himself in the spot right next to you, not sparing you a modicum of distance.

“you know,” you start, side-eyeing the pro-hero as you take off your heels, “if you keep this up, i’m gonna start thinking you really missed me.”

“i’m fucked, then,” he retorts, “because i ain’t beating any of your allegations.”

you laugh again. “speaking of not beating any allegations, denki’s in jirou’s room right now.”

“what did i fucking tell you?”

“i know, i know. i just didn’t think they’d be so brazen about hooking up. they’re not even trying to hide it.”

bakugou sniggers, taking your hand in his. “should’ve made a bet with you.”

“you say that as if you’d take a single yen from me,” you rebut, to which he can only shrug, unable to argue with your point.

“enough about them, though,” you say a moment later, your hand still being massaged by bakugou. “what do you want to do?”

and when he only stares at you blankly: “for the rest of your birthday?”

“oh, right.”

you huff, lightly bumping your shoulder with his. “i mean, if you wanna go rest up, then we can do that, too.”

“quit being huffy,” bakugou chastises, “there is something i want to do.”

“really? what is it?”

bakugou lifts his gaze from where your hands are intertwined to meet yours, and one look is enough to tell you what he’s thinking.

you instantly feel yourself flame. “really? aren’t you too tired to do it?”

“nah,” he grins, “i was gonna jack off before sleeping, anyway.”

you snort. “of course, you were.”

“what?” he says defensively. “it helps me sleep better, especially after a long day of work.”

you study his face for another second, before nodding and moving to stand up, although you don’t get to go far because of bakugou’s hold on you.

“where are you going?”

“i have a hair tie in my purse,” you answer, “let me just go grab it.”

you try to step away again, but bakugou’s grip only tightens. you glance back at him, confused. “what?”

“who said i wanted you to suck me off?”

you frown. “aren’t you still tired, though? let me make you feel good, that way you can just lie in bed and take it.”

at that, bakugou shakes his head, pulling you back to him. despite yourself, you let yourself be dragged into the space between his legs, your hands placed on his shoulders while his take residence on your hips.

bakugou creens to look up at you, a serious expression etched on his features. “as fucking appealing as that sounds, that’s not what i want to do right now.”

“this thing i want to do—” he continues when you signal at him to keep going, “—is…new.”

“n-new?”

“yeah. new as in we’ve never tried it before, but i’ve been thinking about it, ever since shitty dunce face planted the idea in my head our first day here.”

you swallow. “first day?”

he nods. “it’s got something to do with—” his line of vision shifts towards something behind you, “—that.”

you look back behind you, and you’ve to stop yourself from gasping when your eyes land on it.

or rather, on the image of you and bakugou.

you whip your head to look at the man, unable to hide the shock on your face. “y-you want to do it—in front of—”

“the mirror, yeah,” he croaks, sounding like he’s trying to mask his own uncertainty, and yet, there’s no denying the determination in his voice. “only if you want to do it, too, of course.”

“yeah, no, of course,” you quickly say, “i-i want to. it’s just—frankly, i never thought of it before.”

“me too,” bakugou admits, “well, up until we arrived here and denki commented on how big the floor-length mirrors were.”

“…so naturally you thought of us having sex in front of it?”

that grants you a pinch at your side, and you squeak—more in astonishment than in pain.

“you forget that it’s my birthday, you fucking tease.”

“sorry, sorry,” you laugh, “i’m done. that was the last one.”

“that better be,” he warns, although it has no real bite to it.

“…so,” you try again after a lull, “how’d you wanna go about it?”

“here,” he gestures to the small space between his legs, “you can sit with your back turned towards me.”

“uh, sure.”

just as was instructed, you turn on your bare feet until you’re facing the mirror, and slowly sit yourself on the edge of the bed and in front of bakugou, although you’re not even fully perched against him yet, before you feel something stiff prod against your back.

you don’t get to comment on it, though, because he beats you to it.

“i know,” he huffs, seemingly self-conscious, not meeting the reflection of your eyes. “i don’t know why it’s turning me on this much, either.”

at that, you place a hand on the arm that’s circled your waist, and the other on one of his thighs, just as you flash him the most reassuring smile you can manage. “it’s alright, baby. i love it when you get this way.”

“y-you do?”

you playfully roll your eyes at him. “you know i do. now, hurry up. we don’t have all night.”

that earns you a disapproving tut, although you can see the amusement behind bakugou’s eyes in the mirror, and the very sight of it sends a wave of anticipation coursing through your veins.

jesus. when was the last time you were this excited?

“you know, for someone who’s eager to please her boyfriend on his birthday, you sure are being a brat.”

“and for someone who’s eager to try a new kink out, you sure are being slow.”

bakugou growls. “that’s it.”

you can only yelp as bakugou practically yanks the zipper of your dress down, and with it, the entire top portion of the ensemble; you don’t get to react or protest, though, because in a matter of a split second, bakugou’s hands are on your naked breasts, and you almost let out a loud moan when he gropes at them so roughly—you can feel your core throb at the all-too overwhelming sensation.

“fuck,” he groans in your ear just as you squirm in front of him, his grip on your chest unrelenting. “i’ve missed these.”

and, as if your breasts have a mind of their own, you feel your nipples stiffen at bakugou’s sentiment—a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed by the pro-hero, who’s quick to tug at your pebbled peaks, rubbing circles and flicking on the flesh.

“shit, you like it when i tell you i’ve missed your boobs?” he rasps, and you can only rub your thighs together in response, eyes clenched closed in pleasure. “what if i tell you i’ve been jacking off every night to that picture of you in your lingerie?”

“you know the one,” he goads, squeezing firmly at your chest, “the one i gifted you that leaves nothing to the imagination?”

you nod—barely—but enough to indicate that you’re still listening, which you’ve learned the hard way is important if you didn’t want to trigger your katsuki. at your affirmation, bakugou lets out a satisfied grunt.

“now, get up,” he demands, “we need to get this fucking dress off of you.”

and off of you it goes. you don’t waste a second in heeding his order and discarding the sundress of the same shade of burnt orange off you, and you also take the chance to strip off your thong—the very one you went for despite the discomfort it brought just so you could surprise your boyfriend if ever things went the direction they are heading right now.

but you’ve barely tugged it off your hips when bakugou’s hand shoots up to stop you, and you look at him in bewilderment, mind only half-working with lust. “what?”

“keep it on,” he commands, “i want you to see how pretty you look when i finger you through your panties.”

well.

you know better than to argue with him at this point, so you only return to your seat that’s becoming smaller by the minute, with his erection taking up more space even against the straining fabric of his sweatpants. it’s only when you’re seated once again do you remember to finally look at the mirror, and when you do, the sight of you sprawled limp and bare against bakugou’s muscled frame causes you to moan out loud, to which bakugou could only curse in response.

“see, baby?” he spurs, tone desperate, “this is what i have to deal with every time we fuck.”

he scoffs, just as he brings a hand down to cup your sex. “and you wonder why i get so hard so fast.”

you whine, if not for his taunting, then at the lack of friction against your core, but you don’t get to do so for long before bakugou’s free hand grabs at your chin, forcing you to look straight into the mirror and at yourself.

“quit fucking whining and watch me finger you,” he spits, before: “and don’t even think about closing your eyes.”

that’s the last thing he says before he, true to his word, slips two fingers into your underwear and thrusts them into your hole with little to no warning. you’ve no choice but to moan at the intrusion—your eyes in the middle of fluttering closed when he grabs your face again and points it forward, all the while not stopping his pistoning of his ridiculously long digits in and out of you.

“just look at yourself, princess,” he hisses, “i love it when you look so fucked out like this.”

“uuuugh—”

bakugou snickers, not even giving you a heads up when he brings his other hand up to start rubbing figure eights on your clit. “can’t even form a proper phrase? that’s how good i’m making you feel?”

“uuugh—fuck—”

the pro-hero seems to take this as further encouragement, because he only presses harder against your bud, while the fingers that are nestled deep within you continue to rub oh-so deliciously against your walls.

the tell-tale signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later after that, and bakugou notices it, too, because he doubles down on his ministrations the second you start violently shaking and thrashing in front of him.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he whispers against your ear, and you can only nod, too distrusting in your capability to say yes without whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“look at the mirror, then,” he coaxes—gently, this time—softly bumping your head with his so you would turn towards your reflection.

and, because you want to please your boyfriend on his birthday—of all days—you do.

and the sight of bakugou’s big, strong hands pumping in and out of you and rubbing frantically at your clit while you moan and squirm right up against his big, strong body drives you well over the edge.

and you cum.

and cum.

and you don’t know how much time passes with you lying flaccid on top of the pro-hero’s torso, but by the time you come to, bakugou’s rubbing soothing circles on your waist, while your arms lie slack on top of his that are circled around you.

you shift to look up at the man, who only smiles at you—so delicately, the way he does whenever he was feeling especially intimate—you wouldn’t think he was just roughhousing you a mere moment ago.

“what about you?” you eventually manage to croak out, eyebrows furrowing in apprehension.

“what about me?”

“you didn’t get to finish, birthday boy,” you say pointedly, shifting in your seat. but then it suddenly registers how wet your butt is, and you do a double-take to make sure you’re not imagining it, when bakugou confirms your suspicions.

“i came, too,” he confesses, voice betraying his difficulty of wrapping his head around what just happened. “i don’t fucking know how, but i did.”

“…wow,” is the only thing you’re able to say for a while, before: “we should do this more often.”

at that, bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “neither of us has a big mirror back home.”

to that, you toss him a mischievous smirk, before standing up and padding towards your purse in all your naked glory. you try to ignore the way bakugou’s definitely eye-fucking you as you hastily fish out your phone from its depths, quickly making a few taps before placing it on the coffee table, a triumphant smile on your face.

“what?” bakugou asks, mirroring your grin.

“you won’t believe what i just got you for your birthday.”

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

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr @akiii143 @eternallyshifting

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myeyebagsaredesigner · 3 days ago

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In which Jason is reconnecting with the bats and is forced to go to mandatory bonding sessions every week with each bat, one on one. Things like Dick forcing them to learn stunts, Damian dragging him to art lessons, just them making him do what they find interesting.

Then he reaches Tim’s day, and they meet at like a coffee place or something, and he's just kind of like:

Jason, awkwardly: "Soo, what do you like?"

Tim, just as awkward: "Uh, I listen to music a lot.."

Jason: "Yeah, same. I love Pierce the Ve-"

Tim: "P-Pierce the Veil? I LOVE Pierce the Veil!"

So, they initially create a Spotify playlist together, chill while listening to or talking about music and bands. They eventually decide to take guitar lessons together. Tim on lead guitar and Jason on chords, because his hands are too fucked up to have his fingers move that quickly with that much precision.

They start learning how to play their favorite songs and make a YouTube channel, posting covers of Pierce the Veil, Set It Off, Get Scared, occasionally Lorna Shore and Escape the Fate, etc.

They start to gain a steady stream of fans and start writing their own music to post, all on their set bonding day. Jason even starts cancelling other bats’ days to hang out with Tim to write music and fuck around at skate parks or something. They get gigs and whatever and have tons of fun.

The bats don't know about all this until they're sent a random location and time without explanation in the group chat. They gear up for a steak out or patrol or ambush or something and walk into this raggedy club about 10 minutes after the time to surveillance their surroundings.

They walk in to see Tim and Jason jumping around on stage in their punk outfits and spiked hair like a bunch of lunatics, Roy on drums behind them and they're screaming their hearts out while a mosh pit forms in the crowd.

They are very jealous that Tim has had such a great outcome from his set bonding day and try to create the same results. They do not try to connect with Jason’s interests, and instead push him more into their activities.

Jason does not like this, and ends up cancelling his bonding days. He and Tim get a shitty apartment together and rent out a studio for their music, and Tim is declared Jason’s favorite bat.

The others (mainly Dick) wallow in sadness at every Instagram post or dumb TikTok they make, and Tim and Jason are just having the time of their lives.

#jason todd #tim drake #batfam #tim drake is jasons favorite brother #100%

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bcystar · 3 days ago

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— NO NEED TO BE DRUNK

it was never about how drunk you were

pt.2 to stay for breakfast but can be read as a standalone

pairing: Joaquín x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

authors note: wrote basically the entire thing in one whole night…domestic Joaquín save me 💔💔 also I need to start posting in a timely manner…why is it midnight right now 😞😞 LAST THING don’t mind the format change, I write and edit on my notes app THEN copy and paste onto here and I js got too lazy to make the font smaller and space it out 💀💀

You wake up to warm rays of Sunlight kissing your face and a heavy arm holding you close. You bask in the comfort of the situation, disregarding the pounding in your head. The last thing you remembered from your night out was asking Joaquín to stay the night, remembering you’d promised him breakfast. You slip his muscular arm off your body and slither out of bed. As you stretch, you notice the pills and water on your night stand. “Joaquín you old softy.” You grin to yourself as you gulp down the pills.

You’re flipping the last pancake when the sound of the floor creaking makes you look up from your stove.

“Rise and shine sleepy bird.”

“Good morning to you too, Angel.”

He inches closer to where you stand at the stove, leaning next to you. That’s when you take a look at him. His hair is disheveled, his face is lightly puffy (making him look sooo much cuter), and…he’s…shirtless..? You can’t help but glance down his body. His abs may be attractive but it’s his moles that really grab your attention. They looked like mini chocolate chips on his tan skin…

“Angel, the pancake is burning.” Joaquín takes the flipper from your hand and flips the pancake himself.

“Don’t worry I’ll take that one…” he notices you’re still staring “…you okay..?”

“Huh? Oh uh yeah. My head is killing me.” You rub your forehead.

“Well you quite an eventful night, and also, you did not have to make all this food.” He takes the mildly burnt pancake and plops it on a plate.

He slides your plate to you after adding all the toppings you loved. “C’mere, Angel.” He beckons you over with his arms wide open.

You melt in his strong hold, his scent filling your nose, you almost never want to pull away. He rubs his hand over your back in a circular motion while the other holds your waist tight. Your mind stops all the noise and commotion and falls silent in his touch. He creeps his hand up into your scalp and scratches the back of your head softly. You breathe out a sigh into the crook of his neck and he giggles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just ticklish.”

“Just your neck or anywhere else?” You two are now bobbing side to side softly to the tune of only your affection.

“Nowhere you need to know nosey pants.”

His hand stays massaging your head as you bury your head back onto him. This all felt so…perfect. The sunny morning, yummy breakfast, your crush holding you, maybe you were still under your drunken dream. You slide your arms from your side to his waist. He flinches away at your touch fully giggling now.

“Oh my god! How ticklish are you?!” You laugh out.

“I told you! Now c’mon, breakfast is getting cold.”

He pulls a chair out and looks at you. You struggle to dilute your smile as you walk back over to him. Once you’re sat comfortably in your seat, he brings over your plates from the counter and over to the dinner table. Once sat, he looks at you, waiting for you.

“What.”

“Nothing, just waiting for you to eat first.”

You chuckle “Why?”

“I mean…you cooked it all, you deserve first bites.”

You just smile at him as you eat a piece of your pancake. Once you take the first bite, Joaquín digs in like he’s never been fed before. He barely chews his food, basically just inhaling it. You can only sit bewildered as you eat. “Sam not feed you or something?” You joke, cutting the last bits of your first pancake.

“Not food this good. It’s all granola bars and sad salads. Sometimes, Bucky will bring him lunch and he’ll tell me to take some but…” all he has left is the last piece of bacon “…it’s all even more depressing forties food.” You let out an amused laugh.

He looks at you so happily. He’d made you giggle and whatnot before but never laugh this hard. He’s basically beaming at this point and starts to laugh with you. The laughter only dies down when you transition back to eating your breakfast and silence falls on the two of you. You don’t mind though, you’re both thinking, maybe about the same things, maybe not. You can’t stop thinking about his touch. So gentle yet so firm. The way he comforted you without even having to be asked. God he’d be such a perfect boyfriend.

Joaquín on the other hand was still thinking about your laugh. Your eyes squinting into cute little crescents and your bright smile emitting light from how bright it was. The sound of your laugh, he would listen to it all day if he could. Without even realizing it, you’re both staring at each other. It’s almost as if time froze, you both basically have heart eyes beating out of your eye sockets for each other. It’s the sound of a grating squeaking that snaps you two back to Earth. You’d sliced through your pancake and were basically about to slice through your plate. You two can’t help but laugh again at the whole situation.

“You know what? I was full anyway.” You stand and throw your scraps into the trash.

Only when you stand before the sink Joaquín stops you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You at him and then the sink full of dishes “…the dishes…?”

“Not after you cooked it too.”

“No that’s exactly why actually, also you’re my guest, it’s my job.”

“No it’s fine, I’m basically here every weekend anyway. If anything, I’m a regular.”

“Okay how about we compromise hm? You wash and I’ll dry? Sound like a fair trade, cutie?”

It takes a few seconds for him to reply “Fine.”

You two work together like a machine. He scrubs and rinses, you dry and stow. The air is filled with the hiss of the sink and the squeak coming from the towel on the plate.

“Hey thanks for taking care of me last night, I know I can be a difficult drunk.” You break the silence after putting away the last pan.

“Ah it was no big deal, plus you’re kind of cute when you’re drunk.”

“I didn’t talk about any conspiracy theories did I?”

“He’s totally like watching over us from the Moon!” He mocks your voice.

You can’t do anything but slap his shoulder and act annoyed. It’s him grabbing your arms and wrapping them around his neck that makes you break your act. His arms hug your waist tight and he seems as surprised that he did this as you are. “You know…it uh…it kind of felt like a…d…date…” you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “…in a sense…not just last night but…also now…?” The last part felt more like a question than a statement.

“What are you getting at Joaquín?”

“Do you wanna date?”

Your eyes widen.

“No no like go on a date. We can date after! Or after a few dates! Or not at all! I don’t know, it’s all really up to yo-“

Only when you press your lips against his does he stop talking. It’s not a long kiss, just enough to serve the both of you for now. You pull away and his face goes towards yours like a magnet. Now it was your turn to slightly scratched back of his head.

“Yes Joaquín, I’ll go on a date with you. We can only talk about the actual dating part if you can take me to some really fun dates though.” You smile.

“I can do that.” Then he crashes his lips to yours.

Now it’s deeper, more intimate. He lowers his left hand lower down your back and his right hand higher up. He feels your embrace so warm and soft against him, he needs to be closer. He pushes you further against him, deepening the kiss. You respond by grabbing a handful of his hair and gently tugging at his soft curls. He groans against your lips and you can feel your pulse quickening. It’s only when you start to lose your breath you pull away. He reluctantly pulls back too and has the cutest hazy look on his face.

“I should get drunk more often so you can always kiss me like this.”

“Trust me, Angel. You never needed to be drunk for me to kiss you.”

You giggled and pulled him into a hug.

You should’ve done this way earlier.

#marvel #captain america #avengers #joaquin torres #danny ramirez #fanfiction #fanfic #joaquin torres x reader #mcu #writing prompt #bucky barnes #joaquin torres x you

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 2 days ago

Note

I also don't understand the obsession with constantly NEW writing?

"Oh, writers need to update more-"

No we fucking don't. You fuckers need to learn how to appreciate fics that are more than a month old.

I had someone comment on a fic of mine from 2020 - which yes, is five year old at this point (insert 'time is flying way too fast' eye twitch) but even though the fic is years old, I don't consider it to be an "old fic". They commented on that fic and said that they were 'so glad' that they 'hunted through the tags' to find something that had been 'posted so long ago' because it was 'such a gem'.

Like I'm also glad that you found it, but I regularly read fanfics from 2015, 2010, 2008, 2006, etc. and I don't find it to be that much of a chore to 'hunt those fics down'. You just click the arrow that takes you older results on the AO3 tags.

Like I know people used to make jokes about things being on the second page of Google search results basically 'not existing' but for the love of fuck, that does not apply to AO3 and please learn to actually search for more than five minutes for a fic to read. I often search for more than an hour or more than two hours to pick out one single fic to read when I'm in the mood to read something.

(And don't even get me started on fuckheads who sort AO3 results by kudos - which are mostly older fics anyway just due to how fucking math works - instead of sorting by date, and then harass authors for new fics in the comments when that author might not even be interested in the same fandom or characters or ships anymore.)

Older fics are not bad fics. And newer fics that have no kudos by default are not bad either. Authors are not entitled to update just because you want new content - you need to learn to dig around for more than five minutes to find a fic you actually want to read, and you need to learn to reread and appreciate fics you have already read before. Because while it may take you twenty minutes to read 10k that an author just posted, it probably took them weeks to write it. And going into the comments and instantly writing 'Part 2?' isn't going to make you seem enthusiastic and excited, it's going to make you seem greedy and entitled.

So go all the way back to the oldest fics in a tag and read those. Go back and reread fics you love over and over again and then comment and tell the author you have done that and tell them how much you love and appreciate their fics. Don't just whine and complain when a writer doesn't post a brand new impossibly long fic every other month.

Maybe if people updated more we wouldn't turn to ai

You’re a pathetic, impatient loser. Fanfic writers owe you nothing, and their writing is their own, not yours to do with as you choose, you entitled brat.

#sundrop speaks #fanfiction #anti ai #discussion

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dannyriccsystem · 20 hours ago

Note

omfg the esteban fic was so funny for no reason 😭 could you maybe do smth like that with ollie? or maybe lando:3

your fics are too funny i love them all 😭🫶

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

Summary: Turns out the most avid Lando fanpage around is actually… Dating him?!

Warnings: Suggestive, not proofread that’s embarrassing

Featuring: Lando Norris x Reader

I decided to go with Lando because I don’t write him much and I love him, but if you’d like one with Ollie as well, just let me know!

lando

liked by lanfanln4 and others

lando nailed it in pic 10

tagged oscarpiastri, ashjbibby, mclaren, f1

—

lanfanln4 - I squealed when I saw the second slide

lanfanln4 - 👅👅👅👅

lanfanln4 - BROOO the screen is STICKY

lanfanln4 - Can I get you pregnant

lanfanln4 - I’ll make it work baby just one chance

username1 - Y/N has a lot to say

username2 - She’s certainly persistent, we can give her that

username3 - It’s lowkey annoying

> lanfanln4 - OH WHO IS YOU?!

lnfour - the knit pics I just posted slap

♥︎ by author

lnfournation - One day we’ll get here before Y/N

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - Keep trying

lanfanln4 - You. Me. Dinner. What u say?

♥︎ by author

lando - I don’t even know what you look like 🤔

> username4 - Oh God

lanfanln4

liked by username1 and others

lanfanln4 Well now you know :)

tagged lando

—

username5 - WOAH WAIT HEAR ME OUT

♥︎ by author

username6 - Hey gorgeous… Leans on expensive formula one car

lanfanln4 - Eww dni unless you’re Lando Norris

> username6 - I actually am him and also I’m 6’4 and a feminist so

♥︎ by author

username7 - You’re so pretty Y/N!

♥︎ by author

friend.user1 - Lucky man…

♥︎ by author

lando - So about that dinner date…

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - 😍😍😍

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆

Y/N and Lando’s relationship was never inherently secret, it was just never announced to the public. If you scrolled back on her fan page, you’d see a lot of pictures she had posted of him. Fans had even encountered the two together before, but were too entranced by meeting their idol to realize how their hands were intertwined or how they were clearly walking away from a date.

It was somewhat convenient to not have a camera pointed in her face 24/7, and cheer on her boyfriend from the sidelines. They hadn’t even discussed making a statement about it, because they were comfortable where they were.

Tonight, though, their social batteries were low. That fancy dinner he promised turned into an agreement to order in pizza from a locally owned shop and watch a movie in sweatpants and hoodies. The night went from laughter about some random film they found for free to Lando’s soft snores as the TV autoplayed the next film on the list.

They fell asleep on the couch, limbs tangled up and chests rising and falling in sync.

lando

liked by lanfanln4 and others

lando sweatin for szn 7

tagged papsc1, ashjbibby

—

username8 - here before Y/N button 👉

lanfanln4 - NOO NO DELETE THIS NOW

lanfanln4 - WOOF WOOF

lanfanln4 - I can seriously bark

lnfour - last slide is me when I saw you dropped a new LandoLog

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - It’s all over the screen

username9 - Fans like you are seriously gross

> lanfanln4 - Good thing I’m not a fan, I’m his girlfriend

♥︎ by author

> username9 - Get a life 🙄

> username10 - He liked her comment, is this real?

lanfanln4

liked by mclaren and others

lanfanln4 - Helloo handsome! Photo credits : me 😎

tagged lando

—

username11 - This is getting kind of gross

username12 - Why are all Lando fangirls such weirdos

username13 - It’s not really that funny anymore

mclaren - Send us that first one! 🧡

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - yes momma mclaren

username10 - GUYS CALL ME CRAZY BUT I THINK THEY’RE DATING?

♥︎ by author

username14 - Okay. You’re crazy

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆

lando

liked by lanfanln4 and others

lando she’s my girlfriend suckers!

tagged lanfanln4

—

lanfanln4 - HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA REF

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - HI HANDSOME

♥︎ by author

lanfanln4 - ILY!!

♥︎ by author

lando - Ily2 🤤

mclaren - One of our many paddock princesses!

♥︎ by author

oscarpiastri - Y/N reveal

♥︎ by author

lando - beautiful isn’t it

username10 - TOLD Y’ALL

lanfanln4 - day one supporter

♥︎ by author

username15 - really..? HER?

username16 - Y’all never have anything nice to say. She’s stunning

username17 - THIS IS SO FUNNY I LOVE Y/N

username6 - hello I am Lando that is my beautiful girlfriend

lanfanln4 - You’re funny I’m gonna follow you home

♥︎ by author

lando - I don’t remember saying this 🤔

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 smau #formula one #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #ln4 x reader #lando x reader #lando norris #lando imagine #lando fluff #lando #lando fanfic #lando x you #lando norris x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 2 days ago

Text

ᴄᴜᴛ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʜᴀʀᴅ ʚ♡ɞ - Brunch Edition!

Pairing: Lenless [No Goggles]!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: More smuttt for my people!!

Tags: More of that fucked up toxic bullshittt but we love it don’t we? Mark makes reader jealous, lots of juicy brunch drama

Word Count: 2,664

Chapter Synopsis: Next morning brunch with the girlies! Only make it unhinged, make it hot 👏

a/n: i literally had this wrote up last night after i finished the first part & was dying to post it this morning lmaoo. had so much fun writing this

Part One

The air shifts before you even see him.

You don’t know how—maybe it’s the way Sadie suddenly stops mid-sentence, mimosa halfway to her mouth. Or maybe it’s the pit in your stomach that drops like a stone.

And then—

“Oh my god,” Maya whispers. You turn, already knowing. And there he is.

Mark.

In a black tee and dark jeans like he didn’t just threaten murder and make you see stars less than twelve hours ago. Hair a little messy. Bite marks still faint on his neck. He smirks when he sees you—like he planned this.

“Hi, besties,” he says, sliding into the booth next to you like he belongs there.

The silence is deadly.

Lauren stares like she’s watching a car crash. Sadie physically recoils. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Mark says, reaching across the table to snag a piece of bacon from Maya’s plate. “Figured I’d stop by. Catch up.”

You’re frozen. Mouth open. Praying to disintegrate like dust in the wind. And then—he does the worst possible thing. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Missed you, baby.” Lauren chokes on her coffee.

You can feel the tension spike. It's so loud you swear someone at the next table over flinches. Lauren mutters, “What in the actual fuck…” under her breath, stirring her coffee like it's laced with poison. You elbow Mark in the ribs, whispering,

“What are you doing here?” He grins, unbothered.

“Thought I’d meet the people you’re willing to throw scissors over.”

Sadie slams her fork down. “You’re joking.”

“Oh no,” Mark says smoothly, picking up a menu he clearly doesn’t care about. “Dead serious. Though, between us?” He leans across the table just slightly, smirking at her. “I dunno why she acted like that. I mean, you’ve clearly already made up your mind.”

Sadie blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t like me, Sadie. I get that. You think I’m dangerous, manipulative, unpredictable—”

“You are all of those things!”

Mark raises your glass of water like a toast. “Exactly. And yet…”He tilts his head, eyes dragging down her face—slow, deliberate. “You stare at me like you want me to prove it.”

The table goes silent.

Sadie’s face flushes so fast, you swear steam rises from her mimosa. “You’re disgusting,” she spits, crossing her arms. “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Mark shrugs. “Why would I? You think about me when you’re alone, don’t you?” You kick him under the table. Hard. He winces—but doesn’t stop smiling.

“Jesus Christ,” Lauren mutters. “He’s like if a red flag gained sentience.”

Maya—completely unbothered and already two mimosas deep—leans over to you and whispers, “Okay but like… he is kind of hot when he’s being evil.”

“MAYA!”

Mark raises a brow, absolutely delighted. “See? At least someone at this table has taste.”

Sadie’s glaring at him like she’s two seconds from launching her croissant at his head. Mark’s just sitting back, arm draped behind your chair, sipping water like it's champagne. His eyes never leave her.

“You know,” he says, casual as hell, “I used to think you hated me because you were such a good friend to [y/n].”

Sadie scoffs. “Used to?”

“Mmhm.” He sets the glass down slowly, like he’s warming up for something. “But now I think maybe you just wish it was you I had pressed up against the wall last night.”

You choke on your drink. Lauren’s fork clatters to her plate. Sadie turns bright red—rage red.

“Excuse me??” she says, voice low and incredulous. Mark leans forward slightly, all fake innocence and devil-smile.

“You’re always looking at her like she’s in trouble when I’m around,” he says. “But I see the way you look at me. Like you’re trying to figure out what it’d feel like if I bent you over a table and made you scream my name instead.”

The table goes silent. The kind of silence that rings in your ears.

Your stomach flips, heat pooling low in your gut—half rage, half something you don’t want to name in front of the bottomless mimosa crowd.

“Mark,” you hiss, gripping his arm. “Shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t even blink. “I bet you fantasize about it,” he says to Sadie, voice lower now, silkier, dangerous. “About what it’d be like to give in. Just once. Let someone wreck you and not say sorry after.”

Sadie’s hand slams down on the table.

“Say one more word,” she hisses, eyes glassy and full of murder, “and I swear I will gut you right here with this butter knife.”

Mark grins. Like she just made his entire week. And you—sitting there between them—feel like you’re about to explode. Jealousy is clawing up your throat, bitter and burning, but so is something else. Something worse.

Desire.

Because watching Mark push Sadie like this—filthy, unbothered, completely in control—it’s doing things to you. Things it shouldn’t.

He turns back to you, finally, and sees it in your face. Oh. He knows. His eyes darken.

“You mad at me?” he murmurs, dragging a knuckle down your jaw, completely ignoring the others. “Or just mad you weren’t the one I was talking to like that?”

You could slap him.

You could also drag him into the back alley and let him absolutely ruin you.

You’re not sure which you’re going to do yet.

But either way—

He’s winning.

You don’t even realize you’re moving until the bathroom door slams behind you, hands gripping the edge of the sink like it might save you from a public breakdown.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Lipstick slightly smudged. Hair wild from your hands combing through it with pure anxiety. Your face is flushed—and not from the champagne.

You're furious.

Not just at him. At yourself.

Because no one should be that turned on by watching their maybe-psycho not-boyfriend flirt graphically with one of their best friends.

And yet…

A knock on the door. Lauren peeks in, arms crossed tight, eyes sharp. “Okay,” she says. “What the hell is going on?” You sigh, still avoiding your own gaze.

“I know it’s insane.”

“Oh, do you?” she snaps. “Because I just watched that man talk about bending Sadie over a table while your fucking mimosa got warm.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I didn’t think he’d come here!”

“But you knew he was like this.” Lauren’s voice softens, just slightly. “And babe... I know you like danger or whatever, but this? This isn’t just hot anymore. This is toxic. This is red-flag city.”

“I know,” you say, voice cracking.

“So then walk away,” she says gently. “Right now. Don’t go back to that table. Don’t let him sink his claws in deeper. You deserve better.” And for a moment—you almost believe her. You take a deep breath. Straighten your dress. Numb yourself.

You’re ready to let go.

Until you step out. And you see him.

Mark. Now sitting next to Sadie. Closer than necessary. Elbow on the back of the booth. Whispering something in her ear that makes her laugh—real, flushed, flustered.

His hand is on her thigh and damn if Sadie didn’t look like she was enjoying the attention. Something snaps in your chest. You walk back to the table calm. Collected. Smiling.

You slide into your seat and grab your water. Take a slow sip. Mark glances over. And you look right at him. Then, under the table, slowly slide off one of your heels.

His brow lifts. Your foot drags up the inside of his leg, slow and shameless.

His smirk dies.

You press your toes higher—just enough pressure, just enough suggestion—and keep sipping your drink like you’re bored.

His hand tightens on Sadie’s thigh. But he’s not looking at her anymore. He’s looking at you.

You mouth one word:

“Outside.”

One minute later

The alley behind the brunch spot is warm, reeking of dumpster grease and sin, and the second the door swings open—

Mark’s on you.

“Fucking crazy,” he growls against your lips, hands yanking you in by the waist. “You’re gonna touch me under the table while I’m with your friend?”

“Don’t pretend you weren’t putting on a whole show in there,” you snap, grabbing his collar and dragging him down to your mouth. “You wanted me to break.”

“You jealous?” he smirks, teeth scraping your throat.

You shove him against the wall. Hard.

“Seething.”

He groans like it turns him on.

“I love when you snap,” he breathes, hand sliding up your thigh, under your dress. “Love when you act like I’m the only thing that matters.”

“You are,” you hiss, nails dragging down his back. “And I hate it.”

“Then take it out on me.”

Mark's mouth is on you like he’s starving—teeth scraping your jaw, tongue dragging over your pulse point, breath hot as his hands grip your thighs and lift. You don’t even pretend to resist—you wrap your legs around his waist, back slamming against the brick wall, your dress hiking up around your hips like it wants this to happen.

“You’re so fucking messy,” he growls, grinding against you. “You storm off like you’re done with me, then come back and pull that little under-the-table foot trick like a fucking slut.”

Your hand fists in his hair, yanking his head back to look at you. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Oh, baby,” he pants, grinding his hips harder into yours, “I haven’t even started.”

He yanks your panties aside with one rough pull—no teasing, no games, just access. His fingers slide through your slick like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“You’re so wet,” he snarls, eyes dark and wild. “You liked watching me touch Sadie, didn’t you? Liked getting all jealous and filthy under that table like a little freak.”

You gasp as he slides two fingers into you, curling just right. Your head slams back against the wall, breath stuttering.

“Fuck you—”

“You wish.”

He presses his forehead to yours, mouth inches from yours as he starts working you open, fucking you with his fingers like he owns you.

“You gonna cum like this?” he murmurs. “With my fingers in you, in a back alley, while your friends sit inside wondering where the hell you went?”

“Mark—”

“I bet you want them to hear you,” he hisses. “Want them to know you’ll always choose me.”

You cry out as he crooks his fingers just right, and he groans, pulling them free.

“Turn around,” he growls.

You don’t hesitate. Hands hit the wall, legs shaking, your breath fogging the brick in front of you.

You hear the sound of his zipper, the rough drag of denim, and then—fuck—he’s inside you in one harsh, unforgiving thrust.

You both gasp.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice ragged, “so tight—like your pussy missed me.”

You moan, high and wrecked, as he starts to move—deep, punishing strokes that send your body slamming against the wall with every thrust. One of his hands fists in your hair, the other sliding around to your throat, fingers pressing just enough.

“You’re mine,” he hisses. “Say it.”

“Y-You’re—fuck—Mark—”

He slaps your ass, hard.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours!” you cry out. “I’m yours, I’m—fuck, don’t stop—”

He loses it.

Thrusts getting rougher, faster, his mouth dragging over your shoulder, biting down like he needs to leave every trace of himself possible behind on you. You can feel yourself unraveling, pleasure coiling tight and hot in your stomach, and he knows.

“You gonna cum on my cock out here like a dirty little slut?” he growls. “Do it. Show me.”

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart around him, body shaking, eyes screwed shut as the orgasm rips through you. And he follows seconds later, buried to the hilt, groaning against your skin like you just saved his fucking life.

Silence.

Just your ragged breathing. Your body still trembling. His hands holding you up. And then, softly:

“…Think they’re still on dessert?”

You wheeze out a laugh and smack his chest. “I was dessert.”

He grins, teeth wicked. “Damn right you were.”

The second you step back into the restaurant, the air feels different. Or maybe that was just you.

Your hair is a wreck. Your lipstick? A memory. Your thighs are still trembling and you can feel the heat between your legs like a living thing. Mark’s behind you, looking completely unbothered—shirt rumpled, hair wild, lip definitely bitten.

Smug. Glowing.

The man has never looked more pleased with himself in his life.

You’re halfway back to the table when Maya sees you first. She stops mid-sip of her mimosa. Her eyes flick to your flushed face. Then to Mark. Then to the way you're walking like your soul just got pounded out of your body.

“Oh my god,” she chokes. Sadie looks up. And stares.

Mark slides into the booth again, reaching for your water like this is just another Tuesday. “So, what’d I miss?” Lauren is frozen. Fork in hand. Horrified.

You take your seat like you’re not dying inside. “...Someone pass the syrup.”

“Are you serious right now—” Sadie starts, voice sharp.

“Oh c’mon,” Mark interrupts, eyes sparkling. “Don’t act surprised. You wanted her to go after me, didn’t you?” Sadie goes silent, jaw clenched.

You stare at him, voice low. “You’re an asshole.”

He leans in, grinning. “You love it.”

Maya just fans herself dramatically. “Okay, but real talk? That was the hottest exit and re-entry I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

Lauren finally breaks. “You guys seriously just—in the alley? Like a couple of feral raccoons??”

You pick up your drink and sip it with a completely deadpan expression. “I mean, I wouldn’t describe it like that...”

Sadie slams her napkin down. “You’re insane. You let him humiliate you in front of us and then—then you go and just—!”

“What?” Mark cuts in, eyes locking with hers. “Get fucked so hard she forgot why she was mad?”

Pin drop silence.

You don’t look at her. You don’t have to. You can feel it clear as day—the tension, the heat, the way her nails dig into her thigh under the table. Like maybe, just maybe, she wishes it was her.

Mark smiles like he knows it too.

You finish your mimosa in one slow sip, set the glass down, and say, “Check, please.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but this is actually insane,” Lauren says, standing now, arms crossed like she’s about to launch into a TED Talk on Red Flags and the Girls Who Love Them. “You can’t seriously leave with him after this. He’s manipulative, he’s inappropriate, he literally—you had sex in an alley!”

Before you can even open your mouth, Mark cuts in.

“Oh my god, can you shut up already?” He doesn’t even look at her—just leans back, arm resting on the booth like he owns the place. “You’re so annoying. This is why I like Maya better.”

Maya chokes on her drink, a loud pfft sound spurting past her lips.

Mark points at her casually. “You at least support your friend’s slutty decisions.” Lauren makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

Sadie is just staring at you. Like she can’t decide whether to pity you, strangle you, or beg to be next.

You snap, grabbing Mark by the wrist and yanking him out of the booth. “Okay! We’re going! Brunch was so fun, love you all, gotta go—bye!”

He’s laughing as you drag him toward the door.

“Aw, we’re leaving already?” he says over his shoulder, waving. “Bye, besties! Don’t wait up!” You don’t look back. You can’t. You’re too busy trying not to let your knees give out from sheer humiliation and adrenaline.

#invincible #mark grayson #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible show #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson smut #invincible smut #mark grayson x reader smut #no goggles mark #lensless mark #mark grayson variant #variant mark grayson

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wosospacegirl · 2 days ago

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I love Stuck with You. Could you write more headcanons for Kika and reader, please? Love your writing

a/n: playing around and experimenting with writing in simple present. Also, this is a scheduled post. It's my first time doing it, I don't know if it's gonna work, but if it does, I'm probably studying.

On the bus

- Kika loves sitting with the younger girls on the way to games–playing stupid games, filming TikToks, being loud and messy and chaotic. It might not seem likely, because she’s so shy, but she lives for it.

- Y/n, on the other hand…hates it! She wants to be locked in, focused, not surrounded by teenagers doing TikTok dances, even if, yeah, most girls were over twenty years old.

- So they compromise.

- Kika always saves Y/N a seat just in case she decides to sit with the chaos with them–even if she knows Y/N will pretend to be annoyed about it.

- The girls tease them relentlessly when Y/N slumps into the seat next to Kika, like, “Don’t make a big deal out of this.” A frown on her face, as always.

- When Y/N sits in her usual quiet spot, Kika will sometimes sneak back there mid-ride with a snack from the back of the bus, holding to the seat so she won’t fall from the movement.

- No words, just hands her something and curls up next to her like it’s the most normal thing.

- Kika can easily show affection, something that Y/n struggles with a lot.

- Y/N’s phone is full of videos she didn’t know Kika was filming–her trying not to smile, blinking through glitter filter selfies, or rolling her eyes at the girls while clearly not hating it.

- One time, Y/N snapped and told the girls to shut up, that they were being way too loud, and Kika made a little fake sad face at her from across the aisle.

- Y/N immediately caved and mumbled, “Not you, you're fine.”

- On long rides, Kika traces shapes on Y/N’s thigh while they listen to music. Y/N pretends it’s annoying but never tells her to stop.

- Sometimes Y/n sits in the chaos, reluctantly filming a TikTok with a permanent frown on her face.

- Other times, Kika sits beside her and rests her head on Y/n’s shoulder. They share one earbud in silence. They compromise!

- The team once tried to assign bus seats randomly, and Y/N deadpan said, “No.” Just that. One word. They didn’t try it again.

- Y/n has her spot away from the chaos–Jana, Vicky, Salma and Kika– and she loves it

Clothes

- Kika steals Y/n’s hoodies all. the. time.

- Kika’s go-to excuse is always “I forgot I was wearing it!” As if Y/N’s giant Barca hoodie somehow accidentally ends up in her overnight bag every single time.

- One cold day, she shows up at Y/n’s place looking for one and realises the closet is empty.

- She’s like, “Where are all your hoodies?”

- And Y/n, dead serious, goes, “Babes… they’re all at your house.”

- Kika immediately feels so guilty–she left her girl without a single hoodie in the middle of Spanish winter.

- Y/N starts taking inventory. She’ll walk into Kika’s place, open her closet, and be like, “One, two, three–are you serious, this one’s from preseason.”

- One time, Kika came to training wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies that still smelled like her, and the other girls wouldn’t stop teasing her for it. Kika was red for hours.

- Y/N pretends she’s annoyed, but the second Kika curls up next to her wearing one, she just kind of melts. Her internal monologue is filled with–disgusting–love.

- “She’s so small. and warm. In my clothes. This is not sustainable. I will die of love.”

- Eventually, Kika starts wearing Y/N’s old team-issued hoodie at post-match interviews.

- Y/N sees a photo on Twitter and just stares at it like she’s been personally attacked.

- She liked it, thought, seeing her name on Kika’s back.

Feedback is very very much appreciated and needed!!

Masterlist here

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #kika nazareth #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth x reader #barcelona femini #wlw fanfic #woso community #woso appreciation

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tsin-lockhart · 2 days ago

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OP is right (for one thousand reasons but since writing / fiction / fandom came up let's go with that )

So much of building or defining a character goes into deciding how that character was raised. We see this across all media in the trend of the dead / disappeared mother so that women leads have an explanation as to why they are vulnerable in some way. We also see this in the countless ways people write their own characters' backstories and minds. At some point in character creation it is often (though not always) required to decide how they were mothered (patented, raised, experienced family, or just what their relationship or support from their mother was ) * In other words, understanding how the role and job of motherhood functioned is needed to inform most basic things about characters which makes it inherently interesting to analyze. That and the way the individual mother came to experience life, expresses personality, and has freedoms or depth will transactually inform the character.

We see this same relationship dynamic with the way real people address their traumas and realities. The last few decades have embraced an understanding of mental health without really addressing old fallacies and power imbalances (such as racism and sexism). Part of the perception issue people are having with addressing their own issues (meaning the clear imbalance in possible number of narcissist or similar examples) is that they literally do not have the context and perspective to understand things. Imo cut your hateful mom off either way but there is a difference between thinking that she abused you and is SIMPLY a narcissist for no reason ( narcissistic traits can develop from neglect) and understanding that in the generation she lived she was underpaid paid, over worked, and abused in a way that is no longer socially acceptable and was never going to have the skills or means to be successful at parenting. In other words, we don't hold as much grief over our missing father's because we accept there were large systemic factors and odds against them but we believe in most cases if the mother fails it means that she did not love her child enough , she is evil, she is selfish and she is those things and nothing else.

Understanding motherhood as it's own ecosystem of rules and expectations and knowing that most people online spend their time lamenting their inability to function or make goals should help connect the idea that sometimes women are just people who can fail and giving birth doesn't mean they inherently love and will understand their child. But there really is so little space to address this in media despite how often it is the direct source of conflict in real life.

What's crazy to mean is that this post opened from talking about an aspect of sexism to a way that is addressed in queer identity or writing in this case. But queer spaces allow sexism to be directed and celebrated against poor women all the time. I think the celebration of not wanting or needing or enjoying kids should never stop and is a long time coming but I also think pretending like access to education and the affects of poverty don't heavily impact the way a large majority of women end up connected to partners, and families (for life!) happens in their early 20s. I think that religion is not only murderous to gay people when the way monotheistic religions curate physical and behavior expectations to little girls before they can even spell their name. Sexism is pervasive , it's on top of everything all the time, and it gets boring to point out. But it always lays down a factor, which is why lesbains struggle to get representation in their own spaces because the queer space has some of the same sexist beliefs as straight spaces and some specific to queer spaces but the power imbalances are very weird. People will simply support or allow sexism and homophobia to happen to queer female people who happen to be mainstream and fail in some way, then it's allowed and good to say anything to them in the only spaces they are even allowed in. I'm not dumb or lacking nuance by the way that many queer people are abused by straight women and it sure as fuck isn't their job to wipe everyone's tears but engaging in behavior that punches down isn't a consequence free choice. I also want to clarify, cause you can never be too avoidant of terfs, that if the mpreg tag was also meant to include the way trans people enjoy character creation I don't intend to derail or diminish the joy of that. I'm just addressing OPs point that there's is a lot to talk about in this direction that is often hard to get properly analyzed. Hope that makes sense, trans people deserve everything they want in life and pretty flowers too.

* There is rarely a question that is purposefully intending to discover "what was this characters relationship like with their dad?" exclusively or as the first curiosity. This is because cis women (regardless of education, interests, or even understanding) can biologically become pregant and thus is socially, culturally, and physically (consenting or otherwise) the woman's responsibility to deal with the gestation, birth, and early survival of that life. (Gender expectations and proximity alone give child care to women, and therefore, women are often exposed to the complex needs of children and are often more empathic as a result. Imo this is wisdom that comes from living in gender centric world frames (always oppressive) and is also an example of an area where men's rights should be focused - paternity leave) This is to say, we do learn as much from a characters relationship with their dad as their mom (or we can) but people real and fictional often have to survive without their dads but cannot do so as easily without their moms.

tl;dr : Motherhood as a practice, and the endless ways people can come to that role is thousand time richer and dynamic that people can imagine.

Every time women make something and it's just for women people simply talk about it and title as worse, (women's literature is nothing but examples: cozy murders, romance, and even smut are not inherently lesser forms of writing and women who do write fantasy and action are often forced into young adult) and this extends to the spaces that women take up or that are put upon women.

honestly you all are so annoying because motherhood IS interesting but fandom people are simultaneously obsessed with deciding that every woman has motherly qualities and completely disinterested in actually exploring motherhood as a role that informs a character. I do think exploring a character being a mother can be wildly interesting if they are canonically one, but because of misogyny, people just view motherhood as a totally unremarkable naturalized state that all women must inhabit!

#i spend so much time sad about this #if you read this uhhh thanks for listening i hope you get your favorkte candy

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woniefication · 2 days ago

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YOU'RE A TUMBLR GIRL...?

𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂:𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘛𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨﹔𝘌𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘹𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ﹔Fluff,crack. 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 Relationship,Reblogs ﹠ FB appreciated requested @glittercrashhh 𓈒𓈒𓈒 𝐌asterlist.

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 (이희승)

“Tumblr? Oh, cool. Like, for fanart and stuff?”But then… you go to the bathroom and leave your laptop open. He peeks. And sees a very detailed post titled ‘This man is ruining my life (affectionately)’ with a photo of him attached. Heeseung just blinks.

“Wait… is this supposed to be me?” Cue slow scroll. Moodboard reblogs. Aesthetic gifs. One too many reblogs of his hands.

Now he’s suspicious but lowkey flattered. He starts teasing you like,

“So when were you planning on telling me I’m your Tumblr crush?”He’ll act smug, but the second you reblog a comfort post and tag it #heeseungcore he just melts and rereads it 12 times. Probably starts sending you “post this one, it fits your theme” like a Tumblr boyfriend-in-training.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒂𝒚 (박종성) Immediately suspicious.

Jay finds out completely by accident. He asks what you’re laughing at one day and you say “a post on Tumblr.” He immediately stops mid-sip of his drink.

Wait. You have a Tumblr?” And suddenly he's like a detective, narrowing his eyes at you. “Do you write stuff? Like… about me?” When you say “maybe,” he gasps like you betrayed him.

But then? He starts snooping. Searches up phrases you’ve said, lines from your tags, stalks every mutual interaction like he’s solving a crime. Eventually, he walks into the room and drops:

“So… ‘Coach Dilf AU’ huh?” You panic. He looks smug. “You’re so lucky I’m hot.” Jay pretends to be scandalized, but the truth? He checks your blog every single even asking random things on anon. And when you tag something soft like ‘this made me think of him’, he goes quiet for the rest of the night. Then whispers, “You know I think of you all the time, right?”

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒌𝒆 (심재윤)

He thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

“You have a Tumblr? What do you post?? Aesthetic pictures? Writing? Memes??” Jake is so supportive. He sits next to you on the couch and asks to scroll through it. He points at every cute post and goes, “That’s so you.” You’re waiting for the moment he finds the more… thirsty ones, but Jake? He just giggles. “So you think I’m ‘a walking sunshine Greek statue with puppy energy’? I love that.”

He starts sending you photos of himself like:

“This could be one of your vibe pics.” And if you reblog a quote post that says something like “I just want to be loved gently,” he’ll literally send you a message that says: “You deserve that. And I’ll give you all of it, okay?” Jake’s the Tumblr boyfriend who doesn’t even have Tumblr—but lives in your inbox like a tag.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 (박성훈)

Pretends to be above it. “Tumblr is like… for 2013 emos, right?” he quips in a half-joking manner, outwardly dismissive of the whole thing. But don’t be fooled.Sunghoon secretly maintains his own shadow profile, where he reblogs dark academia fits and moody sunset gifs on nights he can’t sleep-which is often. Whenever you post even a hint of thirst about him, his cool façade softens ever so slightly, and he smirks, teasing, “You spelled ‘hot’ wrong. Should’ve said ‘ethereal god.’” The layered vulnerability behind his cool jokes reveals that, despite his airs, he’s deeply invested in every soft, fleeting reference you make.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 (김선우)

“YOU HAVE A BLOG? What’s the username. I want the theme. Is it cute? Am I your header Image?!” He immediately pulls it up and starts judging…lovingly. “Okay wait… why is your header blurry? This gifset is so you. OH this post?? I reblogged that yesterday!” You two end up becoming mutuals on Tumblr and in real life. He tags you in “bf ang gf aesthetic” gifs and makes you matching layouts.

Then he sees your post that says, “I wish he knew how much I care.” He goes quiet for a second and just looks at you.

“I do. Know, I mean.” And when he sees you post something like “I love his smile more than anything”? He replies out loud like: “Yeah? I love yours too. Should I write that on my blog?”

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑔 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛 (양정원)

Judging you gently but with love. “You’re telling me you write entire essays about fictional people’s emotional trauma and call it slight angst?” he muses with a gentle smile, initially puzzled as he browses through your detailed posts. Jungwon’s reaction is equal parts mild judgment and soft fascination. At first, he can’t quite grasp the depth of your Tumblr musings, but before long, he’s three hours deep into your tagged “love tropes” posts, nodding along in quiet understanding. Finally, having soaked in every word and image, he leans in and sends you random quotes like, “This reminded me of you. Put it on your blog or whatever.” His quiet support speaks volumes;he respects your feelings and art, even if he pretends it’s all just a quirky hobby.

𝑵𝑖–𝑘𝑖 (니키)

Laughs his entire soul out. “Nahhh, you’re one of them,” he laughs with a mischievous glint in his eyes, immediately taking your Tumblr revelations as a delightful challenge.

Ni-ki finds your blog absolutely hilarious and irresistible—so much so that he dives headfirst into your archive, meticulously scrolling through and capturing screenshots of everything you posted back in 2019, teasing, “You posted THIS in 2019? Embarrassing and yet you dare to laugh at my old pictures.” underneath the playful ribbing.

he bookmarks all your posts tagged with his name along with cute symbols, keeping them close even if he’ll never openly admit how much they mean to him. His laughter echoes with a mix of teasing and a secret admiration that he’ll never fully confess.

♡)-- @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @chrrific @liwinly @fleuryns @leaderwon @pnghoon

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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The Best Thing - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Main Masterlist - Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This was so much fun for me. I love writing the chapters where they're just livin' life. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Mine by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary/Warnings: Sorta-Request from @myladyship! You, Ben, and Ryan get a cat. Takes place ten months post-series.

That thing hadn’t been there, when Ben left the house this morning.

He was pretty goddamn certain it hadn’t.

But, as the mangy little creature stared at him from the couch, Ben ran back through the day in his head. Just in case.

He’d gotten up, fucked Her until she burst into flames, then made breakfast while She got ready for work. Normal morning. Perfect morning. Ryan had gotten on the bus—She’d be hesitant about him using that thing, worried about bullying, but it was working out pretty damn fine—and She’d come downstairs in a skirt that Ben had wasted no time in ripping off Her body. He’d buried himself between her thighs and tongue-fucked Her until she squirted all over his face, then he’d pulled out his cock and bent Her over the counter until she was screaming his name.

Normal morning.

He needed to buy Her a new skirt. She’d liked that one, and She liked Ben more, but he should still make sure She was a happy as fucking possible, all the damn time, because She was perfect and he fucking loved Her and there was nothing better in the world than taking care of Her and-

The creature yowled at him, and Ben scowled. It was looking at Ben like he was intruder, when this was his goddamn house, that had been bought with his fucking money—technically Her money, but as She frequently reminded him, the thing about marriage was that it was Ben’s money as well—and this thing didn’t have a single fucking say about where Ben did and didn’t go.

It hadn’t been here when he’d left this morning. He was fucking positive. After the kitchen sex, he’d made Her eat, then driven Her to work. She’d given him a blowjob in the car—Christ, he was the luckiest man alive—and he’d had to go back to the house to change his pants, because of what Frenchie was calling the No Cum near the Chemicals rule. Apparently it was dangerous, and not the fun kind of dangerous. The that’s how Homelander happened kind of dangerous.

So he’d changed his pants.

Everything had been good. She’d been humming and peaceful in Ben’s body, Ryan’s turtle had been in its tank, and when he’d left the house, that had been it. Nothing else.

This place was supposed to be fucking secure. More secure than the fucking White House, because Singer was replaceable, and She and Ryan weren’t. Hughie had promised this place was fucking secure, and She’d pointed out that even if it wasn’t, none of them could be killed, and there wasn’t a single place in the world someone could take Her that Ben couldn’t find, but She shouldn’t have to be taken. She should get to fucking rest, and if this place could be broken into, even by an animal, Ben was going to brutally maul a lot of people.

He couldn’t even be sure it was an animal. It might be a supe. Or a supes pet, sent to do something to them, and-

What’s wrong with you.

He scowled into the air. I’m fine, Sunshine, go-

I can feel you, Benjamin. Your throat is getting tight, and it feels like the world is spinning. There was a brief pause. You’re home for the day, right? I know Butcher’s been trying to put together that clean-up mission for some of the stray Vought scientists, but he promised to give me a week heads up before you left-

I’m home. Ben needed to cut Her off there. She’d hurt herself. And Butcher’s still flailing around like a fucking pussy with that mission, cuckfuck can’t do paperwork to save his life.

Then what’s wrong.

Nothing’s- He let out a long breath, glaring at the cat. He couldn’t lie to Her. Don’t lose your damn mind, beautiful. I’m going to handle it.

He could hear Her frown. Handle what?

Intruder. In the house. Ben’s fists curled, and the creature yawned. Like Ben was fucking nothing. Calling him a coward, in his goddamn house, sitting of his fucking couch-

Ben, there are no intruders, I was home an hour- There was another second of silence, then She snorted. You’re talking about Maeve, aren’t you.

Ben frowned. I thought you said that lady went to fucking Florida or some shit-

California. And she did. I’m talking about the cat.

It stretched, then curled into a tiny ball in the pillows.

Ben-

Ben grunted Her name down the connection. When the fuck did we get a cat.

Um, about two hours ago. And before you get mad-

His eyes narrowed at the air. He had to shut that shit down, now. I’m not mad. I don’t get fucking mad at you, I just didn’t expect a goddamn cat.

But-

No. I love you, and I’m not mad.

She sighed in the silence. I know. I love you, too.

Good. Explain.

Remember last month, when I said that I wanted a cat, and you said I could have ‘whatever the fuck I wanted’, and I said that I love you, and that’s very sweet, but if you don’t want a cat, you could just tell me?

Ben didn’t remember that. When did-

After Parent night, at school. Another Dad was talking about how hard it was to get gifts for his wife, and you got, um- She swallowed down the silent line, and Ben smirked. Her tone was growing softer, the way it only ever did for him. She was flushing, probably tapping Her fingers on her desk, and thinking about Ben with an infinite love he could feel, through his whole body.

Sunshine-

You told everyone that gift giving wasn’t hard at all, when your wife made you harder than anything else.

Ben remembered that. He specifically remembered how She’d wrinkled Her pretty nose and whacked his chest, and how all the dumbfuck parents had looked mortified—good word, maybe MM was onto something with this word of the week shit—at his words, like they hadn’t already all fucked at least once to get their stupid fucking kids.

She sighed in Ben’s ear. After that, when that bitch of a mom-

Fake Face-

Yeah. She asked you exactly how you were such a perfect husband, you told her that I was a perfect wife, and after she left I asked you the same thing, and you said that it was what I deserved, and you’d shoot yourself before you didn’t take care of me right, and taking care of me right meant fucking me right and getting me whatever I wanted and-

I ate you out in a supply closet. Ben grinned into the air, and the cat gave him an odd look. You nearly made the damn building burn down-

Yeah, because you decided that three orgasms ‘wasn’t enough’-

And I was right, brat. I remember you begging to cum for me one more time, saying please and taking it like a good girl-

Fucking- I’m at work, Ben-

Lock the door.

I can’t, I’m in a meeting-

Then why the fuck are you talking to me-

Because I’m trying to explain the cat, you horny old cunt.

Smartass.

You love it. The point I was trying to make is that, after the, um, supply closet sex, I made a joke that you’d never need to get me anything at all, as long I had you and your, um- She coughed between their heads, Her voice suddenly a little breathy, and Ben could really see that flush over Her cheeks. Cock. And you took that very seriously and told me that I’d always have your cock, but you’d also give me the goddamn moon, if I asked. And I said that I’d settle for a cat, and, yeah.

Right. Ben grunted down the connection. That tracked, and even if it didn’t, he didn’t really give a shit. If She wanted the cat, the thing could stay. Are you wet, Sunshine?

Benjamin- She sighed in his head. Meeting. We can’t have mind sex during another meeting.

Nobody fucking caught you last time-

Yeah, but I have to stand up and talk this time- She cut Herself off, and Ben could almost see Her pretty frown. Is that it? About Maeve?

Ben shrugged. You want to keep the thing?

Yes, but-

Then that’s it. He shot the animal another glare. It was really fucking ugly. Why the fuck did you name it Maeve-

I don’t know, it looked like a Maeve-

It looks like a fucking Frankenstein-

That’s rude, Ben. Apologize to her.

No.

Benjamin-

It’s a fucking cat. It can’t even hear our conversation-

Yeah, but you’re probably glaring at her and making her feel nervous. Calm down and apologize.

Ben let out a long, slow breath. For Her, he’d apologize to the fucking cat, because She wasn’t doing it to make fun of him. She was just perfect and kind and good, and genuinely wanted Ben to get along with this ugly creature on his couch.

“Sorry.” He grunted to the thing, and it just blinked at him. I apologized.

Thank you, my love. There’s food for her in the kitchen-

I’ll handle it, darling. Have a good meeting. Kick all their fucking asses up their heads.

She giggled down the connection. Gross.

You love it.

I do. I love you.

She did. And Ben could always feel it.

I love you too, Sunshine.

She hummed, and faded back into only love, deep and permanent in Ben’s body.

He’d feed the cat. For Her.

But he’d also do fucking anything for Her, so a cat really wasn’t that bad at all.

——————

“Where did you find her?”

Ben didn’t have to look up to the wonder in Ryan’s voice. The kid loved the damn cat. He’d come home and his jaw had dropped, his eyes lighting up the moment he’d seen the ugly thing sitting in the middle of the fucking hallway.

She’d shot Ben a smug grin, and he’d rolled his eyes, planting firm kiss on the top of Her head before stomping into the kitchen.

They could fawn over the damn thing all they fucking wanted. Ben would not fall into line like a fucking pussy for an animal. Over the weekend it had eaten all its damn food in a second, jumped up on their bed twice, and—worst of all—managed to distract Her from sex.

And after She’d let the fucker out into the yard, She’d come right back. Returned to their bed and crawled over Ben’s chest with a sweet, happy smile, laughing when he’d flipped Her over and pinned Her between his body and the mattress, then moaned his name when he’d fucked Her stupid.

“You’re jealous of the cat.” She’d whispered onto his lips, when he was still buried deep in Her cunt, and he’d scowled.

“Shut up.”

She’d laughed, holding Ben’s face between Her hands and looking perfect and beautiful and thoroughly, properly wrecked below him, and Ben had shut Her up with a long, deep kiss.

“I love you.” He’d muttered against Her still-parted lips. “Next time, let the damn cat out before you suck my cock.”

“Jealous-“

“I’m not jealous of the fucking cat,” he’d drawled Her name, pushing up on his elbows to give her a pointed look. “I just don’t want our fucking neighbors to see all my cum on your face, beautiful.”

She’d flushed, Ben had laughed and hauled Her up into his arms, and they’d taken a long, warm, uninterrupted shower.

But now the cat was back. She’d said it was an outdoor cat, and that it would do that, but still.

Now Ben had to listen to Her and Ryan fawn over it for doing nothing, while he cooked their fucking dinner.

“She was in the alley, outside my office.” Ben glanced over to see Her scratching the cat’s ear, and tried not to let it knock the breath out of his fucking chest. How beautiful She was. How fucking perfect She was.

He didn’t succeed.

He didn’t really fucking care, either.

“We’d all been feeding her, for a few months. And Ben and I had been talking about getting a cat-“

Ryan looked over to Ben with wide eyes. “You have?”

“Yes.” Ben grunted. “Listen to your mother talk.”

There was a brief moment of silence that Ben didn’t understand, and then—like nothing had happened at all—She continued. Explaining to Ryan how rescues were always better than breeders, and She’d been able to feel the cat’s joy when She’d held it, so she figured giving it a good home with them was the best possible option.

Ryan was asking a lot of questions about cat care, and the apparent fact that She could feel animal’s emotions—She’d explained that one before, something about them being slightly muted, but mostly through a barrier that was about biology or some shit—when the reason for the silence hit him.

He’d called Her Ryan’s mom.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done that in his head, or at school meetings or senate hearings. But he’d never done it at home.

He wasn’t fucking wrong. She was, in every fucking sense but biological, Ryan’s mother. And the kid’s biological mother was long fucking dead, so as long as Ryan didn’t hate it, he’d keep doing it.

“You made Ryan really happy.” She told him later that night, and Ben frowned at Her from the dresser.

She was wearing one of his shirts, sitting cross legged on their bed. After they had this conversation, Ben needed to rip it off Her perfect body.

“I didn’t fucking do anything.”

“You accepted Maeve.” She hummed, smiling at him as he got changed. “And you called me his mom.”

Ben pauses, scanning over Her carefully. Her heart was at its normal rhythm, and she was happy and easy in his body but-

“I don’t mind that you called me that, Ben.” She whispered, tapping Her fingers on her knee. “I- It’s nice. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing a good job with him, and I’ve been really worried that Ryan’s going to think we’ll love him less, now that we’re thinking of having another kid-“

“That’s fucking insane-“

She shook Her head. “It happens a lot, when someone gets a divorce and remarries, then has kids in the new marriage. And this isn’t that, but it’s adjacent, and I know he still worries about us waking up one day and deciding he’s too much like-“

She swallowed, Her heart picked up slightly, and Ben didn’t need Her to finish the sentence. There was only one pussy fuck in the universe who was able to make Her fearful and quiet like that, even when he was long gone.

So Ben moved to kneel before Her, brushing her hair out of Her face and muttering Her name until she met his gaze.

“I’ll talk to Ryan.” He muttered. “Make sure he knows we’re never fucking replacing him, get that just like his father shit out of his head. And you are doing the best fucking job. You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, and Ryan fucking knows it.”

She nodded, leaning down to press Her brow to Ben’s, soft tears falling from Her eyes.

Ben had long learned that he couldn’t stop it. That these were the storms that She just needed him to be there for, to ride out at Her side and then hold Her for as long as She asked after.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to bring Homelander back to life, punch the fuckhead into the goddamn sun, then chop him up and feed him to sharks.

“He’s dead.” Ben muttered. “Gone. Ryan’s safe, because you fucking killed him-“

“Technically Butcher killed him-“

“Technically Butcher can gargle my balls. You did all the damn work.” Ben wiped Her tears off her cheeks, holding her gaze as he continued. “Ryan wouldn’t want another mom. You’re fucking perfect, Sunshine, so stop losing your damn mind.”

She gave him a soft smile, nodded, and kissed Ben gently. Like they had time.

And they really fucking did. This was going to be forever, so Ben could unravel Her slowly when she started to almost fall over him and scratch at his back, ripping his shirt off Her body just like he’d promised, taking Her nipple into her mouth until she was moaning his name-

The cat yowled. Outside the door.

It wanted to go outside again. And there wasn’t a fucking chance Ben was letting Her leave the bed, so pressed on last kiss to her brow, stomped outside, and opened the back door.

The cat trotted up behind him, looked between Ben and the yard, and sat down.

“Go.” Ben grunted, and it didn’t. It started licking its ass.

He gave up fast. His wife was waiting for him in bed, and She was far more important than the fickle animal—fickle, another good word, he was going to shove that one in MM’s face—so Ben slammed the door closed and returned to his bedroom with a scowl.

She slept easy that night. Wrapped in Ben’s arms, breathing even and heartbeat in perfect time with his.

When he woke up, he peeled Her off his body with a kiss to the top of Her head, gave himself plenty of time to admire how fucking beautiful she looked—happy, peaceful, almost glowing in the morning light—and forced himself out of bed.

She needed coffee. And Ben could give that Her, easily.

But he opened the door, and the fucking cat was waiting for him. Circled up outside their bedroom door, so comfortably settled that Ben would bet a lot of damn money it had been there all night.

“Fucking pervert.” He grumbled, stepping over its tail and walking to the stairs.

The cat only stretched, yawned, and followed Ben down the hall.

—————

Ben had the house to himself for the night. She was out with Annie and Kimiko doing whatever women did to have fun—crime? probably crime—and Ryan was back at Butcher’s, so Ben had the whole fucking house to himself.

He hated it.

It was empty. Quiet. Too damn much like life before the Russian’s got him—when the world had been boring and flat and he’d hated every single fucking pussy he had to talk to—and Ben fucking despised it. He’d agreed to a nice, big house in the suburbs because that’s what She wanted. Something simple, and normal, because the rest of their lives would always remain in pure fucking chaos. Ben would’ve lived anywhere She told him to, as long as She was there.

And She’d be back tonight. Ben knew She’d be back tonight, and he could feel Her halfway across the city—and there was no danger or distress down the connection, so everything was good—but he still fucking missed Her.

He should’ve damned the custody agreement and taken Ryan back for the night. It wasn’t even a legal thing, it was just Her being too kind, too good, and giving Butcher alternate weekends. Ben could’ve told Butcher to suck his fucking dick, because he wanted to take Ryan to an arcade, or watch a movie, or just go out in the yard and do some baseball-

But Ryan liked going to Butcher’s.

And Ben was a grown fucking man. He’d fought in a war. Two, if he counted all the shit with Homelander. He could survive for a goddamn night while his son and wife were gone, and then they’d come home, and everything would be good again.

Bonus, when he tackled Her to the floor and fucked Her dumb in the hallway, then on the stairs, then anywhere in their bedroom that She asked, Ben be able to grumble all the praise and teasing comments he wanted, and She’d be twice as perfect and needy for him than usual. Which was fucking saying something, because She’d already been an hour late to Her dinner, after a hand job, Ben ruining Her first outfit to fuck Her against the door, and fingering in the shower.

He fucking loved Her.

He could survive the night.

Dinner was steak, but he made too much and put some in the fridge for Her later. He did some training, and showered, and ended up on the couch, flipping through the shows to try and find something that he could watch alone.

Everything was better when She watched it with him. When they watched documentaries, She’d make little smart mouthed jokes that were funnier than the program, and when they watched dramas, She’d curl right up into his side, where She fucking belonged. If it was something She loved, She’d spend half the time talking over it—telling Ben a million little facts and opinions—and he didn’t care that he couldn’t hear the show, because She was more fucking important by a mile.

The best was when Ben would watch baseball and She’d pretend to know what the hell was happening. She was fucking adorable—trying to act like She understood the rules—and She’d get all damn riled up on his behalf when the ref made a shit call. Then Ben would explain it to Her, she’d stare up at him with parted lips and a slack, wanting expression, and he’d just chuckle, pull Her further into his lap, and kiss Her until she was writhing in his hold-

Ben started with a grunt as the cat jumped up onto his lap. A month living with them instead of the alley had done it well—smoother, cleaner fur, a lighter step, a proper stomach—but it had also seemed to grow, annoyingly, fond of Ben.

Fucking Ben.

He fed it the most. It was the only explanation. Ben was usually up first, so he fed the thing more than She or Ryan did, and that’s why it liked him.

He also let it outside the most, but that was just so She wouldn’t flash the neighbors. She cleaned its litterbox, and pet it more, and it should fucking love Her because everything should love Her, and Ben was not the one who had rescued it from a damn alley.

“I don’t know, Pretty Boy.” She’d smiled at him yesterday, when he’d grumbled about this over dinner. “I think you’re very lovable.”

“You’re fucking bias, Sunshine, you don’t count-“

She’d shrugged. “Agree to disagree. If I was a cat, I’d follow you around all the time.”

“Because you goddamn love me-“

“Maybe Maeve loves you.”

“It’s a fucking cat,” He’d grumbled Her name, and the cat walked into the kitchen, rubbing against Ben’s ankles and looking up at his like it fucking expected something. “See, it just wants my food-“

“I’m eating the same thing.” She’d hummed, giving him an amused look. “Why isn’t she trying to get my attention?”

That had been a good point. She was so fucking beautiful and smart—Her wedding ring shining on Her finger and all of Ben’s love radiant in his chest—and that had been a damn good point.

So Ben had just rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“This a fucking calamity,” He’d grumbled Her name, and Her smile had widened.

“Word of the week?”

He’d grunted, and She’d giggled, leaning Her head on his shoulder. “You used it wrong, my love.”

“The website-“

“The website was wrong. I sent MM a new one to use a few days ago. Calamity is for disasters, it’s not intangible with just a bad thing. Like- A hurricane, or a war. Those are calamities. Not our cat loving you.”

“It doesn’t love me.”

“Yes, it does.”

She’d smiled up at him, pressed a kiss right over his beard, and Ben had let it go.

But now the cat was on his fucking lap.

Looking at him with big, shining eyes in the dark, starting to kneed on his leg like it was going to-

Christ on a fucking cross, the thing sat down.

He should shove it off. Stand up. Get it away.

But it was Her fucking cat. She adored this thing, and harming it would be, in a way, harming Her-

Ben narrowed his eyes at it. “One-time thing, you fucking pussy, got it?”

The cat blinked at him. Ben decided it understood.

It fell asleep on his lap. Ben fell asleep on the couch. And when he woke up in the morning they’d been joined by Her, tucked into Ben’s side with her arms wrapped around his torso. Still in Her dress from last night.

Ben grinned, running his fingers through Her hair until she let out a soft, happy sound, and still didn’t move.

There were much fucking worse places to be trapped.

———

Butcher’s days were fucking numbered.

The cuckass had said four days. This mission would take four days. They’d fly out, finish it in two, clean up whatever mess they left behind, then fly back home. The pussy scientists wouldn’t know something was wrong until Ben was punching them square in the face, they might catch a rogue supe or two in the process, and then Ben could go the fuck home.

But then the FSAB agents got fucking cocky, and tried to join in, and they’d had to spend a whole fucking day reworking the plan. Then they’d gotten into the lab, but one of the head scientists had seen them coming—none of the team had said it aloud, but they’d exchanged sharp looks of we did our damn jobs, this is the government’s fault—so they needed to track the pussy down. And the scientist had hid all his research, so they had to fucking find that as well, and if one more pussy suit from the FBAA asked Ben about a single goddamn thing, he was going to start throwing nukes out and crushing fucking skulls-

“That’s not very nice, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring at Her pretty face on the tiny screen of his phone. “I’m not trying to be fucking nice, I’m trying to come home-“

“I know, but I’d still appreciate not having to visit you in prison.”

“Prisons can’t fucking hold me-“

She sighed, giving him a flat look. “Ben, you know they’ve been developing things to hold all of us down if they need to, right?”

He sat taller in his chair, and the radiance in his chest growing white-hot, because nobody was allowed to fucking touch Her, not a single fucking pussy in the universe, Ben didn’t give a shit about them trying to put him back under, but She’d been held and broken too many fucking times, and Ben would be damned if he let it happen again-

“I’m fine, now, Ben.” She gave him a soft smile through the screen, and Ben really wished he could touch Her. Hold Her. Kiss Her and let Her melt into his arms, where She was fucking safe. “You’d feel it if I wasn’t.”

He would. That was true.

It didn’t make him relax, though.

“What the fuck do you mean, hold us down.”

“I-“ She let out a long breath, and Ben could see Her fingers tapping on the table. “We’re the most dangerous group of people on the planet, Ben. And we’re all friends and co-workers and it’s been established based on previous patterns that we’d do anything for each other. To the government, that’s a threat, especially because we haven’t exactly played nice with them historically.”

“We would’ve played nice if they weren’t fucking idiots.” Ben grumbled, and it got an adoring smile and easy laugh, so now he was mostly sitting tall with a glowing pride in his chest.

She continued, Her voice a little lighter than before. “Yeah, but to them it’s just not playing nice. It’s the threat thing. Butcher’s a known loose cannon, and now he can shoot laser out of his eyes. Annie’s sweet, but she can still fly and create electrical storms, and she killed the Deep. Kimiko can’t be killed, and she does have a terrorist background, and they-“ She cut Herself off with a long sigh. “I know for a fact that a lot of top officials in Singer’s cabinet are still trying to get Ryan taken away from us and locked up.”

“I won’t fucking let that happen, Sunshine.” Ben muttered, his hands moving forward on a useless fucking instinct to touch Her, but She was just an image in a screen. He did the second-best thing instead. I’ll fucking kill them, all of them, before they lay a single goddamn finger on you or Ryan-

I know. She gave him a small, sad smile. But they know that. We’re the biggest threat, Ben. They know what you’ll do for Ryan and I, they know Ryan’s attached to us and won’t voluntarily leave, and they- I’m the problem. The big one.

Ben scowled. She could be a problem, but only in the way where She’d get on Her knees and beg Ben to suck his cock, or become a pleading, needy mess below him. She gave him a million fucking problems every goddamn day, and he fucking loved it, but the goddamn government didn’t know that, so-

They haven’t gotten anything for me. She sighed. There’s literally no way to incapacitate me.

Good.

No, Ben, it’s- They’re well aware that if they knocked you down, I’d come get you in ten fucking seconds, and all bets would be off.

He grinned at Her. You’d break me out of prison, darling?

Of course I would, you smug ass-

You love me.

I do, but-

Ben said Her name, firm and strong down the bond, and She blinked at him through the screen. Nothing’s going to fucking hurt us again. Ever. Or Ryan, or any of our other kids.

She raised Her brows. Other kids?

He rolled his eyes. I fucked you full of my cum last week, smartass.

Yeah, but I like hearing you say it.

What, that I’m going to fuck you so good you’re never going to empty of me? Ben smirked, leaning a little closer to the phone so he could see Her flush. That I’m going to make you so cockdrunk you never come down, that I’m going to take such good fucking care of you while you’re carrying our kid that they’ll come out fucking glowing-

Babies don’t glow. She mumbled, but Ben knew that voice. And that flush.

He’d won. She was distracted from thoughts of the government, and looking at him with dazed, adoring eyes through the phone, and nothing was wrong in the entire world. Our babies could glow. Frenchie said they’d be supes-

Yeah, but- Actually, that’s a good point. This would be the first completely supe baby in history, and the first one with our V-

So it would glow.

We don’t know that it wouldn’t, but I doubt-

It’ll glow. Ben grinned at Her. It’s your baby, beautiful. It’ll glow.

She rolled Her eyes, the flush deepening. Kiss ass.

Brat. I’m going to fuck you so good when I get home, He drawled Her name between their heads, and could fucking feel Her want for him through his whole goddamn body. Make you fucking stupid on my cock-

Ben, please-

Save it, Sunshine. He winked at Her in the phone. Need to hear it when I’m buried in that perfect fucking pussy-

Ryan’s home, you asshole-

He laughed. Kid’s used to it.

Yeah, but- She cut Herself off, her gaze dropping away from the phone to something on the floor. “Hi, baby, do you wanna say hi?”

Ben frowned. “I didn’t give you a baby yet-“

She laughed, shooting Ben an amused look. “It’s Maeve. She heard your voice.”

“I was talking on the- How the fuck did she hear me.”

“I’m sorry, Pretty Boy, you were talking on the what?”

“The Ben’o’phone.” He grunted, leaning forward in his chair to see what she was looking at, Her attention remaining on the floor. The movement wasn’t helping. The image wasn’t moving. “Answer my damn question-“

“We were talking aloud earlier,” She shrugged. “And I’m wearing one of your shirts, so maybe she can just smell you.”

“Why the fuck would that matter-“

“Because she loves you. I get it.” She smiled down at the floor. “Come here, you can talk to him as well.”

Ben grunted Her name, and half a second later he was staring at a cat ass instead of his wife.

Then Maeve turned and started head-butting the camera, and Ben would be pissed if he couldn’t also hear Her laughing in the background.

The point of the call had been to fucking see Her. And, because She was perfect, she did pull Maeve into Her lap after a few seconds, continuing as if nothing had happened.

It kept looking at him, the whole call. She was petting Maeve’s ears as they talked, and it kept fucking staring at him-

“She misses you, Ben.”

He shook his head. “It’s a fucking cat, Sunshine, it’s forgotten I exist-“

“No, she misses you. Yesterday she was yowling at the door, and then she was disappointed when I opened it instead of you.”

“How the fuck-“

“I can feel it. She misses you.” She paused, and gave him a small smile. “I miss you. Tell Butcher to hurry up, or I’ll punch him.”

Ben snorted. “I don’t think he’s going to be that perturbed by that, beautiful.”

“Then let’s fucking test the theory-“ She paused, Her smile growing. “Perturbed. That’s good. Do you want me to tell you if MM uses it?”

“He fucking has to, that’s how word of the week works-“

She laughed. “It’s Thursday, my love, have you used it multiple times?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her smile could build new universes, and the love in Ben’s chest was so fucking powerful, he was convinced it might.

“I love you, Benjamin.” She whispered, and Maeve made a little sound on Her lap. “We both do.”

Ben grunted. “I love you too, Sunshine. Just you.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, dropping Her voice to a mocking, fake whisper. “He loves you, Maeve, he’s just grumpy.”

He didn’t.

But he did love how fucking happy She was, wearing his shirt and being beautiful and sitting, safe and easy in their home.

If he didn’t get home soon, Butcher was going to have to die.

———

The flight had been too fucking long. Too many goddamn hours stuck on a plane sitting next to fucking Butcher, because the pussy was somehow the only person on the whole goddamn plane that wasn’t either talking shit about how dumb those scientists had been—Frenchie and Kimiko had holed up in the corner, and Ben wasn’t good enough at that sign language shit to keep up, so he couldn’t participate in the conversation if he wanted to—or trying to hit on him.

All these dumbfuck BSFA agents kept hitting on him.

“You look like you got a stick up your fuckin’ ass, gov-“

“Shut up.” Ben grunted, shooting Butcher a glare. “I want to get the fuck home, not have a conversation.”

Butcher just shrugged. “I ain’t tryin’ to talk to you either, but it’s lookin’ like it’s either that or leavin’ you to the bloody wolves over there.”

Ben didn’t have to follow Butcher’s gaze to know that he was talking about the giggly FSSB agents in the corner of the jet. He could fucking hear them, hear them talking about him like he was fucking meat, and he missed Her-

“Don’t know why they’re botherin’.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his seat. “Half the shit you’ve said the whole mission is about how fuckin’ perfect your girl is-“

“Because she is perfect-“

“I know that, Gov, but I ain’t tryin’ to ride your dick, either-“

“Nobody rides my dick but-“

Butcher cut him off with Her name, giving Ben a flat look. “I told you. I know. We all fuckin’ know.”

Ben scowled, jerking his head to the agents. “They don’t.”

“Well, that’s their fuckin’ heads, ain’t it. She’d kill ‘em if she heard.”

It was impossible to stop the grin on Ben’s face. She would kill them. She was a lot more fucking possessive than people gave Her credit for, and She’d burn them all to ash, looking fucking beautiful doing it, then jump into Ben’s arms and ride him until She was moaning his name and cumming all over his cock-

“Bloody Christ, Mate.” Butcher grumbled. “I can see your fuckin’ hard-on.”

Ben didn’t really give a fuck. The conversation moved on to Ryan, and some book the kid was reading, and he got boners about Her around the team all the damn time. This was a lot better than when they had brain sex in front of everyone, so Butcher could fucking deal.

It only became a problem when one of the FFAA agents got real fucking bold, stood up, walked in front of Ben and Butcher, and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Soldier Boy-“

Ben grunted, shooting her a glare. “What.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were really brave out in the field today.” The agent batted her lashes at him, and Ben almost felt fucking bad for her. She wasn’t ugly, but compared to his wife—more beautiful than all the fucking stars and planets and works of art in the universe, holy and sacred and fucking perfect—she was nothing.

“Well, I’m good at my fucking job.” He muttered, turning back to Butcher, and the asshat looked like he was going to start laughing.

The woman didn’t give up. “Yeah, you- you really are. I was just wondering, if you have any post-mission rituals to help us-“

“Gov’s gonna go home, ain’t he. Gettin’ his dick wet.” Butcher was grinning as the agent blushed, and the pussy was looking far too fucking amused for Ben’s liking. “Or he’s just knockin’ right out to bloody hell-“

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher.”

“Sorry, agent.” Butcher winked at the woman, and Ben was going to throw him out of the plane. “Old men ain’t good to sleep well when they don’t got their own bed.”

The woman sighed, giving Ben a look of fucking pity. “I’m so sorry, is it-“ She looked around, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Nightmares?”

It was. Without Her there, the nightmares about Homelander rising up from the dead, locking Ben in a box, and fucking hurting Her always returned.

“I miss my wife.” He grumbled, and Butcher snorted.

“Your-“ The woman’s eyes widened. “I- I’m sorry, I just heard that your marriage was a front for, um, for the-“

“Sweetheart.” Butcher cut the woman off with a bored, amused tone. “I’m tellin’ you from firsthand experience, they’re the two horniest cunts alive, that marriage is a sham just as much as my tits ain’t real.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and the woman swallowed.

“But- I’ve heard the Anomaly’s story, with Homelan-“

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Ben snapped. “And you don’t know goddamn shit about her. I fucking-“

“You love her, Gov. We’ve heard.”

Ben scowled. “I do. I’m fucking rife with it. Love.”

Butcher raised his brows. “Word of the week?”

Ben nodded, and he was only vaguely aware of the agent, shuffling back to her friends with loud whisper about how, apparently, Soldier Boy and the Anomaly were really married.

Butcher hummed. “That’s a good one. You beatin’ MM?”

“It’s not a fucking competition-“

“Not with that shit attitude, it ain’t.”

Ben snorted, and he was almost home. So fucking close, Her presence over his skull calling him closer, because he was almost fucking home, and it didn’t goddamn matter what some pussy agents thought, nothing in the world was fucking better than going home, to Her.

Although he might have to start fucking Her in public more. Or at least kissing Her stupid and dizzy where the world could see it. That agent wasn’t the first to doubt, for some stupid fucking reason, that She and Ben weren’t really together. It was one of the hundred reasons why he never took his ring off, so everyone fucking knew, just a little more, that Ben was Her’s. That the tabloids and useless fucking gossip websites could talk all they fucking wanted about how She and Ben were just a front marriage, and Ryan was actually Her biological son with Homelander—that timeline didn’t fucking add up at all, but none of the damn idiots seemed to care—or that Ben was Homelander, in fucking disguise or some shit, but the truth was pretty damn plain and obvious.

She was perfect. Ben loved Her. And he’d launch himself into the fucking sun before he even thought about looking away from Her for a fucking second.

And when he got home, Ben knew She was already asleep. Ryan was as well, when Ben poked his head in the kid’s room, and Ben was a little fucking thankful about it. He’d hug Ryan and make him breakfast in the morning, but it was late. They needed sleep.

Ben needed sleep. He needed to sleep next to his wife, in his bed, and never fucking let Butcher take him on one of those mission again,

But when he got to their room, half tearing off his clothing as he walked to the mattress, his spot was fucking taken.

The cat was on his side of the bed, sitting tall and vigilant over Her body, eyeing Ben carefully as he glared at it.

“Move.” He grunted.

Maeve looked back to Her, stood up, and walked over to Ben, rubbing his hand with sudden purrs.

She rolled over in Her sleep, and Ben grinned. Christ, She was beautiful. A little drool falling out of Her pretty mouth, wearing his fucking shirt, a little makeup still on Her face that told Ben she’d been waiting for him. To come home.

Back to Her.

Something nipped at his hand. The cat.

He’d started petting the cat without thought, and it had fucking bit him-

Because he was staring at Her.

Maeve had been watching over Her, while Ben was gone.

And he could deal with that. Work with it.

When Ben crawled into bed and wrapped his arms around Her, Maeve was still letting out soft hisses. Right up until She rolled over and buried her perfect face in Ben’s chest with a small, happy sigh.

And Maeve backed off, stretching and laying back down near Her legs, tangled in with Ben’s.

The thing was obviously damn smart, and it was still fucking ugly, but so was a lot of Ben’s life.

The best, most beautiful thing was Her. The most important thing was protecting Her, caring for Her, making sure She was happy all the fucking time.

So as long as the cat got that She was the whole fucking world, Ben was good.

End Note: Btw the cat is names Maeve because I miss her. Shoutout Maeve, none of this would've happened if she didn't tip Butcher off about Sunshine's existence. Our unsung hero.

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