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whirlybirbs · 7 months ago

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— CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; 焦凍

summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen. pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings wordcount: 5.6k a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.

You never did go pro.

Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development.

The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and the world. But, through it all one thing stuck with you:

What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?

How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun?

You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago.

Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide.

You see it differently.

Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions — anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbue things with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than just a simple comfort, now it can hold the feeling of home and safety, or even exhaustion strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest.

You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent.

You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury so solid into someone's mind it drives them to violence.

Just a touch and you can control others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.

What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this for good, if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time?

Or, bright and sunny Tao — a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education — whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids, namely saliva, eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown.

He's just a boy given a quirk that needs more care.

He isn't a villain-in-training.

None of them are.

It's important to teach them that young — and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feel normal. To feel loved and supported. They aren't scary, they're children.

So, you take it upon yourself to insist on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have been plenty of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children, and their parents.

You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet.

After all, you never did go pro.

And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.

He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it.

It was the beginning of the end, then.

His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence on staving off retirement. Not to mention his parent's divorce — no matter how amicable, it was still a separation. Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes... And a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class?

Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.

It drags him back to reality — to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes.

Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant — one of the HoH's lead tour guides — excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:

Endeavor's wing.

There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now.

Very different.

Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."

"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it's—"

"Oh, ho, no way!"

Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribs again.

"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got the balls to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "She is cute, Sho'—"

"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."

It is you.

You look... good.

Happy.

You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look... the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time.

For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.

It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already', and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto.

"It's prom, man! C'mon, this could be your last chance—"

Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass — his favorite pastime — and make some comment about your ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.

Shoto is on the move.

The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.

Then, the cry of "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!" leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes — and the eyes of the tour guide — widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero.

Shoto Todoroki.

He looks... good.

Really good.

He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders — it's a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much more elegant and much... prettier. He's always been.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.

They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.

There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.

"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever."

You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously — like she was caught doing something naughty — introduces The Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk.

Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of a real hero, not the "scary statues" — and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push of comfort through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher.

"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"

"It's fine, really, Insight," comes Shoto's voice; as warm and placid as you remember.

"Insight?" mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory, "Do you two know one another?"

"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.

Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing.

"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "Has a very special quirk — Toyamai, he has ice like you. And, fire like Tojiro. He can regulate his temperature. Can anyone tell me what that means?"

There's a wave of hands shooting up, a few me, me, me's rise from the gaggle.

You're using him as a teaching moment.

Shoto's smile is soft.

You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, he hates public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."

"Exactly! Isn't that cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"

Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute.

You're different than he remembers — but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busy tryna kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! A real licensed hero. Support items and all.

He hangs back.

He... I mean, he is a jack-ass but he isn't gonna ruin this for Shoto.

...It's kinda cute.

Just about as cute as Fuyumi said it was.

Apparently, Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation — about how he regretted not doing anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds.

And he deserves to be happy.

Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation — a viewing of All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content an elementary school student would find riveting, but it is All Might. And they love him.

You hang back.

Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.

"Hey."

"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."

"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."

His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."

You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.

Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago. Kind. "I'll pass it along."

"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."

"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are... good."

Last month, Endeavor finally retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose.

And the underdog in question can read a room.

This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.

"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "Nice t' see ya. I'll let you two catch up, yea? I'm gonna go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling the snooze fest on screen—"

You jump.

How long has he even been there?

"Hi, D— Touya," you strain, wincing a little; the rehab'd villain doesn't seem to mind.

"Hi, teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting your youths—"

"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn't be here, with him, if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn't be entrusting his legacy to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."

Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearly destroyed by his own non-conforming quirk would go against everything you taught the kids anyway.

"Touya's whole thing is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for him—"

"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."

Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time — and a lot of therapy — but we've all managed to come out the other side."

"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'm really happy for you."

There's a long silence, then — and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions.

It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks — and the two of you throw caution to the wind at the exact same moment.

"Would you like to—"

"Are you free—"

Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.

"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"

You make yourself available.

Yaoyorozu almost dies when you call her that night — winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explained you had nothing to wear a-and you needed something nice, and you only have an hour to get ready, because Todoroki — yes, stop screaming, Todoroki — is picking you up at 8pm.

Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell.

From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.

"Seriously, Sho'? A suit?"

"It's a nice restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room for privacy."

"Who the hell told you t' do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.

"Father was the one who suggested it."

"...That old dog."

Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you have any links that aren't emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"

The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.

Shoto winces.

"Want me to ask dear ol' dog of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.

"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up his nicest pair. He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."

Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.

"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.

Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya.

"He asked. I'm not gonna lie to him."

"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit. Not half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excited—"

"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlier—"

"Chiba Prep is a really good school, y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."

"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?"

"She wants me to call her after—"

"One, you're gonna call mum the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin' disap—"

Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.

"Uh, ow," he rubs his sternum. "An' two, take a deep breath. You look like you're gonna shit yourself. Those are my pants and they're expensive."

Shoto lets out a long breath.

Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It's gonna go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident and kind—"

"—Hold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, too—"

It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "—And do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."

Easier said than done.

You never did go pro.

Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. You try to remind yourself this is just Shoto, not The Shoto — but you're a little lost in the whole celebrity of it all when he picks you up in a very nice, sporty little car with ENDVRplates.

You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.

He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful.

Fuyumi's contribution.

You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.

The restaurant is... nice. Really nice. The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back.

It feels like you've been lit on fire.

You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine.

Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory — it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables.

The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.

You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you.

For a second, you're seventeen again.

Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then — somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A.

You remember one night, after a lot of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks.

A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk to really care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night — a rarity he was even drinking at all — and seemed completely fine with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass.

He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed... happy.

"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."

Graduation day was the last time you saw him.

Until this morning, that is.

You smile into your drink.

"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.

His fingers twitch towards his own glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.

"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has just reignited everything. He feels like a hormonal teenager again, "You look beautiful."

Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."

He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."

The idea of Touya offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."

You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.

He notices.

Shoto's face feels hot.

He tries to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just how in love he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school.

Shoto's always been a good listener — but you can see how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much more sure of himself than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was... unsure... but, no. He was shy. Quiet.

Now, less so.

It's adorable.

Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that is far too good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feels like coming home.

While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that's very Shoto — his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it.

Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.

His silence is calming — and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking at you.

His face is close. It's so... intimate. Very. Nearly better than a kiss.

But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen.

The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, Shoto remembers the thing Natsuo said — the car door, too — and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you.

It's sweet.

Really sweet.

The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation — you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit you did call Momo for help with an outfit.

"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.

His hand settles there.

Your stomach does a flip.

You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure.

Keep it together.

He isn't seventeen.

He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face of physical touch from the woman he's dreamed about for years.

...Right?

Green light.

His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment.

The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park.

It makes your chest ache.

Shoto swallows thickly.

Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.

He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's not good at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.

What if you don't want to kiss him?

When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?

Why does he feel like he's going to die?

"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly.

"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."

You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn't look fine..."

"I—" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."

"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"

Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."

"Stop what?" you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one being weird—"

"I'm not being weird—"

"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.

"I'm nervous because I want to kiss you."

His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest.

It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are you happy?

Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now.

"You don't need to be."

Shoto's breath catches at that.

So, he makes his move.

His hand comes first — his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment.

Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.

Your eyes flit up his wrist — a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone.

He looks so damn handsome with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful.

The touch pulls you in like he's got his own personal orbit.

Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together.

Then, his eyes stick to your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face.

You never did go pro.

But, Shoto did.

It shows.

Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agree sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flower—

His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-old screaming in victory.

It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.

And then you whimper.

It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again — this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit more aching.

You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.

He needs to slow down.

He is not having sex with you in his father's car.

That's shameless.

He needs to slow down.

He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and he refuses to fuck this up.

Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still so soft, so gentle. It's very him.

You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.

It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could you ever kiss someone else again after that?

He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still so close, when he's so... perfect.

"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."

A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto is smiling. A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person.

"Are you serious?"

"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.

"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"

Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face.

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I can be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."

"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"

"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends are free."

Shoto scoffs.

Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:

"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."

Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. He swears he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.

Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend.

Not so seventeen anymore, Shoto Todoroki.

#todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki imagine #mha imagine #bnha imagine #shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #touya todoroki #i LOOOOVE HERO TOUYA #HE IS SOOOOOO CUNTY

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pomefioredove · 7 months ago

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can I request house wardens + leech twins with a reader who doesn't eat enough bc Crowley doesn't give them enough for food, and they end up really ill and collapsing or something. I'm cravin some fluffy comfort rn, pls and thank you 🙏

I got you🫡🫡 as someone who's been through an eerily similar situation, I really liked this request

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ another crowley moment™️

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, floyd, jade, kalim, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, mentions of food and not eating

Riddle wouldn't even have to like you to rush to your side. but he does like you, which makes it all the worse

after checking your vitals, you're in the infirmary. he's got doctors for parents, after all, and he knows that malnutrition is bad

he should have seen the signs...

with exams coming, he's been so busy, and he assumed that you were just tired from studying

but he can feel guilty later. right now, he needs to focus on you getting well again, and not killing Crowley

(then, of course, he'll look for some legal statute or clause that he can threaten Crowley with so you're fed properly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona noticed you'd been acting a little weird lately, but watching you collapse still puts him in shock

luckily, Ruggie and Jack are nearby to help you to the infirmary, so Leona can focus on hunting Crowley down like an animal

there are very few times where Leona is particularly grateful for his status, but this is one of them. just one word on how his family will be hearing about Crowley's neglect, and the old bastard is begging him for forgiveness

even after that, Leona still sends Ruggie with snacks and drinks to Ramshackle

and if you ever scare him like that again, you'll regret it (lovingly)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the news of you collapsing during flight lessons reaches Octavinelle rather fast. no one is particularly surprised, since Floyd had mentioned how easily you'd been bruising lately just the night before, but everyone is certainly worried

Azul is the first at your side, asking you all sorts of questions, worried sick. Jade has to remind him to give you space to rest, since you look exhausted (had you always had those dark circles? how could Azul have not noticed?)

now, Azul and the tweels could easily find a way to pressure Crowley, but they know better than to trust him

from now on, you'll be eating in the Mostro Lounge, free of charge

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

perhaps Kalim was just oblivious, because he really didn't think anything was wrong until you were suddenly on the floor in front of him

sure, you'd been a little moody lately, but he figured it was just a thing you were going through. and besides, you know that you can talk to him about anything... right?

Jamil hurries to check your pulse, and shouts for him to get the school nurse- which is jarring, because Jamil never shouts

when you explain everything to Kalim later, he feels... terrible. he should've known- no, he should've asked

Kalim insists you stay at Scarabia while you're recovering, and makes sure you have the most enriching, delicious meals money can buy

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil knew it was bad, but not this bad. if he had known you were on the verge of collapsing, he would've taken a firmer approach to getting you to eat

you're going to worry him to death someday, you know that?

after he's done verbally eviscerating Crowley, he'll insist on joining you at every meal. he'll eat at Ramshackle, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if that's what it takes

he's subtle about it, at least

if he notices that your plate feels empty, he'll just take some food from his and put it on yours. gracefully, elegantly, without a word

you'll come home one day to see your kitchen stocked with vitamins, supplements, and apples (courtesy of Epel)

<3 and a note that says he'll treat you to dinner whenever you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

never scare Idia like that ever again. he wasn't even with you when you collapsed, and he STILL nearly had a heart attack

listen, he knows he's not a great role model when it comes to nutritional eating, but you have got to tell him these things. he would've had Ortho go get takeout! or something!

typical Crowley behavior, SMH. what does he think you are? a rabbit? even the school horses get treated better...

no way that Idia is going to even bother with that old fart, anyway. you want something? he'll get it for you. you don't even have to ask, he'll just send food to your place (and have Ortho check your vitals more often but shhh)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I would not want to be in the room when Malleus finds out about this

not even the building. you know what? I'd steer clear of the whole island, because it will not be pretty

when you collapse in front of him, it feels like he's dying, too. the panic sets in, and he sends Lilia to look after you, and Silver and Sebek to escort you to the infirmary, and then he casually threatens to smite Crowley. obviously

if the students and staff of NRC thought Malleus was scary just being Malleus, he's terrifying when he's mad

(rest assured that you will be getting ten times the amount of food from now on)

it's thunderstorms for days after, but he never leaves your side

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader

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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: Neither you or Joel had realized the fallout of facing each other after trying for a baby—something that never would have happened if Tommy could have given you one himself. And when the first time doesn't stick, you're back at Joel's door, asking for another favor.

|| smut MNDI 18+, pinv, f!receiving oral, dirty talk, no outbreak, not cheating but still def not kosher!!! don't do this!!!, breeding kink, rule breaking, baby making, talk of infertility, joel is absolutely filthy when he's turned on what can I say || notes: Tommy, hunny, if you're reading this, im sorry. im sure you're great in bed. im sorry this got so long!!! I was hella sick the past couple days and mightve wrote this with a fever sooo

You hadn’t meant for it to change anything.

In the days after the first time you… tried with Joel, you hadn’t really spoken to him. He’d left in a hurry, barely looking at you as he pulled his clothes back on, and you’d been too drunk on the aftershocks of what was possibly the best orgasm of your life to really think about what came next. Not until the hours stretched into days, and the reality of what you’d done started to settle in.

Now, standing by the pool in the thick, hazy heat of late summer, you realized just how weird it was going to be when you saw him again.

It was Frankie’s birthday, the last big cookout of the season—an annual thing the Morales family threw without fail, and especially this year with Marie now expecting their first baby. The beer was always cold, there was always too much food, and the night always ended with everyone gathered around the fire pit, full and tipsy and laughing. You’d been coming to these parties for years, always bringing appetizers, just as the Miller brothers always brought the beer. It was tradition. Comfortable.

Except this time, nothing felt comfortable at all.

You were in your string bikini, your loose, sheer cover-up thrown over the lounge chair you inhabited, still slick from the last dip in the pool. The air smelled like sunscreen and charcoal smoke, the buzz of cicadas tangled with the sound of splashing and distant laughter. You had just grabbed your drink from the poolside table when movement caught your eye.

Joel.

He was stepping into the backyard, a case of Miller Lite hooked in one hand, his other hand pushing through his hair. He looked good—annoyingly good—worn jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders, sunglasses tucked into the collar. He scanned the crowd until his gaze landed on you.

Your breath hitched. Not because of him—of course not—but because the moment stretched just a little too long.

And then Tommy turned, sitting next to you with an easy, unaware grin, and Joel’s eyes flicked to his brother like he’d just been caught red-handed. He gave an awkward nod—more of a grunt than a greeting—before turning on his heel and heading straight for the house.

You flushed.

Right. This was going to be weird.

Tommy laughed, like he hadn’t noticed the way you went red beside him. He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting to his feet. “Guess I better go say a proper hello before he drinks all the beer himself.”

And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you sitting there, drink in hand, watching the back door swing shut behind Joel.

The sun was starting to dip lower, stretching long golden streaks over the yard, and you were starting to feel it—the kind of lazy, sun-drenched exhaustion that came from too much heat, too much pool water, maybe one drink too many. The party was still going strong, laughter rising over the music, but you were more than happy to hover near the patio with a few of the other wives in the shade.

You hadn’t seen much of Joel.

Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse—his broad shoulders making their way through the small crowd, the sound of his laughter, the sun catching in his hair—but he never seemed to linger anywhere long. It was like he was playing some kind of unspoken game, orbiting close enough that you were aware of him but never so close that you had to speak.

Which was fine.

It was fine.

You were definitely not hyper-aware of him. Not tracking his presence without meaning to. Not letting the memory of the filthy things he said to you crawl into your head every time you glimpsed those big, soulful eyes.

You exhaled, shaking the thought loose just as Marie called your name. She stood at the grill next to her husband who was flipping burgers, her hands full of side dishes that had to be put out for dinner.

"Can you grab the potato salad from the fridge?" she asked, nodding toward the house. "I meant to bring it out, but my hands are too full!"

"Yeah, of course," you said, already stepping toward the back door.

The second you slipped inside, the air-conditioning cooled the heat still clinging to your skin, the quiet settling heavy after the constant hum of the party outside. It felt nice. Like taking a breath you hadn’t realized you needed.

The house was mostly empty, everyone still out in the yard, and for a brief moment, you let yourself just enjoy the quiet. Then you stepped into the kitchen and saw him.

He was standing near the counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other loose around a beer as he looked out the kitchen window into the yard. His shoulders tensed when he heard you, but he didn’t turn, just flicked his gaze toward the fridge like that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel.

You ignored the way your pulse kicked up, forcing yourself to be normal. Chill.

“Hey,” you said, casual, like this was fine. Just another Saturday afternoon.

Joel nodded once, barely glancing at you. “Hey.”

Oookay.

You moved toward the fridge, opening it and scanning the shelves. “Just need to grab something for Marie,” you said, reaching for the container of potato salad.

Joel exhaled, shifting to the side so you had more room, but he still didn’t look at you. His grip flexed around his beer, his jaw tight like he was concentrating very hard on ignoring you.

Fine.

Grabbing the container, you shut the fridge and turned to leave, but you found yourself hesitating.

You sighed, shifting your grip on the bowl before turning back around. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to say anything. “Like what?”

“This.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “The awkward. The avoiding.” You paused, tilting your head. “You can’t even look at me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before his eyes flicked to yours—quick, hesitant. “I’m lookin’ at you right now.”

You huffed out a small, dry laugh. “Yeah. For the first time all day.”

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, his fingers tapping once against the beer bottle. “Ain’t avoidin’ you.”

You lifted an eyebrow.

Joel sighed through his nose, glancing at the floor before dragging a hand down his face. “Alright,” he admitted, “maybe a little.”

You crossed your arms, letting that hang in the air for a second.

Joel took a long breath like he was trying to collect his thoughts. Then he finally—finally—looked at you, really looked at you, with something almost hesitant in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, low but firm. “You’re right.”

Your arms loosened slightly, tension easing just a fraction. “I do that a lot.”

Joel huffed a little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down—quick, instinctive, before he caught himself and looked away. But not fast enough. You saw it.

The humidity outside had been enough to keep you from throwing your cover-up back on after the pool, but now, standing here in the cool dim light of the kitchen, it felt like a mistake. The shift in temperature sent a shiver across your skin, every inch of you laid bare in nothing but damp, clinging fabric. You knew this bikini was thin but damn your nipples for hardening in the sudden cool air. Water still beaded along your collarbone, trailing in slow, lazy rivulets down your stomach, disappearing beneath the tiny scraps of your bikini.

And it seemed like Joel was very aware of these things as well.

You weren’t sure if he swallowed, but you thought you saw his jaw go tight. Then, just as fast, he looked away.

Something curled low in your stomach. Was he thinking about that night, too?

Not supposed to. That was Rule #2.

Not supposed to think about it. Not supposed to talk about it outside the four walls of your bedroom.

Joel cleared his throat. “You feelin’ alright and all?”

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “What?”

His fingers tightened around his beer bottle. “Any signs yet?”

Oh.

You shifted your weight, trying to collect yourself. “No. Won’t know for a few more days. Won’t show up on a test yet.”

Joel nodded, looking thoughtful, like that was news to him. His gaze flicked downward again—this time, toward your stomach.

“Did Tommy not tell you that part?” you asked, amused despite yourself.

His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.”

You smirked. “You mean you didn’t ask.”

Joel scoffed, almost like a chuckle, shaking his head. “Wasn’t exactly a conversation I was rushin’ to have with my brother. Haven’t… had to think about this stuff in 15 years.”

That made you laugh—a soft, breathy thing—and just like that, something tilted in the air between you.

The tension didn’t go away. It just… changed.

Joel was still standing where he was, but now it felt like he was closer, and he was even smiling a little bit.

Maybe you were the one who had stepped closer.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the space had shrunk, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The air between you was buzzing, and you could feel his presence—solid, warm, steady across from you.

Joel’s fingers flexed once against the counter. His gaze flicked down again—quick, but not quick enough.

This time, when his eyes met yours, he didn’t immediately look away.

And neither did you.

The kitchen was quiet.

Not just in the absence of sound, but in the way the air felt thick, in the way neither of you spoke, in the way neither of you moved.

But you weren’t imagining it.

Joel’s eyes were still on you, his body still angled slightly toward yours, and you were very aware of the space between you.

Your skin prickled, still damp from the pool, and you wondered again if he was thinking about that night. If the way his fingers flexed against the counter meant he remembered how they’d felt on your skin. If the way he swallowed meant he was trying real hard not to think about the words you exchanged, low, filthy, depraved–

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall, breaking the moment like a stone thrown into still water.

“Y’all hidin’ in here?” Tommy’s voice was easy, oblivious as he crossed the threshold, already making a beeline for the fridge.

“What?” you squeaked, “No, why’d we be hiding?”

Oh god. Your stomach flipped as heat prickled up your spine. Why the hell had you said it like that?

Tommy, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“It’s hot as hell out there. Think I saw Frank fannin’ himself with a paper plate like some old lady in church.”

Joel straightened immediately, rolling his shoulders back like he’d just snapped to attention. He cleared his throat, shifting his grip on the beer bottle. “Damn near a hundred degrees, I’d say. Just… takin’ a minute.”

Tommy barely looked up, cracking open the fridge. He grabbed a beer for himself, glancing toward you. “That for Marie?”

You nodded, heart still kicking a little harder than it should. “Yeah.”

“Good. She was about five seconds from sending out a search party for it.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose—maybe a huff of a laugh, maybe just a breath—but he made sure to avert his eyes from you now.

You just nodded once, shifting the container in your arms before turning on your heel and walking out the way you came.

Joel

A week had passed, the tightness of unspoken things curling around him until the evening settled low one night and Joel finally started to relax.

The TV’s blue light flickered against the golden glow siphoning through the blinds, the last rays of daylight painting the floorboards in long, slanted streaks. The house was quiet aside from the hum of the sitcom playing, its canned laughter punctuated by the real thing—Sarah, curled up beside him on the arm of the couch, feet tucked up against his thigh as she giggled at another dumb joke.

But Joel was distracted.

He’d been distracted for days, really.

It wasn’t just the wrongness of it—though there was plenty of that, enough to make his gut twist every time he let himself linger too long on it.

It was the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling it.

The way you’d tightened up around him, shuddering, gasping, falling apart with his name on your lips. The way you’d let him take you, let him fill you, let him say things he had no right to say.

He shook his head, forcing the thought away.

Wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. Wouldn’t let himself remember the way you felt, the way you sounded, wrecked and breathless beneath him. Wouldn’t let himself think about how easy it had been to lose himself in it, to let every filthy thought spill from his mouth like he didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

But you.

You had let him. Had taken everything he gave you, had needed it.

And worse than any of it—the thing that really messed him up—was knowing that Tommy, his own brother, couldn’t make you finish the way he had.

That knowledge had settled deep in his bones, twisting something dark and selfish in his gut. That he was the one who had made you come apart like that. That only he had. And God help him, but the idea stroked his ego like a cat purring into your hand. He hadn’t been able to think straight since.

And maybe that was why, when the knock came, it took him a second to register it.

Joel blinked, dragging himself out of his own damn head. He turned to Sarah, their eyes meeting in confusion. “You expectin’ anyone?” he asked. Sarah shook her head, brow furrowing. Joel exhaled, pushing himself up from the couch with a few protesting cracks in his knees before heading for the door, rubbing at the tension settled in his jaw before pulling it open.

For a second, he had to blink to make sure he was seeing right.

You stood on his porch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, stuffed into the front pocket, your hair mussed from the evening breeze. The light had dipped enough that everything was softer now, blurred at the edges, but it didn’t hide the red rimming your eyes, the way your shoulders curled in just slightly.

Joel’s chest tightened.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He cleared his throat, opening and closing his mouth, but before he could say anything, Sarah appeared beside him.

He watched as your expression shifted instantly, the smile pulling at your lips effortless, natural. A mask, maybe—but a convincing one.

“Auntie!” Sarah beamed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around you. And just like that, your smile became real. He saw the way your eyes softened as you hugged her back, tucking your chin briefly over the top of her head.

Sarah pulled away just enough to grin up at you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Your gaze flicked between her and Joel before settling back on Sarah. “Was wonderin’ if I could steal your dad for a sec,” you said easily, voice light, “that okay?”

“Please,” Sarah teased, shooting Joel a smirk. “Any chance to take him off my hands is always appreciated.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as Sarah turned back toward the couch, giggling to herself. But when he looked back at you, the brightness from a moment ago had already dimmed. The smile had slipped—not completely, but enough. Your lips were still quirked at the edges, but your eyes… your eyes looked tired.

Joel exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you sighed, shifting slightly on your feet. “Can we talk?”

There was something in your voice, something heavy, something that sat thick in the air between you. And Joel knew. He knew what this had to be about, but that didn’t stop his mind from racing, didn’t stop the sudden, gnawing pull in his gut as a dozen worst-case scenarios started clawing their way forward.

Were you here to tell him it was all a mistake? That he should’ve never come near you like that, never agreed to something so ridiculous? Were you going to say you couldn’t look at him the same, that you didn’t want to, that whatever had happened between you was too far over some invisible line?

Or worse—were you here to cut him out entirely? To tell him he was done, that he’d never step foot in your house again, never see the baby he had tried to put in you?

The thought settled cold in his stomach, but he didn’t let it show. He just jerked his head toward the hall, leading you through the quiet house and out to the back door.

The porch creaked beneath your weight as you moved, wordless, settling onto the old swing. Joel followed, standing a few paces away, one hand braced against the railing. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

Your eyes were fixed on the pool in the yard—the above-ground one he’d put in for Sarah and her friends this summer, the water still rippling from whatever movement had last disturbed it. The tubes and pool rafts floated aimlessly, bobbing in the quiet evening breeze.

But you weren’t really looking at them. Joel could tell your stare was a thousand miles away.

Just say it, he thought. Just tell me you think it was all a mistake, so I can stop going crazy in my head.

“It didn’t work,” you finally said, voice cracking.

Joel’s eyes found yours, and for a moment, all he could do was look.

You were beautiful in the dying light—soft gold settling over your features, catching in the moisture gathering in your eyes. Your chin wobbled, lips parting slightly as you sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control.

His chest ached.

Joel had never been good at this. Never been the type for soft reassurances or knowing what to say when someone was hurting. But he couldn’t just stand there, not when you looked like this. So he moved, stiff and uncertain, stepping toward the swing before lowering himself onto it beside you.

The wood groaned slightly beneath his weight and for a second he hesitated, fingers twitching against his thigh. Then, after a beat, he lifted a hand and rested it on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sound you let out was small, choked, a breath away from a sob. Your hands flew up to your face as your shoulders curled inward, your body trembling against the weight of it.

And then—before he could react—you turned into him. Pressed your face against his chest, curled against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel stiffened.

For a long, still moment, he didn’t move, his body locked up tight. His breath was shallow, caught somewhere in his throat, but the sound of you—soft, muffled cries against his shirt, the uneven tremble of your breath—made his chest pull even tighter.

Carefully, slowly, he let his arm settle around you.

He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer, but he could do this. He could be solid. He could be warm. He could let his fingers trace slow, steady strokes over your arm, grounding you, letting you take what you needed.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered.

You sniffled, your body shifting as you pulled back slightly. It was like you suddenly realized how close you were, blinking up at him, eyes glassy but clearer now.

“It’s—” you exhaled shakily, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “It’s okay. Not your fault, of course.”

Your shoulder still pressed lightly against his, and Joel’s arm, solid and steady around you, didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was to comfort you or to keep himself grounded, but his thumb was still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your arm, like if he stopped, something might shift in a way he wasn’t ready for.

The quiet between you stretched, thick and full, the weight of everything that had transpired the past few weeks hanging in the warm evening air. The swing creaked softly beneath you, the distant chirp of crickets threading through the silence, but neither of you spoke.

Joel wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

He didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know if you even wanted him to fix it. So he just sat there, his fingers still moving, his eyes still studying you—your profile washed in golden light, the way your lashes were still damp, the slow rise and fall of your chest as you tried to steady yourself.

And then—

“Would you…” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

Joel felt like his lungs stopped working, his heart kicking up before he even knew why. You were still staring down at your lap, fingers twisting together, your teeth catching at your lip as you sucked in a breath like you weren’t sure how to say what you wanted to.

You tried again. “Would you be okay with…”

You trailed off, shaking your head. Still not looking at him.

But Joel knew. Knew before you even said it, before the words could form, before you could force yourself to meet his gaze.

“You want to try again?” he asked quietly.

That got you to look at him.

And when your eyes met his, something shifted. Because Joel suddenly realized just how close you were.

Close enough that he could make out every ridge and curve of your soft lips, every delicate flicker of color in your irises, every tiny freckle that summer had kissed onto your skin. He hadn’t noticed it before—not really. Not in the dark of your room, not when he’d been too caught up in the moment to see you the way he did now.

Yes, you were nice-looking—Tommy always had good taste in women. But Joel had never let himself notice something like that. Not before. Not until now, until you were watching him with that hesitant, quiet hope, until something deep and unfamiliar curled in his chest in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He could feel you shifting beside him, like you were fighting some sort of urge, like you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself. He got it. He felt it too. That strange, electric wrongness, the awareness that neither of you was saying what you were actually thinking. His fingers twitched where they laid, but he didn’t move them.

“Would you be okay with that?” you asked softly. “I’ll talk to Tommy, see what he thinks, of course. He’s out tonight, but I just—I couldn’t stand being alone. After taking the test this morning, it just felt so empty in the house. It’s okay if you don’t want to, of course. We can figure out something else, maybe a donor or some sort of IVF or surrogacy—”

You were rambling now, your words tumbling out too fast, your hands twisting in your lap, your eyes darting away from his like you didn’t really expect him to say yes.

Joel didn’t know what the hell to do with the mess of feelings twisting inside him as he watched you stumble over your words. It wasn’t like you to hesitate, to second-guess yourself—but now, you were looking anywhere but at him, your fingers fidgeting, your breath uneven. He should’ve let you work through it. Should’ve waited. But before he could think better of it, his hand moved, fingers brushing beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

Your breath hitched as he lifted your face toward him, guiding your eyes back to his in a slow, careful motion that had nothing to do with the things he wasn’t supposed to think about.

“I’ll do it,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. And damn him, he couldn't help the way his eyes flickered to your lips as they parted when he said, “We can try again.”

“Are you sure you have to go?” you asked, your hands resting on Tommy’s chest as he held your hips, fingers squeezing gently.

His smile was soft, easy—full of the kind of warmth Joel had no business standing in the middle of. There was so much love in your eyes, so much familiarity between you, and Joel felt like he was intruding.

But that didn’t make much sense, did it? You’d both invited him here. You’d both agreed to this. And yet, here he was, sitting on the damn couch, trying not to watch the way you looked at your husband—like you’d rather he stayed, like you weren’t about to let his older brother take his place in your bed for the night.

“Listen, hun,” Tommy said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know how Frank’s been feelin’, all the pressure of havin’ a baby soon. Marie’s gonna pop any day now, and the least the fellas could do was plan a night away.”

You pouted up at him, fingers playing absently in the longer strands of hair at his nape.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to focus on anything else. The clock ticking on the wall. The hum of the fridge. The feeling of his own damn skin crawling.

“Joel here’ll take good care of ya,” Tommy said, and Joel’s body locked up.

His head jerked up, his whole body locking up like he’d been physically struck.

When he met Tommy’s gaze, there wasn’t even a flicker of mischief there. No teasing, no knowing smirk. Like he hadn’t just said the worst goddamn innuendo Joel had ever heard in his life.

Christ.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel muttered under his breath, but his brother didn’t hear him.

Or maybe he just ignored him.

Either way, Joel didn’t look. Didn’t watch the way Tommy leaned down, kissed you slow and lingering. Didn’t watch the way you melted into it, or the way his little brother looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

Not with what the night had in store for the two of you.

When the door shut behind Tommy a few minutes later, you turned, your eyes flicking to Joel—hesitant, uncertain—before darting away just as fast.

There was no getting over how weird this was.

“Can I… get you something to drink?” you asked from across the room, your voice just a little too casual, like you were trying to make this feel normal.

Joel nodded. Something to take the edge off was exactly what he needed.

With Sarah at a friend’s for the night, there was no rush, no curfew, no reason to be anywhere but here. He could take his time. He should take his time, not rush into it like last time. He still felt bad about how long it had taken him to get it up. But what the hell did anyone expect?

This was weird.

His younger brother asking him to put a baby in his wife.

His sweet, pretty, sexy wife.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Joel cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his jaw as you turned to grab the bottle from the cabinet. His eyes flicked down—just for a second—catching the curve of your waist, the slope of your back as you reached for two glasses.

He needed to get his shit together.

“Whiskey, really?” he asked, surprised.

“I thought it would be for the best. Ya know. Calm the nerves.”

“You’re nervous?” He didn't mean for it to come out so rough, so low and gravely, but something in the way you were standing there, hand wrapped around the wide glass as you looked between him and the drink.

You handed him his glass, fingers brushing, and you pulled away as soon as his hand wrapped around it, grabbing yours and walking into the living room, “Aren’t you?”

Joel brought the glass to his lips, giving himself a second before responding as he sat down across from you. The whiskey burned, but not as much as the look you gave him over the rim of your own glass.

"Wouldn’t call it nervous," he muttered, setting his drink down on the table.

You hummed, taking another sip. "No?"

"Nah." He shifted, the leather couch creaking beneath him. "Just... y’know. Wrappin’ my head around it."

You studied him for a long beat, fingers curled loosely around your glass. "So you’re sayin’ it’s not weird for you at all?"

Joel let out a little chuckle, rubbing his palm over his thigh. "Didn’t say that."

Your lips quirked, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Maybe more like you were just relieved that he was talking to you again. Something in Joel shifted at the realization. He should’ve been better at this—at talking, at making this easier. At not making things so damn weird.

"Guess I just figured the second time would be easier," you admitted, voice softer now, quieter.

"Easier how?" Joel asked, his hands twitching on his thighs before he grabbed his glass again, taking another sip just to do something.

You hesitated. "Jus’ didn’t expect it to feel so…" Your eyes, previously glued to the contents of your drink, flickered up to meet his. Joel felt his stomach flip, his pulse tick up. Your gaze was steady, unsure but searching, and he could feel it— the weight of it settling somewhere deep in his chest, in the thick, charged air between you.

“Tense.” you finished, and Joel swallowed down his last sip of whiskey, the burn sinking all the way to his gut, welcome this time—anything to settle the fire licking up his spine.

It took a moment before Joel realized the both of you were staring at each other, gazes locked and burning across the room.

The silence stretched, thick and unmoving, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. He should look away, should say something to break whatever spell this was, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His fingers flexed around his empty glass, his breath slow and measured like he was trying real hard not to give himself away.

Then, you blinked, inhaled, and wet your lips before forcing out a quiet, “Should we… get to it, then?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, eyes dragging over your face, searching. “That what you wanna do?” His voice came out rougher than he meant, lower, like the whiskey had settled there and refused to budge.

You let out a breathy laugh—nervous, unsure. “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Joel didn’t answer at first. He just set his empty glass down on the table, slow and deliberate, the soft clink against the wood the only sound between you. Then, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, watching you.

“I mean,” he murmured, voice low, “we got all night, don’t we?”

You nodded, slow, absent, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers toyed with the hem of your shorts. Your bare legs shifted slightly, restless, and Joel could see the way your body carried the same tightly wound energy thrumming under his own skin.

And for the first time, he wondered if it wasn’t just him who felt different. If you’d been thinking about that night all along too. If this thing, this quiet, simmering thing between you, had started to crack open something neither of you were ready to face.

Joel swallowed, flexing his fingers against his knees before dragging one hand over his jaw. “You sure about this?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, but when your eyes lifted to his, there was something there—something nervous, maybe, but certain.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m sure.”

Joel nodded once, slow, measured. “Alright.”

But neither of you moved.

Not yet.

And that might’ve been the worst part, the way the space between you suddenly felt charged, humming, like a live wire sparking at both ends, neither one of you quite willing to touch it first.

Joel finally sat back, spreading his legs slightly, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How you wanna do this?”

The words sent something sharp curling low in his stomach, but he kept his expression even. Neutral. Like this wasn’t the strangest damn conversation he’d ever had in his life.

Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t expected him to ask that, and something flickered in your gaze.

“I…” You hesitated, shifting again. “I don’t know.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you like,”

He meant it as a practical question. But the second the words left his mouth, something about them felt different. Felt thick.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, lips parting again—but no words came.

Joel’s fingers flexed where they rested, and then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and curled two fingers toward himself in a beckoning motion.

“C’mere.” His voice was low, rough, unwavering. His other hand patted the empty space beside him on the couch.

Your eyes went wide.

Joel’s gaze stayed steady, dark and unreadable, waiting, watching. And when you didn’t move, when you stayed frozen in place, teeth worrying your lip like you weren’t sure if you should—

He tilted his head slightly, exhaling through his nose.

“Don’t be all shy now,” he murmured. “You helped me last time. I’ll help you this time.” A pause, thick with meaning. “Come on, now.”

Your fingers twitched, and then slowly, hesitantly, you moved towards him.

You set down the empty whiskey glass with a soft clink, and Joel caught the slight tremble in your hands as you made your way over to him. You sat beside him, close but not too close, your body angled toward his, but still not touching. He could feel the heat of you, though, could sense the way you hovered in that charged space, your breath just a little uneven.

Your eyes flickered to his, uncertain, waiting.

Joel let the moment stretch before speaking, voice low, rough with the remnants of whiskey and something heavier. “Now,” he drawled, slow and deliberate, as his hand rested on the back of the couch as he turned towards you, “what’s got you all worked up, hm? Why you nervous tonight? Weren’t nervous last time.”

You blinked at him, “Yes, I was.”

Joel shot you a look, brows furrowing slightly.

You were?

Hell, he was the one who’d been in damn ribbons last time, all wound up so tight he couldn’t even get hard at first. But you…you’d been steady, patient, pulling him out of his own head with soft hands and softer words, guiding him through it like you’d done this a thousand times before.

But now, looking at you, at the way your fingers twisted absently in your lap, at the way you were still hesitating, hovering, he realized maybe he’d had it all wrong.

Maybe you’d just been better at hiding it.

Something in him shifted at that thought, something warm and unexpected. And then—just like that—the corner of your mouth quirked up, barely there, but enough.

Enough to break the tension just a little.

Joel’s gaze stayed locked on yours, watching the way your lips twitched with that barely-there smile, the way you shifted in your seat, still wound up tight. You might’ve been trying to play it off, but he could see it now. The way your body was holding something back, how much you were overthinking, just like he had last time.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low and edged with something darker.

“How do you usually get off?”

He watched the way your body reacted to the question, your thighs pressing together just slightly, the way your fingers tensed against the couch cushion, like you needed something to hold onto.

“Joel—”

“C’mon, now,” he murmured, tilting his head, gaze flickering down your body before finding your eyes again. “You asked me the same question last time. Let me help you relax, sweetheart.”

Your breath came a little faster now, chest rising and falling, and for a second, Joel thought you might overthink your way out of this. Might shake your head, pull away, break the moment before it could go any further.

“I, um…” Your teeth caught your bottom lip harder now as your eyes flicked away, like you were thinking, trying to find the right words. “Tommy—he usually… he’ll go down on me.”

Joel hummed, urging you on. “Mhm.”

“And usually I’ll get off then—”

“Usually?” Joel interjected without thinking. His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you.

You shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Sometimes it takes a while,” you admitted. “So I tell him to give up and—”

“Give up?!” Now Joel was incredulous. His head jerked slightly as he wiped a hand down his face, like he could scrub away the mental image of his little brother trying and failing to make his own damn wife finish on his tongue.

"Jesus Christ."

You gave a small, amused shake of your head. “Not everyone is as talented as you, Joel Miller.”

The words left your mouth so easily, a throwaway comment, but the second you said it, your face went red, realizing what you’d just admitted. You let out a breathy laugh, trying to play it off as a joke, but Joel wasn’t remotely amused.

Because he’d seen the way you shrugged when you said give up. Like it was normal. Like you didn’t expect anything else.

No. He wasn’t having any of that.

His expression hardened, jaw ticking.

“Lay back.”

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting as you released your lip from between your teeth. “What?”

“Lay back, dammit. Pants off.”

“Joel, we’re—”

“You keep breakin’ Rule Number Three, doll, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you don’t give a damn about ‘em.” His voice was firm, his gaze unwavering.

“Sorry,” you murmured, your voice softer now, almost breathless, and Joel’s stomach tightened at the sound of it.

Joel was already moving, shifting forward, his body his broad frame eclipsing yours, forcing you to either back up or let him take what he wanted. You braced yourself against the couch, your hands gripping at the cushions as he hovered over you, broad and unrelenting.

“You don’t have to–”

“I said lay back, baby,” he murmured, voice low and firm, edged with something dark and determined. His fingers brushed against your thigh, coaxing, teasing, his eyes locked onto yours. “Lemme show you how it’s supposed to be.”

You hesitated, your chest rising and falling too quickly, lips parting like you wanted to say something—maybe protest, maybe challenge him—but instead, you obeyed.

You let him guide you down, sinking back against the cushions, legs still bent, thighs pressed tight together.

Joel hummed at the sight of you beneath him, at the way you looked up at him now—uncertain, but wanting. He could see it in the way your breath hitched, in the way your fingers twitched like you didn’t know what to do with them.

“That’s a good girl,” he muttered, dragging his palm up the length of your thigh, heat radiating from his touch even through the fabric of your shorts.

He should take his time, should tease you like he’d been dreaming about in the weeks between last time and now—the way he’d pictured you squirming, begging for him. But then he remembered what you’d said.

How sometimes it took too long.

How you’d just tell Tommy to give up.

Like it was your fault. Like you were too much work.

Bullshit.

Joel’s jaw ticked, something dark and dangerous curling in his gut. His fingers flexed against your skin before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down before you could say anything else.

You sucked in a breath, hips lifting instinctively, letting him pull them past your thighs, past your knees, tossing them somewhere behind him. His hands settled firm on your legs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your inner thighs as he spread them wider.

And fuck, you were already so wet, your panties clinging to you, a darkened patch right where he wanted to put his mouth.

His smirk was slow, satisfied.

"What’s this all about, hm?" he purred, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric, rubbing just enough to make you jolt. "Wanna tell me what’s got you all dripping for me already?"

Your breath hitched, a little mewl escaping you as you tried pushing your thighs together, squeezing tight, making the soft, puffy outline of your lips press perfectly against the thin fabric.

Joel swore he started salivating.

His hands ran up your legs as he sank onto the floor, knees pressing firm against the couch cushions, palms settling against the soft skin of your inner thighs. He wanted you spread open for him, wanted all of you.

"Tell me, baby," he urged, voice thick, coaxing.

Your throat bobbed, lips parting, your breath a little shaky. "I was…" You swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the couch cushion, "I was just remembering."

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, heavy-lidded and dazed, thick with want. "Rememberin’ what?"

You met his gaze, lashes low, voice barely above a breath. "How good you made me feel last time. I’d never… felt that before. Not like that, at least."

Jesus fucking Christ.

Joel let out a low groan, his cock stiffening behind his zipper, aching in a way that made his breath come slow and deep through his nose. You had to feel it, the hard press of denim against your ass, the way his body reacted to your words, to the way you looked at him like you were already cock-drunk before he even touched you properly.

"You felt so good, Joel," you murmured, your voice thick, dreamy, like you were already sinking into it. "Made me feel so good."

His fingers curled against your thighs, pressing in just a little harder.

"Gonna make you feel real good again, baby," he muttered, voice rough as his fingers hooked into your panties. He pulled them down slow, savoring the sight of them peeling away from your slick folds, strings of arousal clinging to the fabric.

"Open these pretty legs for me," he murmured, gripping your thighs, easing them apart as he settled lower, gaze locked on the glistening heat between them.

You let him hold you open, bare to him, and all Joel could think about was getting his mouth on you, making you come undone the way you were supposed to.

The way he knew he could.

Joel’s breath was heavy, measured, but inside, he was burning.

He slid his palms up your thighs, pressing them wider, his thumbs tracing firm, slow strokes along the sensitive skin. His hands felt big where they gripped you, broad and rough, like they could hold you there forever, keep you open for him until he was satisfied.

And right now, he was hungry.

His gaze stayed locked between your legs, taking in the way you glistened in the low light, slick and dripping for him, already so ready. He exhaled sharply through his nose, his cock pulsing behind the tight confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, almost to himself, dragging his thumbs over your inner thighs, watching the way your muscles twitched beneath his touch. "You got no clue how pretty you are down here, do you?"

You whimpered, a small, needy sound, and Joel felt it straight in his gut.

He leaned in, inhaling against your core, lips just barely brushing against you—not quite a kiss, not quite a touch, just enough to tease, to let you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds.

You gasped, your hips jerking slightly.

He smirked, the ghost of it pressing against your skin.

"Easy, sweetheart," he murmured, smoothing his hands over your thighs, grounding you, keeping you spread open for him. "Ain’t gotta rush. Gonna take my time with you."

And then, finally he let his tongue drag through your folds, broad and slow, from your dripping entrance up to your swollen clit.

You shuddered.

Your fingers scrambled at the couch cushion, a broken moan spilling from your lips, thighs trembling beneath his hands.

"That’s it," Joel muttered against you, voice thick, satisfied. He dragged his tongue over you again, slower this time, savoring the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

He loved this—loved watching you come undone beneath him, loved the way your body melted, how you gave in so easily when someone actually took their damn time with you.

His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your back arch off the couch, another moan breaking free.

"Joel—oh my God—"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, the vibration sending a sharp jolt through your core. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you still, keeping you right where he wanted you.

You were practically dripping onto the couch, coating his lips, his chin, and Joel loved it. Lapped it up like he was dying for it, groaning against you, letting himself drown in you.

He flicked his tongue, slow and teasing, before dragging it down, prodding your entrance. His hands slid up, fingers pressing against the dips of your hips, holding you steady as his tongue dipped inside you.

You choked on a breath, your thighs twitching against his shoulders, and Joel grinned.

"Yeah?" he rasped, pulling back just slightly, his lips slick and shining with you. "That feel good, sweetheart?"

You barely managed to nod before his mouth was back on you, eating you like a man starved.

Your hands fisted in his hair, and he groaned against you. He loved how messy you were, how you squirmed just as he’d imagined, how you kept whispering his fucking name, breathless and desperate like you just couldnt help yourself.

He knew there was a reason that was a rule.

Because it sounded too fucking pretty coming from your mouth, tangled up in all those sweet little sounds you were making, and he never wanted to stop hearing it.

"Ain’t learned your lesson yet, huh?" he muttered against you, voice thick with sin, pressing a kiss against your clit before dragging his tongue over it again, slow and deliberate, feeling the way you jerked. "Keep breakin’ that rule, sweetheart, and I’m never gonna stop."

A little choked noise escaped you, hands pulling harder in his hair, but you weren’t pushing him away—you were pulling him in.

And fuck, did that make him ache.

"Bet you don’t come this quick for him, do you?" he rasped, letting his tongue dip down, teasing at your entrance before pressing inside, groaning as he felt you pulse around him. "How long’s it take you on my brother’s tongue, huh? You gotta work for it? Tell him it’s okay to give up?"

You whimpered, a full-body shudder rolling through you, your hips rolling up, chasing more, and fuck, that answer was all he needed.

Joel grinned against you.

"Not with me, baby. Nuh-uh. You come when I tell you to, and you ain't goin' nowhere 'til I get what I want."

His fingers dug into your thighs as he devoured you, tongue working you over, sucking slow, firm pulls on your clit until your whole body seized beneath him.

"Joel—"

Your thighs clamped around his head, hands flying to your mouth like you could stop it, like you knew you weren’t supposed to say it.

Joel groaned, filthy and deep, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down against his mouth, forcing you to take it.

"That's it, baby," he growled against you, tongue curling, licking deep. "Say it again. Come on my tongue saying my name, just like that."

You shattered, a strangled, broken cry falling from your lips as you gushed against his tongue, whole body trembling, thighs shaking around his head.

And Joel fucking loved it.

But he wasn't done. Not even close.

Your breath was still uneven, your body twitching from the aftershocks, when he kept going.

"Too much—" your voice was a high, breathless plea, hips shifting like you were trying to get away, but Joel chuckled, gripping you tighter, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Nah, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your soaked folds. "Tommy might let you tap out, but I ain’t him. You’re gonna take everything I give you."

And then he was back on you, devouring you, tongue pushing into you, working you open, tasting you like he was fucking starved for it.

You gasped, legs trembling, but Joel just held you still, broad hands locked tight around your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he pinned you down.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in these moments. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like this before. He couldn’t remember another time a woman made him feel this insatiable, this hungry. He kept telling himself one more—just one more, to wring you out and leave you spent beneath him. But you were still so soft, still so wet, and he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled back just enough to watch the way you twitched beneath him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling fast. Your thighs gave a little shake where he held them apart, and fuck—you looked downright beautiful.

You were panting, wrecked, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, legs trembling where he held them apart.

And Joel was grinning against you.

Because you hadn’t told him to stop yet.

And until you did, he was gonna pull another from you.

And another.

By the time you came the fifth time, you were boneless.

Joel leaned back slightly, watching the way you just lay there, sprawled out against the couch like your body had melted into it, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Your legs were still twitching, little aftershocks making you jolt every now and then, and he could feel the warmth of you still slick and messy against his mouth, his chin, his fingers.

He wasn’t sure if you were even conscious after that last one.

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, jaw tightening at the sight of you—wrecked, trembling, looking like you hadn’t even processed what the hell had just happened to you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, pleased, then dragged himself up over your body, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. You barely stirred, eyes fluttering, a sleepy little hum slipping from your lips as his hand slid into your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, voice rough.

You made a noise, something breathy and spent, your eyes opening just barely.

“Hm?”

Joel smirked. "You need a break?"

There was a beat, like you were trying to process what that even meant—then a sleepy little giggle bubbled up in your throat, your hands finding his hair, fingertips scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Maybe like, five minutes," you murmured, smiling up at him, wrecked but glowing.

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, before pulling you against him. You let out a surprised squeak as he stood up, gathering you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

“What the—?”

Joel shot you a lazy grin, shifting you higher against his chest. "My brother would kill me if I told him I knocked you up on a couch like a teenage boy."

That finally seemed to wake you up.

Your whole body stiffened, eyes going a little wide as reality set in.

"Oh, god…" you murmured, voice a little hoarse, your hands gripping at his shoulders. "I can't believe we just… I just did that…"

And fuck, something in Joel sank at the sound of your voice.

Because he knew that tone. Knew it well—that creeping guilt, that second-guessing, the way someone’s mind started running ahead of them, thinking about what it all meant instead of how it felt.

His jaw tightened.

He hadn’t meant to… he didn’t even know what came over him. He should’ve stopped earlier, should’ve slowed down, should’ve given you more space to breathe before he just took and took and took.

But Jesus, the way you responded to him, the way you gave it all back, the way you opened for him like you’d been waiting for someone to finally take care of you—

It did something to him. Still, he had to be sure.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, more even, as he shifted his grip on you, keeping you steady in his arms as he began to climb the stairs. "Ain't nobody gotta know. Stays between us."

You blinked up at him, chest still rising and falling a little too quickly, fingers curling slightly into his shirt.

“But Tommy—”

Joel shook his head, cutting you off gently. "Tommy don't need to know a damn thing ‘cept that we tried."

You swallowed, lips pressing together like you were still processing, like you wanted to say something else, but didn’t know how.

Joel exhaled, shifting his weight slightly, giving you something solid to hold onto.

"You still want this, don’t you?" he asked, quiet, steady.

You hesitated—but then, slowly, you nodded.

"Yeah."

Joel nodded back, just once.

"Then that's all that matters."

His hand smoothed over your back, solid and warm, grounding you. "We just keep doin' what we agreed on. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less."

Your breath hitched slightly, but you nodded again.

And Joel didn’t let himself think about why that felt like a lie as he crossed the threshold into your bedroom.

Eventually, he laid you down on the bed, and you settled back against the pillows, your chest still rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. You reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it off and tossing it somewhere, your bra following it to the floor.

Joel took his time. He shucked off his jeans, then his shirt, watching the way heat crept up your neck, the flush deepening across your skin as you took him in.

He told himself he just wanted to see your reaction—wanted to watch the way you took him in, wide-eyed and wanting—but the truth was, last time, he’d been so caught up in his own head, trying to wrap his mind around what the fuck he was doing, he barely let himself process it.

He wanted to commit this to memory.

In case it was the last time.

His hand wrapped around his cock, the poor thing aching, flushed dark at the tip, leaking, desperate for relief. He hissed through his teeth, exhaling sharply as he stroked himself, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second before he climbed onto the bed.

But before he could settle over you, you moved. You laid down flat on your belly, head toward the foot of the bed, your chest pressed flush to the mattress, your ass tilted up just slightly.

And right in front of you—the dresser mirror.

Joel’s body locked up as his eyes flicked up, finding his own reflection staring back at him. But then—your eyes met his through the glass, a little shy, a little hesitant.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His cock twitched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the base like he needed to ground himself, keep himself from losing control too fucking fast.

And then you smiled—small, soft, still lost in that post-orgasm haze, warm and pliant and looking like you’d do anything he told you to.

Joel climbed onto the bed, moving behind you, his weight shifting over your back as his broad hands settled on your hips, gripping firm.

His eyes flicked back up to the mirror, watching the way you looked at him, watching yourself.

He smirked.

“You dirty girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he ground his cock through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

A breathy whimper slipped from your lips, your body arching, pressing your ass back into him, and he swore under his breath as his bulbous, leaking tip caught against your entrance.

The heat of you, still soaking, still so tight, made his breath catch as he lowered himself, chest pressing into your back, caging you in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his cock teased against you, notching at your entrance, pushing just barely.

"You wanna watch me fuck you?" he rasped, his voice low, dark, dripping with sin.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel rolled his hips forward, making you feel every inch of him stretching you open, slow, teasing, unbearable.

Your eyes snapped open, a choked gasp spilling from your lips as your gaze locked onto his in the mirror.

That wrecked, ruined expression, that wide-eyed shock as you took him inch by inch, deeper and deeper…

He knew was never gonna forget this.

Joel growled against your ear, his breath hot, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he bottomed out, stretching you open until there was nowhere left for you to go.

"Wanna watch your husband’s own brother knock you up, baby?" he purred.

Your jaw dropped, eyes going glassy, mouth parted in a silent cry as he felt you squeeze around him, your tight little pussy gripping him like you’d never let him go.

Joel had never felt anything this good.

He pulled back, just barely, before sinking home again, slow and deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him, every drag of his cock as he stretched you open all over again.

You whimpered, nails scraping against the sheets, already wrecked, but not nearly done.

He watched in the mirror as your lips parted, as your lashes fluttered, as your brows furrowed at the overwhelming sensation of it—of him, filling you to the brim, thick and unrelenting.

"That’s it, pretty girl," he groaned, grinding into you, pressing his full weight over you, hips rolling in a slow, deep rhythm. "Take it just like that. Nice ‘n easy, let me feel you, huh?"

Your mouth fell open, a breathy little moan spilling out as he fucked you slow, letting you feel every inch, dragging it out, stretching it thicker, deeper.

Then he pulled back, bracing a big, rough hand on your hip before thrusting forward, harder this time, deeper, dragging a sharp gasp from your lips as your eyes flew open— and as he looked up and saw your face, he could’ve finished right then and there, your eyes flashing open wide and your wrecked voice crying out for him.

His jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hip as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against your ass, the slick wet sounds of you taking him filling the room, mixing with the soft, broken noises slipping from your mouth as he fucked you hard, deep, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do this.

Joel’s body pinned you down, his weight heavy and solid as he laid over you. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to move—just him, pressing you into the mattress, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, exactly where you needed to be.

The heat of him burned into your back, his chest slick against your skin, his breaths hot and uneven at your ear as he worked himself slow and deep, grinding his hips down into you, forcing your body to take everything he gave you.

You couldn’t move.

You could barely breathe.

Every push forward drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers gripping at the sheets, holding on as his pace built, each thrust sinking him deeper, stretching you open with long, deliberate strokes.

Joel groaned against the nape of your neck, his mouth grazing your skin as his hips rocked into you, dragging you forward with every heavy roll of his body. His weight bore down, pressing you into the bed, keeping you flush beneath him, letting him sink in to the very hilt, until you could feel every thick inch of him, filling you, claiming you.

He could feel everything—the way your body clenched around him, the way your walls fluttered, pulling him in deeper, tight and wet, keeping him locked inside you.

And in the mirror, he could see how flushed, how spent and wrecked you were, your soft lips in a perfect ‘o’ as he kept pushing himself to the hilt, your velvet walls constricting his cock with every thrust. He relished in the feeling, how deep he was inside you, how good you felt wrapped around him, how you had no choice but to take it.

Your moan was soft, needy, muffled by the sheets, your back arching, trying to press into him, trying to take him even deeper.

"You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?" Joel murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, feeling the way your walls squeezed him tighter, your body locking up, every muscle trembling beneath him. One of his hands slid under you, finding your clit easily and starting to rub slow circles using two thick fingers, "Gonna give me another, baby? Gonna let me feel you?"

His hand slid up, his fingers brushing over your throat, tilting your face to the mirror.

"Look at yourself." he said as his hand wrapped around your face, thumb pushing into your cheek and fingers digging into your jaw as he brought your gaze up to meet his.

Your eyes met his, glassy and fogged, your lips parted, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he ground into you, holding you still, keeping you stretched full and helpless beneath him.

"You see that, baby?" he whispered, his fingers tightening at your jaw, keeping you there, keeping you watching, “See how perfect you look takin’ my cock?”

Joel thrust deeper, grinding his hips against your ass, rocking into you, making sure you felt every thick inch stretching you, keeping you full.

“You know, my brother can pretend all he wants," Joel growled, driving into you harder, making you feel it, making you take it.

"But this pussy’s mine now," he snarled, his fingers gripping tight at your jaw, making you watch yourself begin to fall apart on him.

"Was mine the second you came on my cock last time, wasn’t it?" he rasped, thrusting deep, holding you full, his fingers grinding slow and taunting against your swollen, sensitive clit.

"Go on," he growled, fingers and thumb gripping your jaw, sliding one up to press firmly at your lips before pushing past them, hooking into your mouth. "Say it."

Your breath hitched, a muffled coo spilling around his thick finger.

“All yours, Joel,” you whimpered, voice broken, wrecked, helpless.

Your words turned into a sob, your thighs shaking, your body locking up as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching down tight around him, your walls milking his cock, dragging him even deeper.

Joel groaned, his head tilting into your neck, feeling you pulse around him, trying to pull him in, hold him there, keep him inside you.

You heaved in breaths, trembling beneath him, as he released his tight hold on your face, your head met the bed, too wrecked to hold yourself up.

Joel followed you down, face pressed into your shoulder, holding you still as he thrust once more, deep and final, his body locking up as he filled you, spilling inside you, holding you down, making sure you took all of it.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his body covering yours completely.

Joel didn’t move right away.

His breath was ragged, hot against your sweat-damp skin, his weight still pressing heavy over you, pinning you down, keeping you filled, stuffed, claimed.

His arms caged around you, his chest pressing into your back, the lingering aftershocks of release making both of you twitch, shuddering in the same unsteady rhythm.

But as the haze of it ebbed, something else crept in.

His own words, thrown into the thick air like a brand, still hanging there.

My brother can pretend all he wants.

This pussy’s mine now.

Was mine the second you came on my cock.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes pressing shut, realization sinking into him like a heavy weight.

Jesus Christ.

He shouldn’t have said that.

He’d felt it—deep in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, in the way you clung to him, the way you let him take and take and take like you needed it just as badly. But saying it? Letting those thoughts slip out, low and raw and real—

That was something else entirely.

His grip loosened, fingers flexing where they’d held you too tight, his body finally easing up, lifting off you, just a little. Enough to give you air.

His mouth hovered at your shoulder, his breath still uneven, before he forced himself to speak.

"I’m sorry," he breathed, voice rough, thick with something he didn’t want to name. "I… I shouldn’t have—"

“Joel?” Your voice was weak, soft, barely above a breath.

And when he looked up at you, your eyes were open just a little, sleep-heavy, a small, lazy smile tugging at your lips.

He swallowed. "Yeah?" he asked, voice gentler now.

You sighed, shifting just enough to settle deeper beneath him, your body still pliant as you rested your head on your arms, "Don’t ruin it."

Joel stilled.

You breathed slow, eyes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at you.

"It’s okay. I won’t say anything if you don’t."

Something in his chest tightened, and for the first time since the haze had lifted, he let himself breathe.

Joel exhaled slowly, eyes tracing over your face—soft, spent, utterly at peace beneath him.

"Okay." he murmured finally, voice low, rough, unreadable.

And with that, he let it be.

tag list: @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698

#my brain is fried #I havent touched grass in days #family matters #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tommy miller #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x reader #tlou #the last of us

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sleepymarimo · 10 months ago

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❝𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐩!❞

synopsis: you're tasked with waking up zoro for dinner, but it's hard to make him budge.

pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: more tooth rotting fluff for my favorite swordsman :) wc: ~1.6k an: i had a dream about this and added some even more fluff because why not. ty all i hope you enjoy <3 also i realized i have a decent chunk of zoro fics about napping lol maybe this is why im sleepymarimo i just love that sleepy lil guy

"Where the hell is that shitty swordsman?" Sanji grumbles, cigarette hanging from his lips as he sets a hefty plate of rice on the dining table.

Even though you're acutely aware that the marimo is missing, you pretend to peer over shoulders and swivel your head to give the impression that you're just as clueless as everyone else. You're already sat at the table, utensils neatly resting beside your plate.

Everyone else is already in the dining room, Luffy practically on the brink of perishing as the food is placed before him. Chopper and Usopp are close behind, their forks glinting in the light.

Robin is patient, smiling at the sight before her, the one she's grown to love. "I believe he said something about taking a nap," she reveals, her fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. "He might be holed up in the boy's room."

"You mean the men's room?" Franky speaks up in an attempt to lighten the mood, the cola bottle in his hand hissing as he pops the cap.

Nami shakes her head, not in the mood to entertain the hooligans she calls her crewmates- her family. When Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper start to chant for their food, the navigator's last straw cracks into a million pieces.

Her chair slides back with a screech as she stands, planting her hands on the table. "Ugh, I can't believe that guy, sleeping through dinner!" The sigh she gives is intentionally dramatic, her charm working its magic as Sanji quickly offers to knock some sense into the green-haired swordsman.

It all comes to a halt when a pair of hands sprout from the table, tugging at the cook's shirt in a silent command to stay put. All eyes go to Robin, her knowing gaze easily hiding whatever ploy is running through her mind.

She calls your name and you immediately feel your cheeks warm, though you still feign obliviousness even if it seems like she's peeking right into your brain.

"Why don't you get Zoro?" she suggests, yet deep down you know you don't have an option.

Even if the thought of protesting crosses your mind, the chorus of growling stomachs and pleas for you to hurry have you standing and scampering up the stairs and to the deck.

Standing in front of the door to the boy's cabin, you feel your stomach drop a bit. You're quite literally entering a tiger's den, into the willing jaws of a beast who has been known to treasure booze, swords, and naps above all else.

The air inside the room is significantly more warm, heavy, compared to the cool breeze blowing outside. It's dark, your eyes adjusting to the lack of lighting as you carefully step over shoes and dirty clothes.

For a moment the beds seem empty and you wonder if he's even inside, yet the massive figure atop one of the bunks makes you quickly reconsider that thought.

His bare back rises and falls at a leisurely pace, his arms sprawled over the sides of the bed while he lays on his front. Cheek pressed comfortably into his pillow, Zoro naps away without much care for anything else.

After gawking for a second or two, you step toward the bunk, mentally cursing, and steel yourself for what feels like the millionth time. The wooden structure is a bit too tall for you to get a look at him, so with a small grunt you step onto the bottom bunk and grip onto the rails to hoist yourself up.

As soon as you take a glimpse over the top bunk's railing, you feel the warmth of his exhales across your nose and cheeks. It makes your face warm, your own breaths stalling as you take in the sight of him looking so… serene.

His face is softened, relaxed, a stark contrast to the pinched brows and scowls he usually wears.

Imagining the exasperated faces of your hungry crewmates, you get on with your small mission. Even though you're there to wake him, you're considerate enough to keep mindful of your tone. "Zoro?" comes his name from your lips, a murmur not quite suited for waking a beast.

The most you get out of him is the slight wrinkling of his nose, like a fly had perched there for a second before buzzing off. In a way it's expected given that he's slept through storms and whole marine attacks.

Your tone is louder the next time you call his name, more firm, his silhouette becoming pronounced as your eyes adjust to the dark room. "Zoro," you call again, arms starting to ache from how you're pulling yourself up to the top bunk.

Again, nothing. It's almost comical at this point, really.

You resist the urge to groan in frustration, your options becoming more limited. Time really isn't on your side here, not when the odds of a hungry pirate barging into the room increases by the second.

Taking a big breath, you decide that this is going to be the last try. This is going to be the one to wake the marimo, whether he likes it or not.

Unfortunately, the sea has other plans for you.

The ship hits a patch of rough water, the violent movement causing you to lose your grip on the railing tethering you to the top bunk. Your breath also catches when the sudden jolt makes your feet slip off the mattress belonging to the bottom bed, your heart skipping a beat when you feel yourself starting to fall back.

You're fully prepared to brace yourself against the harsh floor, your muscles tensing and jaw tightening, but you don't even have the chance to fall back a single inch.

A strong arm, previously hanging limp over the bed, curls around your waist and holds you steady. It supports all your weight, even as your legs kick out in an attempt to find solid ground. With your face suddenly squished into the junction of his neck, your own arms act on instinct and wrap around his shoulders.

Zoro's awake now, steel-grey eye open and aware as if he hadn't been knocked out cold just seconds ago. His senses have a unique threshold, not bothering to pick up on the calls of his name but always managing to be ready when his crewmates need him most- especially you.

His skin is warm, a tell tale sign that he'd probably been napping for hours. Tightening his grip on you, he sits up, pulling you with him. You're still disoriented, wondering why you haven't hit the floor, but he's as sharp as ever.

"The hell are you doin'?" he grumbles, voice still heavy from his rest, carrying that delightful rasp. His irritated tone is a facade, more of a light chide than anything. "You tryin' t'break your neck or something?"

You feel like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing a couple times while you're still dangling from the top bunk. It's hard to not get in a few mumbled apologies, not knowing if he's ticked from being stirred from his sleep.

"Dinner is ready," you reply, managing to find your words, your hold on him not letting up due to fear of falling once more. He feels so warm, the definition of a guilty pleasure, and you're left to exert as much self-control as possible.

He lets out a scoff, amused, then grunts as he finally realizes you're still hanging over the bed. His hand moves, sliding across your waist to grab at the back of your shirt. While Zoro's strength is known throughout all the seas, it always leaves you in awe. With nothing more than a bicep curl, he hoists you up and onto the top bunk with him.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you sink into the soft mattress, the bunk creaking with the added weight and how Zoro shifts into a seated position. Legs crossed over one another, he stretches his arms over head, unintentionally showing off his physical prowess.

Your eyes find the ceiling out of respect, but mostly because you're another second away from bursting into flames.

He yawns, then rubs at the back of his neck. "Dinner, huh?" he repeats, finding the answer satisfactory enough and shrugging his shoulders. "They sent the right person. I don't need that shitty cook hurling a kick my way."

You nod and even get out a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure waking up to me almost falling is a lot better," you joke, looking over the bunk to see the drop to the floor.

"It's no problem," he assures, his gold earrings catching in the slivers of moonlight entering through the window as a lazy smirk grows on his face. "I got ya."

While you'd be willing to skip dinner to stay with the swordsman, your stomach protests with a hefty grumble. Zoro's stomach follows suit, making it's need for food known. The timing of it makes another laugh slide past your lips, a sound that makes his smirk soften into something more genuine.

With a small grunt, he hops off of the top bunk and lands on the floor with a solid thud. "Alright," he starts, stretching his back out a bit more before lifting his head to meet your gaze. "Let's go eat." His arms raise, ready to help you down from the bed. Whether you want to take the ladder or propel yourself into his embrace, he silently vows to be there to offer support. Although Zoro could be stubborn, gruff, and brash, he'd never let you fall, not ever.

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro fluff #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

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hoonieyun · 3 months ago

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so lovey dovey

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader genre: fluff and romance warnings: consensual skinship, drunk!jake, kissing, kinda suggestive, 18+ inspired by jake's live where he says "when i'm drunk i become lovely & cute" as if he isnt always lovely and cute >_<

hoonieyun notes: some fluff because why nawt.. im slowly amping all of the angst in the up coming fics for february so i'm making up for it now by posting a few fluff and romance drabbles :3

wc: 1037

jake was sprawled across your couch as he takes occassional sips from his glass of beer. it wasn’t often that jake drank but tonight he invited the guys over for game night and that usually entails drinks and a bunch of food. you didn’t mind doing your own thing on the side as you lounged in the comfort of your bedroom, every now and then making an appearance to make sure everyone was good and not fighting for losing or winning or even stealing some of the food for yourself.

and that’s what you were about to do right now. you had just finished your small bowl of tteokbeokki and it certainly wasn’t enough so you decided to grab some more. you walk out of you and jake’s shared bedroom and find the group of guys arguing over mario kart.

jungwon claiming that niki cheated, jay not paying attention to the argument because he came in 1st place, and jake who was already staring at your figure standing in the hall.

“hi, baby” he says, drawing out the last part of the petname.

“hi, jakey. i just want some more food.” you chirp as you approach and he instantly takes your bowl to fill it with more food. “you sure you don’t wanna come join us?” he asks, handing you back your bowl.

“mmm…” you ponder, looking over to niki and jungwon who are still arguing and sunoo who was having too much fun laughing at the two younger guys bicker. before you could even answer, jake is pulling you into his lap and whispering into your ear, “please, stay.” he says. his breath was low and warm and it sent tickles down your back. you nod in agreement and his smile widens at your response.

jake loved having you around at all times, even when you two weren’t necessarily doing anything, he just loved having you near him.

the guys often teased him that he was too whipped or down bad for you and jake would just brush it off. of course he was down bad for you, every man should be down bad for his girlfriend, if he wasn’t then he was doing something wrong.

you silently eat your food as the games continue, heeseung using his eldest privileges to change the game to which jungwon groaned as he wanted another chance at mario kart.

you weren’t sure what game they were playing but they all took turns passing the controller around to kill monsters and what not. and when it came to jake’s turn, the guys would groan in annoyance after jake causes them to die and lose the game.

all of them turned their attention to jake who was too busy staring at you eating your tteokbeokki to pay any mind to the game they were playing.

“dude, you just let us die!”

“earth to jake?”

“hellooo?”

they all tried to get his attention but he was too immersed in you to notice. eyes sparkling as he watches you fondly and lovingly. a cute habit of his whenever he got drunk or even the slightest bit tipsy.

he would get very cute and lovely and wouldn’t be able to get you out of his head as if you weren’t always occupying his mind.

“jakey, the guys are talking to you..” you say, blinking a few times at him and his smile widens when he hears your voice.

jake doesn’t even glance over to the guys, he just sloppily passes the remote to one of them in which sunghoon catches it and continues the game after jake has caused their character to die. jake had you in his lap, gently rubbing your thighs as he rests his head on your back. humming occassionally whenever you leaned closer into his touch.

“can you ask them to leave.. i wanna be alone with you.” he whispers into your ear.

“why can’t you do it..” you whisper back and he explains that if you tell everyone to go home they’ll listen because you’re a girl but if he does it they’ll all just ignore him and want to continue game night. you think about it for a second and he’s absolutely right. so you give him a nod and a small kiss on the forehead to which jake gets flustered and shy over, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he blushes at your actions.

you decide to stand up and do an exaggerated yawn, “gosh, i’m exhausted, what time is it?” you say, looking over to the clock on the wall and just like that– the guys take the hint and start packing up all of the things. they each help with putting things in the kitchen to throw away or to be washed and soon enough they were all saying their goodbyes and filing out of your shared apartment with jake.

“finally.. i can have you all to myself.” jake says, a pout on his lips as he pulls you into a hug. he brings the two of you to your bedroom, not letting go of you once. you try to get out of his grasp but he begins to whine and pout, “relax, jaeyunnie. i’m just turning off the lights.” you say and he jumps up from his spot on the bed, running over to the lightswitch and flicking it off before running back to bed and cuddling up to you.

he nuzzles his head on your shoulder as the two of you cozy up to one another, placing several kisses on your neck and cheek. “i wanna stay like this forever.” he says. you just love whenever he gets like this, so cute and lovey dovey. his ears and cheeks a shade of red from the alcohol and his need to express how much he loved you and loved being near you.

“goodnight jakey..” you say, waiting for him to say it back but you’re met with the sound of his snores, causing you to chuckle, pulling your phone out and snapping a photo of how cute he looked while sleeping, ears still red and his face slightly buried in the crook of your neck.

jake, your cute and lovey dovey boyfriend.

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

#kiki diaries #enhypen #en-diaries #kpop #kpop au #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #enha #fanfiction #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #sim jaeyun #sim jake #jake x reader

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piegonn · 1 year ago

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You might find that you relate to multiple levels, choose whatever you feel most accurately reflects your day to day cooking experience. I'm curious what everyone's experience is! I've gotten up to level 4 before but I'm more at a level 2 now.

Level 1: I don't use or have a full kitchen. Meals are prepared for me or I eat ready made food. I can reheat in the microwave.

Level 2: I use the kitchen sparingly. I will heat food in the microwave, on the stovetop, and/or in the oven. I am comfortable adding simple ingredients together for a meal (cereal and milk, granola, yogurt, and fruit). I can prepare simple things on the stovetop like instant ramen, instant mac, pasta or rice.

Level 3: I use the kitchen often. I am comfortable following simple recipes. I can prepare fruits and vegetables with a knife. I follow recipes with multiple steps (chop then pan-fry, boil then bake). My recipes often include multiple seasonings or sauces. I will handle raw meat like ground beef or turkey (if applicable)

Level 4: I use the kitchen everyday. I often use recipes with many steps or make meals with multiple side dishes. There are some dishes I don't use a recipe for, or I can make up simple recipes. I am comfortable handling most types of raw meat (think chicken breast, steak) and do so regularly (if applicable)

Level 5: I use the kitchen multiple times a day. I don't use written recipes very often. I can create dishes from whatever food is on hand. I make complex meals often. I can prepare any type of raw meat (full chicken or turkey, butchering your own food)

#polls #tumblr polls #home cooking #cooking

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flwrkid14 · 4 months ago

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Bruce shares custody of Tim with Harley Quinn

Yeah, you read that right. Gotham’s broodiest billionaire vigilante and the queen of chaotic energy are co-parenting Tim Drake. And, somehow, that’s not even the weirdest thing that's happened to the bats this year.

Why? Two words: Joker Junior.

The details are locked down tighter than the Batcave, but here’s what everyone knows (or guesses): Joker broke Tim in ways none of them can fathom. He didn’t just try to kill him—he tried to make Tim like him. And while Tim clawed his way back from the brink, he didn’t do it alone. Harley was there.

She was part of the nightmare. And then, unexpectedly, she was part of the healing. She stepped in, helped Tim survive when Joker was doing his worst. When it was all over, when Joker was (temporarily) gone, she didn’t vanish into Gotham’s chaos. She stayed.

And somehow, somewhere along the way, Tim started calling her “Mom.”

And Bruce didn’t stop him.

Cue the Batfamily losing their collective minds.

Dick is pacing the Batcave, gesturing wildly. “Bruce, this is Harley Quinn we’re talking about! You don’t just co-parent with a rogue! There are laws against this! Or, like, there should be!”

Jason is sitting on the Batmobile, arms crossed, voice dripping with disbelief. “She’s literally a former rogue. She tried to kill you! Like, more than once. This is insane, even for you.”

Steph is perched on the edge of a desk, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Okay, but, like, can you blame Tim? Harley does make amazing pancakes. Better than Alfred’s, honestly—”

A scandalized gasp echoes from the other side of the room.

Cass just watches quietly, her head tilted, but there’s a small, knowing smile on her face. She gets it. She’s seen the way Tim softens around Harley, how he relaxes in a way he doesn’t around anyone else.

Damian glares at Bruce like he’s lost his last shred of common sense. “Father, you have truly surpassed yourself. Allowing that woman into the sanctity of our home—”

Duke raises a hand cautiously. “Okay, but can we at least talk about how Tim basically has diplomatic immunity now? No rogue in Gotham is gonna mess with him. He’s Harley’s kid!”

And it’s true. Between Harley’s reputation and Poison Ivy stepping in as Tim’s unofficial stepmom (because of course she and Harley got back together), the rogues have adopted a weird kind of reverence for him. Tim’s no longer just a bat to them—he’s Harley’s kid.

Picture this: Tim’s out on patrol, and Riddler has the gall to interrupt with a riddle—only to end it with, “You’re sharper than I thought, kid. Guess Harley taught you well, huh?” before disappearing into the night.

Harley’s brand of parenting is chaotic but deeply personal. She knows Tim’s tells, the way his hands shake when he’s overwhelmed or the too-quiet moments when he’s retreating into himself. She’s the one who sits cross-legged on the floor with him, working on puzzles and cracking jokes until the tension lifts.

She carries extra band-aids in her purse because “Ya never know when a fight with some thug is gonna leave ya with a paper cut!” She also leaves sticky notes on his projects with scribbled messages like “You’re a genius, baby boy!” or “Don’t forget snacks!” They’re goofy, sure, but they make Tim smile when he needs it most. She keeps a stash of snacks in the Manor because Tim forgets to eat when he’s working. She shows up with pancakes at 3 a.m., douses everything in syrup, and calls him “baby boy” in that soft tone that makes Tim feel… safe.

Even Harley’s chaos has an odd kind of comfort to it. She’ll burst into the Manor unannounced, dragging Tim into impromptu “self-care parties” with face masks, bad rom-coms, and every flavor of ice cream imaginable. Somehow, it works.

Ivy, on the other hand, balances Harley’s energy with her own structured nurturing. She insists on “proper nutrition” and occasionally sends Tim home with meal prep containers filled with organic, eco-friendly food labeled things like “Stress-Busting Smoothie” or “Brain-Boosting Soup.” If Bruce raises an eyebrow at it, Ivy simply reminds him that “The human body can only fight crime properly with the right fuel, Bats.”

One time, she cornered Bruce in the greenhouse, pointing an accusatory finger. “If you send Tim out on patrol without a proper meal or at least six hours of sleep, I swear, Bruce, your rose garden is compost.”

And while Harley is the queen of hugs and chaos, Ivy is the one who sits with Tim on the porch at night, talking softly about resilience and regrowth, using plant metaphors Tim pretends not to understand but secretly finds comforting. Once, after a particularly bad night, she gifted him a small cactus with a note: “Even when it feels like the world is trying to tear you apart, you’re stronger than you think. Also, low maintenance, like you.”

Bruce knows the family doesn’t fully understand. But as he watches Harley teaching Tim how to make lasagna one night, the two of them laughing as the kitchen turns into a war zone of flour and tomato sauce, he doesn’t regret it.

Sometimes family doesn’t look like you think it will. Sometimes it’s stitched together from the most unexpected pieces.

And sometimes, it’s an ex-rogue, a traumatized teen, and a brooding billionaire all trying to figure out how to keep the lasagna from burning.

Welcome to Gotham.

#tim drake #batfam #harley quinn #pamela isley #poison ivy #joker junior tim #chaotic parenting #harley becomes tim's mom after the incident and bruce can't deny tim of choosing to have her in his life #I need a fic of this so bad #i want to see good parents harley and ivy while the rest of the bats try to pry tim away from them because they dont really get it yet #harley and ivy become tims favorite comfort people #the bats are in shambles #dick: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIM WOULD RATHER CUDDLE HARLEY INSTEAD OF ME?!#jason: you can't even fault him for that honestly i get it #everyone is scandalized when they try harley's food for the first time because it's actually really good and almost on par with alfred's

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devotedlyandrogynousyouth · 4 months ago

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Imagine Softie!Jason. To everyone else, he's a bit mean and standoffish. But to you, that man is a Simp and a half. Anything you want or need, he gets you. You say a coworker was mean to you at work, they're apologizing the next day. You linger at a shop window looking at a sweater... it's delivered to your apartment by the end of the week. He's being a little mean to someone at a bar and ready to fight, all you have to do is say his name and smile and he backs down. You have a stressful day, that man makes you cum until you beg him to stop and even then 'just one more... you got one more'.

Unf.

Oh, anon, i think you've low key stolen my heart. I love the idea of jay being soft like that<3

Soft! Jason Todd x Reader

Soft! Jason Todd who loves to hold your hand in public, but will always be looking around to make sure no one is too close to you. He might act like it's no big deal, but he's silently watching, ready to jump into action if someone steps out of line. When you hold his hand back, though, he calms down instantly, finding comfort in your touch.

Soft! Jason Todd who insists on carrying all the heavy bags for you, even when you tell him you’re fine. He acts like it’s no big deal, but you can tell he secretly loves being able to do something for you. He’ll always find a way to carry your stuff, whether it's groceries or a backpack, just to make sure you're not burdened.

Soft! Jason Todd who has a habit of brushing your hair out of your face when you're distracted. He’s rough around the edges but, when it comes to you, he’s gentle, as though every touch is an apology for the harsh world he’s lived in. He’ll do it casually, but there's a softness in his eyes when you catch him.

Soft! Jason Todd who would rather risk a fight with anyone who disrespects you than let you deal with any kind of discomfort. He may look like he’s trying to start something, but the second you look at him with a calm expression, he shuts down, knowing you're the one who can stop his rage. His love for you is his anchor.

Soft! Jason Todd who hates seeing you upset. He’ll try to hide his concern under a facade of indifference, but if you’re upset for too long, he becomes clingy. He’ll either silently pull you into his arms or buy you your favorite food in an attempt to make things better, even if he doesn't know the words.

Soft! Jason Todd who’s always watching your back. No matter where you are, he’s like a shadow, always making sure you’re safe. He’ll act tough, but the minute you say, “I’m fine, Jason, stop worrying,” he’s immediately soft and obedient, stepping back but never really leaving.

Soft! Jason Todd who’s surprisingly shy when it comes to complimenting you. He’ll say something like “You're looking good” in that adorable, gruff tone and look away, but his cheeks betray him with a faint blush. He’ll never admit it, but he can’t stop stealing glances at you when you’re not looking.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn’t mind if you steal his hoodie. In fact, he loves it when you wear it, and he’ll sneak little glances at you, unable to hide the grin spreading across his face. It’s his subtle way of showing you how much you mean to him without saying a word.

Soft! Jason Todd who likes to surprise you with little gestures of affection. He might leave your favorite snack on your bed or clean up your space when you’re too busy. He doesn't expect recognition, but seeing your smile is more than enough for him.

Soft! Jason Todd who gets worried about you when you're out in public, even if you can take care of yourself. He'll scan the room like a hawk, looking for any potential threat, even if it’s just a crowded store. The second you notice and smile at him, he relaxes, his jaw unclenching.

Soft! Jason Todd who never really shows it, but he loves being the one you rely on. When you need something, whether it’s help with a problem or simply a listening ear, he’ll be there without question. His protective nature is fueled by his deep love for you, even if he doesn’t always express it directly.

Soft! Jason Todd who secretly loves the thought of having you around, even when he's pushing you away. He might act like he’s fine being on his own, but he’ll subtly make sure you’re still close. He’ll start with something like, "You don’t have to stay here," but as soon as you do, his demeanor softens and he’ll quietly be grateful.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn’t let anyone else touch you without a heavy dose of protectiveness. He may be joking around one moment, but if another guy even looks at you the wrong way, he becomes serious, standing in between you and the person. You can count on him to take care of anything that threatens your space, whether physical or emotional.

Soft! Jason Todd who sometimes gets lost in the little things. Whether it’s the way you laugh or the warmth of your hand in his, he takes note of every detail that makes you, you. Even though he won’t say it out loud, he’s always thinking about how lucky he is to have you in his life.

Soft! Jason Todd who can’t help but stare at you when you're concentrating or absorbed in something. He loves how you get lost in what you're doing, and he admires your focus. His gaze is intense, but he’ll play it cool when you catch him, pretending he wasn’t watching but secretly smirking to himself.

Soft! Jason Todd who turns into a grumpy mess when he sees you in distress. Whether you're upset over something small or big, he’s all action, immediately trying to fix whatever's wrong. He may act like he doesn’t want to talk about feelings, but he’ll listen to yours until the issue is resolved.

Soft! Jason Todd who loves to cuddle with you when you're both home after a long day. He’ll pull you close, acting like he's just tired, but secretly, it’s the only time he feels at peace. When you trace your fingers through his hair, he’ll relax completely and maybe even drift off to sleep.

Soft! Jason Todd who can't help the way his hands begin to wander to massage the fat and muscle of your inner thighs. His thick fingers tend to wander beneath your shirt before snaking under the waistband of your pants to gently dig them into your skin.

Soft! Jason Todd who still acts completely normal as he does so, his eyes still focused on the TV on the wall at the foot of your bed. If you knew any better, you'd think that he didn't even notice how bold his touches had grown. This has happened a few too many times for you not to know better, but no efforts were made to stop him.

Soft! Jason Todd who, before you know it, is rubbing slow, languid circles on your clit through your panties. The friction is almost frustratingly slow, but after the shitty day that you've just experienced, you were thankful for any kind of distraction. You swear you almost let out a whimper just from his calloused fingertips brushing under the elastic of your underwear.

Soft! Jason Todd who takes everything as slow as possible, no matter what responsibilities he may have to deal with later on in the night. He knows that your day was less than ideal, but something about you all frazzled just gets him going. Plus, he knows for a fact that he can pull more orgasms out of you when you're so high-strung.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't even trail your panties down your legs and past your knees until you've cum on his fingers once or twice. As much as Jason loves to tease, he knows how uncomfortable your sticky, wet panties must be against your puffy and needy pussy.

Soft! Jason Todd who's kneeling on the ground between your plush thighs before you can even blink, his large hands holding onto your hips as if he'll drown when he lets go. His lips are much slower on your skin, however, as they trail light kisses up your thighs and leave small nips along the way.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't adjust his pace as you whine and beg, no matter how much you try to persuade him. Every little complaint you let out about him going too slow earns you a light slap to the side. "Jay, baby... Please. I've already had such a long day-" 'smack!' "Quit your yapping, doll face. You can be a good girl and wait."

Soft! Jason Todd who absolutely devours your weeping pussy once his tongue makes contact with your dripping folds. His muscle leaves absolutely no bit of skin untouched as he gives your pulsing clit a little suck every once in a while. He couldn't hold back his smirk when he looked up to see your eyes rolled back in utter ecstasy.

Soft! Jason Todd who's pace stays relentless, even as your fingers are tugging at his black and white locks. "Oh fuck... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." The curses fall from your lips like a mantra as you tug on his head, unsure of whether you want to greedily pull him closer or push him away to avoid thr overstimulation that's bound to happen. "Quit pulling me away, ma." He mutters into your cunt, spitting on your already dripping folds as he worships you like a piece of art. "You had 'such a bad day,' right? You were just begging for me to touch this pussy. Let me do my job."

Soft! Jason Todd who ends up betwen your quivering thighs for hours on end, greedily licking up every single drop of your endless orgasms that seem to be ripping through you every few minutes. His strong nose is constantly bumping against your overstimulated clit. You're pretty sure that you've cum from that little of contact alone, at this point.

Soft! Jason Todd who literally has to be torn away from your weeping folds as your eyes water from how much you're feeling. Your glassy eyes are just so beautiful as you look down at him with sore fingers tangled into his hair. "Come on, baby..." He coos, pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh as if he hasn't been pleasuring you for the majority of the evening. "You can handle one more. I know this pretty pussy can handle one more for me."

Soft! Jason Todd who ends up making you squirt on his tongue three more times before he finally stops with a kiss to your achy, puffy clit. As always, he makes sure that you get a taste of yourself on his lips as he kisses you until your tears eventually slow to a stop.

Soft! Jason Todd who doesn't even get himself off on nights like this. The only time he allows himself to orgasm when you're upset is if he ruts himself into the side of the couch or if you want to take out some frustration by gagging on his large, thick cock.

Soft! Jason Todd who carries you to bed and wipes you off with the utmost care after overstimulation like this. Every single hickey he's left on your thighs gets kissed and every drop of your fluid mixed with his spit is carefully wiped away with a cool cloth. He makes sure that only the lighter blankets and comforters are left on the bed so that you don't get too hot as you try to come down from your endless highs of the night.

Soft! Jason Todd who is whispering praises into your hair until you fall asleep, one of his hands holding yours with entwined fingers and the other running soothing circles along your back. "You did so good for me, beautiful..." His voice is nothing more than a mumble amongst the ambience of Gotham City outside of his apartment. "I knew you had it in you, baby. I've got you now... No more stress for today. It's all over."

Masterlist

#batfam #batfamily #batman #dc #redhood #redhood smut #redhood x reader #redhood x reader smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd x reader fluff #arkham knight smut #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight

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mononijikayu · 5 months ago

Text

wife — nanami kento.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him. “Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.” He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent. “They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, toilet sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, honey), possesiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, if your partner isn't nanami kento then don't have him ladies, gents and non-binary friends;

WORD COUNT: 6.6k words.

NOTE: nanami kento won the poll, so here we are!!! its relatively shorter than the current style i have, but i hope you still like it. and yes, i added a spoiler for shoko and geto's sister (since shoko won #2 in the poll, she also gets a fic!!!). they are still together cause god knows they need love and care after all they have been through. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all and see you in the next one <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

THIS WAS A RARE OPPORTUNITY. You don’t like going to these high social events at all, not even outside Jujutsu society. You were a homebody, you adored having time to yourself. But you can’t ignore Gojo Satoru’s invitation. Even if you want to.

He’s been so good to your Kento and he’s always making sure that none of the old farts are making his life miserable. So you felt inclined to go. You felt inclined to play a little bit with this world.

The grand hall of Gojo manor was resplendent, a wash of gold and white with shimmering drapes that caught the light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Gojo Satoru was not thrilled to host the gathering. But since it was his duty as the Gojo clan head and he had to play nice with all these people — he gave in and threw the party.

Of course, he refused to make it exclusively a sorcerer only gathering. He wanted to ensure that it was open to everyone, even yourself. That in itself breaks tradition. More often than not, it was only sorcerers, especially those in the higher echelons of Jujutsu society, who were allowed to come and enjoy such liberties.

But of course, Gojo Satoru was not such a man of tradition. He hated it, as much as your Kento. So, of course, to enjoy you and Kento’s company and to spite all these snobs, he made sure to invite you and everyone else.

You find that you’re at least enjoying the building’s architecture. You were a fan of architecture, in all forms and culture. You and your husband Kento shared that passion, more so when you both were in Denmark or when you both were in the countryside.

Still, Gojo manor was not too bad. You marvel at the intricate carvings on the walls depicting centuries of legendary battles and heroics of history gone by. Each one was a reminder that this was not just a gathering but a showcase of the Jujutsu world's most powerful and influential.

Sorcerers mingled, their robes embroidered with clan symbols and sigils that spoke of generations of power and prestige. Conversations buzzed with a mix of guarded politeness and subtle rivalry.

The room alive with an undercurrent of competition disguised as small talk. The sound of polite laughter mixed with the clink of glasses filled with aged sake, its delicate aroma weaving through the air like a ghost.

You stood near the buffet table, the scent of delicacies. Gojo Satoru did well with getting everything together for this, especially the food, all high quality — only the best of the Gojo clan head’s tastes. You both think the same in that exquisite taste.

That certainly is why you were excited to taste everything. From the perfectly grilled yakitori, dainty bowls of ikura don, to the plates piled with fresh sashimi and brilliantly wrapped hamachi. They were all wafting around you. They were all perfect for you.

“I regret wearing this dress.” You tell yourself in a small mumble. “It’s too tight and I forgot Gojo likes good food like me. I thought he would have left it to his goons to decide the food menu…”

You were dressed in an elegant but simple gown, a deep navy blue that skimmed your figure without the drama of glittering embellishments or the boldness of vibrant silks. Compared to the ostentatious displays around you, it felt almost understated, but it was you.

You could hardly care about the fashions of Jujutsu society. You liked your fashion. And your husband did too. That was all that mattered. You adjusted the silver cuff on your wrist, a small but meaningful gift from Nanami, its cool weight reassuring against your skin.

You glanced around, eyes catching a few familiar faces. There was Nitta Akari from administration and management, gesturing animatedly as she spoke with her colleagues, her face flushed with excitement. Mei Mei stood nearby, her icy beauty undiminished by the cool smirk she wore.

She held court as always, eyes sharp as a hawk’s as she listened, spoke, and effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone within earshot. Hell, there was Usami too — but he was surrounded by those vultures from the conservative factions.

But most of the women were like the wives of powerful clan leaders. They represented their husbands, who thought it too boring to join the gathering or rather were abandoned by their husbands to do other things.

Yet they were powerful women in their own right and they wanted you to know it. They wanted for you to see it, so badly. Their outfits elaborate displays of status, from the gold-threaded kimonos to the jewels woven into their hair. Their makeup was meticulous, brows arched and lips painted in deep shades of crimson or plum.

Most of them were interesting to gawk at. But you were certain they thought the same about you. Especially those specific women. It was those more haughty women, clan women under the big three who glanced your way with subtle, evaluating eyes.

You could feel their scrutiny as tangibly as the satin ribbons brushing your wrists. A fan fluttered as a woman whispered behind it, her gaze cutting sideways toward you. She looked as haughty and dry as her entire face.

“Do you think she really fits in here?” one murmured, just loud enough for the question to reach your ears.

“I heard she’s not even a sorcerer.” came the response, this time with a touch of incredulity. “Yet they let her come near our children, to teach them about a world they don’t dwell in. Pathetic waste of time!”

You pretended not to hear, reaching for a skewer of yakitori to busy your hands. But your pulse quickened, not with embarrassment, but with the awareness of the reason behind their thinly veiled curiosity. They must have been Zenin women, perhaps married to the higher ranked men in Zenin Naobito’s circle. You felt bad for them, yet you also hated them.

But you knew that wasn’t the case for their hatred of you. Not exactly. It wasn’t the fact that you were an outsider, a non-sorcerer working as a window at Jujutsu High, who taught mundane subjects like history and literature to the students.

Nor was it that the students often liked you better, seeking your lessons as a respite from their harsher training. It was the reason these women whispered behind jeweled fans and exchanged glances tinged with envy: you were the much beloved wife of Nanami Kento, the stalwart, handsome, and sought-after grade one sorcerer.

From across the room, you caught sight of him. He stood among a small circle of colleagues, the sharp lines of his tailored suit a contrast to the flowing robes around him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a small shift when he saw you, a softening in his gaze that no one else would notice.

To everyone else, he was the unapproachable, severe sorcerer who never let his guard down. But you knew the way his bright eyes would close just slightly when he was tired, the low chuckle he reserved for evenings spent at home, the way his voice lowered when he told you stories of his youth.

“Good evening.” came a familiar voice that broke through your wandering thoughts. You turned to find Ieiri Shoko standing beside you, her expression one of relaxed amusement.

She was dressed in an elegant black ensemble that perfectly complemented her laid-back demeanor, a glass of sake dangling effortlessly from her fingers. Her sharp eyes glimmered with mischief as she surveyed the room.

“Evening.” You greeted back at her, your lips sharply echoing into a smile. “Why are you alone? Where’s your darling at?”

“Oh, surrounded by those pathetic vultures.” She pointed at the table where she was talking with the Kyoto women, smiling brightly. “Ugh, I hate those freaks. I can’t believe she’s around them. They’re not even worth an ounce of her giggles.”

“Geto–san has to make good with people somehow.” You pointed out to her, humming. “Connections are just connections. But you’re her lover. It’s been some years. Breathe, Sho.”

She rolls her eyes, before smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

“How have you been?”

“Good, as always.” Shoko retorts back, humming at you. “I just wish I had cigarettes. But she said if I tried to smoke tonight, she wouldn’t let me hit.”

You laugh at her bluntness. “I do the same to Kento too, but with his alcohol. You both have to be kept on a leash.”

“Oh the things we do for love.” She sighed heavily before looking at the ones glaring at you both. It wasn’t hard to notice those clusters of sorcerer wives eyeing you with thinly veiled intentions. “You’re doing well against their scrutiny, I see.”

“Barely. But I do find myself enjoying it.” you admitted, a small laugh escaping despite the tension. Shoko’s company was always welcome; her nonchalance had a way of making everything seem less dire.

Shoko took a slow sip from her glass, savoring it like she savored every moment. She shifted her gaze to one of the wives, a woman with a crimson kimono embroidered so elaborately it looked more like a tapestry than a garment. The woman was whispering behind her fan, eyes darting toward you and Shoko with a practiced side glance.

“Ah, her again. I thought she wouldn’t be here after she got exposed for her affair.” Shoko said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. She leaned closer, voice low but biting. “Careful, she’s liable to sprain her neck with how much she’s been glaring. I heard last time she tried something that intense, she nearly fainted from holding her breath.”

You stifled a laugh, your shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. Shoko’s dry humor was like a breath of fresh air, slicing through the tension with an effortless charm. The woman in the crimson kimono noticed your reaction and stiffened, her cheeks blooming with indignation.

“Let them look, let them whisper. Let them be jealous of you.” Shoko said, turning her eyes back to you. Her voice shifted to something more genuine, the mocking edge softening. “They’ll keep wondering because they can’t figure it out. You’re different, and they hate not understanding something. It’s their worst fear.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the knots in your chest loosening. Shoko’s words were more than just comfort; they were a reminder that your place here wasn’t defined by others’ perceptions but by your own truth and by the fact that Nanami stood beside you, unwavering.

“Thanks, Sho. I appreciate it a lot.” you said, voice steadying.

She gave a small shrug, the kind that said don’t make it a big deal. With another sip of sake, she nodded toward the buffet. “Now, let’s hope they restock the good tempura. If not, someone’s getting cursed tonight, and it won’t be me.”

She winked, then sauntered away, leaving you with a smile and the indelible impression that you weren’t as alone as you sometimes felt. Once she moved to the corner to see about the temperature, you could feel from the corner of your eye.

You saw the clan wives exchanging glances again. Their perfectly painted lips tightened just slightly as Nanami Kento, breaking from his group, made his way toward you, every step a quiet declaration.

“Is it true? She’s the one married to him?” another ignorant one whispered, leaning into a group of women whose gazes darted in your direction.

“Yes, the one with Nanami Kento, the number two of the first grade sorcerers.” another foolish one confirmed, unable to keep the hint of envy out of her voice.

You turned slightly, pretending not to hear as you picked up a small plate of delicacies. You did not care for what they wanted to say about you. You were more focused on your desire to taste the dishes. The laughter and clinking glasses around you felt muted under the weight of the tension gathering nearby.

The whispers turned to sharp murmurs, punctuated by gasps and scandalized looks. But perhaps that bothered them even more, because they started making more comments.

“Who does she think she is, that no name wanna be?” The foolish one whispered, loud enough for people to hear her. But perhaps she does not realize she was not being discreet.

The ignorant one scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head. “What a snob! How can Nanami-san be married to her?”

Shoko heard enough of it and turned around almost immediately from the dishes to the ladies. They jumped out of their seats. She rolls her eyes at them. It was as though she was just as annoyed as she was bored with them.

“Honestly, get over yourselves. You all look like desperate idiots.” she said, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned casually against a marble pillar. Everyone was now looking at them. Aren’t you at least going to have the gall to say it to our face, lady Kawami?”

The woman in the crimson kimono, lady Kawami, known for her sharp tongue and her greedy ambition gasped, her painted lips parting in shock. Beside her, another woman with intricately styled hair and a pinched expression scowled deeply.

“How dare you—”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Shoko’s laughter was light and mocking, yet the glint in her eyes held no softness. She tilted her head, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Lady Kawami’s reddening face. “You think Nanami Kento would like an ugly face and a bad attitude like yours? Ha! You wish!”

The crowd that had gathered to eavesdrop was stunned into silence, eyes flicking between the women like spectators at a duel. The foolish one’s face turned a deep shade of red, while the ignorant one sputtered, looking moments away from summoning her husband and causing an uproar.

“You cannot talk to us like that!” she shrieked, voice pitched high with indignation. “My husband will hear of this!”

“Now, now, lady Kawami, you shouldn’t treat my guests like that.” The familiar, light-hearted voice of Gojo Satoru interrupted the escalating tension. The two women felt their eyes widen. They quickly bow before him. “It’s so disrespectful, don’t you think?”

Heads turned as he approached, dressed in an exquisite black and silver kimono decorated with the Gojo clan crest. Even in traditional wear, he managed to exude a casual, almost irreverent charm. His dark, round glasses perched on his nose added to the effect as he lowered them just slightly, revealing eyes that shimmered with barely concealed amusement.

“Ah, Gojo-sama.” Lady Kawami said, trying to mask her fluster with a demure nod, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. “I didn’t mean any disrespect towards her, but surely you can understand that—”

“Oh, I understand completely, lady Kawami.” Gojo interrupted, a playful grin spreading across his face. He pushed his glasses back up, letting them catch the light so that the rest of the room was reflected in them. “I understand that you’re boring my dear friend Shoko, and frankly, I can’t have that. Her girlfriend wouldn't be so happy, either. And of course, I love my friend’s happiness.”

The subtle ripple of suppressed laughter ran through the more observant bystanders. Lady Kawami’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing dangerously. It was rare for someone to speak to her like that and get away with it, but this was Gojo Satoru. A man whose reputation as the most powerful sorcerer in the room and quite possibly the world would mean his words carried weight that no amount of social maneuvering could deflect.

Shoko’s smirk widened as she raised her glass in mock toast to Gojo, her eyes gleaming. “Well, look who decided to save the day. Dashing, really, Gojo.”

He winked at her. “Anything to make sure tonight stays interesting.”

The ignorant one, still seething but now cautious, looked between Gojo and Shoko before settling on silence. The power dynamics had shifted too sharply, and she knew better than to push further. No one can go against Gojo Satoru and not face repercussions. No one. And it would have ended up badly for their husbands and their families if they did.

You exhaled, tension releasing from your shoulders as the spectacle unraveled. A small, knowing smile touched your lips as Kento's eyes found yours from across the room, his expression softening just a fraction, and you knew that you weren’t alone in facing these moments. You were surrounded by friends who would always have your back, in their own unique, if slightly chaotic, ways.

The room’s atmosphere gradually loosened, tension shifting back to its usual simmering undercurrent. Gojo’s playful banter had disarmed the scene, leaving only the embarrassed scowls of lady Kawami and her cohort. Shoko took another sip of her sake, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes clear as she watched the women bristle and disperse.

“Good job not throwing that plate, masterful control.” Shoko said to you, her voice carrying a hint of approval. She nodded at the untouched delicacies in your hand. “Would’ve been a waste of good food.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating her humor. “Shouldn’t you be saying that to yourself, Sho?”

“Well, I mean, that’s true.”

Gojo laughs. “Shoko would have done worse than that and we both know it.”

“Hm, but I would have you carry my food to my table.”

“Oh? Then people would be surprised, how anyone can force the Gojo clan leader to do anything on a whim.”

Before you could respond, a presence behind you made the small hairs on your neck stand up in recognition. You turned, and there he was—Nanami Kento, striding toward you with the kind of quiet confidence that set him apart from the rest.

He looked ever so handsome, your husband. But when you get him even more up close? It’s a different story. He looked even more like a god when he stood before you this close.

He took in the scene, eyes flicking over the lingering crowd, Gojo’s smirk, and Shoko’s knowing look. Then his attention settled on you, warm and steady. “I see I missed the entertainment.” he said, his voice deep and even, but with a trace of curiosity.

Gojo lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Ah, Nanami, you missed Shoko here defending your lovely lady’s honor with an admirable lack of diplomacy.”

Kento’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze darting to Shoko, who shrugged, unbothered. “They deserved it.” she said, as if that were the most obvious fact in the world.

With a quiet exhale, Kento nodded, accepting the unspoken truth that you were protected by bonds deeper than mere duty. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The small gesture spoke volumes, his touch grounding and reassuring.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any trace of discomfort.

You smiled up at him, your earlier tension melting away entirely under his gaze. “I am now.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, subdued as always but unmistakably there. The few remaining onlookers, who had hoped to catch a new drama unfolding, exchanged glances before deciding they had better places to be.

Gojo clapped his hands, shattering the delicate silence that had settled. “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what do you say we toast to another evening of society’s finest theatrics?” His grin was as wide as ever, his glasses reflecting the chandelier’s light like a pair of miniature suns.

Nanami shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, then back at Gojo. “You never change, Gojo.” he muttered, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“And wouldn’t it be boring if I did?” Gojo countered, raising a brow.

Shoko raised her glass, smirking at Gojo before tipping it toward you and Nanami. “Unwavering loyalty and keeping things interesting!” she said.

You lifted your plate with a grin, and Kento, never one for dramatics, simply inclined his head. But the unspoken promise in his gaze, the silent support he offered, said more than any toast or witty comment ever could. In a hall filled with power, it was that quiet moment, surrounded by friends and the one who held your heart, that resonated most.

Soon enough, Shoko returned to her girlfriend with her plate stacked with food on one hand and the other holding a glass of wine. Her girlfriend, Geto Suguru’s younger sister, was waiting for her at one of the tables by the back.

Of course, Gojo Satoru returned to moving about and greeting everyone, but he seemed to have been halted by lord Kawami, probably trying to get things straight and settled. No one likes losing his favor after all. It was better that everything was smoothed out with him.

The incident however did not stop the women from continuing to look at your husband wantingly. One of the clan leader’s wives, her jeweled fan hiding half her face, whispered something to the woman beside her. They glanced over, eyes narrowing as if they could decipher what spell had ensnared someone like Nanami Kento.

“They’re watching again.” you murmured, feeling a twinge of jealousy and self-consciousness.

You immediately caught the glance of a woman adorned with a striking emerald necklace that glittered every time she turned. Her expression was polished and unreadable, but the pointed way she looked at you sent an old, familiar discomfort crawling up your spine.

Kento’s presence next to you was a calm in the storm, an anchor against the waves of whispers and stares. He tilted his head slightly, just enough that the room’s golden glow cast warm highlights across his sharp features. His eyes, serious and unwavering, met yours.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him.

“Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.”

He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent.

“They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

A silence swept over the nearby crowd, as if Nanami Kento’s words, though spoken softly, carried through the hall like a sudden change in the wind. The clan leaders’ wives, women who could command a room with a flick of their eyes or a whisper laced with intent, shifted uncomfortably. For all their power, their meticulously curated reputations, and the alliances they upheld like prized heirlooms, they had never been the center of such unwavering devotion.

Akari from administration glanced over and offered a subtle nod of approval, a small smile playing on her lips as she resumed her conversation. Mei Mei, sharp-eyed and ever perceptive, caught the moment as well. She raised her glass, her smirk deepening as though to say, well played.

The subtle tension that once swirled around the room, woven through glances and whispers, began to dissipate. Some turned their attention back to their conversations, laughter resuming, but not without the occasional glance in your direction, this time tinged more with begrudging respect than judgment.

“Kento, baby.” you said softly, a small smile breaking through as your heart settled back into its natural rhythm. The weight of self-consciousness fell away, replaced by a warm sense of belonging that his presence always seemed to ignite.

“Hmm?” he replied, his gaze still watching you with an intensity that was rare for him, except when you were alone.

“Thank you, baby.” you whispered, squeezing his hand back.

His eyes softened, the smallest, barely-there curve of his lips showing just the hint of a smile meant only for you. “There’s nothing to thank me for, honey.” he replied, tilting his head as if to read your thoughts. “It’s simply the truth.”

══════════════════

IT HAPPENED AS QUICKLY AS ONE COULD BLINK. But you suppose you can’t help it. Your desire for pleasure was fast when it came to Nanami Kento. Much more so when you’re jealous. BUt you knew your husband liked that. More than he likes to admit to you.

You felt a delicious rush of power as you yanked him closer by his tie, leading him out of the crowded hall. Away from the watchful eyes and mingling strangers, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dim hallway, with only your quickened breaths filling the silence.

The door closed behind you, and before you could say another word, his hands were on you, strong and possessive, pressing you back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. His fingers traced over your hips and along your waist, leaving a tingling heat in their wake.

It was as if he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. You looked up at him, catching his gaze; his eyes were heavy with desire, and the way he looked at you made your knees feel weak. He was entirely yours in that moment, and you were entirely his.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, his heartbeat echoing your own. His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and ravenous, filling the space with the sounds of quickened breath and desperate touches. The world beyond the bathroom faded, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other.

When he pulled back to look at you, you could barely catch your breath. His hand found the curve of your neck, fingers tracing gently along your jawline, and your own hands gripped his shoulders, grounding you as your pulse raced.

“You’re so good….” you managed to whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as you tried to form words. "Kento….." you murmured, the words spilling out between gasps, each syllable almost a sigh as you clung to him.

The intensity of his gaze made you shiver, your own desire reflected in his eyes. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt a thrill ripple through you as he whispered your name. His breath felt hot, so tenderly warm against your skin. And even more so when he said your name in that breathy way. That made you feel even more excitement.

For a moment, you both paused, catching your breath as the heat of the moment washed over you. His fingers brushed along your cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, as though savoring this quiet, charged moment before pulling you back in with the same raw, electric passion.

And in that hidden space, the two of you lost yourselves, caught in the perfect, unbreakable intimacy that felt like a world away from the bustling party. If you both had your way, both of you would have been locked away from the world. All you needed was each other.

His hands explored with a possessive tenderness, each touch leaving trails of fire across your skin. You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he pressed his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered, feeling him smile against your skin, clearly pleased at the effect he was having on you.

You pulled him even closer, fingers moving from his shirt to his tie, loosening it slightly, just enough to slide it off his neck. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his eyes fixed on you with a focused intensity that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

"Can’t believe you dragged me out here, honey." he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his words sending a thrill through you. "But I’d follow you anywhere. I’ll make love to you anywhere you want me to."

His words made your heart race, and you felt the butterflies from earlier stirring again as he leaned in, his mouth meeting yours with a new urgency. It was as if all the tension from the night poured into that kiss, building into something raw and unstoppable.

As he pulled you closer, his fingers gently brushed your hair back from your face, and you caught his gaze, breathless. You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped as you looked at him, both of you a little dizzy, a little wild.

“This is dangerous, you know, baby.” you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you tightened your hold on him. But he only raised an eyebrow, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

Soon enough, you were under his thumb. His movements grew rougher, each thrust deep and unrelenting, sending a surge of sensation through you that bordered on overwhelming. Every press of his body against yours was a heady mixture of strength and passion.

And it was all you could do to cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the intensity built. His pace quickened, and you felt your back arch instinctively, unable to control the way your body responded to him.

Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, each one catching in your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his touch both possessive and tender. Your senses blurred; the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the heat between you, the way he whispered your name against your skin in a voice that was both rough and reverent.

Every movement, every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, each one pushing you further until you were lost in the sheer intensity of it all. You gripped him tightly, almost desperately, as though grounding yourself against the delicious onslaught.

His name left your lips in broken gasps, and as you met his gaze, the shared passion and vulnerability in his eyes were enough to undo you completely. Everything about your husband makes you feel alive. Especially at this moment. He was good at making you cry for life.

In that moment, you felt yourself surrender, giving in fully to the dizzying rush, to him, and to the warmth and bliss that consumed you both. You shifted slightly beneath him, the heat of your body still trapped in the shared intimacy of the moment. The words escaped you before you could stop them, your jealousy bubbling to the surface.

"I saw the way they were looking at you tonight, baby." you whispered, your voice a blend of frustration and desire, your fingers gripping his shoulders tightly. "All those women... They were ogling you, making eyes at you, and I couldn’t—"

His breath hitched at the raw honesty in your voice. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal flashing across his face. Without breaking his rhythm, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Don’t you dare think about them. You're the only one I want. I only want my wife. My little precious wife."

His words were a balm, but the way his body moved, the deep, relentless thrusts, were what truly silenced your insecurities. The force of each movement was almost punishing, his hips driving into you harder, making your head spin with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he picked up speed, his breath ragged against your skin.

"You think I want them?" he asked, his voice a dark, velvety rasp. "No. It's you, only you. Always been you." His words came out in desperate gasps, the intensity of his thrusts growing, pushing you both to the edge. "You’re mine. No one else matters."

You moaned, feeling a thrill surge through your chest, his raw claim igniting something deeper within you. His pace never faltered, and as he rams into you harder.

Each movement seems to strip away the last remnants of your doubts. Your body responded, the tension in you winding tighter, tighter, until you were sure you'd break. You could barely speak, your voice hitching as you met his powerful thrusts with a soft whimper, your body rocking with the force of him.

"I’m jealous, baby. I always am." you admitted, your hands tracing down his chest, grasping at him desperately, the words slipping between gasps. "But you're mine too. Only mine."

"Always have been, honey. Only yours." he replied, his hands pressing you harder into the cold tile as he moved faster, pushing you further toward the edge with each heated thrust.

His voice was a low growl, his rhythm unrelenting, and you could feel him losing himself as much as you were, both of you consumed by the need, the overwhelming desire to claim and be claimed.

The moment his lips crashed into yours, everything else seemed to melt away. The overwhelming intensity of the kiss mirrored the urgency of his movements, his body pressing deeper into yours, each thrust sending waves of heat through you. The kiss was possessive, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that burned between you both.

As he pushed deeper, his rhythm becoming relentless, you felt a broken cry escape from you, a mixture of pleasure and raw emotion that you couldn’t hold back. His eyes, dark with desire, caught yours, and for a moment, you saw something deeper than just lust—something primal and protective, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, honey." he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with the same need he’d been building in both of you. “My wife is so fucking beautiful.”

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you to the brink, your cries turning into soft whimpers as your body was caught in the storm of sensation. It felt so good, it always has been.

The deeper he is, the deeper the pleasure fills you. The more you cry out and moan. The more he tries to defy the possibilities, thrusting deeper to fill you more and more.

The tears that pricked the corners of your eyes weren't from pain—no, it was something more complex, something that left you breathless. It was the weight of the connection, the force of his touch, and the emotional release that you hadn’t expected.

All combined into something that made your chest tighten with overwhelming feeling. You cried because he was inside you in every way, not just physically but emotionally, each thrust deeper, each kiss harder.

Kento pulled away slightly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his breath hot against your face. His eyes softened for a moment, but the hunger in them never dulled.

"You’re mine, only mine, wife." he breathed, his voice low but full of meaning, before kissing you again, harder this time, as though proving to you what he’d just spoken.

The kiss deepened as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours with a fervor that made your entire being hum with raw need. You could feel every inch of him, every movement of his muscles, and it was as if the world had disappeared entirely, leaving just the two of you tangled in this electric, consuming moment.

His thrusts became more forceful, each one driving deeper, pushing you to the edge of something wild and uncontrollable. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him for support as his mouth moved from yours, trailing down your neck, biting and sucking as he marked you, claiming you completely.

"Don't hold back, honey." he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged. "Let go for me. I need you to feel this... all of it."

You couldn't hold back, not anymore. Not even if anyone was to hear outside. You didn’t feel bad about being this loud because it was your pleasure. About the pleasure he was giving you. He was making you feel good and you wanted him to know it.

“Good baby, my good little wife. Take me. Take me whole.”

His words hit something deep inside, and you cried out, your voice a broken whisper as your body surrendered fully to him, to the pleasure, to the overwhelming emotions that swirled inside you. His name escaped your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he met you with relentless urgency.

Each thrust pushed you further into a frenzy of sensation, and the pleasure that had once been distant now consumed you completely. The tears that had been building in your eyes spilled over, not from pain, but from the intensity, from the way his body moved with yours in perfect rhythm, from the way he made you feel so utterly seen, so completely his.

Kento’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently swiping at the tears on your cheek, a tender touch amidst the feverish passion. His eyes softened for just a moment, but then they hardened with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue tasting your lips, your moans swallowed by the deep kiss.

"You're everything to me, honey." he growled, his voice barely audible between breaths. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that."

His words, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his hands held you so firmly. It all built up to something so deep, so visceral that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began. Everything inside you snapped, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Your cries were mingled with his own as he lost himself in the moment, the sound of skin against skin filling the small space as you both gave in to the release, the powerful culmination of everything that had been building between you.

As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving both of you breathless and spent, the quiet hum of the room returned, only now it felt like a distant memory compared to the electric tension between you. You both lingered in the aftermath, bodies still pressed together, hearts racing in sync.

Your breath was ragged, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick skin of his back, grounding yourself in the sensation of him still so close. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of your clothes and the echo of your breaths.

But just as you began to collect yourself, a sound broke the stillness—a soft thud of footsteps, followed by the faint murmur of voices. Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. Your boldness had gotten inflated by sanity.

You both hadn’t noticed the soft creak of the door, hadn’t heard the hushed conversations approaching. And then, before either of you could react, the door was pushed open, revealing the clan wives, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, mouths agape.

Kento’s gaze flickered to the doorway, but when he saw the surprised looks on their faces, he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, his hands still possessively on you, his lips curled into a confident, unbothered smirk. He looks at you, mesmerized by you. By his want for you. Nothing else mattered. Decency, rules, proportionality — they’re done when he makes love to you.

Yet when you looked at him. Nothing else mattered. You too also didn’t care now. A sense of defiance rose within you, the fire from before still burning strong. Without a second thought, you pulled Kento closer, your hands grasping his face as you tilted your head up to meet his lips. The kiss was fierce and unapologetic, claiming him fully in front of everyone who dared to look.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, your voice low but steady, a possessive edge coloring your words. "You're only mine, hm? Forever, baby." you whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline as you met his smirk.

His gaze softened for a moment, his lips curling into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Always, honey." he replied, his voice a low rumble that held all the certainty in the world. “Forever.”

The clan wives stood frozen once again, caught between disbelief and curiosity, but neither of you acknowledged them again. You didn’t need to. Kento's words, and the way he held you, told them everything they needed to know.

You were his, and he was yours.

Forever.

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venomvalley · 2 months ago

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FEED ME!

EPILOGUE: BABY FOOD ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 3.3k words

SUMMARY: Snippets from a less lonely life.

TAGS: mentions of postpartum depression, PTSD recovery, hurt/comfort, domestic sevika, a LOT of fluff

NOTES: my knowledge of children boils down to babysitting my niece her whole life so blame her if i got anything wrong. also thank yall SO MUCH for the love on this story it's been absolutely insane and i still cannot believe it :'3

-> READ ON AO3 | SERIES MASTERLIST

I. THREE MONTHS

Parenting is hard work.

A fact of life that just about everyone knows, but it’s different actually living it. Days are long and nights are even longer, and Sevika can’t remember the last time she’s gotten a proper sleep. But you have it worse. As soon as she closes her eyes for the night, the kid starts crying, and you sit up with a tired groan to turn on the bedside lamp. Every three hours like clockwork, the same routine: remove Stella from her crib (that Sevika commissioned from a local wood worker) beside the bed, sit a pillow in your lap, pull up your shirt, and feed her.

Sevika tries to stay up with you, to keep you company, but you tell her over and over again that there’s no sense in both of you being useless come tomorrow. You have a good point.

But she does her part in other ways. Changes cloth diapers like a professional, spends more time cleaning up water messes around the tub than actually bathing the kid, rocks her to sleep then puts her in the crib.

It’s all routine now, in the strangest change of fate. Being in love, receiving love, waking up in an actual home and a soft bed—not alone anymore. She has two people now that she would go to the end of the world and back for, and she still can’t believe that the circumstances are real.

Stella always smiles at the sight of her, and Sevika always smiles back.

Weird. Terrifying. Perfect.

“We're going to Lyra’s tomorrow,” you say, adjusting Stella’s weight in your arms as she feeds, tiny hand curled against your chest. “Don’t forget that.”

Sevika cracks open an eye, head lolling on your outstretched leg to look up at you. Naked beneath your red robe, all dips and curves from the pregnancy weight you gained, fresh marks stretching over your belly and hips and inner thighs. Motherhood is a good look you.

But that’s her hindbrain talking. The part of her that would still love you no matter what form you took (but she likes this one a lot).

“The check-up, right?” she asks, turning away from Stella’s kicking foot that connects instead with her temple. “Ow.”

You bite back a laugh, smooth a hand over her hair, then tuck the baby’s legs under your arm. “Yeah. She just wants to make sure everything’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

Tomorrow comes and Stella is less than thrilled about being handled by a stranger. Lyra’s gentle with her exam, but the kid still fusses and wriggles around on the blanket-covered table. When Lyra turns her over onto her stomach, she wails, and you take a step forward before Sevika curls an arm over your chest, gently coaxing you back.

“She's fine, Mama.”

Your head thumps against her shoulder, hand curling over her wrist for comfort. Voice wavering and watery as you mutter, “I know, but I can’t stand to hear her cry.”

Lyra turns to you with a soft smile, cradling a babbling Stella in her arms. “It’s part of your new instincts, dear. But baby’s alright.” A soft pat to said baby's back. “Just fussy.”

With a sigh, you step over to the pair. “She probably needs fed.”

A quick exchange, and Stella’s back to her old self, cooing and smiling in her mama’s arms. Over your shoulder, Sevika catches her eye. Twists up her face in a way that always makes her giggle, and this time’s no different.

She still can’t believe that this is her life now. Too used to inciting fear in the heart of the Undercity, and now a three month old baby looks at her like she’s her world. A big part of her doesn’t believe she deserves it after all the bad she’s done—the people she’s killed, the strife she helped sew throughout the city.

But the kid in your arms doesn’t know that part of her, can’t comprehend it even if she did. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you saw something inside her worth investing in. Sticking around for.

Still can’t believe it.

When you arrive home, though, the air thickens in a way that leaves her hackles raising. You set Stella's bag on the floor beside the couch and flee to the bedroom, the girl gasping and gurgling in preparation for a crying spell.

“I know, my love. You've had such a long day, huh?” you coo, voice muffled by the wall separating you.

Sevika waits on the couch as you put her down for a nap (she’s always been difficult to get to sleep, her growing brain just too active to shut down). You sneak back into the living room a while later, shutting off the overhead light as you pass, and she scoots over to give you room to sit. You exhale a breath, head thumping against the cushion at your back.

For a long moment, the two of you sit in silence. You need to decompress, and she waits for you to tell her what's wrong.

“Why are you doing all this?” you whisper, gaze trained on the ceiling.

There it is. The reason behind the sudden chill to the room, a tangible shift in your mindset.

“What do you mean?” She doesn't touch you no matter how badly her fingers itch to cradle your hand in hers. Wants to give you space to process whatever it is you're feeling.

“Nothing's keeping you here. Stella isn't even yours, and you still–” you scoff, tears pooling in the corner of your eye, “you take care of her like she is.”

“I don't understand, honey.”

With a quiet groan, you scrub at your face. “Fuck, I—I'm so sorry for involving you in this. We're not your problem, and I just… gods, it's not fair to you.”

“Isn't that for me to decide?”

“But you're already dealing with too much.” The tears fall when you squeeze your eyes shut, disappearing into your hairline. “I feel like such a burden, and I feel even worse for telling you about it.”

Your crying brings her back to that night, to the aftermath when you sat in a chair in the back of Silco's club, covered head-to-toe in blood, sobbing into your hands. She felt helpless then, and she feels helpless now. Doesn’t know how to make the pain go away.

So she does the only thing she can think of to help ease the ache. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into her side. Rests her cheek on the top of your head as your chest racks with quiet sobs. She lets you cry until your eyes dry up with an empty ache to her chest.

“If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” she whispers, squeezing at your arm. “I can make my own decisions, alright?”

“But you said we're your responsibility—”

“I also said I didn't mean it that way. You're a lot more than that. Both of you.”

If only she had the words to tell you, to explain how much the two of you mean to her. The love that swells her chest to the point of bloating, so overwhelming she chokes on it at times.

You sniff, wipe your nose on your shirt. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

You look up at her, puffy-eyed and pitiful, lips twitching into a weak smile. “I'm choosing to believe you.”

She presses a wet kiss to your cheek. And another, and another, and another. Doesn't stop until you're giggling and fidgeting and turning your face away.

II. SIX MONTHS

Sevika might go insane.

The kid finally learned to crawl a week ago, and she hasn't stopped moving since. Wakes the both of you up late into the night by climbing over your heads to attempt an escape off the mattress. Crawls after you as you walk to and from the kitchen, shouting and gurgling for attention. Pulls herself up onto shaky legs as Sevika sits on the couch, little fingers fisting the fabric of her pants to steady herself. So active and curious that the two of you run yourselves to death just trying to keep up with her.

Sevika would never tell anybody this, but the first time she had to raise her voice at her to keep away from the heavy cabinets, she hid in the closet nearby and cried as Stella napped in her crib. You had come home from the market, seen her puffy eyes, and pulled her into a reassuring hug.

She just doesn't want to be her father's daughter. The parent her parents were. It's a fine line to walk. Terrifying at times.

Over the last few months, Sevika's pulled away a bit from the danger of the Lanes, and in turn, Silco. A shift in priorities tends to alter the brain, and her little family is now at the top of the list. Always at the back of her mind. When she leaves on jobs that she can’t put off on some grunt, she always brings gifts home. Your favorite food, a new onesie, little figurines that remind her of either of you (always the poorly-made ones that make you laugh yourself to tears, but the one she bought featuring a very smashed-up mother and baby cat proudly sits on the table in the entryway).

You’ve got a good part-time job going, cleaning houses for the elderly either too sick or too feeble to do it themselves. It pays in cogs, but you’ve found purpose again. Lyra insisted at your last check-up that you consider activities outside of being a mother. A new hobby, giving back to the community, meeting new people.

Well, you don't really have time for new hobbies and you're still wary of people after the whole Joker thing, so the logical next step was looking for a job. A way to build up a bit of money so you aren’t relying on Sevika all the time—at least, that’s what you told her.

But today, both of you are free to explore the Undercity with Stella in tow. It's the first time you've expressed interest in visiting your favorite bakery since that night with Joker.

A big, important step for you. Your hands shake the whole way as you follow the familiar path of the street, Stella swaddled against your chest. Sevika offered to carry her, but you probably need the comfort. Her point proven when you rub your nose against the wispy hairs on her tiny head as the shop comes into view.

Behind the counter, Tayla gasps when you step inside, squealing at the sight of the baby cradled to your chest. “Oh, I missed you so much!” She strolls up to you then grasps your hands with a beaming smile. “I was so worried after you left that day and I hadn't seen you around. Gods, how are you?”

Ever curious, Stella turns her head at the sound of a new voice then cries out in frustration when she can't see Tayla’s face. The woman in question steps up to your side and takes the baby's hand.

“Hi, baby. It's nice to meet you.” Then she turns to you. “What's her name?”

“Stella,” you say, voice dripping with pride. “Sevika picked it out.”

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Sevika stands off to the side to let the two of you catch up, meandering along the displays of bread and cakes and cookies. The whole shop smells amazing, fresh and sweet, and the handmade furniture and soft lighting give off a coziness uncommon to the Undercity. No wonder you spent so much time here.

When she turns around, Stella is balanced on your hip, grabbing the bits of fresh bread you offer from your palm with thumb and forefinger. Tayla celebrates after each bite with words of praise and a soft clap, and Stella beams. Sevika doesn't want to interrupt the sweet scene, too afraid that her presence would break whatever blissful bubble surrounds your little group. She has nothing to say to Tayla, and this is a big moment for you. One of reunion and reclamation.

Where does she fit in?

You answer her question when you turn around, eyes searching for a split second, and panic gives way to warmth when you spot her. You invite her over with a coaxing nod of your head, lips stretching into a smile.

“She loves the bread,” you say upon her approach, and the baby reaches for her with a scrunched nose and a big smile—her two bottom teeth an adorable contrast against her gums that leaves Sevika's lips twitching upward.

(She remembers when the kid first started teething. A lot of sleepless nights and tears and chewing on wet washcloths. Fingers indented with marks, pricked with blood. You cried more than Stella did, utterly helpless against curing your baby's pain.)

She holds the baby in the crook of her metal arm and wipes the crumbs from her mouth. “Mama's made a mess of you, hasn't she?”

You giggle, squeezing Stella's chubby leg as she babbles away. “She eats like somebody else I know.”

Sevika chooses to ignore the very pointed glare aimed her away.

III. ONE YEAR

Her bubble of happiness shatters shortly after Stella's first birthday, when the gates are knocked down between the Undercity and Piltover, and war is declared. A fight for the world and the two people she loves most in it.

You cry the entire way to the trolley, holding two packed suitcases and the remnants of a broken heart. Stella wriggles in the bend of Sevika's arm—old enough to pick up on the doom in the air, but too young to understand why.

You round on her when you finally reach the door of the car. “I swear to Janna, if you die, I'll track down a mage and revive you so I can kill you myself.”

She holds you close, presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead. “I don't plan on dying.”

“That's what my dad said, and look what happened to him.”

“Good thing I'm not him.”

Your frown deepens as she passes Stella to you, gaze locked onto the cloak hiding her missing arm. “You aren't even able to fight.”

She exhales a breath through her teeth. “You underestimate me.”

“I worry about you. Is that so awful?”

Yes. It's irrational, and the image of your wet cheeks—tear tracks caused by her—sits wrong in her gut. A kind of guilt she's never really experienced. But before you, she never had something important to lose, nobody sitting at home waiting for her to come back safe. Now she has two.

Which is why she has to do this.

"I'll be fine."

You resort to begging, arms wound tight around the baby. Please don't go. I'll do anything. I can't lose you. Please. Please.

She can't let the heartbreak in your voice affect her, not when everything is at stake, no matter how badly she wants to cradle you both in her arms and take you home and damn the world to its fate.

It's the first time she says I love you. A phrase that burns acidic on her tongue, that rushes out in a whisper as you accept one final hug before climbing into the car.

IV. TWO YEARS

The kid's a damn menace. Two years old now, yanking the leash of the world in her chubby little fist. Can barely talk yet (you understand her better than Sevika does), but she always has something to say. Always running around the house.

Like now.

Sevika steps out of the kitchen and intercepts the girl with her lone arm. Pulls her to her chest as she squeals and laughs and kicks her feet.

She can’t help but smile. Says, “I don’t think so, kiddo. You have to put your clothes on.”

You walk from the bedroom with a shake of your head, a pair of matching pajamas in hand, eyes sunken from the long day finally behind you. “I have no idea where she’s gotten this energy from. You, apparently.”

“…Me.��

“I've known you three years and I've never seen you sit still.”

She doesn't know how to tell you that she's not, in fact, the dad (no matter how much she wishes to be), and has no bearing on the kid's genes. So she just nods along and agrees.

Watching this girl grow into herself—become a person with interests, likes and dislikes, a personality that gets stronger with each passing day—has been nothing short of amazing. Already, she's grown an attitude. Talks with the cadence of someone who's dealt with a lifetime of bullshit (Sevika's influence, no doubt). Morphs her face into a direct mirror of your scowls and glares and grins (she looks so much like you sometimes that it's almost uncanny).

The three of you had spent the entire day at a ceremony celebrating Sevika's seat on Piltover's council. Nothing more than a shallow show of solidarity and hospitality that she would rather not subject you to, but you had insisted. I won’t let you do this alone. It’s a sweet sentiment, but she doesn’t expect anything to come of her new status—as if she’d actually take them up on their offer to move her family out of the Undercity.

She’s just putting up with this shit for the confidential information anyway.

You had been excited, more optimistic about the future than her. A chance for change, for progress, to give Stella a better world to grow up in. But the kid will reach the stars one day, with or without her influence. She can feel it.

Sevika sits down on the couch with Stella in her lap, keeping her still so you can finally dress the kid after her bath. But she can't blame her. Who the hell actually likes wearing clothes?

"You can go on to bed," you say, sidestepping the giggling toddler when she runs past. "I'm gonna get her a quick snack."

When the two of you return from the kitchen, Stella that Sevika reads her a story. Climbs into bed with the same pop-up book you've read so many times the pages started cracking, and plants it on her lap.

Sevika shakes her head, mouth twitching into a frown. “I'm not good at telling stories. Not like Mama is.”

Really, she just… can't. A sacred line she hasn't yet dared to cross. She thinks of her mom flipping through those picture books, how animated and enthralling she made each story, and knows she could never do it justice.

(Shit, she's forgotten the sound of her mom's voice.)

You stroll in a moment later, feet dragging along the ground, before collapsing into bed with a relieved groan. "What are you two talking about?"

Sevika sighs, thumbing the edge of the worn book. "She wants me to read to her."

"Mommy, book," Stella says again, patting the cover to get her attention.

The look you give her is one of understanding, reassurance. "I think it would be nice."

"I can't do it like you." Like her mom used to.

"You don't have to."

With a huffing breath, she opens the first page, and Stella curls up against her side, tiny arm slung over her chest. Sevika reads along in a low, calm voice, adjusting her tone for different characters and asking questions about each picture. Halfway through the book, she gets no response, and when she looks over, both you and Stella are fast asleep, curled up beneath the sheets.

She sets the book on the nightstand, turns off the lamp, and shifts Stella around to carve out a spot for herself on the bed. Smiles soft and sleepy when your hand finds hers in the darkness.

#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika fluff #arcane x reader #arcane x you #x reader #my fics #fic: feed me!

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