#even if in the present moment it’s done and i don’t see us going back

[rmview]

they beg to be taken back, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of how the stray kids boys realize they can’t live without you, and come to beg you for a second chance!

contents — angst, mentions of fights, possible reconciliation.

bang ♢ chan

bang chan had always been composed, the leader who held everyone together. but when you broke up with him, the cracks in his armor showed. he respected your decision and convinced himself that it was for the best, despite the emptiness growing unbearable.

he wasn’t himself since and the people around him began to notice. the usual spark in his eyes dimmed, and the weight of your absence felt suffocating. he replayed the last argument over and over in his head, agonizing over what he could’ve done differently. but as much as he respected your decision, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to try, just one more time, to fight for what you both had.

it was late when he showed up at your doorstep, his hand hovering over the doorbell. when you answered, you were more than surprised to see him standing there, his shoulders slightly hunched as if he was carrying the weight of the world. his hair was disheveled, eyes rimmed red. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“chan? what are you doing here?” the nickname slipped from your lips almost too easily and you suppressed the urge to recoil. being around him — being his, was too easy. even with the two months apart, one look into his eyes was all it took for everything to come rushing back.

“i… i needed to see you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly and his australian accent slightly thicker, which was a sign of his nervousness. “i know you said that it’s over, but i can’t accept it — not without trying to make things right.”

you felt something in your chest lurch, and for a few moments you were rendered speechless. a large part of you wanted to forget the fight and what lead up to it, but the smaller part of you kept reminding you of how alone he made you feel despite being together. “we’ve already talked about this. you need to let me go. i... i don’t want to go back to feeling the way i did.”

he shook his head, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “i can’t just let you go,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “i know i messed up. i wasn’t there for you when you needed me most, i treated you like another responsibility, and i hate myself for it. but please, give me a chance to prove that i can do better. i can’t lose you like this.”

“chan…” you looked away, your heart breaking at the vulnerability in his voice. your own eyes blurred with tears and you tried to blink them away.

“i know i’m asking a lot,” he continued, taking a tentative step closer. his hands itched with the need to reach out for your waist; the feeling of your skin under his palms a muscle memory. “but i love you. i love you more than anything, and i can’t imagine my life without you in it. tell me what i need to do, and i’ll do it. just… don’t give up on us.”

his desperation was raw and unfiltered, and it was clear that he’d spent every waking moment thinking about this moment. whether you took him back or not, he was determined to fight for you until the very end.

felix ♢

felix was a wreck after the breakup. the ever-present sunshine in his personality dimmed, replaced by a quiet sadness that the others noticed but didn’t know how to fix. he replayed the moments leading up to your decision endlessly, wondering where he went wrong. no matter how hard he tried to respect your choice and acknowledge his mistakes, his heart refused to let it go.

one rainy evening, he found himself standing in the reception office of your workplace while soaked to the bone. he didn’t care that the receptionist was eyeing him in annoyance for dripping on the floors, or that he looked homeless from his red-rimmed eyes and masked face. when you finally made your way down after a call from your superiors, you were shocked.

“felix? what the hell?” you whisper-yelled, your voice laced with concern despite the shock as you grasped his arms to lead him to the bathrooms instead of the ac-blasting reception so he wouldn’t get sick.

“i had to see you,” he said, his voice trembling. both from the cold and his overwhelming feelings. “i couldn’t just… let it end like that.”

you sighed, grasping his freezing hands in yours and holding it under the hot air of the hand drier, not caring that you were in the men’s room. felix couldn’t care less either as he momentarily basked in the feeling of your soft hands in his after so long. “i know i hurt you, and i hate myself for it. but i can’t let you go without telling you how much you mean to me.”

“and you thought this was the smartest way to do it? by getting yourself sick?” you shook your head, trying to keep your emotions in check. he broke your heart, you tried to remind yourself to keep yourself steely. it didn’t work.

“i know i made mistakes,” he continued, his voice breaking as he sniffled and you avoided his gaze and chalked it up to the cold. “i wasn’t there for you the way i should have been. but you… you’re everything to me. you’re the reason i smile, the reason i wake up in the morning. please, tell me how to fix this.”

his vulnerability was heart-wrenching and you felt your own eyes blur through your silence. felix didn’t look away from you the entire time, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “i’ll do anything, anything to make things right. just… don’t walk away from me. from us.”

as the rain continued to pour outside, felix stood there, baring his soul to you. he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness — he was offering every piece of himself, hoping it would be enough to convince you to take him back.

lee ♢ know

lee know was stubborn by nature, and after the breakup, he tried to convince himself he didn’t need anyone. he put on a brave face around the others, burying himself in practice and work. taking on excess time to keep his mind off you worked for a while, but even then every time he went home to the empty silence of his apartment, your absence hit him like a freight train.

his members began to notice his stubbornness and attempt to dismiss your relationship, giving him the space he needed as they hoped he’d work through it. but it began to become clear he was taking the ostrich’s way out — burying his head in the sand and pretending everything was fine.

it took weeks for him to swallow his pride and realize he didn’t want to deal with the emptiness anymore. the fight was so stupid and you were the love of his life, so why weren’t you together right now?

he wasn’t one to beg, but losing you was something he slowly realized he couldn’t bear. and so one evening after heavy contemplation, he found himself standing outside your apartment door, clutching his phone in one hand and a small bouquet of your favorite flowers in the other.

when you opened the door, you paused and your eyes widened in surprise. your treacherous heart missed a beat and you attempted to school your expression to normal. “minho? what are you doing here?”

“i, uh, i needed to see you,” he said, his usual cool demeanor replaced with a hesitance you rarely saw.

your mind flashed with the hurtful words he threw at you during the argument and you crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “i thought we agreed that separating was for the best.”

“maybe i thought so at first,” he admitted, his voice soft but firm. “but i don’t think i can do this anymore. i can’t pretend that i’m okay being without you because i’m not.”

“minho…” you started, looking away as you didn’t know what to say.

“i know i don’t say it enough,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping to the ground. “but i love you. i loved you then, and i love you now. and i hate that i let you go without fighting for you. i hate that i was so stupid.”

“you hurt me,” you said, a slight wobble in your voice that you attempted to mask with by clearing your throat softly. but the hurt in your eyes was hard to miss. “i can’t just forget that.”

“i know,” he said, stepping closer. he put the flowers down on the floor by your feet as he took your hands in his, his palms warm. “and i don’t expect you to. but i want to make it up to you. i’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again. because i mean it when i say i won’t make the same mistakes again.”

he squeezed your palms softly, bringing your fingers up to his lips. “i know i’m not the best at showing how much you mean to me. but you do — more than anything. and if there’s even the smallest part of you that still feels the same way, please… give me another chance.”

it wasn’t easy for lee know to open up like this, but the thought of losing you for good outweighed his fear of vulnerability and hesitance. whether or not you decided to take him back, he was determined to show you just how much you meant to him.

hyun ♢ jin

hyunjin wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the breakup managed to shatter the carefully built walls around his emotions. he threw himself into his art and practice, hoping it would drown out the ache in his chest. but no matter how many brushstrokes he painted or routines he perfected, nothing could fill the void you’d left behind.

while hoping to take a walk on evening , hyunjin mindlessly ended up walking into your favorite park, the place where you’d spent countless nights talking about dreams and fears. as usual, you were there sitting on the same bench you’d share, a book on your lap but your mind and gaze were elsewhere.

hyunjin stood there for a few moments, unable to look away until your wandering gaze settled on him. you paused, startled to see him there, his usually confident posture replaced by a tentative nervousness as he slowly walked to you.

“hyunjin?” you looked up at him, unsure if you should address him in public since your relationship was over. he was dressed in black, a mask covering the bottom half of his face, but you recognized him immediately.

he hesitated for aa moment before he sat down beside you, a small bittersweet smile tugging at his lips even though you couldn’t see it. “i wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he admitted.

“i didn’t know you’d be here either,” you replied cautiously, fidgeting with your book in your lap. would you have come if you knew? maybe, maybe not.

he took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto you even though you wouldn’t look back at him. “i just... i needed to see you. i can’t keep pretending i’m okay with this when i’m not.”

“hyunjin, we’ve already talked about this…”

“i know,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with emotion. “but i can’t let it end like this. i know i hurt you really bad, and i hate myself for it every day. i thought i was protecting you from this life and me, but all i did was push you away.”

your fingers softly tightened around the book, trying to calm yourself against the raw emotion in his voice. “it’s not that simple.”

“i know it’s not,” he said, scooting slightly closer. he couldn’t take his eyes off you. you were so pretty. “but i love you. i’ve always loved you, even when i was too scared to show it. and if there’s even a small part of you that still cares about me and what we had, then please… let me try to fix this.”

his voice broke as he added, “i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if i have to. just… don’t give up on us. not yet.”

you finally looked up at him and your breath hitched at the proximity. the vulnerability in hyunjin’s eyes was almost too much for you to bear. he wasn’t just asking for forgiveness — he was offering every piece of himself, hoping it would be enough to convince you to give him one last chance. he wouldn’t lose you again.

i.n ♢

jeongin had never experienced heartbreak like this before. the breakup ended up hitting him harder than he ever thought possible. he spent days replaying the fight you both had in his head, wondering how he could’ve done things differently. his hyungs tried their best to cheer him up, but their efforts only seemed to highlight the emptiness he felt without you.

you were his first relationship, his first kiss, his first love and the woman he thought he’d marry some day. he’d questioned his success as an idol, he’d question his talents — but the lifetime of your relationship was one thing he never had to question. so to have that one dream shattered was more than the average heartbreak. jeongin would probably never date again.

only nine days had passed since you left, and after those 200 hours, jeongin couldn’t take it anymore. he knew your schedule in and out, and he knew exactly where you’d be on a weekend evening at 5.

he showed up at your favorite café, the place where you’d spent countless afternoons together and took a seat at the very booth you’d always sit at, counting down the minutes to when you’ll show up.

so when you walked in and spotted him sitting at your usual table, his nervous smile and the familiar warmth in his eyes caught you off guard.

“jeongin?” you asked cautiously as you approached, looking around the almost empty area. “what are you doing here?”

he stood up quickly, his hands fidgeting as he spoke, wanting to reach out to you. “hi. i… i wasn’t sure if you’d come here today, but i had to take the chance.”

you hesitated, unsure of what to say. it had barely been over a week since your breakup. “what do you want?”

“i want to apologize,” he said earnestly, his voice quiet but steady. he had already made up his mind. “and to ask for another chance.”

“jeongin, we already talked about this,” you replied, shaking your head softly. the argument was still fresh in your mind and you didn’t plan to give in anytime soon. yet one look into his puppy-like eyes was all it took. damn.

“i know that,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “but i can’t just let it end the way it did. i know i hurt you, and i know i wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved, but i want to make it right. i need to make it right.”

you sighed, hesitantly sitting down across from him. “it’s not that easy.”

“i know it’s not,” jeongin said, his gaze earnest. he was not going to leave without you. “but i love you. and i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you. i’ve been thinking about everything i did wrong, and i promise, i’ll be better. just… don’t shut me out completely. you don’t have to take me back now, but know i’m not going to let this be the end of us.”

his voice softened as he added, “i know i’m asking for a lot, but please… let me show you how much you mean to me. even if it seems a little too late.”

you found yourself softening against your will. jeongin’s sincerity was palpable, and the quiet determination in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t giving up on you. whether or not you decided to take him back, he was willing to do whatever it took to make amends.

han ♢

han had always been known for his bright energy, and the way he could light up a room with his laughter. but ever since the breakup, his spark was gone and it became glaringly obvious. the jokes came less frequently, and the music he created sounded hollow, even to him. he missed you, missed the comfort of your presence and the way you always seemed to understand him when no one else could.

his group members had tried to give him the time and space he needed, since your relationship was long-term and impactful. you had been by han’s side since before stray kids, and the loss of your presence in his life was something all 7 of them combined couldn’t match up to.

the moment han decided he couldn’t stay away any longer, he abandoned the practice session and rushed straight to your place without even thinking it through. the journey was a blur and his body ran on instinct until he was standing outside your door.

his hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie as he rehearsed what he wanted to say for a few minutes before knocking once he was semi-confident of what to say and had plastered a small nervous smile on his lips.

when you opened the door, his smile faltered at the sight of you. “hey,” he said softly, his voice tinged with hesitance, looking over the sight of you in your pajamas.

“han? what are you doing here?” you paused in shock, not expecting his presence out of all things.

“i… i couldn’t stay away,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. he forgot what he planned to say. “i know i don’t have any right to be here after what happened and what i said, but i needed to talk to you.”

you looked over his sweaty and disheveled appearance as if he ran here, and crossed your arms, looking away. “we already talked, han. what’s left to say?”

“a lot,” he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly — from being out of breath, or from the prospect of losing you, he wasn’t sure. “i know i messed up real bad. i know i didn’t always handle things the way i should’ve, but i can’t —” he paused, swallowing hard. “i can’t lose you.”

you sighed, trying to keep your composure. you knew his words were true. “you realize that now? after all that was said and done?”

“i know what i said,” he said, stepping closer. “but i need you to know how sorry i am. i didn’t realize how much i was taking you for granted until you were gone. and now… now i feel like i’m missing a part of myself. you, and what we had, none of that can ever be replaced. you were the one, and i was so stupid for letting you go like that.”

“han…”

“i’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” he continued, his voice cracking. “but i just want one chance to show you that i can be better. please, just give me that chance. i won’t screw up again.”

his vulnerability was raw and unguarded, and the tears welling up in his eyes mirrored the ache in your chest. his presence only made you realize what you were missing. han wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he’d put his pride aside if it meant that he could win you back.

seung ♢ min

seungmin prided himself on his ability to stay composed, but the breakup had shaken him to his core. he replayed your last conversation over and over, analyzing every word, every tone, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. the silence in his life without you was deafening, and no amount of logic could convince his heart to move on.

he knew he had no right to approach you or ask for forgiveness after his neglect, but damn was it hard to get past your absence in his daily life. meals, practice and sleeping alone felt void �� like a puzzle piece was missing, leaving the actions feeling inadequate.

it took him a month to realize he couldn’t go on without you, weeks to decide how he was going to approach you, and another handful of days to work up the courage and find himself standing outside your door. his heart was pounding in his chest and his hands felt sweaty.

when you opened your front door, you were startled to see seungmin there, his usual calm demeanor replaced with an uncharacteristic hesitance and unease. “seungmin? what are you doing here?”

“i…” he hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor as he suddenly felt a wave of unpreparedness. “i needed to talk to you.”

you were surprised but crossed your arms and kept your expression guarded, equally as hesitant. “we’ve already said everything that needed to be said. why now?”

“no,” he said firmly, meeting your gaze. a troubled look in his eyes. seungmin wasn’t sure if he felt like crying, or throwing up. “i didn’t say enough. i didn’t fight for you the way i should have, and i can’t let it end like this.”

“seungmin…” you frowned softly

“i know i made mistakes,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “i know i wasn’t always there for you the way i should’ve been. but i love you. and i can’t just let you walk away without trying to make things right.”

you sighed, looking away. “it’s not that simple. you hurt me.”

“i know,” he said, his voice softening. “and i hate myself for it. but i want to make it up to you. i’ll do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes. i just need you to give me a chance.”

when you didn’t respond immediately, he took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly. “i’m not asking you to forget everything. i’m just asking for the chance to prove that i can be better—that i can be the person you deserve.”

the quiet determination in his voice was unlike anything you’d heard from him before. it was clear that seungmin wasn’t just asking for forgiveness—he was willing to fight for you, no matter how long it took.

chang ♢ bin

changbin wasn’t used to feeling helpless, but after the breakup, he felt like his world had been turned upside down. he threw himself into his music, trying to channel his emotions into lyrics, but even that didn’t offer the relief he was hoping for. the studio felt empty without you. his group mates tried to cheer him up, but nothing could replace your touch, the sound of your laugh or the way you’d encourage him after a long day.

it didn’t take long before he realized he couldn’t let you go. your presence couldn’t be replaced by practice or writing, and every heart wrenching feeling being poured into his file of unreleased songs. it had reached a point where he had gotten tired of the separation and ended up impulsively making his way to your apartment one evening.

changbin’s heart was pounding as he worked up the courage to knock, freezing in surprise when you suddenly opened the door in that purple shirt of yours that you always wore to grocery shop. he stared at you quietly for a few moments, watching how your expression shifted from surprise to guardedness.

“changbin? what are you doing here?” you spoke softly, your gaze flickering around the hall to make sure no neighbor was out.

he hesitated, feeling extremely unprepared despite replaying the conversation in his mind the whole ride here, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “i just needed to see you,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“bin, we’ve already talked about this,” you began the nickname slipping too easily, but he shook his head.

“no, i need you to listen,” he said, his voice firm but he had to clear his throat to stay composed. “i know i messed up. really bad. i know i didn’t always handle things the way i should’ve, but i can’t lose you. i don’t know how to be without you.”

you sighed, fidgeting slightly as you looked over his disheveled hair and troubled expression. he wouldn’t meet your eyes either. “it’s not that simple, changbin. you can’t just show up after what happened and expect everything to be okay.”

“i know that,” he said, his dark eyes pleading as he ran his palm over his face. he wasn’t one to beg but if he left this without knowing you were his again, he didn’t know what he’d do. “but i’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix this. i’ll change. i’ll be better. just tell me what you need, and i’ll make it happen.”

you looked away, trying to maintain your resolve, but his words slowly chipped away at your defenses. he was the best you’d ever had, until he wasn’t. “why now, changbin? why couldn’t you do this before and how am i supposed to believe you’ve changed?”

“because i was scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, looking up at you as he reached out to grasp your hands in his. “i was scared of failing you, or of not being enough. but i realized i’m more scared of losing you forever. i wouldn’t be able to bear that.”

his voice trembled and he nearly found himself in tears, leaning his forehead against yours. “please, give me another chance. let me prove that i can be the person you deserve.”

notes: something about writing sad shit and horny shit really makes me tingle. anybody interested in an individual smut fic?

[idontmindifuforgetme]

used to daydream about fairytale reconciliations after pretty much every platonic or romantic fallout i ever had, but sometimes it’s healthier to just accept that someone will never own up bc they don’t think you’re worth the trouble. anyone who truly cares would move mountains just to make sure that they communicate w you if they truly want to rectify the situation. but sometimes it’s their ego getting in the way, sometimes they have a narrative of you in their head they’re determined not to break, and sometimes they just don’t care enough about you to even consider it. they don’t have respect for the friendship or relationship in its posthumous state bc it was nothing to them, or at the very least it doesn’t eclipse their pride or their desire to appear correct in a situation or just outright the need to be done w the situation rather than be a good person. still guilty of this but i’ve been getting better at just nipping the delusion in the bud and just being okay w accepting that someone truly does not care. until they prove they do that is the assumption i go w every time. and it is saving me a lot of heartache

[fushitoru]

rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[mysumeow]

︵ ☆ to let go

ᓚᘏᗢ WARNINGS: Afab body reader, reader takes a dominant role, sunday takes a sub one, ruined orgasm (giving), mentioned edging (giving), oral sex (giving). ᓚᘏᗢ SUMMARY: The Astral Express gained a new passenger. You get along with him soon enough. ᓚᘏᗢ WORD COUNT: 711 ᓚᘏᗢ A/N: i wrote this in celebration to getting his lc c':

“Hey—Just wanted to let you know that we’re going to make a quick stop in the Xianzhou Luofu,” March said from the other side of your locked door, loud and clear for you to hear. “Are you coming with us? Danheng’s going too.”

You squeezed Sunday’s thigh in some sort of reassurance, to let him know you would stay until you were done with him. His breaths came in quick successions and peered through his half-lidded eyes at you from his seated position on the edge of your bed.

“I don’t feel like going. I’m tired,” you grumbled while your thumb toyed with the reddened tip of Sunday’s cock. He took a sharp inhale. He struggled to hold back any noises that would give away his current location. “Go without me.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Come on, it’ll be quick! I think Sunday left with Himeko and Welt because I haven’t seen him around,” you didn’t need to see her face to know she was pouting. “Are you sure you want to stay here alone?”

“Maybe later I’ll catch up to you guys.”

You pressed your tongue flat against the base and licked slowly to the tip, the blush across his face extended to his neck as he begged you with his gaze to have mercy on him, his voice about to slip out any moment now. His lack of control stemmed from how pent-up you had driven him for the past minutes, when you pulled away just in time before he came, to deny him that sought release.

“March,” Danheng softly reprimanded her. “Let’s go already.”

“Fine.” she whined and, after a moment, heard their footsteps disappear into the distance.

You wrapped your lips around the side of his dick, the tip of your tongue gathered the ongoing drip of his arousal before they reached the base. You held a firm grip around the base and lined him up to take him in your mouth, his hot skin nice against your tongue.

Sunday gripped your sheets, a groan hitched in his throat. You grabbed his hands and led them to your hair to prompt him to tangle his fingers in it.

You pull away for an instance to speak.

“About to finish, Sundy?”

It was a question meant to rile him up. Of course he was about to cum, if the throbbing against your tongue was anything to go by. You had him wrapped around your finger. A feat which wasn’t impossible, if you considered Sunday used to depend on his ability to maintain control and order for every aspect of his life. Now? Even if it was a foreign notion, he was open to getting accustomed to the new change in routines. You gave him a taste of what it was like to surrender himself to pleasure, and he wasn’t backing away from it soon.

“I’ve told you to drop that nickname—” he clenched his teeth, his orgasm built to the top again as you slobbered on his cock. The sight of your shameless display made his heart race, one of his wings covered his eyes, not used to it yet.

His hands, which had kept a certain level of gentleness while he threaded his fingers in your hair, gripped you harder. That was your cue to move away from his aching cock, the surge of his cum shot into the air instead of your mouth.

It should’ve hurt—you pulled away during the highest point of his orgasm, the sensation watered down by your interruption. Yet, he found it exhilarating. Tears prickled his eyes, and his thighs trembled, his groan tethering the edge of a whine.

You grinned at his disheveled appearance. The clear contrast to the pristine presentation you were accustomed to. You gathered his cum with the tip of your finger and wrapped your mouth around it.

“It seems like you’re raring to go a second time,” you stood up from your kneeled position between his legs and gently pushed him against the bed. Sunday was still catching his breath, but his hands held your hips as you straddled him.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 3

John “Soap” MacTavish + breeding (ft some Ghost)

Been busy all day, so a short one today. I know absolutely nothing about the military and ranks, but readers at least good enough to go on missions with Soap and Ghost. Lil bit of Ghoap x reader, but Soap focused.

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Soap was trying his hardest to balance between the two front seats of the vehicle Ghost as jacked, hands grasping both the seats as Soap as leant forwards, his sweaty flushed face hanging out between the seats. He knew Ghost could see him, and that the skull faced driver let his eyes linger, sometimes too long to just pass off as a casual glance.

But honestly, what was casual about this in the first place. It stopped being casual the moment Soap dragged you into the back of the car, planting his muscular ass in your lap and start nipping and licking at your face like a starved hound. Apparently seeing you headbutt a guy hard enough that he started coughing up blood was what got the Scotsman going. The heated look in Ghosts eyes had you feeling like it wasn’t just Soap.

Soap had groaned and writhed in your lap like a landed fish, rocking his bulge against your stomach as he tried his best to entice you to take him. You hissed at Soap that you two weren’t alone, but the lazy handwave and “don’t hold back for my sake” from Ghost just sealed the deal.

If it had been up to Soap, you wouldn’t even have opened him up. Youd just have shoved him face first against one of the seats and just went to town, ignoring his groans and gnashing teeth. Adrenaline had a tendency to turn him a little more feral than normal, and maybe the many brushes with death had rewritten his brain chemistry somewhat. At least to the point where it got him hard, watching you kill a guy.

Much to Soaps whining you still stretched him open, at least enough to fit three or four fingers inside him. You normally would have drawn it out longer, to make sure he was truly loosened up enough and comfortable, but Soap wanted it to hurt a little. The hot eye contact you kept with Ghost in the rearview mirror didn’t truly help at all, causing you to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, only getting a slow hot laugh from the Brit.

Soap was keening like a shot dog as you finally turned him around, hand placed on his lower back and making him arch his back to present himself. All that military training had done one good thing, at least that’s what you thought as you couldn’t keep from smacking that shapely ass in front of you. The noise Soap let out was more animal than human, but he clearly didn’t mind if you really laid into him right then and there.

Instead, you saddled yourself up and pushed inside him, as good as you could with the cars jostling. You had to have a death grip on his narrow waist to keep the adrenalin junkie from just forcing his hips back to take all of you at once, his eager twitches and jolts making you growl at him to stay still. Ghost was no help, as he just seemingly indulged Soap in his behaviour, cooing at the Scotsman that he was just so needy. The only thing that kept you from smacking Ghost was the fact that he was driving, and the fact that you had your entire shaft buried inside Soap.

Soaps words were a slurred mixture of familiar and unfamiliar words, one of his boot covered feet flailing a little before he got it settled on one of the back seats, which opened him up further. You could tell from the stretching of his thigh muscle that this was gonna ache tomorrow, but you had a feeling he would like that.

The windows of the car were quickly growing foggy from the heat your bodies gave off, the dip of Soaps spine growing wet from his sweat as you used the back of his shirt to move him back and forth, after he became a bit more agreeable. You could see how he was panting in the mirror of the front window, his eyes fluttering and tongue hanging slightly out his mouth.

Maybe it was adrenalin too, or something else, but some part of him looking like that just made you want to hit him, so you did, giving him a hit much harder than the first had been before you began. He clenched up so tightly you wanted to bite him for it, but instead you just clenched your jaw until it ached.

You didn’t have to be an expert to know that hed spilled all over the floor of the vehicle, the military vehicle, mind you. That didn’t stop Soap from throwing his hips back again, his words still slurred as he panted and begged for you to fill him, to breed him like the pathetic bitch he was.

Hearing those words made you almost stop, because where did that come from. The groan from Ghost gave you a hint though, so instead of asking you just kept going, until you felt the simmering feeling inside. Gripping the back of his mohawk, you wrench his head back and make him arch further than before, making sure to keep him wound as a bow as you spilled inside him like he so clearly wanted.

Flopping back in your seat only gave you relief for so long, yet it also gave you the nice view of Soap clenching around nothing and shuddering. It was truly on you, thinking it would be over after only one round. There was still a couple of hours left of the drive, and Ghost seemed tempted to just pull over to join in on the fun. But sooner rather than later, you had Soap clambering back into your lap, pupils blown, and face flushed, looking ready to go again.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 19: I Know Who You Are

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter nineteen of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 14.5K (It's a behemoth and oh my stars I didn't mean to do this)

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Angst, Drinking, ANGST, Sexual References, Talks of Pregnancy/Abortion, Some steaminess (barely), Family Problems, Self-deprecating thoughts, Awkward Situation, Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, completely a little OOC. Soldier Boy is really all you need as a warning.

Note: This is told from the Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Not going to lie, this one is ANGSTY and it's dramatic... ENJOY!

Soldier Boy POV

Ben couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The words you'd said still hovered between the two of you like an anchor sinking from a ship and lodging itself in his heart to tug him under. At first he thought that he'd imagined you saying it, that he was still reeling from using his newfound powers, but the ringing in his ears was not a side effect of that.

It had been exactly 37 seconds since you said it, and in those 37 seconds Ben couldn't do anything but stare into your beautiful wide eyes and try to remember how to breathe. The look on your face was identical to the first time you told him you loved him, hands gently cupping his cheeks and making him feel like the boy who used to climb up the tree outside your window just to glimpse your smile.

But now what you said was different. What you said didn't bring warmth, it brought destruction, it broke through everything he was.

 As soon as you said it a wave of shock crashed over him, followed by another more powerful wave of guilt. It wasn't guilt for getting you pregnant or guilt because the two of you weren't careful. Ben was not upset about that. He would have loved to see you pregnant, see you glow as you wore those cute overalls and prepared for a child that he gave you. To see you smile at him every day and let him make love to you, show you how excited he was to share this with you. Show you how you were the only person he wanted a family with, the only person he ever wanted to be bound to. He had wanted to give that to you and that wasn't a lie. When you first spoke those words to him so long ago about wanting to have a family, wanting to have someone to come home to, someone who loved you, Ben had wanted to be the one to give you those things.

He would have done anything to make you happy, still would. But now he was upset with himself. Guilty that he wasn't there for you when you needed him the most, guilty that he allowed himself to stay away as long as he had, and guilty that he hadn't fought harder to get back to you.

He imagined those years without him raising a child on your own, the sleepless nights you must have had, the way you must have never had a moment of quiet-.

Ben felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into despair when he thought of the years you must have spent alone raising his child, loving his child even though he threw you away.

She loves me that much? How can I ever deserve her?

Ben still didn't breathe, noting the way Legend, Butcher, and Hughie have fallen silent where they stand behind the two of you. Even Legend had stopped smoking his blunt, something that Ben wished he could take a hit from.

I'm a dad and I-

Ben's memories of his own father came up like the rising tide, the shit his father said to him, the way his father pushed him away, the way his father was never there when he needed him to be and the way that his father always made him feel like he wasn't enough, just as your mother made you feel.

Even after all this time, I did become him, I abandoned her and then I abandoned my kid. I wasn't there when they needed me the most, I am a fuck up I- Ben swallows, the overwhelming thoughts dragging him further and further beneath the waves. How could she still want me? How can she say that I've never disappointed her when I did this?

You drop your hands from his cheeks and he misses the warmth they brought, but worse is the look in your eyes. You look scared. It was the same look you'd had on your face this morning when he woke up with you in his arms.

Ben hated that, because he knew why. He knew that you were scared to tell him this because you thought he would leave you again, that you still didn't completely believe that he was never going to leave you again, and it broke something deep inside of him that he tried to hide away for decades. He wished that he had never done those things to you, wished that he had earned back your trust already, wished that you would let him make love to you to show you how much you meant to him, but deep down he knew that he was willing to wait for you even if it took the rest of his life, he would make you trust him again.

At least she's touching me and looking me in the eye now.

But he knew that he still had a long way to go.

“Right.” Butcher clears his throat awkwardly. “Don’t forget to fill up the tank.” He tosses his keys towards you and you catch them in your hand while Ben continues to stand there.

Honestly he still wasn't sure what to say. He was stuck somewhere between guilt and shock and he wasn't sure how to make his body move. Pretty soon he would die from asphyxiation. He hadn’t taken a breath since you said it.

Butcher, Legend, and Hughie walk into the house behind them each wearing a bewildered expression. Ben had been to Legend's summer house many times in the past. He had memories of orgies and parties that went on for days, both of which you never went to, and Ben always ended up at your apartment trying to sleep it off while you sketched quietly beside him. He still couldn't understand that, how you were able to sit there with him and act like your heart wasn't breaking each time he did that.

The silence grows between you and Ben can't find the words to fill it, because he has no idea what to say, no idea how you can look at him when he did this to you, when he got you pregnant and then abandoned you like you didn't matter.

"Look I-" You stammer, looking down at the ground for a minute to take a breath before you raise your eyes to look at him. "I didn't want to tell you like this, but I can't leave her. We have the same last name and the first thing Homelander's going to do is make that connection. I mean, Legend and I made up the story about Indigo being my mom, but Rosemary she-"

Ben's entire body explodes again with emotion and shock as you utter the name Rosemary. He hadn't heard it in over eighty years, the last time was at his mother's funeral. The day that you crossed the gravesite, pulling away from your family, swaddled in another ridiculous dress that your mother picked out, and took his hand, refusing to let it go.  You were always there for him.

And then I wasn't fucking there for her.

“I just can’t leave her, not with him.” You whisper, glancing up into Ben's impassive face but he can't say anything.

How can I when she named our daughter after my mother?

“I know it’s a lot to take in. I tried to tell you this morning, but then Butcher walked in and I didn’t want to do this in front of him and- and-“ You were babbling now, a nervous habit that Ben hadn't seen you do in ages, but was now rearing its ugly head all over again. “And you don’t have to come with me-“

You were mistaking his silence for fear, mistaking his silence as him pulling away all over again. He could see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice as it trembled.

“Rosemary.” Ben whispers, your daughter's name, his daughter's name, interrupting you.  He barely breathes it, so low that he's not sure you heard him, saying the name with a reverence that he'd never used before. It was the first thing he'd said since you told him that he was a dad.

“Yes?" You look confused.

“You named her after my mom?” Ben’s eyes catch yours, deep green and open. He could feel his own heart flutter when he asked you that, heating in his chest so hot that he thinks it might melt out of it, through the bones and sinew. If that happened he would catch it and give it to you as if you already didn’t have it.

Ben can hear your heartbeat stutter when he asks you that. It was surprising, surprising that after everything that happened you still did that for him, did that to remember him.

He watches the end of your lips twitch in a smile.

“Yeah. You loved your mom. And did you think I was going to name her after my mom? Really?” You smile faintly at him with the joke.

Ben almost smiles at the thought. There wasn't any way that you wanted to remember your mother. Hell, all Ben wanted was to help you forget her, to undo the damage that she'd done to you all those years ago, because he saw how her influence still weighed on you, how everything that happened in the past still sat on your shoulders.

And he wanted to relieve that.

“I did try to tell you.” You repeat, but your smile drops.  “Honestly I also want to stop and get some clothes from my apartment  so I’m not covered in blood or rubble when I see her. It's going to be hard to explain all of this to her.”

Ben drags his eyes down your outfit again. Although this morning all he wanted was to rip it off you and study your curves with his hands, the outfit looked weathered. There was a prominent hole through the jacket and shirt, just under your left breast that Ben couldn't look away from. He knew what it meant. It was from you pushing him out of the way of Homelander. He could still feel the anger prickling beneath his skin when you again did the thing that he told you not to do. You were just so stubborn sometimes and never wanted to listen to him. Ben didn't give a single fuck that Homelander had punched him and practically choked him, the only thing he cared about was that Homelander had killed  you. There were many things that Ben fantasized about doing to Homelander when he had killed you, many he wished that he had been able to accomplish before Homelander tucked his tail and flew away like a little pussy.

He cannot be what passes for a hero these days.

Then again another side of him was incredibly turned on when you faced Homelander. He'd never admit that to you, but there was something sexy about the way you threw Homelander around like he was nothing. It had taken an extreme amount of effort for Ben not to kiss you after Homelander flew away, to take you back into the ruined house and show you just how much he liked your outfit and how much he enjoyed watching you kick Homelander's ass. Of course he'd let the anger win in the moments that followed the fight.

"Okay." Ben replies.

He sees you hesitate. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back.” You reply, with a tight smile, disappointment flashing in your eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow together. He was confused. “I’m coming with you.”

“Really?" He watches your eyes widen in surprise.

 Did she really think I'd let her go alone to do this?

"Yes? I told you that I didn't want you to go alone. Especially with that asshole flying around." Ben could feel himself frown.

"Okay."

Reader POV

The first ten minutes of the drive is deathly quiet. Ben doesn’t say anything and you fight to keep your mouth shut. The urge to fill the silence bristled beneath your skin, but you clamp your lips together.

Even when he said he wanted to come with me, he didn't acknowledge anything I said about Rosemary and-

“Are you sure she’s mine?” Ben finally asks interrupting your internal monologue.

You can’t help but laugh, gripping the steering wheel as you snort.  “Why is that the reaction all men have when a woman tells them that they’re pregnant? Is it because all men believe that women go around plotting ways to force them into a relationship? Is that a legitimate fear that you guys have? Or is it because all men think women go jumping from bed to bed having unprotected sex with whoever they can get their hands on?”

“No I just-“ Ben sighs and doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s been staring out through the windshield, watching the outside world fade into blurred colors, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” You hadn’t meant to laugh at him, but this was all just extremely awkward.

But it shouldn’t be. You can’t help but think to yourself. If Ben had ever asked me to have a kid with him before any of this I would have agreed to it no questions asked. But now I guess it's different.

“Yes she’s yours.” You sigh, but you can’t look at him.

“But how?”

“Do you really want me to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

“Y/n.” He sighs.

“Because of all the people in the world, you probably have enough experience to know exactly how babies are made and I hate to break it to you, it has nothing to do with a stork.”

 “Please don’t make a joke right now.”

“I can’t help it.” You mutter butterflies dancing the conga in your stomach. “You know how I get when I get nervous.” You could practically feel your neurons sending electrical impulses through your body, making your anxiety grow.

I really should have had that coffee this morning. Then again it might go right to my anxiety.

“Why are you nervous?” Ben asks you incredulous. He sounds surprised, like he can't understand you.

“Huh?”

“Why are you nervous? You should be fucking furious with me!"

"Ben what are you talking about?" You turn to look over at him. He looks wrecked. He's hunched in the seat, hands clenched tightly over his thighs, jaw tight.

Is he mad at me? Really? Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach to be devoured by the swarm of butterflies. I knew it. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle this-

"I did this to you and then I fucking left you. I left you when you needed me and was with those Russian fucks for forty-“ Ben’s voice breaks.

You suddenly understand. Ben wasn’t angry with you, he wasn’t pulling away, he was angry with himself. Guilty and angry because he wasn't there, because he believed that he disappointed you again.

“Ben wait a minute-“

“I should have been there every second.” He seethes, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists on top of his thighs. “I should have- FUCK.” Ben’s fist goes through the roof of the car, making the entire frame shudder.

Shit Butcher might kill us for that.

"Oh Ben-" You whisper.

“I-“ His chest begins to glow. “I said all those things, pushed you away, fucked Countess. I put you through all that shit and you still wanted to have my fucking kid? And you named her after my mom? I-"

Butcher will definitely kill us if Ben blows up his car.

You pull the car over to the side of the road, quickly unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for Ben. "Ben please it's okay." You breathe, hands finding the sides of his face. "It's okay."

"No it's not." His chest dulls, but he turns his head away from you ashamed. "You told me that you wanted a family, that you wanted someone to come home to, someone who loved you. I wanted to give you those things, but not like this. I-" Ben's voice cracks. "I'm so sorry. I-"

"Ben." You whisper, turning his face back to yours so he's looking at you. His green eyes are dim, eyebrows pushed together, mouth turned down in a frown. And you can't help but kiss him. It's the first kiss you'd had in years. Life always seemed to get in the way of that. Whether it was Rosemary or Lou, you hadn't had a lasting relationship with someone in decades, not since Ben. The most you’d done is gone out with another artist and had dinner. It had ended in an awkward kiss that felt completely wrong to you. It didn't feel anything like this.

Kissing Ben was even more wonderful than you remember. The way he softly sighs into your mouth as he deepens the kiss, the way his hands find your waist to pull you over the center console into his lap, the way your hands automatically tangle in his thick dark hair on the back of his head, and the way your entire body melted into him. Warm tingles trace down your spine as your lips move against his, every synapse in your body electrifying, as you try your hardest to tell him how much he means to you with the kiss.

"Don't you understand." You say against his lips, stroking your fingers through his hair. "You did. You gave me a family. You gave me someone to come home to, someone who loves me. And now that she’s all grown up it gets to be you. You didn’t ruin my life. I don’t regret a single moment, even with everything that happened. I don't regret having Rosemary. You gave me what I wanted. It might not have looked the way I thought it would, but it doesn't make it any less special.”

"But I wasn't there for you when you needed me. I-" Ben sighs leaning his forehead against yours and you kiss him again, his tongue tangling with yours so devastatingly languid it seems to take your next breath.

Why did I ever deny myself this?

"Ben, you're here now, and that's all that matters to me."

"But-"

"You don't need to apologize for this Ben. What happened to you was not your fault. You couldn't control being away as long as you were-"

"I could have tried harder to escape. I could have-" He swallows, eyes wide and filled with pain. "I would have tried harder if I knew that I left you with-"

"Ben." You breathe, extracting your fingers from his hair and cupping his cheeks. "Please. I don't blame you for not being there. It was out of your control. And if-" You clear your throat with a sigh. "If you really love me as much as you say, if you've really loved me all this time, then I know you would have been there every second."

"I do. I love you." He kisses you again, breathing you in, holding you so tight against his chest as if he believes that you'll fade away in his arms. "I would have been, even if you hated having me there."

"I might have at the beginning, but now I can't imagine losing you. I can't imagine you leaving me. I don't think that I'll be able to survive this time-"

"I won't leave. I promise."

"I'm starting to believe you." Your thumbs stroke against Ben's cheeks, smiling softly at him, trying to fight the urge to cry, because your emotions are getting the best of you all over again. "Now can we please go? Or are you going to blow up Butcher's car?"

"One more Sweetheart." Ben murmurs, dragging your face back to his. "I've waited forty years for this."

"Does she know about me?" Ben says from your bedroom, over the sound of the sink.

You were standing in your bathroom, washing ash and blood from your face and picking rubble out of your hair. Honestly, you looked… weathered. The revenge outfit had a large irreparable hole that went through the blouse, not to mention you'd lost another favorite jacket and you were starting to get pissed.

Two down in a week. Maybe the vintage shop across the street from Rosemary's will have a nice selection. You reconsider. Or maybe Legend will have some clothes that he doesn't want. You smile to yourself. He certainly looks the same, must have some nice vintage clothes from the "good old days". Maybe I should be more worried about the fact that I’m more upset about ruining another jacket rather than the fact that we killed two people today.

Of course, you also needed to consider getting Ben some more clothes as well. Butcher's minimal selection was dismal, then again Ben could probably wear a garbage bag and be drop dead gorgeous.

He's the worst.

"Yeah. I told her who you were." You pull off the jacket, stroking your finger around the hole in the back of it, noticing the way the singed leather melted away from the laser. "She also knows you're back. It was-um- it was Rosemary who was texting me this morning." You momentarily feel guilty again. Rosemary was not excited to see Ben, the text messages this morning were a testament to that. And you were afraid that Ben was going to get his hopes up about seeing her.

Personally you weren't sure how he was going to approach this. Your heart just about broke when he almost exploded in the car from guilt about getting you pregnant. That was shocking, but at the same time the look of anguish on his face made you feel guilty all over again for not trying to get him sooner, for not asking more questions about his death. You knew that he was more indestructible than you. Why didn't I question that?

You reach for the bottom of the blouse, pulling it from your skin, but you look at your reflection in the mirror. There were two prominent scars, each about the size of a nickel, just under the left side of your bra. The only thing left behind from your fight with Homelander.

Ben's hand against the small of your bare back, makes you jump. It was rough and familiar, brushing against your soft skin in a way that makes you want to push back into his touch, to soak up the warmth like a cat in the sun. Proving again that your body still responded to his touch the same way it had your entire life. "Let me see." He rumbles.

"What?"

Ben turns you towards him, eyes dark as they meet yours, but then they drop to the collection of scars on your torso. "This one?" He strokes the golf-ball sized, almost perfect circle on the right lower part of your abdomen.

"Countess."

Ben's jaw tightens, but then raises his hand to the scars Homelander left then to the bullet scar just over your heart. "I hate that so many of these have to do with me."

"Well you didn't do them so you should see that as a win." You joke trying to make Ben smile, but he doesn't. "Ben we talked about this."

"I know." He pauses stroking his finger on a thin line just over your left collarbone.  It was new to him. "What’s this one?"

"Rosemary." A ghost of a smile is on my lips. "Didn't want to eat her broccoli when she was a kid, telekinetically threw a knife at me by accident."

 "She's a supe?"

"Yeah she's like us a bit. Doesn't age, she's strong, and more invulnerable, but she doesn't have any other powers unless she touches you."

"She has to touch you?"

"Yeah skin to skin contact only and only 24 hours, that's how she got telekinesis. She touched me and, well, really didn’t want to eat that broccoli-" You shrug. You were used to her powers, happy that you didn't have to watch her age, but worried about Lou. You were always worried about Lou. “But she's not a hero, she didn't want to be one. She's a nurse, works downtown in the emergency room. Though I think she's thinking about being a doctor."

"A doctor? A female doctor?” Ben’s eyebrows furrow.

Right. He basically missed the feminist movement. Note to self, make Ben watch the Barbie movie.

"Yes a female doctor. Nowadays it happens more often than you’d think.” You laugh. “She wanted to go back to school, but then her husband died and she was taking care of Lou-"

"Lou?"

You take his hand stroking your thumb over the back. “It’s not just Rosemary-“

“Please do not tell me you had fucking twins.” Ben tenses.

“No.” You snort. “Lou is our granddaughter. It's short for Louisa, though Rosie never calls her that unless she's done something crazy.  She’s four, and most of the time she calls me aunty. She doesn’t know I’m her grandmother. Rosie and I, we thought it would be better if I introduced her as my cousin, not as my daughter."

“What happened to her husband?”

“Car accident. Just a few weeks after Lou was born.” Your smile drops remembering. “He was a good guy. Rosemary was head over heels for such a long time, and when he died she just crumbled completely shut down. He wasn't a supe and when she started to have a life with him I was worried about him dying. He wasn't going to live forever and he certainly wasn't indestructible. But after it happened I moved in with them for a while, helped her get through it, but it was hard."

"What about Lou?"

"What about her?"

"Is she a supe?" Ben's palm was still resting on the thin line over your collar bone and it was difficult to think with his bare skin pressed against yours.

"Not that we've noticed. Though I worry every day she will be."

"Why?"

"She's a third generation supe from our bloodline. If that gets out, who knows what'll happen. Same with Rosemary. She’s powerful and she’s only second generation from us. I’m hoping it skipped Lou.” You sigh leaning forward into his hand. "When I first found out that I was pregnant with Rosemary I was afraid that Vought would come take her away. And then when Lou was born I was so happy for Rosie, but everyday I'm scared that-" The words catch in your throat. Nothing really scared you anymore, but the thought of losing Rosie or Lou broke your heart, it was the same fear you had at the thought of losing Ben all over again.

He slides his hand up the column of your throat to cup your cheek.  “Nothing will happen to them.” Ben promises. “I won’t let it.” His gaze was locked on yours, eyes filled with steely determination. It made your heart warm to know that Ben already cares about them, that he understood how important they were to you. It also made you all the more guilty for telling Rosemary everything about Ben, afraid that it turned her against him.

But I told her the bad and the good. I told her how much he meant to me, how he touched my life, our childhoods-

Images of the moments with Ben over your lifetime, the good and the bad, the moments you loved him, the moments you hated him, the simple moments that you longed for more, and the moments where Ben gave you everything you wanted, when he was exactly what you needed, as if he understood every part of you, even the parts that you tired to hide from everyone else. The moments before you were supes when Ben and you were together and he made you forget about your mother, when he walked you home as you sang drunkenly off key, and the moments where he cheered you up when everything seemed hopeless. Ben was always there for you.

You tried to tell her that, but maybe you were too jaded to tell her, maybe you focused too much on the bad. And now that meant she might not listen to his side of the story.

He drags his finger over the scar just over your heart, the one he can't seem to forget, trailing goosebumps in it's wake, while his other hand wraps around your waist tugging you forward against his chest.

By now he was wearing the pair of jeans and dark shirt he came to your apartment in, looking just as devastatingly handsome as he always did. Probably a good thing that he didn't go to her apartment in his supe suit, you didn't want Rosemary to ask him why he was wearing it and then have to tell her that he torched the TNT Twins.

Because telling her that you personally kicked Homelander's ass and that he was now going to hunt down Rosemary and Lou seemed so much easier. Not.

Why is my life like this?

"I can't put a shirt on if you keep doing that." You whisper. Honestly you couldn't think straight either.

"Maybe that's my plan all along."

"Well see, if I never put a shirt on that means that I'll be walking around in public with everyone seeing me without one and-"

Ben's eyes narrow at the thought.

“Oh do you not like that?” You smirk.

He pins you back against the counter, the marble biting into your lower back, but you don’t have time to think about it because Ben’s lips are against yours, supple and urgent, driving every thought from your mind.

Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, fastening him tighter against you while his mouth drags over your skin down your throat to your collarbone.

“Ben we have to go-“ you whisper.

“Let me do this first.” He mutters against your skin.

“Do what?” You sigh, feeling him begin to suck a mark directly over your collarbone. “Ben-“ You try to say his name to make him stop. Showing up to Rosemary’s apartment with a hickey was the last thing you wanted. But instead of his name coming out in the harsh whisper you intended, it comes out as a moan.

Ben’s body tightens around you, gaze meeting yours. His eyes are dark pools filled with promises that make a shiver travel down your spine. “I’ve waited forty years to hear you say my name like that again.” His lips fall back to the same spot. “And I look forward to hearing it like that in the future.”

Part of you is screaming too soon! But there’s another part rattling the bars of her cage that screams more! At the top of its lungs.

Ben continues to kiss along your neck, beard scratching against the soft skin in a way that makes you sigh and move your hands up to tangle in his hair.

You can feel Ben’s smile. “That’s my girl.”

“Only yours.” You whisper before you can stop yourself causing Ben to raise his head from your collarbone.

“Damn right.”He growls.

And there goes my last shred of willpower. Fuck.

Rosemary’s apartment building sends a deep feeling of dread through your system. You were happy that you got to change, happy that Ben got to change, but now thanks to the man sitting in the front seat across from you there was a large purple mark just on your collarbone that was barely covered by the long sleeved sweater you had on.

Please let Rosemary not see it.

Ben wasn’t helping. Since your apartment he hadn’t let go of your hand. The entire ride to Rosemary’s he held it over the center console of Butcher’s car, slowly stroking the back of it with his thumb making warm tendrils creep up your arm and settle in your heart. It was just like the night after the restaurant when Ben drove you home and he showed a softer side of himself that you hadn’t seen in forty years.

In the past 48 hours Ben had been more attentive and loving than he ever had and it made you hopeful for the future, hopeful that this really was going to work.

But you  were still afraid that this was happening so fast. You weren’t expecting yourself to be so open to forgiving him, to be so ready to let him back in, to let him pick up the pieces of your heart but there he was holding duct tape with his piercing eyes and annoyingly gorgeous face.

“This is a nice apartment building.” Ben says looking up at the towering behemoth.

“She really likes it.” You shrug. “It’s close to a lot of schools and Rosie’s job. I kinda thought it was too uppity.”

“Neighborhood looks safe.” Ben gets out of the car.

“Yeah it-“ You begin to say trying to open your door but as soon as you do Ben is there opening it for you. “Oh thanks.”

“You look surprised.” He smiles.

“It’s just been a while since someone has opened a door for me.”

Ben’s smile twitches for a second. “Y/n?”

“Yes Ben.” You smooth the front of his shirt.

“How many others have there been?” He asks quietly.

You pause for a second hand still on his chest.   As ridiculous as it might seem to some people, the truth was there hadn’t been anyone else.

At first it was difficult to find time for anything eat alone that in particular. Chasing a toddler around that occasionally picked up the couch and threw it across the room with her mind was enough to keep anybody busy, not to mention that you didn’t want to leave Rosemary alone with anyone for a night. And when Rosemary finally went off the college and you started to sell your paintings you started to get more comfortable being on your own again. You’d gone out to dinner with a few men who asked you after your show shared a kiss, but nothing ever felt right.

Finally came the one night that you thought things could be different. Max was a colleague that had flirted with you every chance he got. He wasn’t bad looking, reminded you a bit of Ben and your friend Adam Winthrop growing up. Max was also an artist who came to each of your shows, talked you down from the ledge whenever you thought the work wasn’t good enough and always took you out to get a drink after a show to make you feel better. He was sweet, funny, but when you were with him something always felt different.

But one night you figured why not? So you gave in, went back with Max to his apartment, but you couldn’t go all the way. It felt wrong. You could tell how much he liked you, how much he wanted you, but you didn’t want him. And it felt wrong to use someone. To make them believe you had feelings for them only to push them away.

So you told Max the truth and he respected you, didn’t make anything weird between the two of you, acted like nothing happened.

But now standing here in front of Ben with him asking you that question apart of you wished you had found someone else.

“Why?” You ask slowly.

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know you just haven’t- I mean we haven’t talked about that and-“

“I have never asked you how many people you’ve slept with. And I really don't think this is the best time?"

“I know that you've never asked but the last time I saw you I mean-" Ben's hand gently touches your waist, stroking against the top of your favorite worn pair of jeans.

You knew exactly what he was thinking about, he was thinking about the night you shared together, when he was everything you wanted, and he made you feel special loved, when he was gentle and made love to you the way you always imagined.

And yes maybe sex was off the table for a while, but it would come up again, eventually.

"Ben, can we talk about this after we get Rosemary and Lou back to Legend's?" You whisper placing a hand on his chest before you can stop yourself. You weren't sure if you'd ever be able to stop touching him, if you'd ever be able to stand in his presence and not feel warm or happy. You never expected it to be like this again, and certainly not so soon.

Ben looks disappointed for a moment, his green eyes flashing in the brilliant sunlight as it begins to sink behind the buildings. The wind carried the smells of summer, ice cream, beer, sunscreen, and just a hint of rain, rustling through the trees on the edge of Central Park. There would be a storm soon and you hoped that you were on the road before it hit. You hated driving in the rain.

"Okay." He releases your waist and takes your hand once more. "But we are going to talk about it right?"

"I don't see why it's so important." You steer him towards the front double doors where the doorman, Rodger, stands in a green and gold suit.

"Welcome back miss." Rodger smiles and opens one of the heavy glass doors for Ben and you.

"Thank you Rodger. How's the wife?" You flash a winning smile at him, still holding on tight to Ben who walks silently next to you.

"She's doing a lot better. The treatments are going well. She seems more like herself each day." Rodger smiles wider, eyes misting a little bit.

"That's wonderful to hear. Tell her I say hello." You say continuing to the gilded elevator that sits on the other side of the large marble lobby of the apartment building.

The truth was you knew that his wife was doing better, just as you knew she was receiving her treatments. Last Christmas Rodger had broken down when he was letting you up to see Lou and Rosemary and told you that his wife was diagnosed with lung cancer and because they didn’t have the money for treatment, it would probably be her last Christmas. Rodger was one of the kindest people you knew, and you didn't want him to lose his wife, so Rosemary and you both decided to shift around the generous funds that her grandfather left you, to send an anonymous donation so Rodger's wife could get treatment.

"Of course miss."

The elevator door closes, leaving Ben and you alone again, playing a cover of "Don't Stop Believing" on the piano.

 Ben tugs you close and kisses you softly, so soft that it makes your eyes flutter while he smiles down at you. "I love you."

"What did you do?" You joke, nerves of Rosemary seeing Ben gone for a moment.

"You have such a big heart." He strokes his finger down your cheek, eyes soft as he gazes at you.

"He was going to lose his wife." You murmur. Ben was doing it again, seeing through you, understanding you even without knowing the whole story. It was like he always had a way of laying you bare, able to see your thoughts and secrets even though he wasn't a mind reader. "He loves her so much and for him to lose her like that-"

Ben hugs you closer to his chest. "I understand what that's like."

You see where his mind is, see that it's on a beach overseas, with blood soaked sand and your body lying in his arms as you draw your last breath. It hurt you to see the pain in his eyes, the loss even when you were standing right in front of him, even when you were in his arms, pressed against him in the way that always made you think that he was made for you just as the way you were made for him.

How could I ever forget how he made me feel? How wonderful it was to be with him when all you could see was the boy you grew up with?

"I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise." You kiss him gently on the tip of his nose. It was more to reassure yourself than anything else. Rosemary was not going to react well to seeing him.

Might as well rip the band aid off right now.

The hallway is quiet, carpet plush and thick beneath your shoes and Ben and you make your way to the door at the end of the hallway. The blue paint is supposed to be calming, but your anxiety spikes as you raise your free hand to knock against the front door.

Please let her be here and not be kidnapped by Homelander.

The door opens.

Rosemary is dressed for work. Her maroon scrubs are clean and neat, her dark hair pulled back in a bun, her make up soft. She looks calm, but you can see the coming storm, just as you felt the coming storm outside the building, feel the electricity against your skin before the thunderclouds rose on the horizon. As soon as her eyes meet yours they narrow.

She's pissed.

"What are you doing here? I told you that I didn't need you to watch Lou tonight. Her babysitter is coming." Rosemary glances at Ben once, frown deepening as she notices his hand holding yours. You knew she was still holding back what she wished to say, choosing rather to ignore his presence rather than tear him apart here.

"I know. I'm not here for that. We have to go." You say, not wanting to discuss the full gravity of the situation in the hallway, but Rosemary shifts to block the doorway.

"You're not coming in. Not with him." She spits the word 'him' like it's a curse and you feel Ben's body tense in surprise.

I should have prepared him for this.

"Hi I’m-" Ben begins to say, trying to smooth things over.

"I know who you are." Rosemarys eyes narrow and flick back to you. “I can’t believe you fucking forgave him.”

"I-"

"Before you say you didn't that fucking hickey on your neck says otherwise."

Your cheeks flush bright red in embarrassment, shifting the sweater to hide it again. “Rosie-“

“No no no. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Rosie-“ Ben tries to say.

"Don't you dare call me that." She snarls, face contorting in rage, burning so hot that you could practically feel the air around her raising in temperature. "You don't know me. We're not friends. And I don't care what she says, you're not my dad. You're just the asshole that fucked my mom, got her pregnant and then ripped her heart out." Rosemary spits. “Do you have any idea what you put my mother through? Do you have any idea?"

Ben's body is still tense beside you, pulled so taunt that you don't know how he hasn’t snapped "I know and I apolo-“

“You think one measly apology makes that okay? MAKES ANY OF THIS OKAY?”

“Can we please not do this in the hallway?” You sigh. The last thing you wanted was Mrs. Norbert, Rosemary's prehistoric nosy neighbor coming out into the hall with her yappy French poodle, the same one that always snapped at your ankles and at Lou when you ran into her in the lobby.

“He’s not coming in here.” Rosemary stands her ground in the doorway.

"I know that you’re angry, but I need you to put that aside right now because there are more pressing things we have to worry about.” 

"Like what?" Her eyes narrow at you. "Oh let me guess, you guys fucked again, you're pregnant and now you're going to-"

"Don't you dare speak to her that way." Ben roars trying to step in front of you,  but you put your hand up to stop him.

Rosemary might be your daughter, but to Ben she was someone who insulted you, family or no, he wasn't going to sit back and let her treat you that way.

"Ben." You say once to calm him down. The last thing you wanted was for him to go nuclear right now. "Rosemary please. I know that you're angry, but we're not here for some big reunion. This is more important than any of this. This is about keeping Lou safe."

At the mention of her daughter's name, you see Rosemary's resolve waver. Her eyes flick to Ben again, once more sizing him up. "Fine." She opens the door wider, so Ben and you can come inside the apartment.

The creative chaos of the living room soothes some of your nerves, but not all. This was going poorly. Well, worse than poorly. Rosemary could barely look at Ben let alone speak to him without looking like she'd smelled something rancid.

You knew it would be bad, but you didn't think that it would be like this.

Apart of your heart broke for Ben. You saw how he acted in the car when you told him he was a father, how upset he'd been at the thought of getting you pregnant and then abandoning you. And now Rosemary was basically making him feel like a deadbeat probably wasn't helped either.

All you hoped was that Ben wasn't focusing on what his father used to say to him about being a disappointment, hoped that he wasn't reliving the memories of everything his father shouted at him at night before Ben fled to the solace of your bedroom.

Because the truth was you weren't disappointed and certainly were not disappointed when you got pregnant. Heartbroken yes. Scared shitless, again yes. But not disappointed, you'd never say that about him or to him, not as long as you lived. You knew exactly what those words would do to him, exactly where they would transport him. And you refused to be the reason Ben was reminded of his father.

"Aunty y/n!" Lou crows as she weaves through the apartment, leaping off the teal colored couch and into your open arms. She squeezes you tightly, burying her face in your neck. To see her safe brings relief washing over you, the same feeling you felt when Rosemary opened the door, but tenfold now knowing that Homelander has not taken either or them.

And he won't ever.

"I missed you." She whispers.

"I missed you too honey." You smile down at your granddaughter. She leans back to glance at her mother who still stands at the front door, holding on to the handle like it's her last nerve. Ben is standing close to you, looking at the little girl in your arms, face impassive, but his eyes betray him, caught somewhere between shock, anger, and just a twinge of guilt.

Please don't be guilty Ben. You think to yourself, trying hard not to reach out and touch him.

"Mommy why were you yelling at aunty y/n?"  Lou looks at where Rosemary stands awkwardly by the door glaring at Ben.

"Because I didn’t tell her my friend Ben was coming." You say rubbing her back softly.

"Him?" She points at Ben.

"Yes. And don't point honey it's rude."

"Hi." Lou gives him a toothless smile and waves her chubby hand at him, her dark hair flopping away from her face as she does so.

Ben blinks at her for a moment, before his mouth begins to quirk in a half smile, shoulders still tense. But you could see that he was trying, and it meant something that he was despite Rosemary practically tearing him a new one in the hallway.

"He looks like mommy." Lou giggles cuddling into your neck to look at him.

It was the one thing that you hadn't prepared Ben for, how much he looked like Rosemary, how similar they were. You knew that somewhere deep down he was probably thinking the same thing.

Rosemary's eyes skate to Ben who stares back at her with the same intensity, but something passes in the air between them, something that you can't place.

"Yes. Yes he does sweetie. Now why don’t you go get your art kit for me, and we’ll go." You put her on the ground and Lou scampers off to her bedroom while the three of you stand there in awkward silence.

"Why do we have to go? I thought you didn’t expose yourself because you didn't go to Russia to get him." Rosemary asks. She still wouldn’t say his name. Then again you weren't expecting her to call him dad.

HA. Like that would ever happen.

Ben scoots closer to you reaching for your hand, but when Rosemary narrows her eyes at him, he pauses halfway. So you take his hand instead. "I did expose myself."

"How? Because of him?"

"Look I get that you're pissed, but I'm asking you to put it aside for one second so we can talk about this."

"Fine." Rosemary crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm listening." She still looks angry.

And you know what you're about to say is going to make her even angrier.

"We went to talk to the TNT Twins and things went south." You begin, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Why?"

"I'll explain that later. But all you need to know is that things went badly and Homelander showed up."

Rosemary's hands tighten on her biceps so tight that her knuckles turn white at the mention of Homelander. Like you Rosemary didn't have any experience with him, only that she also knew there was something off about him.

"What did you do?" She whispers.

"It's not what she did, it's more what that fucker did." Ben almost spits, his skin heating where it rests in your hand.

"Ben." You say squeezing his hand softly as a warning. He gains control. "There wasn't a choice. We got into a fight-"

Rosemary's eyes widen, inhaling sharply. And before she can stop herself, she touches your shoulder, eyes tracing your body as if looking for injuries. "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Yes Rosie I'm fine, but he knows who I am and that means-"

"He knows who we are." Her eyes flick in the direction Lou went to grab her bag. "Shit."

"You can say that again." Ben mutters.

"Give me five minutes." Rosemary looks from Ben to you for a moment. "But this doesn't change anything."

"I know. Just go. We'll wait here." You reply with a tight lipped smile.

You hoped that one day this would get easier, that Rosemary would be able to look at Ben or have a conversation with him without killing him. The three of you seemed to be practically immortal, that was a long time to hold a grudge. And you didn't want there to be a division in your family. You'd lived with one before and you didn't want to go back through that, the awkward holidays, passive aggressive letters, and tense conversations. You didn't want that for your new family.

Maybe if I show her how much Ben has changed she'll warm up to him.

"Are you okay?" You whisper.

Ben was looking around the living room with an unreadable expression, flicking through the photos on the back of the couch of Rosemary, You, and Lou to the hand drawn pictures on the refrigerator in the kitchen.

"Ben?"

"Yeah." He mutters. "I'm fine."

But you could tell he wasn't. He wasn't really focusing on anything, and even his tone of voice was strange, hollow, but before you could press him further Rosemary and Lou come back into the room.

"Here let me-" Ben steps forward to take one of the large duffle bags from Rosemary, attempting to help, but Rosemary yanks the bag out of his reach.

"No I don’t need your help. I don’t need anything from you."

"Rosemary-" You sigh.

"And she doesn’t either." Rosemary gestures to you with the bag. "Do you have any idea what you did to her? How much you hurt her? And now you think you can just waltz back in here and say 'oh I’ll fix it' like you didn’t fuck up her life?"

"Rosemary!" You shout eyes flicking to where Lou was standing with her TMNT  backpack on with wide eyes.

"No. You might not be able to say it to him. But I will. We don’t need you here. We've survived the past forty fucking years without you and we'll survive the next million!"

"Rosemary stop." You step forward this time to move between them, but Rosemary doesn't back down.

"Stop what?" She shouts. "Stop reminding you of what he did? I'm sorry, but I'm not going to just look into his eyes and forgive him like you did-"

"I DID NOT LOOK INTO HIS EYES AND FORGIVE HIM.” You snap, but then stop to take a breath. “We are working through it-"

"Uh-huh sure." Rosemary rolls her eyes. "Just stay away from Lou and from me." She moves around Ben with Lou in tow, storming through the front door of the apartment and leaving you and Ben in the living room.

Oh yeah… This is really working out for the best.

The ride to Legend's is dead silent, all three hours, broken up only once when you stop for gas, but even then Rosemary won't speak to you. She barely makes eye contact as she takes Lou to the bathroom, leaving Ben and you to stand at the car, watching the rain soak through the cracked pavement outside. But even Ben has been more quiet than usual, staring through the windshield of the car lost in thought, and you didn't ask him to fill the silence. You figured that with everything that happened over the past few hours, Ben deserved some silence.

When Lou and Rosemary got back to the car, Ben had silently taken the car keys from you and slid behind the wheel. He knew how much you hated driving in the rain.

Legend didn't require an introduction to your daughter, but it had been an awkward meeting for Butcher and Hughie who breezed through the front hallway on the way up the stairs to their bedrooms.

And finally when it was just Ben, Rosemary, Lou, and you standing at the foot of the stairs, you still had no idea what to say, or if there really was anything to say. You knew that Rosemary didn't want to talk out everything in front of Lou.

By now it was past midnight and you could see that Lou was already starting to sway on her feet. It was hours past her bedtime, but she was still in good spirits. Lou never seemed to stop smiling, she was happy all the time, excited to try new things, and it always reminded you of the way Rosemary used to be when she was a child and as an adult before she lost her husband.

"Rosemary-" You begin to say, throat tightening.

"I'm going to take Lou to bed. We can talk in the morning." She doesn't look at Ben or you, but you could tell that she was tired. She was still wearing her maroon scrubs, hadn’t changed out of them, too worried about Homelander, but her hair had pulled free of the bun and her makeup was a little more smudged under her eyes now. "Say goodnight Lou."

"Goodnight aunty y/n." Lou says tottering over to you, and you stoop down on the ground to hug her close to your chest the anxiety about Homelander prickling under your skin once more.

“Tomorrow can we paint some?” She gives you a wide toothless smile.

She'd lost one of her front teeth a few days ago, and was particularly proud of the hole it left behind. She'd been excited to meet the tooth fairy, even wrote a thank you note and drew a picture of her holding her tooth out for the fairy.

“Whatever you want sweetie.” You smile as she pulls away, brushing her dark hair from her wide eyes.

But instead of going back to where Rosie is holding out her hand for Lou, she turns and hugs Ben’s leg where he stands next to you. Her head barely reaches the top of his knee, but it doesn't dissuade her from hugging him with all her might.

Ben stiffens, unsure what to do.

“Goodnight Ben.” Lou looks up at him with the same smile she had for you.

You feel your own lips begin to pull up at the edges to see how much Lou wanted Ben to like her, how much she was trying to make him feel at home. It warmed you heart.

Ben looks stunned for a minute, eyes flicking to yours wide, and Rosie looks angry, but slowly, Ben begins to smile. “Goodnight honey.” He rumbles giving her a pat on the head, because he's still not sure exactly how to handle this.

Lou smiles pleased with herself then lets Rosemary take her away waving once from over Rosemary's shoulder at Ben as Rosemary climbs the stairs in the direction of the room that Legend saved for them.

Ben stands there watching them go for a minute, lost in thought. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Lou? She loves you. Of course there’s a lot to love.” You smile, trying to take his hand, but Ben pulls away. His rejection pricks at your heart, you couldn't tell why he was doing that, why he was pulling away from you again.

Is he angry? At me? At Rosemary? Or Is this him being angry at himself all over again?

You thought that he was doing better up until you went to Rosemary’s apartment, thought that he wasn’t as upset about leaving you in the past. But now you weren’t sure.

“There’s a lot to hate.” He mutters, his eyes won't quite meet yours and the fear of him leaving begins to creep back, shuddering through your bones like the chill of a winter wind.

“As there is with anybody-“ You try to recover from his rejection, searching his face to understand why he was acting so different.

“I want Rosie to like me. I’m her father-“ He turns to stare at you, green eyes dark, filled with an clouding of emotions that strike you straight in the heart. It wasn't happiness, it wasn't love, it was something different, something that made a lump lodge itself in the back of your throat.

“I know Ben. She just needs some time-" You begin to say, reaching for him, but Ben steps away from you again, refusing to let you comfort him.

"Why did you tell her all those things about me? Did you really hate me that much?” Ben shouts, voice reverberating up the staircase, so loud that you're sure other people can hear you.

"What are you talking about-"

"All the shit that happened between us. Everything that happened that night. Everything I did-“

"She asked me for the truth and I didn't want to lie to her-" You try to explain.

You hadn't. You wanted her to know the truth about her father, just as she knew that truth about you. You thought that she deserved that. And it wasn't like you told Rosemary when she was three. You told her everything that happened when she was twenty three and she had just started seriously dating her future husband, when she was scared because she’d never felt that way about anyone before. And it reminded you of how you felt about the boy Ben used to be.

"I wish you had. Damnit y/n I'm her father, she should like me!" He seethes, fists clenched. Ben towers over you green eyes blazing in the soft light coming from the lights that line the hallway.

And somewhere deep down you start to feel angry. It comes surging up like the roar of a crowd pricking at the back of your spine until you can’t take it anymore.

"It's been 4 fucking hours since you met her, GIVE HER TIME."

"I can't believe you did this." Ben spits glaring at you.

"Are you serious right now?" Your mouth opens in shock.

Was this just some kind of joke? Is he really mad at me for this? Does he really think that I would do something like this purposely?!

"Did you really hate me that much? Did you really feel the need to turn her against me? Make her not love me?"

"I didn't turn her against you Ben. And I didn’t make her not love you." You snap back. "Yes I was angry with you, but that didn't mean that I didn't want you with me every single second in Rosemary's life.  I didn’t want to do that alone. I shouldn’t have had to but I don't blame you for that. I’ve told you that-“

“Yeah you’re really showing that. You turned her against me. Made me some villain. Made me some monster who fucked you and then left-“

“I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT YOU DID DIPSHIT!” You poke your finger into his chest. “Just because I’ve chosen to begin to forgive you does not mean I forgot what you did and what you said to me that night. But I’ll say this.”

He tries to open his mouth to retort, but you speak first.

“Every time something happened with Rosemary I turned to tell you and you weren’t there.

When I went into labor I wished you were there to hold my hand and tell me that everything was going to be okay, I wished that you were there smiling down at her when you held her for the first time. When she took her first steps and fell on her butt I wished you were there to swing her around and make her laugh. When I showed her how to paint for the first time I wished that you were there to see how she was covered in paint from head to toe. And I only told her those things about you because she asked and I don’t lie to my family. I’ve never lied to Rosemary and I’ve never lied to you. Ever.”

Ben stands there stuck straight each muscle clenched, wether it be in frustration or anger you don’t care. Your own anger was coming back, unlocking from the place you shoved it down when you thought you needed to be the perfect person you wanted others to see you as and not the broken girl who lived with a hole in her heart for so long.

“And yeah maybe you can be in here and pout and fucking blame me for her hating you. And maybe I shouldn’t have told her those things but I did.  I told her the good and the bad about you just as she knows the good and the bad about me. She can make her own decisions because she’s a damn adult. And don’t you dare say that I didn’t want you there every second.  Because I did. Even though you fucking ripped my heart out and stomped all over it I still wished that you could have been there for her, could have filled her life with love as much as I did.”

"But you still did it." Ben growls.

And you realize that maybe this is it, maybe that this is the one thing that pushes him away from you.

"Fine. Hate me if you want. I'm going to get a drink. Don’t  follow me." You snap before turning and stomping towards the kitchen, away from him, all the while hoping that he’ll follow after you.

But he doesn’t.

Despite wanting to grab one of the bottles of whiskey in Legend's kitchen, you restrain yourself and instead turn to the coffeemaker. It was fancier than yours, but you supposed that coffee would taste the same. You busy yourself with the steps of making the coffee to stop going over what you and Ben just yelled at one another, but your hands were still shaking.

Did he really think I didn't want him there? I mean yeah I was pissed from everything that happened, but I didn't want Rosemary to grow up without a father. I would have told him eventually that I was pregnant, I didn't want to do that alone.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and lean back against the counter as you take a sip remembering the day you took the pregnancy test. It was more obvious than anything else, not the lack of your period but the morning sickness. You never got sick. You remembered being afraid at first, the thought of raising a child alone scared you. You weren't sure you even wanted to be a mother, because of everything yours put you through. But then you thought of Ben. Yes you hated him, but the baby might be the last part of him that existed anywhere. If you decided not to have it, Ben would really be gone and you would be alone all over again. So you decided to have Rosemary and you never regretted that decision. Especially now that she had Lou.

You roll the cup in your hands, feeling the warmth of the mug transfer into your palms.

Maybe I shouldn't have told her everything I did. But she knows everything about me. She knows that I killed Countess. She knows the good and bad about me. It felt unfair to only tell her the good about Ben, she deserves to know the truth. She's just upset. Honestly, she's also a upset with me as well for forgiving him or partially forgiving him.

You move to the kitchen table, stretching out in the worn wooden chair and place your mug down on the circular dark wood table. You wanted Rosemary to warm up to him, but at the same time you didn't want to get in between them. She needed to do this for herself and you didn't want to force them together.

You hear someone enter the kitchen. Probably Ben. But when you look up you realize that it's Butcher.

He stands just on the edge as if he's debating whether or not he wants to come in.

"Didn't realize you were still up." He raises an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise love?"

"You realize that the V is completely out of your system right now right? And I could slowly peel your skin from your body with my mind if I wanted to?" You mirror his eyebrow raise while taking a sip of coffee.

"Eh. Worse ways to go." Butcher shrugs. "Anything stronger in here than coffee?"

"Top cabinet above the refrigerator. The good stuff is in the back. Legend usually tries to hide it from himself."

“Why?”

“Because he thinks it’s a waste to drink the good stuff when he’s really drunk and can’t appreciate it.”

“Seems fair.” Butcher finds the bottle of whiskey easily, moving to the cabinets to find a glass. “You want a cuppa?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to-“ You pause for a moment thinking of how wonderful it would be if you could just forget for a few minutes. “But sure.”

“Coffee not working?”

“It never has.” You take the cup gratefully from his outstretched hand as Butcher folds himself into the chair next to you. It was weird to say the least. The only thing he had done was act hostile to you and now him being nice was enough to give you whiplash.

The rest of the house was completely silent, except the soft turn of pages. You figured that meant Rosie was reading one of her books to distract herself from everything that happened earlier.

I should be in there talking to her. Trying to explain all this.

But you were tired and still reeling from your fight with Ben and didn’t feel like getting into it with Rosemary for the second time today.

“So why’d you do it?” Butcher takes a big swig from the glass in front of him.

“What?”

“You lied about your powers to Vought for years. Why?”

You roll the glass between your fingers, watching the amber colored liquid slosh against the sides. “I’ll answer that if you answer my question.”

Butcher pauses. “Fine.”

“What did Homelander do to your wife?”

Butcher freezes, leaning back in his chair, one hand on his thigh curling into a fist.

"Legend told me that you had this thing for him because of it-" You continue cocking your head to the side examining Butcher's sudden tense stance.

“Not important.”

“Then I guess you won’t find out more about me.” You shrug.

After the past few days you didn't understand how you were here drinking with Butcher of all people. You still didn't completely trust him and you didn't like that he wanted to use Ben like he was his own personal nuclear bomb.

You both sit in the silence for a few minutes waiting for the other to break.

“He raped her.”

The words are heavy, expelled in a breath after Butcher drains his glass. For a minute you see his tough exterior crack, see the vulnerability in his stature, but then it's gone again. You feel your heart thud once in your chest, jaw locking. It only proved again how messed up Homelander was.

“Is she-"

"She's dead." He pours himself another full glass from the bottle of whiskey.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, starting to understand why he hated Homelander so much. Honestly if Homelander did something like that to my family I would rip him limb from limb.

For the first time since you met Butcher, you feel sorry for him, you understand where the sadness in his gaze comes from and where the tough exterior seems to mask the vulnerability underneath.

But at the same time, you refused to underestimate him.

Butcher nods once then glances over at you expectantly as if re-asking his question with only a look.

“It’s never been about the power for me. Or about proving how powerful I was to other people. I got the injection because Ben asked me to. It wasn't because I wanted to be superhuman or god-like or special. Plus I figured as soon as Vought or the government found out what I could really do then I’d never see the light of day again.”

"But how did you keep it a secret from Vought? They have so many fucking connections." He presses.

"Honestly Ben and I didn't figure it out until the 60s."

"Why is that?"

"The first time I died it wasn't a supe that killed me so there wasn't a change. But later when more supes started coming out of the woodwork, that's when we realized it. And I didn't care."

"Somehow you had to care." Butcher leans forward in his chair, looking at you like you're crazy.

"I didn't have a reason to. Ben liked the spotlight and I didn't."

“Is that why you stopped being Indigo?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question cowboy.” You tap your glass with a smile. “Who’s Ryan?” You had heard Hughie and Butcher whisper the name a few times, figured that it was another supe they were planning to merc.

He hesitates. “Homelander’s kid.”

“He has a kid?” Your mouth drops open in shock.

How does Butcher know that? Is it because he's so obsessed with Homelander that he's going to ask Ben to go after Homelander's son? No. No way. Like hell I'm gonna let this guy kill a kid.

You try to think of a reason why Vought would keep Homelander's son out of the media, a reason why they wouldn't show that the golden boy had a perfect son.

“But how I mean-“ You stop tracing Butcher's face, watching the way his eyes harden, and how his jaw locks together and you realize why Butcher knows about Homelander's kid. “Your wife.”

Butcher doesn’t answer, doesn't confirm what you've said, instead he pours more from the bottle into his glass.

Wow that’s fucked up.

“I’d say I'm sorry again, but I don’t think it’s going to help and honestly I thought my life was way more fucked up than yours. Guess not.” You take a sip from the glass in front of you. It burns pleasantly as it travels down you throat reminding you how much you missed it. “It got old quick.”

“What did?” Butcher looks up from the wooden table.

“Being a hero dealing with all that Vought shit. Plastering a smile on my face, flaunting in front of the cameras, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Ben liked it. He was always in the spotlight, the golden boy and I was too, but we’d been doing it for years and I always- I don’t know- wanted a family.”

Your mind suddenly goes back to the night you told Ben that, the night that you told him what you wanted and how today Ben professed that he wanted to be the one to give you those things, always had wanted to give you those things.

The fight you just had resurfaces in your mind, thinking of how angry he was at you for telling Rosemary the truth about him.

I made my choice. She made hers. One day I think she'll warm up to him, but until then he's just going to have to get through this.

Just because you believed that did not make it any easier. Your heart was tearing in two. You wanted Rosemary to love him the way you did, but at the same time you were scared all over again that this would all be too much for Ben, too dramatic. He didn't like drama, never seemed to.

“Really?” Butcher doesn’t look convinced by your confession.

“Yeah. Plus I was pregnant with Soldier Boy's kid. Vought was obsessed with Ben and I know that if they knew about Rosemary they wouldn't hesitate to take her away. It would have been worse if they knew what my power was. I doubt they would have let either of us vanish into thin air. But even before that I was seriously thinking about getting out-“

“And Soldier Boy fucking Countess was the final nail in the coffin eh?” Butcher's smirk makes your stomach flip flop.

You were still trying to forget that. Really trying to forget that.

“Yeah.” You grumble into the glass momentarily remembering the night at the premiere, but this time seeing them together doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. And instead it’s replaced by Ben the past few days, the one that continued to reassure you of his love, the one who continued to hold you close to him, the one that kissed you whenever he could, the one who patiently waited for you, and the one who reminded you of the boy you lost all those years ago.

Butcher watches you for a moment. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

You look at him surprised. It was the first time that Butcher seemed to actually, well, give a shit.

“Thanks. It was.” You wait a second. “So how did you meet Hughie?”

“Why is that important?”

“Because he’s nothing like you. He’s a good kid.”

“You sayin I ain’t a good person love?”

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Butcher has the audacity to smile. “You know what I think? I think you pretend to be a good person but you’re really just a bitch who probably didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.”

You lean back in your chair feigning shock. “Is it that obvious?”

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don’t see how you got mixed up with Soldier Boy in the first place.”

“I did tell you.”

“What?”

“I didn’t lie about some of the things I said to you the first time we met. Ben and I grew up together. We were friends before all of this.”

“And you what? Followed him?”

“Something like that.”

Butcher sits there for a second tapping his finger on the crystal glass in his hand. Everything in Legend's home was vintage or old, the glasses included. You could remember drinking out of these same glasses years ago, on the porch behind Legend's house the day you realized you were pregnant and you told him you were leaving.

Legend didn't know, but you think deep down he did. Anyone who knew Ben couldn't dismiss how much Rosemary looked like him. Not to mention Legend knew what happened that night between the two of you.

Butcher opens his mouth, but as he does, Ben appears in the kitchen doorway. He still looks a little angry, frown prominent on his face, but his green eyes look from the glass to Butcher to you.

"That's my cue." Butcher grunts. "See you in the morning poppet." He vanishes down the hallway behind Ben leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen. It seems smaller with him standing there in the door, blocking most of it with his broad shoulders and wide stance.

"Are you going to come to bed?" He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway.

"Are you going to start yelling at me again?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I wasn’t fucking yelling." Ben grumbles. "And even if I was, you weren't exactly whispering."

"Sounded like yelling to me." You frown at him, before looking down at your glass again.

So much for an apology. Then again I probably owe him one too.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Please come to bed.” His voice is composed, but you can still hear the tinge of his anger  seep through.

"Surprised you said please. Finally using those manners I've heard so much about." You snark before you can stop yourself.

That is not helping anything.

"Come to bed." His teeth are gritted together.

“Why?"

"Because I said so."

"You are not my dad Ben. You can't just order me around."

"Just fucking come to bed!" He snaps straightening from the door, eyes blazing.

"Why is it so important I come to bed Ben? You need me to read you a bedtime story or something? Or is it because you want to have sex? I hate to break it to you, but I don’t really feel like having sex with you right now. And I don't think I will anytime soon if we keep fucking fighting about stupid-“

“Because I can’t sleep without you there damnit! I never have been able to even when we were fucking kids!"

You pause shocked. Ben had never admitted that before. You were still trying to get used to when he admitted that he loved you how open and vulnerable he’d been, but this-

He’s frowning at you waiting for you to say something, but when you don’t. He turns and stalks back towards the stairs to descend into the basement where the bedroom the two of you were sharing was.

Guilt breaks something in your chest, because now sitting out here felt like a punishment for him and you didn't think that was right.

Damn it.

You wash out the mug in the sink  followed by the glass, but you look at the half-full bottle on the table.

Maybe I should bring it with me?

It swings from your hand as you walk down the dimly lit hallway descending into the fully furnished basement. You weren't thrilled with the room, had insisted that Legend change the sheets and spray down the room before you could sleep in there. You knew him, and knew exactly what had happened Legend's house since he had it custom built years ago.

Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a blunt that he probably got from Butcher, who seemed to have an endless supply for Ben, much to your annoyance.

"I'm such a fucking pussy. I shouldn't have said that." He mutters more to himself than to you. His gaze is lowered on the shag carpet.

It was the first time that you'd heard him say something like that since he came back to you, something that sounded more like Soldier Boy than the boy you grew up with, sounded more like Ben's father.

"Ben." You sigh, putting the bottle on the bedside table, before you tilt his head back to look at you, hand cupping his chin. "You're not a pussy. I can't sleep without you either and there’s nothing wrong with that.  I don't want you to feel like you can't say stuff like that to me. I love you and I won't judge you for that or think less of you. I will judge you for saying stupid shit like you did earlier."

“I’m sorry.” He sighs out a breath of smoke. “I just hate that she doesn’t like me. I’m her father she should like me-“ He repeats the same idea from earlier.

“She just needs to warm up to you."

“Maybe.” Ben mutters. "Or maybe she won't."

He looks upset. But not his usually angry upset, more disappointed and you decide that’s worse. Ben was so strong and didn’t allow himself to give in to his emotions the same way everyone else did. You hated that about him, but you were the only person who knew why. Ben's father had made him believe that showing emotion made you weak, you were there a few times that he yelled at Ben, heard the horrible things that he shouted at his only son, and it broke your heart. If it was your lot in life to bring him peace, to show him love, and to teach him that it was okay to be vulnerable, you happily would bear that cross.

You gently push back on his shoulder so he’ll move his forearms where they rest on his thighs and so you can sit on his lap. Ben’s arm comes around your waist to hold you to him, while the other continues to rest between you when he takes another drag from the blunt. “Ben, I promise she will.” Your knees rest on either side of his hips as you balance on him, ignoring the urge to wrinkle your nose at the smell.

“Your family never seems to like me.”

“She’s your family too and Lou loves you.” You brush his hair back from his face and he leans forward into your touch. "She's an excellent judge of character. Pretty soon she's gonna be drawing you in the family portraits and once that happens you're in, there's nothing stopping you."

Ben's mouth twitches but he doesn’t smile. "She's cute."

“She is. And if she likes you, you’re doing something right.” You smile at him. “And my family liked you it was just my mom who thought you were the devil. My brother thought that you were okay and my dad liked you plenty. Remember he never ratted you out when you slept in my room?”

“He was a good man. We would talk sometimes.” Ben blows out a lungful of smoke and this time your nose wrinkles at the offensive smell, before you realize what he’s just admitted.

Ben notices your discomfort and flicks the blunt into the ashtray shaped like a naked woman on the bedside table.

“About what?” Your father had never mentioned any conversation with Ben or at least you didn't remember him saying anything about Ben, beside your father's usual questions as to what Ben and you were going to do that day.

“You.” Ben whispers, not meeting your eye.

“When?”

“Sometimes I’d come try to see you when you were out with Howard." Ben sighs his name. "Ended up talking with your dad.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods hands gently stroking along your waist.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you came by?”

“Didn’t think it was important Sweetheart.” Ben pauses eyes flicking up sheepishly to look at you. "I didn't want you to think that I was hanging around waiting for you to get back. I was but-" You can tell that it pains him to say it, like he didn't want to admit he cared, but the thought that he came by to check on you made you happy.

“What did you say about me?”

Ben presses his lips together.

“Ben?”

“He wanted to know how your artwork was coming along, what we had done in the past week. Stuff like that. One time he said he didn’t like Howard either.”

“What?" Your hands tighten on Ben's shoulders in shock.

“He said that he hated the way you looked whenever Howard came around and then he said if he was gonna give his permission for anyone to marry you it was going to be me.” Ben shrugs it off as if he hasn’t said the most shocking thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

Your father would ask you about Ben occasionally and only when your mother left the room. He always seemed pleased when Ben would come pick you up, one time he gave Ben some money so he could buy tickets when you both went to a carnival, but you had no idea that they had talked about Ben marrying you.

“Hold on. Did you-" You pause for a second. "Did you ask my father if you could marry me?”

“No.” Ben answers quickly.

“Well then did he say why he didn't like Howard?"

“He said he liked how happy I made you. Said that you would always be singing in your room after you saw me.” Ben smiles one of his hands curving around your hip to hold you steady on his lap. “I told him I was sorry he had to hear that. You have many talents y/n, but singing is not one of them.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. There’s about a million tapes of you trying to sing, not to mention you trying to dance. I wanted to jump out the window when you dragged me to that Solid Gold Music Video shoot.“ You roll your eyes at him.

Ben presses a hand to his chest as if offended. “You don’t like the way I dance? Because I happen to remember a few times that we’ve danced together and you certainly seemed to be having a good time.”

“I’m a good actress.”

“Sure.” Ben snorts. “Then again I think I’m good a few other things too. Things that I wouldn’t mind showing you sometime.” His arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you into his chest, lips catching along the shadow of your jaw.

“You’re awfully sure of yourself I’ll say that.”  You laugh.

"Mhmm." The rumble of his answer seems to vibrate down your spine spreading warmth in its wake.

"Ben." You warn, as his hands begin to play with the bottom of your shirt.

"I know." He whispers raising his eyes again to look at your face with a soft smile, but you can still see a flicker of disappointment behind them.

Deep down you knew that you were getting closer to forgiving him, but it had only been two days, and everything between the two of you was still a little rocky. You wanted things to calm down again before you took that big step with Ben again. You didn't want to rush it, and you could see that Ben didn't want to either.

"How about tonight, we do something a little different." You trace your index finger over his lips, loving the soft curve beneath the pad of your fingertip.

"What do you mean?" He looks confused.

"You'll see." You murmur against his lips as you drop your mouth down to his, losing yourself in him all over again.

A/N: I know it's been a while guys and I know it's crazy to end it on another cliffhanger but... I'm sorry, not sorry? I hope y'all enjoyed this one. I'm sorry it took me a while to get it out, the writer's block is turning into a soul sucking abyss, but honestly, what's new? 😂 Hope that y'all enjoyed this one and I'm excited to hear what y'all think!

As always thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for the series let me know:)

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[lady-phasma]

Armand N$FW Alphabet

I’m trying not to make these what I want to do to/with him but they are headcanon. Note: I headcanon him as omnisexual so the below works with all genders.

Warnings: I don't really think I need to put this given the title but MDNI. Mentions of sex, implied trauma, just graphic in general.

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Armand is kind and soft afterward. No matter the scenario he will check on his partner’s emotional state and offer them comfort if needed. As for himself, he won’t ask for it but sometimes he needs it (especially after anything D/s related). Although he’s usually pretty chill and relaxed afterward, at times he can be energetic and chatty. The more intense, the more chill he will be.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

This is heartbreaking, but I don’t think Armand would have a favorite of his own. He’s not vain in that way and is really insecure. He does like to show off his tiddies though. As for his partner: eyes. I think he would be enamored with the eyes of all his partners.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A lot. I’ll throw in some weird TVC headcanon I’ve had for over 20 years: vampire cum is pale pink. It’s a blood thing, like their tears. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this stuff. Armand cums a lot. I mean a lot. (More detail under S below.) He’s indifferent to it with his partners as long as they climax, he doesn’t have a cum kink but it’s turned off by it either.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

All of them! But seriously, maybe that he enjoys being a switch. I think Armand is much more Dominant with women, but not always. He’s very into whatever his partner is into and adjusts easily. It’s a secret because he wants to be whatever his partner needs, but he also truly enjoys the fluidity and flexibility of being a switch within the context of D/s.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Very experienced and very talented. No matter what parts his partner is rocking Armand has experience. He’s very open-minded about sex and, although maybe not particularly laid back, he has learned a lot in his time. He doesn’t like everything, but he has probably done it at least once.

F = Favorite position

As with most things, this will depend on Armand’s partner. However, he really enjoys being on the bottom and watching his partner if at all possible. Even when he feels Dominant with his partner he enjoys being underneath them. I don’t know that he has an absolute favorite, but he wants to be able to see his partner.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Armand is very serious most of the time, but not uptight during sexy times. Silly things happen during sex and he’s probably experienced it all anyway. There’s no point in making his partner nervous or embarrassed. He’s not going to be giggling during the act, but he will certainly laugh when appropriate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is so well groomed! Series canon shows us that he cares about his appearance. He is nothing if not fastidious. His pubic hair would never be neglected and it definitely matches the drapes and his glorious chest hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment?)

Armand enjoys intimacy to a degree and depending on the circumstances. He needs it more than most. It doesn’t have to be deep, but it has to be present. He is highly attuned to his partner’s emotions at any given moment so he requires that connection. Unfortunately, he doesn’t require the same attention in return. He is deeply invested in his partners and their mental/emotional state during sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This act is all about efficiency and need for Armand. It’s not a self-love situation. It’s also not perfunctory exactly. He enjoys it and needs to do it. But he doesn’t light candles or watch porn. If he feels the need it’s possibly because his partner isn’t available or in the mood. It’s not a harsh affair, but it’s not going to take very long. I want to watch this so badly!

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I’m going to skip the general D/s stuff because I have a couple posts about his D/s interests here and here. He’s definitely into degradation for himself (but would find it difficult to do to a partner) and he’s very into praise (for both himself and his partners). Probably his biggest kink is hands, touching and being touched (see W for more info about this). Vampires have naturally perfect manicures so their hands are generally pretty sexy, but the act of touching communicates a lot for Armand. Suck on his fingers, scratch your nails down his back, let him reciprocate, or just a soft graze of the back of your fingers against his cheek, hands might be his biggest turn on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In his own home or domicile, for sure. He needs to feel safe to let his guard down completely. He doesn’t care where, but he will be most present and relaxed in his own space (or that of his partners). He does enjoy a little public action and isn’t above public displays of affection. However, he can be himself most comfortably in a safe, familiar place.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I interpreted this two ways: Armand gets excited by seeing his partner get excited and that he gets turned on by words as much as physical touch. Praise him, tell him how beautiful he is, how much you want to do to him and what (or what you want him to do to you), tell him how much you truly desire him and he’s ready to go. But watching his partner react to his words/touch makes him horny in a different way entirely. He can’t get enough of watching their eyelids flutter or them bite their lower lips involuntarily.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Hard limits would be “dirty,” human bodily functions. He’s too old, too fastidious, too him to be into any of that. He doesn’t enjoy being restrained or tied up. If his partner holds him down a safe word can trigger immediate release, but the time to untie knots, etc would take too long and he’d have to use his strength to break them. That doesn’t interest him. Pin him down because he lets you overpower him? That’s sexier anyway.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Armand loves giving oral! He is enthusiastic and talented. Not only does he get completely engrossed in the act, he likes to use it to overstim his partners if they really enjoy oral. He likes receiving as well, but is usually less focused on his on enjoyment than that of his partner. In light of that, if his partner is submissive or just enjoys giving, he will happily receive.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Like most things, this depends on the mood/vibe of the situation, but Armand is typically slow and sensual if he’s in charge. However, slow and sensual doesn’t exclude rough this alphabet is from a template so I wanted to point that out. Whether he’s in charge or not, fast and hard can be a lot of fun for him, but maybe likes that best when he’s submissive.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Armand loves spontaneity in his sex life. Anywhere, anytime. But if the quickie turns into something more, that’s fine by him. He likes to flirt and imply, goading his partner into initiating the quickie even if he won’t initiate himself. He especially enjoys quickies as a surprise. He doesn’t mind if it’s in public or private, quickies are fun and add interest to his sex life.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

So many. He likes trying new things with people. He enjoys pushing his boundaries and helping others push theirs (with consent). If he doesn’t enjoy it he won’t do it again. He definitely enjoys acts that are taboo or unconventional because he’s beyond such human notions at this point. Excitement is difficult to experience after 500 years. He’s not a thrill-seeker in general, but he does like novel and experimental sexual exploits.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Forever. I headcanon vampires as having a short refractory period and Armand is no exception. If he is turned on by his partner he is turned on and insatiable. He’s rarely pushy (though he can seem needy), but he will always be ready when they are. He is motivated by his partner’s pleasure so if he finishes first he will bound back quickly to satisfy them. It’s not a stretch to imagine him going all night with very little downtime if he paces himself. Can his partner handle it though?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Armand doesn’t own that many, but he enjoys using them when his partner does. He would happily use them on his partners if they wished, delighting in pleasing them. There is a shyness about him that might make him reluctant to have toys used on himself by a partner since that requires an amount of attention that can make him uncomfortable. He quickly relaxes and gets past this with the right partner/circumstance and can enjoy the occasional toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He isn’t a fan of physical teasing (like edging), but loves to flirt. Drawing out the pleasure for his partner or himself is fun for him, but rarely to the point of it being uncomfortable. All of his flirting is used to heighten what will happen later on, so teasing once that has begun doesn’t serve him. He wants his partner to feel good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Armand is very quiet. Sighs, moans, small groans are his love language. Whispering a command/consent or encouragement or his partner’s name in his silky voice is enough for him. He doesn’t need to be loud or overly vocal to let his partner know how he feels, but he can’t help but moan and praise. He’s not going to scream your name, but he will let you know when you’re being good for him or taking him so well.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is obsessed with touch/physical affection as validation. He needs to be perceived as desirable and having his partners touch him in any affectionate way is crucial to him. (Even if that affection comes from D/s or CNC.) He needs affirmation that he's beautiful and wanted.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

See gif above. Also, he’s uncircumcised. He has a very proper and polite cock.* It’s as beautiful as he is. It’s not terribly long (maybe 6-6.5 inches/15-16.5 cm) but has a nice girth. Did I mention it’s beautiful? Fairly even in tone with a head the color of his fingertips. Let’s not neglect his balls, though. They are small-ish and tight, accentuating his overall length. Very prim and polite as well.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This completely depends on his partner and their moods. He can be insatiable to the point of neediness if he’s enamored with his partner. If they aren’t upset with him, his libido is genuine and turned up to 11. If they show the slightest bit of disapproval he has a tendency to use sex to manipulate them and gain their approval/affection.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I mentioned in A, he will be energetic after if it was a fun, quick, light-hearted event. But if it was an intense scene or emotionally heavy, Armand will be drowsy and relaxed after providing/receiving the appropriate aftercare. Unless it was very close to dawn he probably wouldn’t get incredibly sleepy, but he would definitely be chill and calm after.

Note: yes, some of these headcanons/traits are a result of his trauma, if you feel compelled to point that out, go for it, but please don’t assume I wasn’t aware of which are poor coping mechanisms and maladaptive as I wrote them. I didn’t invent him, I’m just obsessed.

*Thank you Stephen King for that term. Polite, college boy cock is one of my favorite descriptions.

This is the alphabet template I used.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium. 

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while. 

Frankie :)))))) 

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u 

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either 

R u ok?   

You

Yeah I’m ok. 

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER. 

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there. 

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it. 

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back. 

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Called off work weeks ago 

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz 

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol 

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams. 

Of course he came. 

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it. 

Frankie :)))))) 

R u at memorial or westwood hospital? 

??? 

You 

Memorial. Why? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Be there in 15 

You 

Frankie you don’t have to do that 

Frankie :)))))) 

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon! 

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you. 

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance. 

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying. 

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem. 

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date. 

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance. 

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter. 

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair. 

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do. 

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea. 

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t. 

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away. 

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.” 

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process. 

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight. 

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.” 

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow. 

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat. 

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay. 

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road. 

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?” 

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror. 

“I’m taking you to your game.” 

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions. 

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-” 

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.” 

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

“Frankie, I-” 

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.” 

God, maybe you do want to kiss him. 

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.” 

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.” 

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning. 

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without. 

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off. 

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you. 

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either. 

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” 

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.” 

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. 

“Drive was good?” 

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?” 

“Fine.” Lie. 

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.” 

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you. 

“Of course I was gonna come.” 

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy. 

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.” 

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?” 

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.” 

That one shuts him up real fucking fast. 

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.” 

That shuts you up even quicker. 

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat. 

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it. 

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.” 

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go. 

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!” 

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.  

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now. 

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in  instead. 

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital. 

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give. 

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get. 

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you. 

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.” 

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor. 

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about. 

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.” 

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.” 

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return. 

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down. 

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.  

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.” 

“Sorry about that, she’s um-” 

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off. 

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made. 

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?” 

“No, I just-” 

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him. 

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet. 

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - prologue

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, none Wordcount: 5.6K A/N: LILA IS BACK with a new series. this is the prologue, purely here to give people an insight to our oc Izara (who i already love btw), so not as much paige here, but she will make a much bigger entrance come first chapter of the series. again, ty so much for everyone who hyped this up based solely on the synopsis i wrote and ty for your support! i am so excited for this series you guys don't even know!! this one will be a looooong one so buckle up

-

Passport? Check. Silk pillowcase? Check. Laptop? Check.

The list seemed to go on and on, filling out three sheets of paper, both front and back. Some people called it excessive but to me it was necessary. It was better to be over prepared than leave things up to chance. I had been making lists all my life, I wasn’t about to stop now. They have worked for me so far.

Flipping through the maroon moleskine notepad in my hands, my green eyes skim over one page after another - grocery list, changes I must make to my skincare routine, presents to buy next Christmas, wedding registry. There’s a sting in my chest as I stop, my french manicured hand brushing over the soft paper: Vitamix blender, Ginori 1735 cake plate, Baccarat candlestick set.

Inhale, exhale. The pain won’t relinquish. I bring my hand to the soft cotton of my turtleneck, rubbing soothing circles on my chest just like my mum used to when I was little.

“There you go Izara, don’t you feel better? It’s a magic trick, it takes the sadness away.”

The black suitcase is laid out on the floor in front of me, clothes folded neatly in their own nooks. I keep rubbing and rubbing but the sadness won’t go away. So I stop, my fingers carefully flipping a few pages forward. 

Move to The US

Pros

Good career move?

New experiences

Cons

Leaving my family and friends

Boss talked about promotion for me in the next year

Leaving London

Visa hassle

Expenses

Wedding delayed off

Leaving Jasper (pro?)

My memories of the day resurface, the way I was locked in my car, dreading walking inside where my husband-to-be was expecting me. I had spent all day trying on wedding dresses near Soho, my mom and her sister fawning over Jasper the entire day. To everyone he was the perfect man, charming, nurturing and protective. But they didn’t know half of what I put up with. All day I wanted to scream, to throw a fit, tell everyone that they don’t know anything about my perfect fiancé. But instead I kept my mouth shut, and waited till I got into my car to cry. I didn’t like being vulnerable, for my relatives to see me weak. I had told no one about the conflicting feelings inside me, or the way I had applied for an open position to be a social media producer for the Dallas Wings. That very same morning the position had been offered to me.

So I sat in my car with my trusty lists, as usual. The moment I wasn’t sure whether to write leaving Jasper into the pros or the cons, I knew I had to go. It had been gnawing at my subconscious, making me sick to my stomach. Even according to the list this decision made absolutely no sense. But in my gut I knew had to go - desperately so.

“Izzie, are you done yet? We have to leave soon.”

My brother bursts into the room, watching the way I had undone all the packing that I had naturally finished a week prior. Clothes were all over my childhood bedroom, piles of them standing neatly. After calling off the wedding with Jasper I had decided to move back home, not wanting to stay with him and his temper under the same roof.

“What the hell have you done here?” He chuckles, shaking his head as I stand in the middle of the bedroom, notebook in hand, staring at the half empty suitcase.

“I think I’ve gone crazy Kiran,” I admit with a sigh. Two weeks ago when I accepted the job I had been so sure - now I wasn’t. This was insane, mad, completely, utterly unlike me. To get up and move, to disappoint my parents, to disappoint everyone. I just couldn’t stand it anymore, my life here. Every year I grew older I became more and more unsure. Now at 25 I felt like a complete fool, not knowing anything except this wasn’t the life I wanted. Something had to change - I had to change.

My younger brother walks over, wrapping a hand around my shoulder.

“Yes you have.”

I scoff and push him off. “That’s not helpful!”

He chuckles and begins to pack for me, just as neatly as I had done earlier. Guess being high-strung ran in the family.

“It is mad. But that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do,” my brother mumbles, neatly folding my black cashmere sweater. “I think it’s good Iz, no matter what mum and dad are saying. Don’t mind them. They’ll come around.”

“I wasn’t raised not to mind them,” I chuckle, looking out the window, ours just one of many of the semi-detached houses extending along the road I grew up on. The cherry trees had just bloomed, pale pink blossoms covering the branches, decorating the pavement.

“Funny that, neither was I,” Kiran laughs and finally zips up my suitcase, picking it up and preparing to carry it to the car. “You got everything? Passport? Wallet? Documents?”

I nod with a smile. Even if we didn’t look almost exactly the same (though, we certainly did), it was impossible not to pick up on the family resemblance.

“I have everything.”

-

The drive to Heathrow Airport is quiet. Truthfully, I was far too nervous to speak. I could feel my stomach twisting uncomfortably, a nauseating weight on my chest. I watch as we pass the streets of London, the only streets I had ever known. We pass the red double-decker buses, the abandoned phone boxes, eventually making our way onto the highway.

London is cruel, relentless to its residents, yet simultaneously captivating and thrilling. I had travelled enough to know there was no place like it. Nowhere else I could hop on the Northern Line in the bohemian, eclectic Camden, switch tubes and step out to Canary Wharf, where skyscrapers stand tall above you and the streets are buzzing with men in suits, just in 40 minutes or so. The diversity of the city, the way it could feel like a large metropolis as much as a small charming town all at once, depending on where you were. I loved this city, I always would. But it was time for me to move on at least for now. I wasn’t getting what I wanted, not that I knew what that was in the first place.

“Can’t believe my sister’s gonna be working for the league,” Kiran interrupts the silence. “When you meet Bronny you must tell him hi.”

I let out a laugh, turning to look at him. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening anywhere else except your delusions.”

“Hey, you never know!” He scoffs as we pull up to terminal 3, the butterflies growing deep in my abdomen.

“You’re such a guy,” I roll my eyes. “I’m working for the WNBA and all you want is to say hi to Lebron James.”

“Well who else is there, Steph?”

In reality, my brother loved basketball, he was the sole reason I knew the first thing about the sport. But he loved pushing my buttons more - and nothing pushed my buttons further than women being underestimated by men.

“A’ja, Stewie, Sabrina, Jewell? Arike plays for the Wings!”

“Never heard of any of them.”

I smack him on the shoulder as he’s parking the car, making him yelp. He was joking of course, but I wasn’t in the mood. Some would argue I was rarely in the mood to joke around but it’s just how I am. High-strung, intense. It was just me, I couldn’t help it. You know how some people have that spark to them? The kind where they step in the room and the place just lights up? That wasn’t me, and I was okay with it. At least I got shit done.

“Okay sorry,” Kiran whines, rubbing his arm. Neither of us wanted to get out, to face the goodbye looming ahead. So we sit for a while.

“Paige Bueckers was drafted there though, right?” My brother asks, staring at the big sign for Terminal 3 above the sliding doors.

“Yeah, she was.”

“She’s tough,” he says and I nod in agreement. I had followed her college career quite a bit, saw her go through injury and rise to the top again. She wasn’t my favourite player, I preferred focusing on the league - but it was undeniable she was a generational talent. 

“She’s also really fit,” my brother adds, making me snort.

“Kiran, I'm fairly sure she’s also really gay,” I laugh. My brother turns to me with shock written all over his face.

“You really think so?” 

I roll my eyes, “I- well yes. It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

“Damn,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Takes one to know one I guess.”

Another smack on his shoulder, another yelp spilling from his lips. One drunken night years ago I had come out to Kiran as bisexual and now it was his favourite joke in the world. I don’t think he realised I was serious, or that at points in my life I had dated girls as well. Honestly though, I hadn’t even thought about girls that way since I met Jasper. Not that I’d found any girl remotely attractive in the past years, perhaps it had just been a phase.

“You’re going to come back with some 6 '5 American basketball lesbian aren’t you?” He teases, making me roll my eyes.

“We need to head inside,” I laugh, climbing out of the car. I didn’t know much about what would happen, but I certainly wasn’t going to come back with anyone. The time I spend in Dallas would be time dedicated to me, to figuring out who I was, what I wanted. I had no time for love.

I pull the suitcase towards the doors, Kiran on my tail until we both come to a halt right inside. Quickly I check my purse again - passport, phone, wallet, charger, documents. All there. Just one thing left to do.

I turn to my brother and hug him. We had never spent more than a month apart since the day he was born. I had always been the annoying, bossy older sister, ordering him around since he could barely talk. But still, it had all been out of love. I wanted him to be safe and it was my job to protect him. He was my baby brother after all, even now at 23 as he stands 6’0 tall. 

“Take care of yourself Izzie,” he whispers, squeezing me tight.

“You too, and of mum and dad please,” I tell him, holding my breath in as to not let any tears fall, though they’re already burning in the corners of my eyes.

We pull apart, and he smiles at me assuringly. “Call mum when you land, we don’t need her getting loopy.”

“I will,” I chuckle. There’s a few seconds of silence that stretches across us, our green eyes locked in each other’s gaze. We don’t need to say these things out loud, we both knew we loved each other.

“Well, have a safe flight and have fun in Dallas,” Kiran says and waves bye, turning around to walk away. “YEEHAW!” He turns around and yells before slipping out through the sliding doors. Laughing, I watch him, the ache in my chest growing exponentially. It was all becoming real. Me in Dallas, Texas.

A couple hours and a long security line later I’m sitting on the ascending plane, gazing out of the window. I stretch out my legs, glad to be short enough to fit in the seats comfortably. I’m holding a copy of War and Peace by Tolstoy in my hands, simply flipping through the pages, my mind too conflicted to focus as I watch the ground beneath me retreating further every second.

I could see Big Ben, The London Eye, Thames stretching across the length of the city, shrinking until we ascend through a thick layer of clouds, making it impossible to see anything. It’s only then I let myself cry, the first tears after ending my engagement only a couple weeks prior. I had no other plan, I needed this to work out desperately.

-

Jet lag was killing me, but I knew I could never allow it to show. It was the following day of arriving in Dallas. I spent all of yesterday sleeping, trying to let my body adjust to the time difference before my first day on the job. 

Of course I had woken up three entire hours before my alarm went off. So when I get to the first media team meeting of the season, I have already had time to drink two coffees, go to the gym, shower, shave, do my jet black hair just to have a crisis and pin it up in a slicked back bun, do my makeup and send emails and make calls to the wedding venue to cancel it. I was on fire and wouldn’t let a little jetlag hold me down. 

The maroon turtleneck and black slacks I was wearing had already been decided on the evening before as to avoid any clothing disaster. I wasn’t exactly sure how to dress for a job like this - but as I step into the tall building from the busy streets of Dallas I can tell I’m overdressed. Many of the people around my age are dressed much more laid back than I’m used to, wearing hoodies and jeans - and to my biggest shock of all, sneakers.

As I walk across the entryway the sound of my heels tapping on the tiles echo around the building, my cheeks turning bright red. I knew people were turning to stare, but instead of looking back and checking, I rush to the elevator, slipping in through the doors and facing my reflection. Maybe I was overdressed, but I look nice. The gold earrings decorating my ears contrast against my light brown skin and black hair, making them pop. I smooth over my belt, fixing the way the golden buckle of it was sitting on my slacks when a man around my age walks in just as the doors are about to close.

“Hey there!” He greets me, a charming smile on his face and brown eyes twinkling. His friendliness is so intense it nearly startles me.

“Oh, hey!” I reply, turning towards him. For a moment he looks at me, blinking, perhaps waiting for me to keep talking but when I don’t he’s quick to pick up my slack.

“I’m Trey, I do media stuff for the Wings. Basically a glorified cameraman,” he explains lightheartedly. 

“I’m Zari, they just hired me to do social media actually,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly just like my dad always taught me to. There’s a sliver of recognition on Trey’s face as he takes in my words.

“Oh yeah! They said they hired someone new! Didn’t mention you were a Brit tho. Well shit we’re prolly gon’ be working together a lot then,” he says. It’s at that moment I decide that his enthusiasm isn’t fake even though it’s suspiciously intense. Maybe he’s just an energetic guy - maybe he’s just an American.

“I suppose yes!” I chuckle and look over the buttons of the lift. “So, perhaps you know which floor I need to go to then because I don’t?”

“Oh sure thing.” 

Pressing on the number 10, the elevator finally begins to move upwards. I’m fiddling with the rings around my fingers, a nervous habit I had.

“You nervous?” Trey asks, picking up on my queues quickly. Guess I wasn’t as composed as I’d liked.

“A bit,” I admit.

Trey chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulder comfortingly - or I suppose it’s meant to be comforting but I didn’t particularly find it so. “You’ll do good, everyone’s chill here. Except the boss but you get used to her. You can relax, Zari.” As much as the man’s enthusiasm and touchiness shocked me, I was glad to have someone show me where to go instead of wandering around the floors aimlessly. 

In a corridor full of doors Trey picks the right one, opening it for me. Inside we find a team of 10 people or so sitting around a table, their discussion immediately coming to a halt when we step in, all eyes turning to me. I feel unease settle over me, but instead of panic I inhale and exhale. I knew I could do this, this was the only plan I had. I had never not had a plan B, a plan C before. This had to be it.

“You must be Izara,” a gravelling voice says as a red haired woman, likely in her 50s, stands up. She’s dressed much more corporate, a fitted blazer and a pencil skirt accentuating her curves. I immediately notice her brows, thin and sharp, appearing almost angry. I didn’t have to be told who this was, Trey’s description had been colourful enough for me to know she was my boss.

“Yes, well I go by Zari actually, if you don’t mind,” I say in a friendly tone, walking over in my black stilettos to shake her hand. 

“You kids and your nicknames, oh well. Zari’s fine, but don’t complain if I forget,” she sighs, clearly already bothered. “I’m Linda Halford, the managing media director for the Dallas Wings. We spoke on the phone.” 

Her eyes are blue and piercing, but there’s something about her straight forwardness that feels intriguing in contrast to the excessive friendliness of everyone else I’d met so far. Hell, even the cab driver tried to strike up a conversation after my flight. I wasn’t sure if I liked Linda or feared her - perhaps a bit of both.

“It’s nice to meet you in person,” I smile, sitting myself down on the chair Linda pulls out for me right next to her. All eyes were on me of course, the new girl. I just had to get through the first week and I’d be old news. Good old boring Izara. Just get through the week.

“I hope your travels went well,” Linda says distractedly, scrolling through a document on her laptop. As I open my mouth to answer, she keeps talking.

“Now, there are many big changes this year, and our media team has been… not up to par so to speak,” she glances up at Trey, and a couple of girls sitting next to him who I suppose I would be working with as well. 

“Thanks to Bueckers, we’re about to have a lot more eyes on us. So I hired Izara-” Zari. Just call me Zari. I bite the inside of my cheek not to correct her, she didn’t seem like the type of woman you correct. “and she’s gonna help us. She’s here to innovate, to come up with ideas to boost online exposure and to boost clicks. We need to get active on Tiktok, and whatever the kids use. I need daily content. No more editing videos for weeks before posting them on Youtube, Trey.”

“My bad,” Trey says, making everyone chuckle, his eyes sparkling when they land on me.

Linda looks at him disapprovingly before continuing.

“We are sitting on a goldmine now guys. Paige Bueckers has over 2 million followers on Instagram. She is incredibly marketable, how do we use her best?” Linda asks, everyone going silent immediately, looking around, waiting for someone to bite. Fine, I will.

Clearing my throat I begin. “Well, I think it’s important that while we do use her to get clicks, we don’t make the Wings the “Paige Bueckers team” and repeat the same mistakes I personally think Indiana Fever did with CC,” My voice is steady, sure, even though deep inside I’m not quite certain about what I’m saying. I pause, composing myself - if there was one thing I was good at it was selling things with confidence. Even when I wasn’t. 

“I think we use her for clicks, make loads of content with her but use that content to uplift other players and the whole team. Not just Bueckers, not just Arike, but everyone.”

Linda nods. “Yes, Izara. How do we do that?” Zari. Just say Zari.

I shrug. “A lot of Paige’s fans are young, I’m not sure if some of them even watch the sport at all. So we try to get them intrigued. Not posting purely basketball content, but including some fan service should help with that, incentivise the young girls to get involved with the sport. There needs to be a balance.”

To my shock, when I raise my eyes from the table, Linda is smiling. It’s not the warmest smile, but one nevertheless.

“And this is why we had to hire someone all the way from England, because you guys couldn’t figure this out in this hellhole,” Linda scolds my colleagues. The praise feels good, but I really didn’t want to come off as a show off or soon my only friend in all of Dallas, Texas would be Linda Halford.

“Good job Zari, welcome to the team,” the redhead says firmly before returning to her notes. “Okay tomorrow we are all having a little Dallas Wings get together. The coaches, players, everyone so be prepared to go out after work.”

As I write this down in my calendar I’m interrupted by Linda again. “Izara.”

“Yes?” I ask.

“By the end of tomorrow I’m expecting you to be friendly with Bueckers. You’re gonna be working together a lot, I need you on her good side.”

-

“Thank God!” I groan to myself, kicking off my black stilettos the second I step into my new home. The league had provided me with an apartment until the end of the season. It was modern, nice, sleek but so incredibly impersonal it pained me. It didn’t feel like me at all, the blank white walls, the dull grey furniture. It wasn’t home.

I crash into the couch face first, mixture of jet lag and stress of the first day on the job taking over. Not only was I the new girl, but I was also the English girl. All day I’d been asked if we really eat beans on toast, and if I’d ever seen the Queen - mind you she passed in 2022. 

With too much left to do, I only let myself rest for a few minutes before getting up reluctantly, tiptoeing to my bedroom to start undressing. Throwing on a matching set of knitted cream coloured sweater and pants, I let my hair down, finally feeling comfortable.

Suddenly I hear a loud crash from the hallway, followed by even louder giggles and muffled yelps echoing around the building. Too curious about my neighbours, I step into my slippers and carefully open the door to see what’s going on.

“Bro, it’s not that heavy,” an accented voice groans probably a floor below me. Heavy steps on the stairs are closing in. Two people, I think.

“Lou, you’re kidding right?” Another girl complains, her voice bright.

“You’re too weak, just give it to me,” the other person argues, steps approaching me.

“Ha, no way, you’re just gon’ break my new plates. Ion trust you.”

“Next time you’re getting an at-home deliver- oh hey!”

A brunette girl with her hair down, only in basketball shorts and a sports bra sees me as she turns the corner, meeting my gaze as I peek through my door. She’s holding a cardboard box, full of pans and pots, hair sticking to her forehead from the humidity.

Suddenly the other girl appears, blonde, hair in a bun but other than that pretty much wearing the exact same thing.

“Who you talkin to- oh,” the blonde notices me, her blue eyes so intense my knees nearly buckle. 

“Sorry, we’re being really loud, we’re gonna try and keep quiet,” the brunette apologises. The blonde is still watching me, never breaking eye-contact. Feeling uneasy, my eyes flicker to the brunette and I smile politely.

“That’s fine, I was just checking if you were okay?” I ask. The blonde walks past my door, my eyes lingering for a millisecond on the way her biceps flex as she carries a large and apparently heavy box of plates towards the next flight of the stairs.

“We’re good, sorry ‘bout that,” the blonde answers, her voice now much quieter, less lively than before when it echoes around the halls.

“Okay well, maybe next time you should get at-home-delivery?” I suggest, watching as the girls struggle slowly up the stairs before retreating back into my apartment.

“That’s what I SAID!” The brunette complains loudly. I can still hear them bickering when I close the door, a smile spreading to my face. The first time I’ve genuinely laughed since I landed. 

It’s as if I knew those girls from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place it. Something about them was so familiar. It’s not till I hear them jogging back down for the next batch of boxes to carry upstairs, their voices loud enough to echo into my apartment, when I realise. 

“Paige I’m about to call Bob Bueckers to come help us soon, I’m dead serious.”

“You don’t got my dad’s number.”

“Pretty sure I do!”

Oh. Peeking out through the peephole my suspicions are confirmed. Walking past my door it indeed is Paige and Lou, bringing more kitchenware upstairs. And I didn’t even recognise them. I look down at my knitted set with a deep sigh. So much about being professional huh? I better make a good impression tomorrow.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @lovegalor333 @d3arapril @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @bueckersfive @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch

[rodolfoparras]

okay but what if i choked price with his own cunty scarf do you see what i see

Cw: 18+ forced orgasm, overstimulation, breath play, Price pondering over cnc play, dom top! Male Reader, sub bot! Price

Thinking about Price down on all four ass in the air head burried in the pillow, while you relentlessly bully your cock into his hole.

It’s too much, he thinks.

You’ve been going round after round to the point where his body is spent and he’s sure you’re shooting blanks but you don’t seem to care as you continuously fuck into him.

It’s too much, he squeaks, but you don’t seem to hear him as grunts and groans continuously tumble past your lips, determined as ever to finish.

It’s too much, he thinks and attempts to crawl away from your grip but he completely forgets about the scarf neatly tied around his neck, the one you’re using to keep him in place.

He moves so abruptly, the fabric practically digs into his skin, and for a moment it feels like the breath has been punched out of him, ears ringing loud as the world around him blurs out

But he’s quickly brought back to the present moment by the way continue to relentlessly fuck into him, grunts and groans escaping your lips muttering how you’re so close into his skin, using a big rough hand to fucking him back onto your dick, acting as if you couldn’t care less that he’s on the verge of passing out here

For a brief moment he wonders what you would do if he were to pass out. Would you continue fucking him? Using big rough hands to fuck his unconscious body back onto your dick? Filling him up over and over while he’s ever so oblivious to what you’re doing? The only sign of what you’ve done to him being the sore feeling and the cum trickling out of him?

The thought itself sends goosebumps running down his spine, toes subconsciously curling as he clenches down onto your cock.

And suddenly the obscene sound of your ballsack slapping his ass overtrumps the ringing in his ears ,and instead of focusing on his blurry surroundings all he can focus on is the way big rough hands are controlling every little movement of his hips, using him as if he‘s nothing but a mere a cocksleeve, a hole to use as you please and before he’s even aware of it he’s spilling ropes of cum all over the sheets

“That’s it, such a good boy for me,”

Jesus Christ

[levi-4uckerman]

╰┈➤ satoru gojo x reader // reader self insert // prologue here

╰┈➤ like ghosts in the snow // synopsis: Two years ago, you vanished from Tokyo and its world of curses entirely. First grade status be damned-- you were gone without a trace. Left to raise the son of the strongest sorcerer in a world far removed from the dangers you and his father both had been subject to. You escaped the endless battle of curses vs man, the burden of a life sopping wet with death and tragedy. Here, in the solitude of these snow-covered mountains, you were finally safe.

Right?

╰┈➤ CH 1 TWs: male masturbation, explicit sexual content, graphic descriptions of sex, original characters used, secret pregnancy, mention of young children, mention of past character death, possible manga spoilers, blah blah blah. enjoy :)

╰┈➤ see story timeline here, if you wanna!

╰┈➤ next chappy :)

✎ side note before we dig in! I know y'all hate a YN so the reader has been given a random japanese name. welcome to ur new life as Shiori Myoji :)

Somewhere out west, 2018...

You sat alone in your cabin, staring at the flickering fire... The wind howled outside, shaking the windows and piling snow high against the panes. You barely noticed. Winter had come early this year, though the townsfolk chalked it up to the unpredictable nature of the mountains. You held a half-empty teacup, the liquid long since gone cold. Your fingers trembled slightly as you gripped its handle, though you told yourself it was just from the chill in the air. 

The fire crackled on, and your thoughts drifted like smoke, pulling you backward through time as you stared into the hypnotizing flames.

...

Tokyo, Japan- December 2014.

The first time you saw Satoru Gojo as human was at the ceremony following Suguru's death, a private event held at Tokyo Jujutsu High after hours. There weren’t many guests, but the crowd was big enough that he hadn’t seen you at first. You’d stood at the edge, out of the way, your umbrella shielding you from the rain pouring down as if the sky itself was in mourning, too. 

You hadn’t planned to approach him. What could you have said? The strongest sorcerer in the world, staring at the ground as though he could will himself to fall through it– what words could you possibly offer? Anything that crossed your mind felt hollow, tasted meaningless on your tongue. 

Yet, still, you approached. Those bright blue eyes had landed on you and you were drawn in, like a moth to flame. Your feet were moving before you realized what you’d done. 

“Shi-chan, you’re staring,” he chided, his voice sounding hollow. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” you replied, aware that you both knew it was a lie.

It always was.

He smiled, soft but genuine– like he was just grateful for your company. You nodded, letting him take what he wanted from the gesture. 

The relationship you’d had after wasn’t supposed to mean anything. A month of stolen moments, grief shared in the only ways you knew how. You sought comfort in each other’s arms, filling the empty spaces that Suguru had left behind. Late night texts. Solo outings. You told yourself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a way to cope. Was that a lie, too? 

That time together had changed everything. And two months later, when you realized you were pregnant, you knew that there was no going back. 

The sound of Haruto stirring in his sleep pulled you back to the present. The cabin’s quiet stillness wrapped tightly around you as you set down your teacup, your fingers still slightly shaking as you stepped toward your sleeping son, curled around his stuffed rabbit. He was so small, so peaceful– and yet, every time you looked at him, it was like staring into the past. Your big, scary past. 

His hair, white as the snow outside… his eyes, that same piercing shade of blue that gazed at you from across classrooms, found you in crowded hallways buried deep in your memory… Sometimes, if you looked at him just right, he even had his father’s stubborn smirk. Sometimes it was enough to make your heart ache. 

You didn’t regret leaving– you wouldn’t let yourself. You’d made the choice for Haruto, for Satoru, for humanity– he deserved a childhood free from the crushing weight of the Gojo name, free from the dangers of being born into a world of curses. And Satoru…

He didn’t need the burden of fatherhood, another anchor to his already heavy chains. 

He didn’t stop you when you left.

Your breath caught in your throat. You told yourself not to think about him, not to wonder where he was or what he was doing. You’d left him behind, you’d left everything behind, but the truth lingered. Sharp and bitter in the back of your throat. You’d run because you were afraid. Afraid for the part of you that wanted to believe that Satoru might have chosen you and the life growing inside of you over everything else. 

But you’d seen the threads of fate. Tangled, cruel, impossible to ignore. You left because you couldn’t bear to watch him choose the world over you. 

The fire snapped sharply, loud enough to make you jump. The flames cast dancing shadows against the walls, and you felt a familiar prickling at your scalp as you watched them move. It wasn't a vision, but a feeling, a suggestion that something may be on the horizon. You closed your eyes, trying to will fate’s whisper into a conversation, but it remained quiet– imperceptible. Glimpses came to you in flickering waves, an apparition at the edge of your mind… someone tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes like the sky…

Your chest tightened as you pushed the thought away with a gasp, forcing yourself to focus on the crackling fire and the sound of howling wind outside. 

“Shiori,” an older voice called softly from the adjoining room. “Are you still awake? It’s well past midnight.”

“Aya-san,” you replied, withdrawing your hand from your son’s hair. “Did I wake you?”

“No, child. The storm did.” Aya stepped lightly into the room, moving with the ease of someone used to late-night watches. She lowered herself onto the armchair by Haruto, dimming the table lamp and casting soft shadows across her face. 

Aya Takahashi, formerly Zenin– she’d sought an escape from the troubling world of jujutsu, same as you. Born into the infamous Zenin clan with a powerful technique, she had built her life around the expectations of her lineage… until she met her late husband. He was a non-sorcerer whom she'd fallen in love with devastatingly quickly. Their love was defiant in the eyes of the Zenins, and Aya chose him over their approval. They ran away together, knowing the cost of their love, only for her spiteful relatives to come for them both, bringing their marriage to a sudden, violent end. 

Aya lost her husband that day.

She ran away to this sleepy, mountainside town out west, hoping that its wild, untamed cursed energy would mask her signature. For thirty years, she had been successful. When she came across you and Haruto, barely ten months old at the time, she saw herself in your struggle, and she knew... she couldn’t walk away. 

And gods bless her soul, she didn’t.

Aya had become such an unassuming yet steady presence in your life—a former sorceress who had left her old life behind and found solace in this small, secluded town just like you had.

The arrangement had begun with practicality, but Aya’s quiet strength and experience had turned her into a figure of comfort, almost a guardian. Her motherly tendencies extended to you as much as to Haruto, though she rarely showed her cards outright.

Aya studied you for a moment, her expression knowing. “Something tells me you haven’t slept yet,” she hummed, reaching to turn on the television as if to settle in for a watchful night.

You studied her with a hint of reluctance, knowing exactly what she intended. “Aya-san, you really don’t have to—”

“Go and rest, Shiori.” Her voice was gentle, but her tone left no room for debate. “I’ll be here if the boy wakes.”

“But I—,”

The look she gave you, one full of quiet insistence, spoke louder than any further protests you could make.

With a resigned sigh, you shook your head and accepted the fate she’d laid out for you, the comfort of her presence an unspoken balm. You relented and bid her goodnight, resting a comforting hand on Haruto’s little head before walking away. 

Tokyo, Japan- 2018.

In Tokyo, Satoru Gojo was feeling a similar kind of anxiety. 

Ryomen Sukuna had a vessel. The thought of it alone made his jaw clench tightly. It was unprecedented, unpredictable, and as far as he was concerned, a major pain in the ass. There were no protocols for this sort of thing— well, maybe one, but that was the last thing he wanted. “I can’t let them kill him,” he muttered to himself, tone sharp as nails. “He’s just a kid.”

He leaned back in his office chair, staring out at the Tokyo skyline with mild interest. His head pulsed with a day-old migraine as he studied the tiny flares of cursed energy erupting in short bursts across the city's grid. The presence of curses and the activity of curse users had become more erratic than usual, flickering in the depths of the city like embers waiting to be ignited. It had only gotten worse since Sukuna's fingers entered the equation; like all of Japan was holding its breath. Even with his technique, Satoru was struggling to keep up with the endless spikes of energy on the horizon. His head throbbed, his senses constantly assaulted until finally, he pulled the blinds closed. 

Satoru sighed. He hadn't been this on edge in a very long time, not since...

He dismissed the thought, reaching for a bottle of painkillers nearby and rattling it in a last-ditch effort to dull the throbbing in his skull. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed them dry before running a broad palm over his face, a low groan slipping out as he reached his lips. "This is fucking stupid," he muttered, voice muffled by his hand.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of the chair and stretched his long arms above his head, joints stiff and aching from too many hours of vigilance and too little rest. He hated to even consider leaving campus, knowing that Yuuji-- no. Sukuna was here. Yuuji had done well in controlling the king of curses since they had started training, but the thought of leaving him alone still left Satoru uneasy. Could he really turn his back on him?...

Yes, he decided, as his eyes caught sight of his phone screen flashing the time: 3:55pm. He hadn't slept a wink in over 40 hours, a reckless oversight even by his standards. His Six Eyes needed rest, and he'd be no use to anyone-- especially against Sukuna --if he burned out completely. I can leave. Just for a few hours.

With a tired sigh, he dialed his assistant. “Ijichi,” he sang half heartedly into his cell, his voice missing some of its usual playfulness. “I’m going home.”

Ijichi's protests were immediate, though muffled through the receiver. Satoru didn't bother listening. He slipped the phone into his back pocket without even hanging up, ignoring the last few sputters of "--but Gojo-san!"

Stretching his limbs once more, he felt the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. It wasn't like him to abandon his post so early into the afternoon, but he wouldn't be of any use in this state. Half-blind, staggering through a haze of pain. The pounding behind his eyes was growing unbearable, his senses dulling with each passing minute. 

With one last glance at the skyline, Satoru exhaled, letting his shoulders drop just slightly. It was strange, the guilt that had begun creeping in these days, as if his raw determination alone would be enough to protect humanity from Sukuna's dark influence. But at his core, he knew that if he wasn't sharp, if he wasn't fully there, then he was no more than a tired body standing watch. 

Humanity deserved better than that. 

Yuuji deserved better than that. 

In his apartment, Satoru wandered thoughtlessly into his bedroom, tossing aside his phone, his wallet, his blindfold, and all of the other little trinkets he carried on the job. The blinds were drawn and the room was dark; still, he manipulated the pitch black space seamlessly, thankful for the small mercy of darkness. He migrated to his shower-- something else he'd been putting off. 

The hot stream of water-- scalding against his porcelain skin --was healing. Following the contours of his body, mapping the planes of his muscles as it traveled across his skin. The rich scent of his body wash hung thickly in the air, cutting through 40 hours' worth of sweat and frustration. With a sigh, he bowed his head, letting it all fall into his eyes, mouth. 

What the fuck had happened to him? 

Being alone was something he still struggled with. He'd once thought of Suguru as the only person who could possibly understand the isolation that followed his responsibilities as the strongest. But Suguru was gone, had been gone longer even than he'd been dead, and all that was left now was... Satoru and his sadness? Longing? He didn't know what he was feeling. 

Remorse? 

"You promise you won’t regret this?"

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Eyes snapping open, he reared his head back. Infinity kept him from losing his balance, thankfully, but didn't stop the way he wobbled a bit on his feet with the emotional whiplash he'd just received from that memory. That voice. 

He exhaled, long and slow, steam swirling in the dimmed light. His pulse quickened just slightly as the memory returned to him in living color, as if he were reliving it-- naked and vulnerable. 

A laugh-- soft like morning mist. Perfume dancing across his senses, igniting warmth within his chest. He felt her  presence even here, in the sanctuary of his mind. 

Shiori Myoji. The Clairvoyance User. 

The quiet, mundane memory came to him suddenly-- like his pain had picked the lock to a door he'd forgotten long ago. She was sitting on the edge of a windowsill in the Jujutsu High dorms, delicate fingers cradling a cup of tea. He sat beside her, much too close, with a large hand resting on her covered thigh. She was blushing, and he remembered the way it made his heart race. Has anyone ever done that before? 

Has anyone ever done that... since? 

"You're incorrigible,"  she scolded lightly, though the light smile upon her lips told him all that he needed to know. With a glance toward the halls, assuring there would be no witnesses, she leaned into him and he did the same, capturing her mouth in a tender kiss.

Fuck, she was always so soft. So calm. The kind of calm he pretended that he was, but had never really felt. Only in these moments, did she ever seem to look at him. Usually, her gaze extended into a space that he couldn't see-- a space that no one occupied, as if she were seeing something that he couldn't. 

The water hit his shoulders harder now, as if trying to call him back to the present. He straightened, shaking his head as if that could wash away the memory of her. As if it were something that could be scrubbed away as easily as sweat and blood from his skin. 

But she lingered, as she always seemed to do. She'd been away for too long for him to still think of her. She was a distraction at the time, something they both craved desperately. That is what she was, wasn't she? His distraction. His excuse. His anchor when the weight of Suguru's passing had threatened to tilt him off-balance. She was his-- then, now, whether she knew it or not. 

His, because he couldn't let her be anything else.

Yes, a voice in his head purred. Yours, it agreed— languid and sweet, sounding suspiciously like her. 

She was an addiction he’d been more than willing to rid himself of— even if it hurt like pouring salt into a wound. He’d love to say that he didn’t feel it, or that it paled in comparison to the pain of killing his best friend, but that simply wasn’t true. He’d grown attached to her warmth, her quiet strength, the mutual understanding of their own responsibilities as sorcerers. She’d been an enigma to him in high school, a close friend as an adult, and now? A ghost. A shadow. Someone who knew him intimately, someone whose taste hadn’t left his mouth since the last time his tongue was inside of her— because only he knew her so intimately, too. 

Only he had been privy to the way that her brows furrowed in a mix of confusion and disgust when he said something lewd, the way her cheeks would darken at the slightest mention of their extracurricular affairs, igniting a fire in the pit of Satoru’s belly each time. Only he got to see the spit-slick part of her lips when she came, her wet heat wrapped so tightly around his member that he’d nearly blacked out at the force of his own orgasm. Only he knew that it was like that every. Single. Time. with her, like they were both squirming virgins experimenting with strange new feelings. 

Except Satoru had never felt so enthralled with a lover before, and he never would again— something he’d come to terms with after trying and failing to fill the void she left in his life as his ‘distraction’. That’s all she was.

Right?

“Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth as he recalled her image in near-perfect clarity, spread out above his sheets— moaning softly, gasping his name when he fucked her just right. “Fucking shit.”

Satoru took himself in his hand, letting the water cascade down his back as he hunched over, pressing his forehead against the cool tile as he recalled more. Her dainty fingers tangled in his hair as she writhed beneath him, bucking her hips against his pelvis and fucking herself on his cock. Broken whispers of ‘Satoru, please,’ as her walls contracted around him, milking his seed into her waiting womb. The taste of her sweat on his tongue, salty and sweet, while he sucked his little purple love bites into her skin. He’d spell out his fucking name with them if he could. 

He’d carve it into her flesh with his teeth if she’d let him. 

Feelings Satoru had never experienced before her— or after her — flooded his senses. The hollow ache of desperation as he craved her warmth, the bitter taste of jealousy as he thought of her with anyone else, the crushing weight of grief when he remembered she was gone—

“Fucking miss you,” he spat, pumping desperately into his own fist, slick with prespend. “Fucking miss the way you feel.”

In his mind’s eye, Shiori writhes underneath him, pinned to the mattress by his weight. Her fingers tangle into his hair as he fucks into her, hard and fast, carving out a space just for him. He’s grunting along with his thrusts, her pretty little gasps coming out in broken hiccups. They’re hiding in the campus dorms again and they have to be quiet; she muffles a loud cry against his shoulder, teeth baring down into his flesh as she locks her legs around his waist with surprising ferocity, holding him so deep inside of her, and oh shit they forgot a condom—

“Fuck,” he hissed out in a sharp breath, tightening his grip on himself. The exhaustion in his bones temporarily forgotten, Satoru slammed a fist onto the wall above his head, a satisfying little crack! coming from the tile. His orgasm had nearly taken his breath away in its intensity, years of frustration and repressed feelings finally coming to a sore, bursting head. 

He stood panting in the shower stall, watching the physical evidence of his longing swirl down the drain. His head pulsed with every beat of his heart, the effort he’d exerted not mixing kindly with his already throbbing migraine. He groaned, running a hand through his slick hair, and subsequently flicking water onto the wall behind him. Fucking Shiori, he muttered to himself. 

Head swimming, Satoru emerged from the muggy bathroom several minutes later. He was still stewing over his momentary loss of control. He could have anyone he wanted, and here he was, fisting his cock to memories of an old flame. A ghost from his past. 

He’d buried her in the place he’d buried Suguru— except, the ache was different knowing that her physical form still roamed this earth. Somewhere. He could find her, if he wanted to. Maybe she'd be able to tell him what the fuck he should do, how the fuck he was going to save a 16 year old boy with an eons-old curse living inside of him. 

A plan began to unfurl inside of him, unwillingly. A first grade sorceress, gone without a trace... But all cursed energy left residuals, didn’t it? Would it really be so hard for the Six Eyes to follow her clues, hunt her down, and bring her back home? 

It wouldn’t be hard, but it wouldn’t be right, he thought. 

Last he heard, Shiori had fled west to study cursed energy manifestation in other regions. It was a convincing cover up, but given her technique and her history of omitting bigger details, he'd always assumed there were other implications to why and where she'd gone. Did she know what was happening in Tokyo? Did she see something that he didn't? 

Of course she fucking did, he scoffed, slipping a t-shirt over his bare shoulders. When didn't she? She always knew more than she let on. It had frustrated him back then, and it frustrated him even more now. The idea that she might have seen this, predicted it-- Sukuna, Yuuji, the spiraling chaos of Tokyo's curses --and had chosen to leave anyway gnawed at him. 

The truth was, he didn't want to think about why she left. Shit, he didn't want to think about her at all. But her name sat heavy on his chest now, a quiet itch he couldn't continue to ignore. If anyone could make sense of the impossible, it was her. And yet... she was gone. She'd left without so much as a goodbye, or a trace worth following. Maybe that was all of the explanation he really needed. 

Maybe that was all of the closure he’d ever get.

With a low groan, Satoru flopped onto his bed, stretching his arms out wide. He didn't get tired often, but exhaustion was settling into his bones. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness settle over him, the plan that he refused to admit beginning to stir in his minds' eye once more, unwelcome and persistent. He could find her. If he wanted to. If he needed to.

.

.

This is Chapter 1 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @hyookka @drogonfruitzen

[writersblog20]

High

Pedro Pascal x (curly hair) reader

Credits to the gif maker!

Summary: After a very shitty day, your neigbour, Pedro helps you to relax in every way possible

Warnings: Smoking weed, drinking alcohol, age-gap, sexual tension, reader gets picked up, smut, p in v, no condom (please do use a condom), mention of panic and anxiety (just one sentence or so)  oral Female receiving, squirting, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names, Pedro being called: Papi, creampie, blowjob, soft sex, soft Pedro, overstimulation, aftercare and fluff

Words: 4K

High

You angrily placed your bag on your table when you arrived home. You were beyond pissed. You were finally done with some part of the exams for now but god did your professor test your patience today. This was your final exam and you’ve been preparing very good for it but you had to give a presentation with two of your teachers and your professor tried everything he could think off to dismantle your arguments and it worked. He got right underneath your skin, pissing you off to no end. There was no winning here for you. You did well though, very well even but you and that professor always buttheads together. So you came home, pissed out of your mind and couldn’t wait to smoke a joint and drink some wine or well, anything will do if it has alcohol in it. You quickly put your oversized hoodie on before going outside.

You let out a deep, frustrated sigh, got your joint and sat down on your porch as you put some music on. You lit the candles that were on the table of the porch. It started to get dark outside and you were more than ready to forget about this day as if it never even happened.

You inhaled the smoke and let it rest in your lungs. You started to feel the tension loosen up a bit until you heard the door open from your neighbour, the one and only Pedro Pascal. The daddy of the internet, the famous actor and your neighbor. You had a crush from the moment he moved in the house next to you. Yeah it wasn’t helping your daddy issues in any way here. You panicked a little because you didn’t want him to know that you smoked weed. He walked up to your porch with a bright smile that already made you forget about your day as you smiled back. You could say by now that you and Pedro were good friends.

“Hey neighbour!” he said with a smirk. You smiled but felt your heartrate pick up. He held up a tray of corona’s and a bottle of tequila. “Want to have a beer with me? Heard you had a bad day.” He told you, awaiting your answer. “Sure why not.” You smiled. “How do you know I have a bad day?” you asked him once you realized what he said. “Your mom texted me, asking if I could check up on you. Besides, it gave me a reason to see you again.” He told you with a teasing smirk which made you feel flustered. Pedro’s charm always worked on you and made your crush grow stronger.

He sat next to you. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her that you smoke weed.” He told you casually and your face fell from being caught but you also felt the tension leave your body “As long as you share this one with me.” he told you with the same smirk and held up his own joint. You chuckled slightly and relaxed back into your chair. “Deal.” You giggled as Pedro handed you a shot of tequila and clinked it together “Salud” Pedro said, making you repeat him. You took the shot and groaned slightly when you finished it. Pedro opened the corona bottle and handed it to you and lit the joint after.

“So… Want to talk about it?” he asked you a bit more serious now as he handed you the joint. You took a big hit and held it in your lungs for a bit. “It was my teacher. He tried to fuck me over in every way he could find.” You told him and Pedro frowned, not liking what he heard. You told him about your day and let out a deep sigh when you were done. “He sounds like a first class dick.” Pedro told you, making you nod and stare in front of you while taking another hit before passing it to Pedro.

You were finally high and relaxed, not really wanting to talk about your day anymore. You started to get more comfortable in the chair. You looked at Pedro who already looked at you with his big brown eyes. You couldn’t look away as a rush of excitement went into your tummy. You see, you weren’t used to this weed and some have a… well an effect on you. You were horny let’s just keep it on that and the hot man sitting next to you, who you had a big crush on wasn’t helping this case at all. But you weren’t even sure if he ever thought of you in that way because of the age gap.

You looked in front of you again, feeling the heat creeping up. Some curls fell in front of your face, placing them back behind your ears only for them to jump back in place so you just blew them out of your face, not noticing how mesmerized Pedro looked at you right now. You heard the familiar tune of The Weeknd with Lost in the fire and got did the air around you two tighter.

Pedro got the shot glasses and poured another shot of tequila in it, giving it to you, looking directly into your eyes. You saw something in his eyes that you haven’t seen before, it was a lustful look yet adoringly. For some reason you started to feel very confident and gave him your best flirt look. A soft smirk with siren eyes as you leaned towards him a bit. “Salud.” You told him seductively. Pedro swallowed and looked away from you, shifting in his seat a bit, making you grin. “Salud.” He cleared his voice before he spoke and looked at you again as you took the shot. His eyes scanning every feature on your face, the way your curls were bouncing a bit while his heartrate started to pick up and his pants got a bit too tight for his liking.

You heard the familiar tune of the neighbourhood with daddy issues and all of your confidence flew out of the window while you felt your whole face heat up and a bit of embarrassment flowing through your body. You felt too embarrassed to put on a different song at this point. You tried to take a sneaky look at Pedro but was met with his brown eyes. He had a smirk, feeling that your confidence passed on to Pedro. His eyes were darker and filled with lust. You quickly looked away. You were wondering if this was the effect of the weed or if he was always just like that.

Flashes of that TikTok edit came to your mind with all of the sinful thoughts you had right now. You couldn’t shake the images out of your head. You would never tell him that you watched endlessly TikTok edits of your hot older neighbor that was at least 24 years older than you. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours sweetheart?” he asked you. You realized that you were deep, very deep in thought.

You played with the label that was placed on the corona bottle. You shook your head slightly. “Nothing important.” Pedro took a sip of his bottle, keeping eye contact with you and you felt the heat moving somewhere else as you squirmed just a bit in your chair. The silent that Pedro put in the conversation was unbearable as the air thickened around the two of you. “That’s good weed.” You commented with a slight chuckle. Pedro chuckled  “Yeah definitely” he looked at you and you couldn’t get enough of his eyes as you felt butterflies. “Oh I love this song! Dance with me!” Pedro’s excitement made you chuckle as he was already standing and held his hand out for you.

You giggled and took his large hand in yours and stood up. Pedro’s smile was contagious while his arm was around your waist and the other holding your hand. You felt like you were going to black out at this point. Your heart beating against your chest and it felt like your skin was on fire where he touched you. You grew very shy and couldn’t even look at him focusing on your shoes. “Hey, look at me, I’m right here.” He told you and placed a finger underneath your chin, looking up at him. His kind brown eyes connected with yours and you felt yourself go into a trance, all mushy. He smiled adoringly at you. “There you are.” He told you softly with a smile. “use your hips more baby.” he commented “I know you got it in you.” he told you with a slight wink.

You were officially a puddle in his hands right now. Did he know about your crush? Does he like you? He must if he says these things. And the pet name? Are you kidding me?!! You were completely lost in your head but yet still very much in the moment.

You knew how to use your hips but you didn’t feel that confident yet. “I’m afraid I need more tequila for that.” You giggled slightly, embarrassed while you looked at his chest, not able to make eye contact. Pedro let go off you with one hand, the other still tightly around your waist while he grabbed the bottle. He took a sip straight from the bottle while looking at you with a grin and passed it to you after he was done. You took some good gulps, hoping that it would work soon. Pedro probably mistaken your nervousness for uncomfortable and he let go immediately off you, never wanting to make you uncomfortable. You frowned a bit and looked at him confused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought…” He told you and shook his head not wanting to finish his sentence and was ready to take his stuff and leave but you stopped him by grabbing his arm and letting your other hand rest on his chest.

Pedro looked at your hand that was on his chest and back to you. “I didn’t feel uncomfortable… I felt nervous…..” you told him shyly. It was silent and you looked up at him, a bit of fear visible in your eyes and Pedro’s eyes soften at you, turning his body completely towards you. His fingers softly going over your cheek before placing a curl behind your ear (or tried at least). “Nervous for what?” Pedro almost whispered as the air started to tighten around you again while his hand covered yours on his chest, taking your hand in his. You tried to look down but his finger was underneath your chin again, pulling you up. “I…. I ehhh think you now why.” Pedro’s eyes held more lust again. “I want you to tell me.” his voice still holding that gentleness.

You looked up, goosebumps covering your body. You made eye contact with Pedro and felt a rush of confidence going over you and you quickly placed your lips again his. Pedro knew it was going to happen but was still a bit shocked. You sighed in the kiss and held his shirt in your fist. Pedro sighed in the kiss as well. His arms around your waist, pulling you against his body while his other hand found your cheek, cupping it while he deepened the kiss. His hand that was resting on your hip dug into your skin causing you to moan in the kiss.

Pedro walked backwards, his hand searching for the doorknob without breaking the kiss as you both stumbled inside your home. The kiss turned into a lot of lust while your hands went over his body as well. His hand found your ass and he tightly grabbed it and you jumped into his arms as a reaction. “Bedroom?” he broke from the kiss, his lips plump just like yours from the heated kiss. You pointed to the door while you started to attack his neck and your hands going through his soft hair.

He opened the door, letting out a shaky breath as you sucked a spot in his neck. He carefully laid you down on the bed, hanging above you. You were both out of breath while you held intense eye contact. You wanted to grab his face so you could kiss him again, it was addictive but Pedro pulled back, making you frown. “Are you sure?” he asked you, looking intently into your eyes. “Yes” was all you could say as you lips crashed against yours again.

Your hands were in his hair and your body started to move on its own, pushing your hips up so you could grind against him. You were completely intoxicated by the man above you. He attached his mouth to your neck while his hand went over the curves from your body. God this man did things to you that he had no idea of. Finally Pedro let his body go closer to you and you grinded against his still growing bulge in his pants. You whimpered slightly, you were so needy for this man and he knew it.

His hands going slowly over your clit over your pants, making you whimper. “Daddy please.” You murmured, whines evident in your voice as you begged him. He stopped sucking the sweet spot in your neck and you felt shame and panic growing in your stomach. “what did you call me Chiquita?” his eyes looked amused by your sentence. Shame and panic left your body but shyness got in their space. “Come on, repeat it baby. What did you call me?” he had a smirk on his face as you whispered out “Daddy.” Pedro’s eyes went darker again while he leaned towards your ear, his breath on your cheek. “That’s right. I’m your daddy.” You turned your head a bit so you could kiss him again.

His hand going where you needed him the most but still over your pants. “Please daddy please!” you pleaded. Pedro had a smug smile on his face, fully enjoying this. His hands roamed over your body again before his hand finally disappeared into your jeans. Your hips grinding against his hands. Pedro felt how wet you were and groaned into your ears and he could feel the reaction his moans had on you while you clenched on his finger. He smiled and softly bit your ear lobe while you whimpered. His hand coming from your jeans and showed you how wet you were. You felt the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Is this all for me Chiquita?” He whispered in your ear. Your brain was so mushy that all you could do was nod.

He smiled and kissed you passionately before Pedro took your jeans off gently. His lips on your leg slowly going up while his hand caressed your leg. When his mouth got attached to your thigh, he made eye contact with you, his hot breath against your thigh while he torturously slow went up to your core which was covered by your panty. His thumb over your panty, circling your clit. You moaned out and arched your back. You wanted him, needed him. “Tell me what you want baby girl.” He whispered his voice still laced with comfort and softness. You whimpered out almost beggingly “I want you, papi.” The moment called him: “papi” his grin grew like you’ve never seen before and he took off your panty.

He placed a delicate kiss on your clit while looking at you with mischief. You let your head fall on your pillow, moaning out. You were sure that you were dripping at this point. You felt his tongue over your whole pussy, giving it a good lick before sucking on your clit. Your hand went through his hair, holding it carefully while he held your other hand, letting it rest on your stomach while he intertwined his fingers with yours. He looked up at you with his big brown cow eyes while he ate you out was enough to make you cum.

Pedro noticed that you were close and slowly put his finger in your entrance and curled it, playing with your g-spot. You gasped out and squeezed his hand tightly, your other hand clutching on his hair, making it messy. “Daddy, I’m close, please don’t stop.” You begged him. Pedro let go of your hand and held your hips a bit up in a tight lock, making it unable for you to move while his eyes watched your expressions close and intensely. Before you knew it a rush of ecstasy washed over you as Pedro kept going, almost overstimulating you.

His grip loosened and Pedro hang above you again with an adoring look as you tried to catch your breath, looking mesmerized at Pedro, his hair all messy from your hand in it. You pulled him for a kiss. His hands roaming over your body again. You pushed Pedro softly on his back and sat on his lap, kissing him again. Pedro gently cupping your cheeks. Some of your curls fell onto his forehead and he pulled it back. You started to grind on his dick through his pants. Your orgasm left a wet spot on his pants while you kept grinding. Pedro held your hips tightly and let his head fall on your pillow, letting out a groan. “There you go mamacita. Keep doing that.” You felt your stomach flutter from the nickname. “I had some other things in mind.” You told him and got off from his lap.

Pedro looked at you while you undid his pants. “Let me take care of you now daddy.” You told him, knowing it got to him. He groaned when you pulled his cock out and didn’t waist a second before going down, slobbering all over. God this man was build differently and it made your mouth water and your pussy clench by the idea of him in you. It definitely was a sloppy blowjob and from the sounds Pedro made, he enjoyed it very much so. He cursed underneath his breath with gasps. His hand found your hair and held your curls in his hand, holding it away from your face. You made eye contact with Pedro and he let out a moan and let his head fall on the pillow from the amount of pleasure that you were giving him.

“Fuck…., Baby if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He told you and got you off from him, carefully laying you on your back again and Pedro above you. He kissed you passionately like he had never done before, taking your breath away as you both moaned in the kiss. “I need you Papi, please, please.” Your eyes begged him and Pedro had to control himself so he wouldn’t cum by just your begging already. “God you are something else baby girl.” You crashed your lips against his again.

You took his sweater off and he took your oversized hoodie off as well, softly undoing your bra and the moment you were completely naked in front of him, he looked mesmerized at you with a smile before laying above you again and pulling you back in a passionate kiss. Your hand slowly going over his chest, belly and towards his cock. You held his cock in your hands and Pedro gasped slightly when you guided it to your entrance. Pedro stopped kissing you while you guided him into your entrance. His thumb softly rubbing your cheek for comfort. You put the tip in and you were dripping on the sheets when you pushed him in slowly before Pedro took over.

You whimpered, your eyes tightly shut from the pain and pleasure. He was stretching you out but he did it slowly while he groaned out as well. When he was fully in he waited so you could get used to his size. “Look at me mama.” He told you and you opened your eyes carefully. You saw Pedro looking at you with all the love radiating from his eyes. “You’re going to be okay. If it hurts, you tell me okay?” you nodded and Pedro kissed your forehead, making you feel all fuzzy and clingy. “Please daddy, I want to feel you. I want you close.” You begged and Pedro slowly started to move while he kept looking at you to see if you were okay.

His cock was coated by your juices, making him moan out. You put your arms around his shoulder, pulling him closer to your body. You craved the skin to skin contact. He sat up with you still hanging on him as a koala. He sat up straight, his cock deep buried inside of you. “Ride me baby, show daddy what you can do.” He told you, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders while you started to grind on his dick. His hands on your hips, pushing you deeper on his cock. You started to grind faster, feeling the euphoric feeling coming closer. “Papi…” you whispered out, followed by moans as you clenched on his dick. Pedro placed his arms tightly around you, pushing your chest against his in a hug. You started to shake on his cock, Pedro moaning out as a reaction while you clenched on his cock. “There you go princesa” Pedro grumbled out.

He laid down on his back, you still on top of him. You kept riding him while he took in every part of your body. “My god, your angelic.” He told you and pulled you down as he cupped your cheeks and kissed you deeply before putting his arms around you again and started to pound you out. You gasped at the sudden speed and the way it hit your g-spot perfect. Pedro cursed underneath his breath when he felt your juices flowing out of you. You were squirting before you could even realize that it happened. Pedro moaned and tried to catch his breath, feeling you shake above him.

You collapsed on his chest and kissed him while you were still out of breath. His hair sticking to his forehead from sweat and you brushed them gently out of the way while

Pedro’s eyes followed you, completely intoxicated by you. His hands caressing your waist and curves. Pedro moved his hand to the back of your neck and pushed you down so he could kiss you. You heard Pedro moan in this kiss which caused you to clench around his dick again. Pedro grumbled and pushed you softly over so he could fuck you on your back.

His eyes were a bit darker, connected with yours as he pushed his cock back into you, causing you to gasp. Pedro held your legs as he pounded into you. Pedro was close to while you chased your own orgasm again. “Come in me, please come in me, daddy” Pedro grumbled out and laid on top of you, holding you close. The way he moaned in your ear, pounded you out and held you so gentle at the same time made you cum in no time again. “That’s it baby, come on papi’s dick. Clench on my cock Chiquita” You felt his own cum shooting deep inside of you. Pedro cursed in between grumbles, getting down from his own high. His head buried between your neck and shoulder until he calmed down and let it rest on your shoulder while you went with your hands through his hair, trying to catch your own breath.

Pedro rolled on his back, pulling you with him so he could hug you. You went with your fingertips over his chest, Pedro kissing your head and massaging your scalp. “So I was right? You really do have a crush on me.” Pedro said chuckling as you pushed him away as a joke and rolled your eyes but your smile said enough. Pedro pulled you back into his chest while laughing. “I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry. If it helps, I have a crush too….” Pedro whispered the last part in your ear, making you look at him. You both just watched each other for moment until you both chuckled. “Can you please stay tonight? I don’t want to be alone right now.” you told him and Pedro smiled lovingly at you. “I’ll stay as long as you want and need me to, princesa” you smiled from all the butterflies in your stomach.

Pedro held you tighter and you let him, craving his comfort. “Let’s stay here for a bit longer.” He told you, making you look up and kiss him gently. After a gentle and loving make-out session, both clinging to each other as you closed your eyes, happy that the shitty day didn’t end shitty

[mysumeow]

. . . ꒰ TEMPTING

Warnings: afab body and breasts, reader is referred to with you/your only. PIV unprotected sex, edging, prone bone position, thigh job, pwp (plot what plot). This is sort of a continuation of another smut i posted but you can read this without reading the first one.

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: uhg. lilia. i love him. i love general lilia. thats it that all i have to say.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ 🌷 . . KOFI | TWST MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS

Whenever a window of opportunity to rest presents itself, you’ll sit on the nearest tree stump or log available, idly watching what happens around you.

You see soldiers' training, sparring, fixing tents, and the general dividing tasks among his subordinates with a stern voice. Lilia’s an example of what being a leader means—not limiting himself to delegating labor, but also lending a hand.

He grabbed the handle of his lithic weapon as he sparred with one soldier; with practiced ease, Lilia unarmed the soldier. The general reprimanded the other fae for losing his footing over a basic movement.

Lilia plans tactics for ambushes furtively, aiming to attack the enemy’s weakness first. Deft and sharp.

Soon, you’d understand that the general isn’t used to docility of any kind. Neither giving nor receiving. A war general shouldn’t allow a margin of error, steps should be given with precision and intent on subduing your adversary.

You recalled your first intimate night with Lilia. You remembered the sensation of him holding back, and even then, he still did a number on your body. You’ve spent enough time with the fae to know that the moment you try to point out any attempt at tenderness on his part, he would deny it.

You couldn’t help but find it endearing. And your curiosity increased the more you wondered about to what extent you could tease him and make him lose his constraints. Lilia’s libido was pretty responsive to what you did or said, so it wouldn’t be difficult to push him in that direction.

The moment the soldiers were already in their tents, you sneaked into the general’s.

“I’m heading to the lake to wash off the dirt,” you said as you entered the tent. You found your fae writing something down on the map splayed across the table.

Lilia acknowledged you with a hum.

You sighed. “I don’t wanna go alone. The woods become frightening the moment there’s no more sunlight, you know.”

Lilia dropped the pencil and looked at you. “A little dirt on your body’s not going to kill you,” he teased.

“You know I can’t sleep like that. I sweated a lot today, too. Baur made me accompany that expedition group to the mountain’s skirt in the morning,” you complained. “I promise it won’t be long.”

You sensed that he was about to give up.

“And someone could sneak up on me and see me naked.”

That was enough argument for the fae to stand up from his chair and rush to tag along with you.

This was your favorite moment of the day, when you could not just finally go to bed but also freshen up with clean water. Even if the temperature might be a bit chilly during the night, the fresh water was welcomed to clean you up from the dirt and sweat that clinged to your skin.

“The water feels nice,” You hummed as you dipped your toes into it. Lilia was more concerned about making sure no one was near, though, his ears flicked at the slightest suspicious sound.

You began undressing in front of him, as you have done many times before. Even with your back turned towards him, you could feel his stare roaming around your flesh.

You carefully entered into the serene lake until the water covered your chest.

“Lilia,” You called out to him again. His gaze returned to you. “Why don’t you join? You look like you need this, too.”

“You said you wouldn’t take long. I still have work to finish.” He crossed his arms, gripping his lithic.

“Just this once,” You almost pouted. “You’ve been busy these past few days. I miss you already. I’ll even help you wash your back.”

You held Lilia’s stare before he, for the second time today, humored you. Soon, his clothes were untidily placed next to yours.

Beaming with joy, you hugged Lilia the instant he was within reach.

“General, your hair’s getting wet,” You hurried to help him fix his hairstyle in a way that the inconvenience would be resolved. “There. All done.”

Lilia grumbled about something meaningless as he allowed you to scrub his back, washing off both dirt and dried blood and uncovering new lacerations he had gained from recent ambushes. You traced them with your fingers, leaning closer to kiss those scars.

You couldn’t see Lilia’s expression, but you did sense his body’s temperature going up.

“Mm, you’re so warm,” You relished the warmth from the fae’s body. Your tits pressed flush against his back, and your hands roamed around his front—feather-like touches teasing his chest and abdomen. You were aware that your words and actions were leading in a certain direction, so before Lilia beat you to it and followed through with it, you pulled away from him. “It’s getting chilly, though. Let’s head back already.”

In the blink of an eye, Lilia gripped your wrist and pulled you towards his chest. Your backside making contact with something hard and hot, nudging in between your thighs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Hm? I thought the general had work to finish,” You feigned innocence.

“That can wait. Right now, I need to have you.”

“But we’re in a lake! Someone could walk in on us. Let’s head back to the tent,” Ignoring the evident ache in your body, you did your best to deter him. For fun. To test how far you could make him wait. If not for your determination to uncover the fae’s strength, you would’ve conceded.

Under the promise, the general’s complaint had died for the moment.

Once in the tent, you were preparing to go to sleep, until a sudden force pinned you against the bed. A small squeak left you, and the familiar arms squeezing your waist made you understand that your little teasing reaped an interesting reaction from him.

“Lilia—” You tried to gain some balance by trying to prop your torso up with your hands, but the general immobilized you by further pinning your legs against the mattress with his.

“You little tease, you think I wouldn’t notice what you were trying to do?” He brushed away the hair covering your nape to nip at the sensitive skin there. “If you wanted me to rough your body up, you should’ve just asked for it,”

This was what you wanted, although you didn’t imagine it would be this soon. If this little teasing got you to this point, you couldn’t imagine how he would be if you had done more...

One hand slipped under your underwear while his other hand covered your mouth in time before a moan escaped you. With his index and middle fingers, he began rubbing your clit in circular motions.

“I’ve been treating you with so much leniency you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with,” His breath against your ear made you shiver, and a renewed sense of pleasure overtook your body. “I’ll have to remind you,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” You managed to whisper, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible but failing with how he played with your sex. Lilia really did know you inside out.

“You were already wet when I slid my hand under your clothes. Don’t try to act coy now,” He seemed to be amused, above all.

You clutched the sheets as you lost yourself in pleasure, your head falling against the pillow and using it to muffle your voice. You barely register Lilia pulling your pajama pants down and off your legs.

The fae grew eager, having a sliver of enough composure left to discard your underwear, but your uncoordinated and trembling body made the task more complicated than needed. Instead, he pushed it to the side, his fingers not once faltering in stimulating you.

A muffled whimper of his name. Not even a second later, Lilia stopped his movements.

“Noo, what’re you doing,” You protested, not expecting him to halt. “I was about to…”

“Aw, you were about to. What a pity,” He mocked you, momentarily freeing your body from his antsy hands to remove his own garments. Once done, you felt him spread your slicked pussy lips with his thumbs, eyeing you up with a satisfied, complacent grin. “You like being treated like this. You have no salvation, do you?”

Despite not being able to deny it, your face burned from embarrassment. Even if Lilia tended to put your pleasure first and holds back from going all out, the change in that tactful demeanor into a meaner one still excited you.

While holding you open still, he grinded his cock between your folds, using both his pre-cum and your arousal to lubricate it. You were growing impatient, and thus, tried to grind back against him to incite him into already giving in.

Lilia rested his weight against your back, his chest flush against it, weighing you down. Lilia dug his fingernails into your flesh, while demanding that you stay still. His fingers went back to playing with your clit, using your sticky inner thighs to pleasure himself.  

After what felt like forever, the tip prodded inside, taking his time to stuff you with more of his dick. He pulled back until the just head was in and thrust with more strength. The feeling of Lilia’s warm body embracing yours and his thickness stretching you almost made you forget about holding back your voice.

From the very moment you conceived the idea of teasing him, to Lilia not allowing you to touch yourself or him, the buildup to your orgasm approached faster than what you expected. As if both factors weren’t enough, you were still sensitive over the climax you were robbed of prior moments ago.

You mewled, trying to reach behind you and hold his hand to ground yourself.

Instead, the fae grabbed your arms and pinned them against your back, his pace not stuttering for even a minute.

This was what you wanted—for him to be rougher…and within a couple more smacks of his hips against yours, you came hard around him, broken moans of his name escaping from your bitten lips. Lilia quieted himself by kissing your shoulder the moment he released his cum inside.

Sore and spent, your head collapsed forward against the pillow again. You heard Lilia’s amused chuckle, resting next to you while keeping an arm wrapped around you.

“I wasn’t too rough, right?” He muttered after a while in silence, his eyes inspecting your body. “Does it hurt somewhere?”

“My arms, you gripped me too hard,” You mumbled. “I didn’t notice it at the moment because…it felt nice…”

At your confession, he looked taken back by it before his expression shifted into a relieved one and he chuckled. “I should’ve known you like being treated like that. You are quite keen about my fangs, and I’ve noticed how your body melts when I bite you,”

Before you could fawn over the coy visage that took over his eyes for a split second, it faded away with the same ease it appeared as he turned his head to the other side.

“I love it when you’re trying to be gentle, even if you’re not that great at it,” You teased, your fingers brushing his hair. Lilia grunted, suddenly grumpy about you pointing that out. “But I also enjoy it when you’re rough,”

He humphed, still avoiding facing you. You smiled at him, despite it not being visible to him. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion getting to you.

[alotofpockets]

The set up | Alessia Russo x Reader

Where your best friend Gio sets you up with his sister.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.5k

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“Come on, just let me set you up with one more girl.” Your best friend begged, making you roll your eyes. He loved trying to set you up, but nothing ever really came from it. “Like your other set ups worked so well.” 

“Please, just one more before I head off to Bali. I can’t leave you here all on your own.” Oh he could be so annoying. “I have friends besides you Gio, you know that right?" You give him a friendly shove. 

“Y/n, she’s totally your type. Just give me one more chance.” You knew when he was putting up his best puppy eyes, that you weren’t going to be able to say no. “Fine, but it will be your going away present, so don’t expect anything else.”

You checked your phone one more time to check if you had gotten the right restaurant, a reservation for two under the name Russo he had said. Why he had used his name instead of yours was a mystery to you, but that mystery quickly unravelled when you saw the girl that was sitting at the table the waiter was leading you to.

“Lessi?” The girl looked up with confusion written all over your face, just like yourself. “Hey y/n/n, what are you doing here?” 

“Well, apparently Gio tried setting me up with you.” Alessia chuckled, “Of course he did.” You hesitate for a moment, which Alessia seems to notice. “Sit, this place has amazing food. Plus Gio is paying for the whole thing.” Now it was your turn to laugh. “How did you manage that?”

You settle into your seat while Alessia tells you how she convinced her brother to pay for the whole date. Alessia was right, the menu had some great choices, as you looked through them you wondered why Gio would set you up with his sister, was this one of his jokes, or was he serious about this?

"So, how have you been?" Alessia asks, breaking the brief silence. "I feel like it's been ages since we caught up properly." You had met Gio back in college, and had known his whole family for ages. 

“It really has been a while, hasn’t it? I’m doing well. I got promoted at work which prompted my move to London, they offered me a managing position at their location here. I’ve been getting used to the changes, home and work wise, but overall I’m really happy with the change. How have you been? Has Arsenal been treating you well?” Now that you think of it, you hadn’t been to one of her matches since made the move to Arsenal. You often joined Gio and the Russo family on seeing Alessia play for either club or country, having watched her grow from a college athlete to this phenomenal professional player. 

Alessia tells you all about her move to London and her time at Arsenal so far over the pizza’s that you both ordered. It had actually been really nice hanging out with the girl one on one, something you hadn’t done all too often. 

When both your plates are empty, you don’t want to leave yet but you know you’ll have to say goodnight because you have work in the morning. “This was really nice Less, would you want to do it again some time?” You didn’t know how the blonde was looking at this set up as an actual date, or just as friends catching up, but as the evening came to an end you realised just how much you had enjoyed her company, and how much you would like to go out with her again.

“I had a great time, and I would love to do it again sometime, it’s a date.” Your heart warmed at the words ‘it’s a date’, glad to hear that she was feeling the same way. “Do you want to mess with Gio a bit?” She suggested, and she told you her plan after you agreed. 

You step into Gio’s apartment without an invitation to come in, or saying hello. “Your sister? You set me up with your sister?” You tried your hardest not to smile. His eyes widened, “I really thought you guys would hit it off, and if not it would just be funny.” You shake your head and walk out of the door again. As you get in your car you quickly send Alessia a text.

Y/n: Part one of the plan has been executed :)

The next day you eagerly await Alessia’s text, after lunch your phone finally buzzes with a message from her. 

Alessia: Part two is in motion!

You smile at the message, imagining what Alessia has cooked up, as she was clearly enjoying pranking her brother as much as you were.

The plan was to make Gio believe he messed up with setting the two of you up, while actually you already had your second date planned. 

The second date was even better than the first one, instead of sitting down at a restaurant you went to an arcade. When you headed in the bustling arcade filled your ears, as Alessia led you right to the first game. “Ready to get crushed?” A sparkle behind her eyes told you enough about how tonight was going to go. “Bring it on.” You said back with determination.

You smirk as you get ball after ball in the basket, Alessia was doing well too, but your points were definitely going up quicker. When the timer ends, you have almost double the points she has. Alessia looks over in disbelief. “Less, how did your brother and I get to know each other?” She thinks for a moment before it finally dawns on her, you were both on the basketball team in college. “Okay, so that game doesn’t count because there was an unfair advantage. Let’s move on.” 

She takes your hand and drags you to a new game, where the both of you are just as competitive. The wins were divided more now, her being better at some games, and you better at others. All in all, you had a great time. 

At the end of the night she invited you to come see her play on Sunday, an offer you gladly accepted. It had really been too long since you had seen her play, and you were interested to see how her playing style had changed since she joined the new club. 

She walked you to your front door, “You’ll be at the airport tomorrow as well right?” You nod, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world” Gio was leaving for Bali tomorrow, and his family and a couple of his closest friends were coming to wave him off. Since you had stormed out of his apartment, the two of you were good again, but he still had no idea that you and Alessia had started dating. 

Before she turns around to get to her car, she leans in and pecks your lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You kiss her again, wanting her with you a little longer. “Goodnight Less, text me when you get home?” With a nod and another quick kiss, you watch her drive off. 

The next day you meet the Russo family at the airport. No one wanted to say goodbye, but you knew you had to since Gio had a plane to catch so you stepped up first. You give him a big hug, “I’m going to miss you, Gio. Have an amazing trip, and send me all the updates please.” 

Gio noticed the two of you embracing, and started smirking instantly. He walked up to the two of you. “I knew it!” You rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah yeah, you finally set me up with a good one.” He hugged the both of you. “I’m very happy for you both. Take care of each other while I’m away?” With a promise that you would, he went off to board his plane.

After you, more of Gio’s friends went ahead and said their goodbye’s, and last but not least, his family did as well. Alessia stepped back from saying bye with teary eyes, the goodbye being emotional for the family. She walked right towards you, and you wrapped your arms around her in comfort, no longer caring about the little plan you had made. 

Carol walked up to the two of you, “Want to join us for dinner tonight, sweetheart?” You looked over to Alessia to make sure she was okay with you saying yes to her mom. When she agreed with a nod and a smile, you told Carol you would love to. 

When Gio landed you were still at the Russo’s, and you Gio had added you all to a group chat called ‘Bali updates for the fam’, you smiled at the way he included you with his family, as the five of you watched his video showing you all the hotel room he would spend the first night.

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[melon-fodder]

-> KINKTOBER MASTERLIST <-

♡ WARNINGS: piss, reader has a pussy, p in v, creampies, holding it, fisting (yeah, like, up to the wrist), pet names: baby, princess, good girl

♡ WORD COUNT: 1.7k

♡ NOTE: I don’t have much to say other than I’m a lil freaky and I hope you are too. enjoy~

Togame lives a life of relaxation. He moves on his own time, slowly even when he’s enjoying something. Especially when he’s enjoying something. 

Now, for example–he has you speared open on his cock, your legs wide, dangling over his thighs as he rolls his hips into you at a glacial pace. You whine in frustration, head falling back to rest on his shoulder as you take in heaving breaths. 

“Jou…” you whimper, shuddering when he smooths a hand over your tummy, “Jou, please.” “Shh, be patient, pretty girl. You can take it.” His voice is low against your ear, making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

The pace, you can handle. Maddening as it is, you’ve gotten used to it over your time spent with him. It’s the added pressure inside of you that’s making tears burn at the back of your eyes, similar to the burn growing between your hips.

“Here, why don’t you distract yourself,” he suggests, and you can hear the sly tone of his voice, nearly letting some of those tears fall when he grabs your cup from the bedside table and presents it to you. “Come on, baby, just drink a little more.” You pout but part your lips for the straw when he holds it to your mouth. “I’ll be done soon. Just keep sippin’ ‘til then.”

The idea of taking in any more water is enough to make you go crazy, but… 

It’s the way he’s nuzzling into your neck, the way he murmurs the sweetest words to you, how his green eyes are probably shining with affection even if you can’t see them. 

So, you do as he asks and start swallowing little gulps of water. It feels like it goes directly to your bladder, stretching you to your limit. All the while, Togame keeps his slow pace, using your pussy to his liking for what feels like forever. You know you must be strangling his cock with the way your clenching, trying to keep yourself from letting go the way you want to. “

“Just keep getting tighter n’ tighter–fuck–” You hear that tell-tale hiss, and he suddenly asks you, “you ready for me, princess?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, please,” because the quicker he cums, the quicker he’ll let you pee. 

The next couple thrusts are hard, hitting you where you least need them to. Fat tip rubbing over your g-spot, your jaw drops in a silent scream, stars dancing in your vision with every snap of his hips. “Don’t know how much longer I can hold it,” you tell him, voice warbling. He doesn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his own climax, dick twitching with every line of cum that paints your insides. “God… so fucking good,” he groans, movements slowing to a stop as he pants. His fingers dance over your stomach again, and your thighs tremble, flexed with the effort of not relieving yourself. Your whole body is shaking in fact, and Togame coos at you as he comes down, tells you, “just a little bit longer, okay? M’gonna make you feel so good.”

You bite your lip hard as he carefully slides you off of him, laying you down on the bed the two of you had prepared before you got started with this. You’ve always kept a plastic sheet over the mattress because, even on the nights that you don’t participate in this particular type of play, you still have a habit of getting messy. On top of the plastic are several absorbent pads that you could unfortunately only find in the pet aisle at the store, but… desperate times.

You can feel Togame leaking out of you, warm and thick, running down the curve of your ass. He sits between your legs, stares at your used pussy for a moment and licks his lips. 

“If it starts hurting, let me know and I’ll stop, ‘kay?”

You nod, heart picking up speed in your chest. He had told you he wanted to try something a little different tonight, which is exactly what he told you months ago when he got curious about piss play in the first place. 

You’re not scared; you trust Togame. You just have to fucking go. You’re already hurting, already full, ready to burst. The worst part is that you know how good it’ll feel to let go, that relief as warmth flows out of your body… You need it.

A breathy moan escapes you as Togame gently slides two fingers into your hole. You’re wet from your own slick and his spend, and your walls, though swollen with arousal, offer no resistance. He massages you for a little while, chuckling at the way you flutter around him before he adds a third finger. 

“Mm… f-uck!” You lurch upward when he taps your g-spot, a sob bubbling from your chest as that burn intensifies. “Can’t–can’t hold it if you d-do that.” “No?” he presses against it again, this time while slowly rubbing a thumb over your clit, and you sniffle as you feel piss start to dribble out of your little hole. “Ah, ah, not yet. Still gotta fit two more fingers,” he says in a dark tone. “Wanna get this pussy all nice and stretched before she makes a mess.” Your eyes roll at his filthy words, core throbbing with desire as you think about Togame fitting his whole hand inside of you. 

“That get you hot, baby?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your tummy as he works his pinky inside of you. 

The stretch of your hole is almost enough to distract you from the stretch of your bladder, but it’s so full, and the angle of his fingers are putting pressure against it from the inside, and god, you need to pee–you need to so badly, you might actually cum when you do. You hiss when Togame spreads his fingers inside of you, twists his wrist back and forth, makes a stirring motion. Every action is met with a cacophony of lewd squelches, your cunt sucking him in further and further, begging for the last addition.

Fingertips slip just past your entrance–you can’t tell how many, but he uses them to stretch you a little more, gently pulling the gummy tissue to make room for his thumb.

“Deep breath, baby,” he tells you, but breathing isn’t an option. You haven’t taken a full breath in what feels like hours. All your focus has been on not wetting yourself, on holding it all in.

You grunt and whimper as Togame works his thumb inside of you. It’s a slow process even when he gets most of it in. He rubs your thigh and peppers your hips with sweet kisses, all while praising you– “doing so good for me, fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

“Nngh, Jou–so… much…” “I know, I know, but you’re stretchin’ so nice. Just gotta push a little bit more.” With his free hand, Togame grabs the bottle of lube off the nightstand and pours a generous amount over the top of his hand. The slide may be easier, but you still struggle to take his palm. 

“So close, almost there,” he promises, circling your clit in a way that usually relaxes you, but you’re still tense–coiled as you try to hold yourself together. “You ready to let go?” he asks, and you can barely even nod your head, tears streaming from your eyes as your lower lip trembles where it’s held between your teeth. 

“Go on, baby. You can make a mess now.” An audible sob echoes in the room as you will your body to relax, and as soon as it does, Togame pushes in the rest of the way, his fist fitting snugly inside your pussy as you shower his forearm with piss. 

Your eyes roll, moan rising in pitch and volume as he wiggles his fingers. The weight of his hand–his whole fucking hand–and the bliss of relieving yourself has you unraveling. Waves of euphoria crash over you, scorching relief spilling from your cunt and pooling beneath you. It drenches the pads between your legs, seeping up to your back and coating your skin in a warm, damp sheen.

You’re gushing around him, squirting and creaming and peeing all at once, and the whole time, Togame controls you like a puppet, shallow thrusts against your cervix pushing more and more fluid from your body–fuck, it won’t stop. It won’t stop. You’re crying and drooling, quaking in his hold. Your legs kick weakly, uselessly, hips rolling on their own accord. It feels so fucking good. Hand stuffing your slutted-out pussy, fingers touching parts of you that neither of you have felt before. He’s in your guts, pushing against your doughy insides and milking everything from you. 

“Pussy’s so soft, Jesus fucking Christ…”

You yelp when he shifts to lay on his stomach, fist still stuffed inside you. Mouth latching onto your clit, you squeal, “too much, too much, too much!”

But, Togame just groans, sucking on the swollen bud while curling too many fingers into too many spots–fuck, fuck, he’s gonna make you cum again. He’s gonna make you– He slurps loudly, lapping at your stretched cunt and greedily drinking whatever fluid gushes from you. You can’t tell anymore, not with the way he’s pressing against your bladder from the outside, not with the way your insides ache for another orgasm. 

“Gimme everything you got, baby, that’s a good girl,” he groans, tonguing over your clit over and over, licking up every stray drop and dribble that leaks out of you.

He places a few wet kisses on the inside of your thighs, hand finally stilling inside of you, and you’re able to take in a huge, shaky breath. 

“Holy fuck,” is all you manage, and Togame laughs.

“Yeah. Holy fuck is right.” Another sloppy kiss right between your hips before he rises to his knees, “wanna know the best part?”

You lift an eyebrow, his handsome face swimming in and out of focus. Only now can you see what a complete mess you’ve made of him. His face and neck are dripping with you–even his bangs are wet, plastered against his forehead. Togame smirks, obviously not uncomfortable in the slightest.

“Best way to safely get my hand outta you is to make you cum again.”