#he wants SOMETHING that belongs to himself and he wants others to be happy because he exists

[lila-lou]

✨Beyond his true fate - Part 1/14✨

Summary: Sequel to "His true fate".

(Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, tough topics

Word Count: 5779

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

Day 1 Jensen stared at his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his call log. Five missed calls. Five times he let it ring until it went to voicemail. Five times he hoped, prayed, begged that you would answer.

You didn’t. Your last message had been clear: “Jensen, please. I need space”.

He hadn’t replied. What could he say? That he didn’t want to give you space? That he wanted to get in his car and drive straight to wherever you were, pull you into his arms, bury his face in your neck and apologize until his voice gave out?

Instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned toward the living room, where Zeppelin was currently attempting to stack pillows taller than himself. Arrow was chasing JJ around the couch with a stuffed animal.

Jensen forced himself to smile. Forced himself to laugh when Zeppelin collapsed into the pillows. Forced himself to focus on them and not the aching hole in his chest where you used to be.

But that night, after he tucked them in and the house was quiet, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where you should be. Where you belonged. And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly, completely alone.

Day 3 He found one of your sweaters in the laundry. He hadn’t noticed it before, tangled up in the mix of clothes from before you left. It still smelled like you.

He sat on the couch with it in his lap for hours, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers, his chest aching so damn bad he could hardly breathe.

Jensen had never been the kind of man to hold onto things like that. He wasn’t sentimental about clothes or perfume or little trinkets. But right now? Right now, he would have given anything to hear your voice. To hear you hum under your breath while cooking, to feel your fingers thread through his hair when he sat on the couch beside you, to have your body pressed against his at night—warm, soft, real.

But all he had was this damn sweater. And a silence that was suffocating.

Day 5 Jensen took the kids out for ice cream, trying to distract himself with their laughter. It worked for a little while. Zeppelin got chocolate all over his shirt, Arrow declared she was officially “too old for baby flavors” and got something she hated, and JJ? She barely said anything.

She was watching him.

And later, when the other two had gone to bed, she sat beside him on the couch, arms crossed, her sharp eyes way too knowing. “You look like shit, Dad”, she finally said, her tone blunt.

Jensen scoffed, running a hand over his face. “Thanks, kid”.

“Are you gonna fix it?”.

Jensen looked at her then, feeling the weight of everything press down on his chest. “I don’t know”, he admitted.

Day 7 The kids went back to Danneel’s today. The house was too quiet after they left.

Jensen paced the kitchen, his phone in his hand, your number pulled up for what felt like the hundredth time.

Just one message. Just one call.

But every time, he stopped himself. Because if you wanted to hear from him, you would have called by now.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink.

Then another. Then another.

By the time he stopped, his head was heavy, his limbs sluggish, and the only thing he could think about was the way your lips felt against his. The way your voice sounded when you whispered his name in the dark. The way you had looked at him the last time you spoke—broken, distant, done.

He didn’t deserve to call you. Didn’t deserve to beg.

Day 9 The whiskey burned going down, but he barely felt it anymore.

Jensen sat on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen, the bottle sitting half-empty on the table beside him.

He had ignored his emails. Ignored his agent’s calls. Ignored everyone except the bartender from the local place he had gone to earlier that night just to get out of the house.

But none of it mattered. Because no matter how much he tried to distract himself, the only thing he could think about was you. And the fact that he had no idea if you were coming back.

Day 12 Jensen hadn’t shaved. Had barely slept. He was a mess, and he knew it.

The couch had become his bed, the bottle of whiskey his closest companion. Every time his phone buzzed, he snapped his head toward it, hoping—praying—it was you.

But it never was.

Day 14 Jensen barely registered the sound of knocking at first. His head was pounding, a dull ache from too many sleepless nights and too much whiskey. He had half a mind to ignore it—until the knocking turned into full-blown pounding.

Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself off the couch, stumbling slightly as he made his way toward the door. He swung it open without checking, expecting maybe the mailman, maybe a delivery—hell, maybe even you.

Instead, it was Jared.

Jensen blinked, his vision hazy. “What the hell are you doing here?”.

Jared gave him a once-over, his expression unimpressed. “Checking to see if you’re dead”.

Jensen scoffed, stepping back so Jared could walk in. “I’m fine”.

Jared shut the door behind him and immediately let out a low whistle, taking in the disaster that was Jensen’s living room. The coffee table was cluttered with empty glasses, the bottle of whiskey still sitting there, and a blanket was thrown haphazardly over the couch—the only place Jensen had been sleeping.

“Yeah”, Jared muttered. “You look great”.

Jensen rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. “Why are you really here?”.

Jared exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “Because you’re a miserable fuck when you’re heartbroken, and I figured you’d be too stubborn to reach out for help”.

Jensen scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not heartbroken”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Really? So, this”,—he gestured around the room—"this is just your new aesthetic?”.

Jensen shot him a glare, but Jared wasn’t fazed. Instead, he dropped onto the armchair across from him, leaning forward slightly. “Look, man”, Jared said, his voice softer now, more serious. “I know you. And I know you’re hurting. But you can’t just sit here drowning yourself in whiskey and self-pity, waiting for her to come back”.

Jensen’s jaw clenched. “She won’t even talk to me”.

“Yeah, because she’s hurting too���, Jared shot back. “And from what I can tell, she’s not the one who fucked this up”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He knew Jared was right. He didn’t need to hear it.

Jared leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Jensen, do you even want this kid?”.

Jensen’s stomach twisted, and for a moment, he couldn’t even answer.

Jared shook his head. “That’s the problem, man. You’re waiting for some grand epiphany, but that’s not how it works. You either step the fuck up, or you lose her. It’s that simple”.

Jensen let his head drop back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His chest felt tight, his mind racing, his heart a mess. “I don’t know how”, he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jared exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Then figure it out. Before it’s too late”.

Jensen closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the blanket on the couch. Because deep down, he knew—he was already running out of time.

Jared leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Alright, enough”.

Jensen barely cracked an eye open. “Enough of what?”.

“This”, Jared gestured around the disaster of a living room. “This whole pathetic, self-loathing, whiskey-drenched thing you’ve got going on. It’s over”.

Jensen scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair. “What, you gonna fix my life, Jare?”.

Jared didn’t flinch. “No, you are. Because I’m not letting you sit here wallowing while (Y/N) is out there figuring out if she can live without you”.

Jensen’s stomach twisted. He already knew the answer to that. You could.

Jared stood up, towering over him with that stubborn-as-hell look Jensen had seen too many times. “Get up”.

Jensen groaned. “Dude—”.

“No. Get the fuck up”.

Jensen blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the edge in Jared’s tone.

Jared gestured at him. “You look like hell, man. When’s the last time you shaved?”.

Jensen rubbed a hand over his scruff, glaring. “I don’t know. Who gives a shit?”.

Jared let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, see, that’s the problem. You don’t give a shit. And that’s why you’re losing her”.

That one landed deep.

Jared didn’t let up. “You say you don’t know how to do this? Fine. But sitting here doing nothing sure as hell isn’t helping”. He pointed toward the stairs. “So go shower. Shave. Clean this place up. And when you’re done, we’re gonna figure out how to make this right”.

Jensen exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands over his face.

Jared stepped closer. “You don’t get to be the victim here, Jensen. You did this. But you can still fix it”.

Jensen looked up at him, his jaw clenching. He wanted to snap back, to tell Jared to fuck off, to say he was too exhausted, too broken. But deep down, he knew his friend was right. So, without another word, he pushed himself off the couch and trudged toward the stairs.

“Atta boy”, Jared muttered, shaking his head as Jensen disappeared toward the bathroom.

As the water hit his face, Jensen let out a slow breath. He had to fix this. Before it really was too late.

Jensen ran a towel over his face, exhaling as he walked back into the living room. He felt a little more human—showered, shaved, wearing clean clothes—but inside, he was still wrecked.

Jared was sitting at the kitchen table now, arms crossed, watching him expectantly. He had cracked open a beer but hadn’t touched it yet.

Jensen sighed, dragging out a chair before dropping into it. “Alright”, he muttered. “Let’s hear it”.

Jared lifted a brow. “Hear what?”.

Jensen gestured vaguely. “Whatever lecture you’ve been dying to give me”.

Jared shook his head. “Nah, man. I’m past the lecture phase. Now, I just want the truth”.

Jensen looked down at his hands, jaw clenched. He wasn’t ready for this. But at the same time? He was fucking exhausted from running from it.

Jared leaned forward. “What are you so scared of?”.

Jensen swallowed hard, his throat tight. He ran a hand over his face before finally forcing the words out. “I swore I’d never do this again”.

Jared didn’t say anything, just let him talk.

“After the twins, after everything with Danneel…”, Jensen exhaled heavily, gripping the edge of the table. “I told myself I was done. No more kids. No more sleepless nights, no more stress, no more feeling like I’m failing at being a dad when my career is pulling me in a hundred different directions”.

Jared nodded slowly. “So when (Y/N) told you she was pregnant—”.

Jensen let out a humorless laugh. “I panicked. I shut down. Because I knew what was coming”. He shook his head, staring at the wood grain of the table. “The late nights. The exhaustion. The pressure to be everything all at once”.

Jared’s voice was quiet but firm. “And the difference this time?”.

Jensen hesitated, his chest tightening. “This time… I can’t fuck it up”.

Jared frowned. “What do you mean?”.

Jensen looked up at him, his green eyes stormy with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel until now. “I already screwed up one marriage, Jared. My kids already have to split their time between two homes. And now I’ve got this—this perfect, amazing woman who actually loves me for who I am, and I’m fucking ruining it”.

Jared exhaled. “Jensen—”.

Jensen shook his head. “I don’t get a redo if I mess this up. (Y/N) deserves more than that. This baby deserves more than that”. His voice cracked slightly. “And I’m so goddamn scared that I don’t know how to be enough for them”.

Silence settled between them.

Then, Jared leaned back, crossing his arms. “Okay”, he said simply.

Jensen blinked. “Okay?”.

Jared nodded. “Yeah. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, it’s time to do something about it”.

Jensen let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound so fucking easy”.

Jared smirked. “It’s not. But neither is sitting here feeling sorry for yourself”. He tilted his head. “You love her?”.

Jensen’s chest ached. “More than anything”.

Jared nodded. “Then prove it”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He knew Jared was right—he had to do something. He had to prove to you that he wasn’t just going to keep running, keep shutting down when things got hard.

But how the hell was he supposed to fix something that felt this broken?

Jared studied him carefully, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. His tone was different this time—slower, more deliberate. “Have you ever thought about proposing?”.

Jensen’s entire body tensed. His green eyes snapped to Jared’s, his breath hitching for just a second before he forced himself to scoff. “Jesus, Jared”, he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m trying to fix things, not push her away even more”.

Jared didn’t flinch. “I’m not saying you gotta do it tomorrow. I’m just asking… have you thought about it?”.

Jensen looked away, jaw tight. His hands clenched into fists on the table. “No”, he said automatically. Then, softer, almost to himself, “Not really”.

Jared hummed like he didn’t quite believe him. “Okay. And why not?”.

Jensen let out a humorless laugh. “Because marriage is right next to ‘another baby’ on my list of things I swore I’d never do again”. His voice was rough, bitter. “I barely survived it the first time. You really think I’d be dumb enough to sign up for that shit again?”.

Jared’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded like he had expected that answer. “And yet”, he said slowly, tilting his head, “you´re kinda willing to do the whole baby thing again for (Y/N)”.

Jensen opened his mouth, then shut it.

Jared leaned forward, his voice even. “So maybe this isn’t about marriage itself. Maybe this is about the fact that Danneel took that idea, chewed it up, and spit it out until all you see when you hear ‘marriage’ is something ugly”.

Jensen clenched his jaw, his chest tightening. Jared wasn’t wrong.

When he thought about marriage, he thought about fights behind closed doors. About feeling like a failure no matter what he did. About a relationship that had turned into nothing but resentment and obligations.

But when he thought about you?

He thought about quiet mornings with your legs tangled in his under the covers. The way you absentmindedly played with his fingers while you watched TV. The way you whispered his name in the dark, soft and certain, like you never doubted he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Jensen swallowed hard, rubbing his hand over his face.

Jared was watching him carefully. “I’m not saying you gotta run out and buy a ring right now”, he said. “But if you want to show her that you’re all in? It’s gotta be something big, man. Because right now, she thinks you don’t want this—don’t want her. And if you don’t do something to prove otherwise, she’s gonna walk”.

Jensen’s chest ached. Because that was his biggest fear. Losing you. Losing everything.

He exhaled slowly, his hands still gripping the edge of the table. “I don’t know if I can do marriage again”, he admitted, his voice raw. “But I know I can’t lose her”.

Jared nodded, like that was enough for now. “Then figure out what the hell you’re gonna do about it”.

Another week had passed. Another week full of Jared pushing, prodding, and dragging Jensen through what he sarcastically called “therapy sessions”. Another week without a single word from you.

It was fucking killing him. But at least now, he was trying.

Two days ago, in the middle of another long conversation about what the hell are you doing, man? Jensen had suggested painting the nursery.

It had come out of nowhere. One second, Jared was rattling on about emotional vulnerability or some shit, and the next, Jensen had blurted it out. “I should probably paint the nursery, huh?”.

Jared had frozen mid-sip of his beer, staring at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. “You what?”.

Jensen had shrugged, playing it off. “She’s not gonna get rid of the baby”. Saying it out loud made something heavy settle in his chest. He cleared his throat. “And even if I still don’t—I mean, I don’t—”. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, I don’t want this, man, but I know I have to get there somehow. And I sure as hell won’t let her leave me over it”.

Jared had watched him carefully for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Then we better get some paint”.

Which led them here. To a damn hardware store.

Jensen walked down the aisles with his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning rows of paint samples while Jared followed behind, arms crossed like some judgmental therapist. “So… you’re painting the nursery”, Jared mused, eyeing Jensen with an annoyingly smug look. “Big step”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, grabbing a handful of swatches. “It’s just paint”.

Jared scoffed. “Right. And I suppose you just accidentally wandered into the baby furniture section earlier, too?”.

Jensen shot him a glare.

Jared grinned. “That’s what I thought”.

Jensen sighed, glancing at the blues, greens, and neutral tones in his hand. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing”.

Jared clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You got this".

Jensen huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah”. His eyes flickered over the soft pastel colors, and before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed a few cans of paint. “Let’s get this over with”.

Jared didn’t say anything, just smirked knowingly as he followed Jensen to the checkout.

Jensen dipped the roller into the tray, watching the soft, muted green coat the surface before pressing it against the nursery wall. The rhythmic motion—up, down, up, down—was the only thing grounding him, keeping him from spiraling into the thoughts he had been trying to avoid all day.

But the silence made it impossible to outrun them.

It was just him, the paint, and his own fucked-up mind.

He hadn’t told anyone, not even Jared, why he chose green. But he knew. Deep down, he knew.

It was the color of your sweater—the one you always wore around the house, the one he found in the laundry after you left, the one that still smelled like you.

And maybe, on some subconscious level, he thought if he filled this room with something that reminded him of you, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t feel so terrifying.

Jensen sighed, pressing the roller harder against the wall. The sound of it gliding over the drywall filled the empty house, the scent of fresh paint mixing with the whiskey lingering on his breath.

He still didn’t know how to want this. That was the worst part.

He had spent years swearing he’d never do this again. The sleepless nights, the crying, the constant feeling of never doing enough. He had already lived through it, and he had barely survived it then.

And now? Now, he was older. His patience was thinner. His life was different.

So why the hell was he here, rolling paint onto these damn walls like a man preparing for a future he still didn’t know if he wanted?

Because she’s leaving you. The thought came so fast it knocked the wind out of him.

Jensen froze mid-roll, his grip tightening around the handle. That’s what this was, wasn’t it?

That’s why he had spent the past two weeks drowning himself in whiskey and self-pity. Why Jared had to drag his ass off the couch just to function like a normal human being. Why he was standing in a half-empty nursery at one in the morning, painting walls for a baby he had spent months trying not to think about.

Because for the first time, he felt it.

The empty space beside him. The missing presence of the woman he loved. The gaping hole you had left behind when you walked out of that house.

And if he didn’t fix this—really fix this—he was going to lose you.

Jensen swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he stared at the half-painted wall. He needed to stop being a coward.

The next morning, Jensen woke up stiff as hell, his back aching from falling asleep on the floor of the half-painted nursery. His hands were speckled with dried paint, his shirt a mess, and his head still a little foggy from everything running through his mind the night before.

He had never planned on getting this far.

Never planned on standing in a room he was preparing for a baby. Never planned on thinking about cribs or carpets or curtains.

But here he was.

With a groan, he pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his face before reaching for his phone. He knew what he had to do, but fuck if he was going to do it alone.

Jensen: I need your fucking moral support today.

It didn’t take Jared long to respond.

Jared: Moral support for what?

Jensen exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his jaw before typing back.

Jensen: Baby store.

Jared: …holy shit.

Jensen: Shut up and get your ass over here.

Jensen locked his phone, rolling his shoulders before standing up and taking a good look around the room. The green walls were dry now, the color softer in the daylight. The room still felt empty as hell, but it was a start. And he was going to make damn sure it didn’t stay empty for long.

Jared was already waiting when Jensen pulled into the parking lot, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed and an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face.

Jensen groaned before even stepping out. “Don’t”, he warned the second his sneaker hit the pavement.

Jared just chuckled. “Oh, I am gonna”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he walked past him, straight toward the entrance. Jared followed, his grin only widening. “I just need a crib”, Jensen muttered. “Maybe a carpet. Some curtains”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot coming from the guy who, just a couple weeks ago, was acting like this baby was an alien invasion”.

Jensen shot him a glare. “Moral support, Jared. Not moral commentary”.

Jared held up his hands in surrender, still grinning as they stepped inside.

The second they entered, Jensen felt like he had been hit with baby shit everywhere. Cribs. Strollers. Little clothes that were way too tiny. Shelves filled with things—things that made his head spin, things he had completely forgotten about from when his own kids were babies.

This wasn’t just picking out a crib. This was preparing for something he had been trying to run from for months.

Jensen swallowed hard, but before he could backtrack, Jared clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning like the bastard he was. “Alright, man. Show me where the cribs are”.

Jensen sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get this over with”.

Jensen had faced a lot of difficult things in his life. Grueling film schedules. Long flights. Even longer nights. Divorce. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for standing in the middle of a baby store, staring at rows of cribs while Jared fucking Padalecki grinned at him like he had just won the lottery.

Jensen let out a long breath, crossing his arms as his eyes scanned the options. Too many choices. Too many colors. Too many damn cribs that all looked exactly the same.

Jared, on the other hand, was having way too much fun. He leaned against a display, arms crossed, watching Jensen with pure amusement. “Never thought I’d see the day”, he mused, shaking his head. “Jensen Ackles, shopping for a crib. It’s like watching Bigfoot pick out furniture”.

Jensen shot him a glare. “Shut the hell up”.

Jared smirked. “Nah, man, this is too good. Should I call Gen? Maybe get Danneel on FaceTime? This is history right here”.

Jensen groaned, running a hand down his face. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”.

Jared just laughed, clapping him on the back. “Relax. I’m proud of you, dude”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, pretending to be irritated, but the words did hit somewhere deeper. He didn’t respond to that, though. Instead, he turned back to the cribs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Which one of these things is… I don’t know. The best?”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Best at what?”.

Jensen exhaled sharply. “Best at keeping a baby alive, Jared. Isn’t that the whole point?”.

Jared snorted. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not that deep, man. Just pick one”.

Jensen frowned. “It’s not that simple”.

And apparently, it wasn’t—because before he knew it, he was running his hand along the wooden railing of one crib, testing the bars, then moving to another one, checking its sturdiness like he actually knew what the hell he was doing.

Jared watched in amusement as Jensen muttered to himself, comparing features, shaking cribs slightly to test their stability. “Wow”, Jared drawled. “You’re really putting your dad instincts into this, huh?”.

Jensen scoffed but didn’t stop inspecting. “It’s a crib. It’s gotta be solid. What if the kid starts climbing? What if the bars are too wide?”. He frowned at one and moved on to another. “What if it’s got some cheap-ass paint that chips?”.

Jared blinked. “Dude. Babies don’t just come out the womb climbing like monkeys”.

Jensen ignored him, still scanning the options. His eyes landed on white crib—solid wood, no flimsy parts, simple but sturdy. He ran his hand over the rail, nodding to himself.

“This one”.

Jared smirked. “Oh, so now you care about the details?”.

Jensen shot him a look but didn’t argue. Because, yeah, maybe he did care. Maybe picking this crib meant something. Maybe it meant he was trying.

Jared must have sensed the shift, because his smirk softened into something more genuine. “Alright”, he said, nodding. “Let’s get it”.

After the crib was loaded onto a cart, Jensen turned toward the next item on his list. “Curtains”, he muttered.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “You actually giving her a choice on those?”.

Jensen huffed. “She’ll pick everything else. I just wanna get something neutral”.

Jared smirked but didn’t argue, following as Jensen made his way toward the fabric section. And somehow, some-fucking-how, Jensen found himself holding up two different sets of curtains, actually considering shades like it was the most important decision of his damn life. “These?”. He held up a soft gray set. “Or these?”. A muted sage green.

Jared blinked. “Dude. They’re curtains”.

Jensen glared at him. “Yeah, but they gotta match the room”.

Jared snorted. “Alright, Martha Stewart. Go with the green. It matches the walls”.

Jensen grumbled but tossed them in the cart.

Next up: a rug.

Jensen wandered toward the aisle, scanning the options before stopping at one with a soft, plush texture. Simple, neutral, nothing fancy—but it looked comfortable.

While Jensen was focused on loading the cart with the essentials—crib, curtains, rug—Jared had somehow wandered off to another aisle. And that was never a good sign.

Jensen found him standing in front of a display of tiny baby clothes, holding up an impossibly small onesie with a goofy grin. “Man”, Jared muttered, half to himself, half to Jensen. “Maybe I should have another one”.

Jensen groaned. “Oh, hell no. Gen would kill you”.

Jared smirked but didn’t put the onesie back. “I mean… look at these”, he said, holding up a tiny pair of socks between his fingers. “They’re like… this big”. He pinched his fingers together dramatically.

Jensen exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Jesus, Jared”.

Jared laughed, tossing the socks back into the bin before glancing at Jensen. “You know the gender yet?”.

Jensen shook his head, his fingers tightening on the cart handle. “No. Won’t know for another four weeks or something”.

Jared nodded, his expression turning more thoughtful. “You gonna find out?”.

Jensen hesitated, glancing down at the items in the cart. The crib. The rug. The curtains. The first things he’d actually bought for this baby.

For his baby.

“Yeah”, he admitted, voice quieter now. “I think I wanna know”.

Jared grinned, nudging him with his elbow. “Good. That way, I can get you something really obnoxious”.

Jensen rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Because, for the first time, he realized—he actually wanted to know. And maybe that meant something.

Eventually, Jensen stood in front of the rack, staring at the onesie like it had personally offended him. The design was so familiar, but just… off enough to avoid a lawsuit.

Jared stepped up beside him, taking one look before bursting into laughter. “No way this is legal”.

Jensen scoffed, shaking his head. “Someone at Warner Bros. is definitely gonna lose their shit if they see this”.

Jared picked up the tiny black onesie, reading the white lettering aloud. “‘Saving People, Hunting Things… My Family Business’”. He whistled. “Damn. They really just went for it, huh?”.

Jensen crossed his arms, smirking. “I mean, they changed like, one word. That’s gotta count for something, right?”.

Jared grinned. “Yeah, let’s see how well that argument holds up in court”.

Jensen let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the onesie. He turned it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the fabric. It was small. So damn small. His throat tightened a little. Before he could overthink it, he tossed it into the cart.

Jared’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait—seriously?”.

Jensen shot him a look, raising a warning brow. “Don’t”.

Jared bit back a grin, holding up his hands. “Just saying—you’re actually picking out baby clothes. On purpose. This is a big moment”.

Jensen rolled his eyes. “It’s just a onesie, Padalecki”.

“Yeah, yeah”, Jared said, clearly unconvinced. “And the crib was just a crib”. He nudged Jensen’s shoulder. “Admit it, man. You’re getting into this”.

Jensen sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing”, he muttered. “But if I let you pick shit, my kid’s gonna end up in a ‘Uncle Jared is my favorite’ onesie, and I refuse to let that happen”.

Jared grinned. “I mean… that can still be arranged”.

Jensen groaned. “We’re leaving”.

Jared laughed as he followed him toward checkout, watching as Jensen—Jensen Ackles—paid for a crib, a rug, and a damn Supernatural-adjacent onesie.

Maybe he wasn’t all the way there yet. But damn if he wasn’t trying.

That night, Jensen sat on the floor of the nursery, surrounded by unassembled crib parts, screws, and an instruction manual that looked like it had been translated into English by someone who had never seen a crib in their life.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before picking up the first piece of wood, aligning it with another.

Alright. Let’s do this.

The rhythmic process of assembling the crib—slotting parts together, tightening screws, rechecking everything—gave him something to focus on. Something to do. It kept his mind from spiraling into places he didn’t want to go.

But as the frame started to take shape, something inside him shifted.

Jensen sat back on his heels, looking at the half-assembled crib in front of him. It was real now. Tangible. A thing that was going to hold a baby—his baby—in just a few months.

His hands rested on his thighs, his fingers curling slightly as he exhaled.

For weeks, he had pushed this away, refused to let himself think about it too much. But now, sitting here, surrounded by baby furniture and walls he had painted himself, the truth settled in his chest like a weight.

This was happening. No matter how scared he was. No matter how much he hadn’t wanted this. It was real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to want it, too.

He let out a slow breath, brushing his fingers over the wooden frame, imagining tiny fingers gripping the edge one day, little kicks against the mattress, quiet breaths in the middle of the night.

Jensen swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion he wasn’t ready to name. He reached for another screw, tightening the last side panel into place.

And for the first time since you had left, he let himself think about the moment you’d see it. Would you be proud of him? Would you even care? Would this be enough?

He didn’t know. But for the first time in weeks, he knew one thing for sure. He wanted you to come home.

———————————

A/N: Hello and welcome back, lol. I didn't want to keep you waiting for the first chapter any longer, even though I still don't know when I'll post the following chapters. I might post one or two chapters per week, but maybe just one. I don't have a fixed day for that. Just a heads-up in advance.

And of course, please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[distant-velleity]

lmao for the record this is not very... coherent or well-paced but-- it definitely exists so 🙂 yeah!!!

yuhua's book 7 dream in tgtwst (before he gets sent to silver's dream by the System)

(warning for floyu crumbs; explanation of the dream in the tags)

~

“You’re saying Azul wanted to see me?” Yuhua asks for what must be the second time now. He follows Chrysos along the oft-walked path to the Hall of Mirrors, adjusting his winter coat to better shield him from the January chill.

Thankfully, Chrysos has the miraculous patience of a saint, at least when it comes to him. “Yes. Truly, it’s an urgent matter; both he and I agree on that.” 

They enter the hall and take a soft right veer into the alcove for the Octavinelle mirror.

“Of course,” Chrysos says, right before they enter, “if it helps, Floyd is rather insistent that you come as well.”

Something strange flutters in Yuhua’s chest, the beginning traces of a feeling he can’t allow himself to feel. He silently stamps it down, though he can’t stop himself from smiling regardless. “Really, now?”

“And there it is.” Knowingly, the corners of Chrysos’ mouth quirk up in a faint smirk. He gestures towards the mirror invitingly. “Go ahead. You know the route to the Mostro Lounge.”

“Right.”

Yuhua steps through the mirror and experiences the usual weightlessness for the briefest of seconds. His foot finds solid ground again on pale lilac tiling, the reflections of the water from above warped over his shoes. Having walked this route countless times now, it’s through muscle memory that he follows the path to the Mostro Lounge; Chrysos isn’t far behind him.

“Ah, wait—” Yuhua looks behind at Chrysos before he opens the door. “...is it locked? Or—”

Chrysos shrugs one shoulder, a non-answer. “It’s unlocked right now, I can assure you.”

“Really? Okay.”

Yuhua grabs the handle and pulls the door open to see utter darkness inside. He blinks, wondering if it’s merely the effect of his eyes adjusting to the light, but no—only the lights from within the tanks are on, and those do little to make the interior any more visible.

Skepticism sinks into his chest. “Chrysos, are you sure—”

“SURPRISE!” shout a pair—no, a chorus of familiar voices. A burst of magic, a showy effect of harmless sparkles, erupts before Yuhua as the Lounge is once again illuminated. Ace, Deuce, Epel, Jack, and Santiago are right there by the door, their eyes bright.

“Happy birthday, Yu,” Deuce says first, a sincere smile on his face. 

“Ya didn’t think we forgot, now did ya?” asks Epel. He partially covers his good-humored laughter at Yuhua’s face with a fist. 

Jack crosses his arms and looks at the others. “...C’mon, guys. Give him some room.”

Indeed, Yuhua needs it—he can’t quite believe his eyes. Looking past the first-years, he can see the Lounge decorated, not too flamboyantly but not too modestly; he also spots other familiar students gathered around, watching the door or sitting at tables and chatting among themselves.

“I—I…” 

His grasp on the door handle grows weak; Chrysos takes it and makes sure he doesn’t make a fool of himself by letting the door crash straight into him.

“...This is for… me?” Yuhua finally wonders aloud.

Ace snorts at that and shoves a bundle of clothing into his arms. “Who else? I don’t know any other January 27th birthday boys at this school.”

“Um—but I never told you guys my—” 

“Don’t underestimate our combined deductive abilities.” Santiago winks at him, dangling a bolo-style tie around his finger for a second before handing it to Yuhua. “We figured it out just in time.”

“Together? Don’t you guys hate each oth—”

“We’ve learned how to put aside our differences sometimes,” Chrysos assures him, though judging by Ace’s stink-eye, it seems to be a one-time occurrence and nothing better. “And we decided to hold it here at the Lounge as a compromise.”

“But, I…” Yuhua’s mouth remains open even as he falls silent, trying to form questions he doesn’t quite know how to vocalize. “...I… Is this really okay… The Lounge, I mean, and my birthday…”

He doesn’t know quite what he’s feeling, just that the feeling is so immense it stops him from forming coherent sentences. 

“Who else decides if it’s okay or not?” At the imminent approach of a very familiar and very welcome sophomore trio, the first-years scatter like minnows. Floyd easily snakes a hand behind him to place on Yuhua’s opposite shoulder and walks him in. “C’mon, it’s your birthday, li’l Koi! A day just for you!”

“Surely, someone else was—”

“My, my.” Jade hides an amused smile behind a delicate gloved hand. “Are you just going to tell all of these people to go back to their dorms after they’ve already arrived?”

“Come on, now,” Azul agrees. “We were even able to coordinate such a well-timed surprise.”

“Well—” Yuhua sputters, flustered. He hugs the clothes to his chest. There’s a million arguments for his case, but just as many against it. “This is all really impressive, yeah—”

“So there we got it!” exclaims Floyd. “It’s your birthday, and we’re gonna celebrate it. Now, are ya gonna go get changed or what?”

Happiness. Like a soap bubble popping, Yuhua comes to the realization when he looks at Floyd’s infectious smile and feels the warmth surrounding him. This overwhelming, confusing, dizzying feeling—is happiness.

“I…” What is he waiting around for? If everyone’s already gathered… Like a fool, Yuhua laughs at himself sheepishly. “Yeah. Just wait for me a sec, I’ll borrow one of the bathrooms.”

…

“Hold still,” Vil demands, stopping Yuhua as soon as he steps out of the bathroom.

“I—Huh?”

Yuhua stays frozen in his tracks as Vil steps around to stand behind him. Rook takes Vil’s initial place as the housewarden sets to work on Yuhua’s hair.

“Bonjour, monsieur,” Rook sing-songs. 

“Hi, Rook,” answers Yuhua. “Are you also here for—?”

“The celebration? Why, of course~” With a flourish, Rook bends into a bow and extends an open palm forward. “May you have a very happy birthday on this fine day.”

“Don’t distract him while I’m doing his hair, Rook,” Vil says curtly.

“But of course, my Roi de Poison.” Still, Rook smiles at Yuhua in his poetically pleasant, friendly way.

Finally, Vil steps back to appreciate his work. Yuhua, after awaiting the approval of a quick “Go ahead,” gently feels at the braid his hair has been done into.

“Wow, I…” Yuhua turns around. “Thank you, Vil. You didn’t have to.”

“Mm, is that so?” Vil lets out something of an almost-content hum, as usual. “I couldn’t have the birthday boy walking around with his hair the same as his day-to-day look.”

“Your beauty has only been enhanced, monsieur,” Rook declares. “Now, shall we return to the party?”

“They’re all waiting on you,” adds Vil.

“Ah—” 

They’re waiting on him. They actually want him there.

Yuhua nods slowly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They leave the side hallway to return to the Lounge. Almost immediately, Yuhua catches sight of a certain redhead waving madly at him from one of the tables. It seems like Ace has fervently and insistently claimed himself a spot at the table with the cake, alongside others like Floyd, Deuce, and Chrysos.

“Over here, over here!” calls Ace, earning himself a simultaneous flick to the forehead from Chrysos and a punch in the arm from Deuce. “Ow!”

“Yelling isn’t going to make me get there any faster,” Yuhua retorts, though he’s still laughing when he squeezes in to sit between Ace and Floyd. “I bet you just wanna eat the cake already.”

“You’re pretty greedy, Crabby,” agrees Floyd, just to get a jab in at the first-year.

“Hmph.” Ace grins mischievously, neither confirming nor denying. “Maybe I just wanna know what the birthday boy’s gonna wish for.”

The candles on the cake flicker. It’s just a birthday wish, and it doesn’t mean much. Not much is riding on it.

“I don’t really—” Yuhua pauses, and then huffs a laugh. “Yeah, like I’d tell you. That ruins the whole point.”

“Aww,” whines Ace, batting his eyelashes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, you dork.”

“What about me?” ventures Floyd, a shit-eating smile on his face.

“Come on.” Yuhua rolls his eyes affectionately. “It’s supposed to be a secret. That means I don’t tell you guys until it comes true. And it’s not that big of a deal anyway—I bet you can guess what it is pretty easily.”

That seems to appease them into staying silent, each thinking about what it could be.

…Again, it’s a wish that doesn’t mean much. With nothing too big to relegate to a birthday wish but nothing memorable enough to immediately ask for, Yuhua more or less has to make it up on the spot. He takes a deep breath before he silently thinks—

I hope I can celebrate my birthday like this again in the future.

—and blows out all the candles in one clean exhale. 

Ace whoops, and somewhere in the Lounge the sound is repeated. Cheers and clapping, from the people celebrating for the sake of it  and the people who want food, echo through the room. “Alright! Now the party’s really begun!”

“I want the first slice of cake!” Floyd insists abruptly.

“No way. It’s mine!”

“Huuuuh?”

“Hey, you two, don’t fight in the middle of Yuhua’s party—!”

Chrysos leans over the table to Yuhua while the other two bicker and Deuce tries to play mediator. “You’re giving it to me, obviously. Right?”

Yuhua sighs, meant to sound long-suffering but instead reflecting his muffled giddiness. “You guys…”

…

Once the food is eaten and the gifts are given, Yuhua finds himself sitting on a stool by the counter while the others mingle among themselves. 

He isn’t mad that he’s seemingly being neglected, no—because he isn’t. People are still checking in on him: Jamil, stopping by to offer him a hair clip; Idia being nudged by Ortho to make Yuhua aware of his attendance (haha); Riddle personally wishing him a happy birthday before being accidentally warded off by Floyd; so on and so forth.

And people are gathered here because of him. They’re all getting along, making merry because of him, in a way. It feels nice, to see everyone not at each other’s throats for once—to see Azul and Leona talking civilly, to see Sebek and the other freshmen having an eating competition… To have people still asking him if he wants to try this food or play this game with them, and knowing that he can just join in whenever he feels back up to it.

This happiness, that knowledge—they form a pool of warmth in his heart, a pool running so deep that Yuhua thinks he might burst if he does anything other than sit. He’s happy to be here, happy to be a part of the celebrations; so happy to be acknowledged as something important to people. Happy to be more than a thought that fades away once the moment has passed.

He’s happy to belong.

Are you really happy? asks a voice in his head—

“Hey, li’l Koi!” Floyd shouts from a table. “Wanna play a game with us?”

—The easy, obvious answer is an unhesitant yes.

Yuhua smiles and nods his answer. A fluttery, bubbly feeling in his heart fills his veins with excitement as he stands up—

The world spins; his vision swims. His foot doesn’t meet the floor, his stomach sinks, and suddenly he’s falling with all the weightlessness of a dreamer being awakened.

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

@sillyslipperybananapeel @beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

@taruruchi

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader (2)

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. arranged marriage au. sylus as your sweet and doting husband who's simply in love with you and anything that you do. 1.5k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ thank you for everyone's patience who requested a part two!! I truly hope this meets your expectations <3

part one here. ꒱

⭒ You’re an early bird married to a night owl. After gradually moving your belongings into Sylus’ master bedroom, your different sleeping schedules were made acutely aware. His day is just beginning when you’re heading to bed and he’s more or less mentally retired after a long night of business dealings and meetings when your body decidedly rises with the first rays of light at dawn. Because of this, you both compromise to meet somewhere in the middle—Sylus sweetly tucks you in later than your usual bedtime and leaves only when you’d fallen asleep, and you snuggle with him in the mornings until the very last minute and you’re forced to get ready for the working day. However, his sleeping patterns are more on the irregular side and he’ll check in on you when he’s supposed to be resting.

⭒ When Luke and Kieran witness you and Sylus bid each other with a goodbye kiss—an affectionate and wholesome display between lovers as your husband sees you off to work at the front door, they are stunned and lose it from the sidelines at the budding romance. “Wait, what just happened?” “Was there a development while we were gone?” The crow twins would share glances and decipher the scene before them together. They both have been rooting for you and their boss since day one, and they marvel at the way you both are completely smitten with each other. As though you two are like newlyweds who can't get enough of your shared love, unwilling to separate just yet even as you slowly step away from Sylus.

⭒ His touch linger with purpose to hold onto every last part of you and his hands move from your waist and slide down your arms to hold your hands until his fingers curl slightly and mourn the loss of your warmth when he eventually has to let you go. When Sylus watches your figure disappear and return back inside his home he receives a thumbs up and pending double high fives respectively from his two henchmen. He walks past them and ignores their antics by giving them orders, but Luke doesn’t leave his brother hanging and celebrates that their boss is officially and undeniably in love.

⭒ Anniversaries were an unexpected thing to celebrate with Sylus—along with holidays and birthdays. You were caught by surprise when you received a gorgeous dress and pearls inside a pretty wrapped box adorned with ribbons after being married to Sylus for three months. You weren’t quite romantically involved with him at that point and went along with what he planned for the evening, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just a performance for the public at an upscale restaurant but he genuinely wanted to make this night special for you. Then something in the air shifted and became sweeter and you suppose you wanted to start making the smaller things in life count. Even if there wasn’t a particular milestone coming up, you decide to make one up yourself. After all, there’s a true saying that the secret to marriage is keeping it fresh and interesting.

⭒ With the help of the cute twins, they set up a cozy tent in the verdant space of the garden meanwhile you decorate fairy lights all around in swooping arcs and tight lines, arrange pillows and blankets inside, and place a deck of kitty cards in the center. After everything is where you need it to be, you show the boys your gratitude and send them away as you work on the finishing touches. You gather the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and two glasses for the red wine when suddenly your husband sneaks up from behind you and wrap himself around you, inquiring about how the twins wanted him to come find you… Oh those cheeky little things. Well, never mind them. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what today is. Happy 300 days since our first kiss, baby.” You admit that it may come off as a little silly and no one’s truly keeping count, but you simply wanted to do something nice for him.

⭒ Sylus never passes up an opportunity to take care of his darling wife. Even if that means going along with your unusual ideas like you suggesting to borrow his dress shoes after the auction show was over. He throws you a puzzled look followed by a bemuse chuckle, and he supposes he could oblige if that’s what you really wanted. You explain to him that being well dressed from head to toe to match his outfit came at the price of your painfully, aching feet. And he can’t resist giving into your demands when you ask with such adorable little pouts. There are more practical methods to go about the situation, but he certainly loves humoring you even if things don't work out the way you thought they would.

⭒ Sylus leads you to a nearby bench and gestures for you to have a seat while he removes his shoes and bends down on one knee before you, unworried about dirtying his expensive trousers. He works diligently to undo the straps around your ankles and place your heels aside to focus on slipping his shoes onto your feet. “Well, you look quite fetching in my shoes. Now shall we continue our walk or do you have any more requests to make?” He helps you straighten yourself as he returns to his normal height. You huff and make a discontent noise when you almost trip over your own two feet trying to take a step forward in your (his) much too large and too spacious shoes. “Actually, these won’t do. I changed my mind, I want my heels back.”

⭒ Sylus chuckles at your hopeless attempt, his hand going on your hip to keep you from toppling over and accidentally hurting yourself. “Ah, it appears my shoes are too big for you, kitten. You say you want your heels back, hm?” He kneels before you once more as he retrieves your pair of heels, his fingers brushing along the underside of your leg and he carefully tugs them back on your feet. He gives your ankle a gentle squeeze as he finishes securing the straps, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. "There, I hope you're satisfied now, my sweet wife." His arm then goes around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the ground without so much as a warning. He smirks at your precious reaction, your body flushed against his meanwhile your arms encircle his neck for balance. “Why don’t I just carry you the rest of the way instead?”

⭒ You’re snuggled up against Sylus’ chest as you bring a concern to his attention one night. “What happens when our arrangement comes to an end?” The main reason you agreed to marry him in the first place is because it was a contract marriage with a specific time frame of five years that you’d have to spend with him. And you realize that with everything he does, he’s always been considerate of you as a whole even with how he drafted this contract knowing that it could end at his own expense. He provided you with a means of freeing yourself from him if you for whatever reason wished to no longer continue your marriage with him after the term ends. The choice is left entirely up to you because he never wanted you to feel trapped but he won’t make it easy for you. “If I decided to leave, you’d really let me go?”

⭒ Sylus hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to be thinking about something as his expression grows serious. “You always know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you sweetie?” After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods. “…Yes. Technically, you’ll be free to go. I won’t stop you if you truly want to leave.” Another sigh escapes him, yet his voice remains soft and sincere and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his palm cradles your cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. What do you want to happen when the contract ends, darling?”

⭒ You mull over your thoughts, teasing him with a pensive look as you purposely drag on the seconds. “Since you’re leaving it up to me, I think… I want to renew our vows at the five-year mark. How’s that sound?” A surprise and slight disbelief flit across his face at the same moment his countenance softens at your affirmation. “You want to renew our vows?” You offer him a demure nod with your sweet smile and he gently takes your hand in his, bringing it to his face and laying a kiss against your knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I would be honored to renew our vows when the time comes. There will be no more contracts or strings attached. We’ll be bound by our love and our love only.”

[angelltheninth]

Can we get some Mark Grayson dating and first time having sex headcanons?

I finally caught up with Invincible season 3, so yes.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, dating, cunnilingus, virginity loss, dry humping, creampie, scared of power use, breeding kink

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Wanna see how long Mark will be able to stay positive this time. I'm not giving him a big time window for happiness.

As if it wasn't nerve wracking that you're losing your virginities to each other, Mark also has to be mindful of his superpowers

When you say you're sure that he wouldn't hurt you he tells you the embarrassing story of him breaking sex toys because he got too into it, he felt too good

He doesn't want to hurt you, this was supposed to be about pleasure

To ease into things he wants to eat you out first

Worst case scenario he gets you off with his mouth and tongue and then jerks off

Rips your underwear off with shaky hands

Almost drools at the sight of your pussy, dripping and waiting for him

Keeps his body against the bed so he can rut wildly into it, the friction making his cock twitch with need

Mark moans as he tastes you, finally, his tongue pushed all the way inside your clenching hole

When you say his name and tangle your hands though his jet black hair to pull him closer he relaxed a little, confidant that he can at least fuck you with his tongue

One of his hands presses against your lower back and pushes you up, allowing his mouth to close around your pussy, his lips nudging your clit, his tongue licking patterns in and out of your pussyhole

Sloppy as he is he's not a quitter, he'll eat you out until you squirt on his face

His pride quickly melts away as you pull him closer and tug on his erect dick, angling him with your entrance

Mark pulls back, still not sure about this, how can he be sure he won't hurt you

If he was normal, like you, he wouldn't have these fears, of course he would still be careful but he knows there would be less need to freak out like he is currently

You don't want him to back out of this because of fear, you keep pumping your hand up and down on his cock, keeping him hard and hot in your hand

The solution you come up with is that you will ride him

He can stand still if he wants, or he can simply hold you, while standing on his knees and watching you fuck yourself stupid on his incredible cock

Mark almost comes as soon as you take him past the tip

One of his hands balances himself on the bed, the other is pressed against your hip, encouraging and soothing your nerves at the same time

If it hurts you can stop, he won't hold it against you

But oh boy did he underestimate how much you want to fuck him

As soon as he's all the way inside and you've had time to adjust to his girth you pull away, you hear him gasp as his slick cock is revealed and then you slam right back against him, his cock back in your cunt where it belongs

Mark is mesmerized, barely managing to speak full sentences, he's talking about your hot pussy, how much he loves you, how nothing has ever felt this good, how this is so much better than his wet dreams made him think it'd be

The repeated smacks of your ass against his abs drive him crazy and he smacks one of your ass cheeks, chuckling and moaning when your pussy grips him tighter

Something about how tight you are, how your velvety walls are pulling him in is driving him crazy

He gets the idea to creampie you, the need to see you swollen with his seed, the urge to have his cum dripping from your pussy, the fantasy of fucking a baby into you, the dream of having a family and being a good father

Overtaken by this desire he pushes his hips into yours when you pull away, hardly ever leaving his cock out

You feel so warm he never wants to leave, and seeing as your pussy is only getting wetter, dripping all over the sheets, you like him being inside you too

Mark cups your jaw and trails his hand down your neck, grunting out how much he loves you as he slams deep into you and floods your womb with his cum

The torrent of heat makes your body tremble, your pussy spasming around him, your hips moving faster and faster, encouraged by his words

His arms wrap around you before you can fall against the bed and he leans back, pulling you into his lap and kissing your neck and shoulder

Nothing ever felt this good, he's not sure anything ever will

Tells you how much he loves you, how much fun this was, and in the midst of your words of love and giggles neither of you notice how his hand is constantly rubbing your belly

[michanvalentine]

Another thing I absolutely love about Astarion’s redemption arc is how some narrative threads introduced in Act 1 find their resolution in the good ending.

The first and most obvious one revolves around the beautiful concept of a gift.

When the player offers their blood to Astarion, he receives a gift that goes beyond mere nourishment. In that moment, what Tav/Durge is giving him, beyond blood, is understanding and trust.

And this concept comes full circle after the ritual, where this narrative thread finds its conclusion. That’s when Spawn Astarion thanks the player for the gift they have given him—gently guiding him by the hand toward a new path where he is truly free.

But not just free. As the vampire spawn himself says in that ending, he is honestly free. And for that gift, he is grateful.

I think that’s absolutely beautiful.

But the meaning runs even deeper than that. This ties into the theme of seeing and being seen—not in a superficial sense.

After all, Astarion’s appearance is both a curse and a shield, something he has learned to wield, just like his mannerisms, his charming words, and the sarcasm he uses as a distraction.

It’s an important concept because it means going beyond the surface, seeing him for who he truly is, feeling him, and experiencing him in his entirety.

Astarion deeply struggles with his condition—not just as a slave, but as a vampire. He’s so happy to be able to act human again thanks to the Illithid tadpole, to do simple, mundane things like crossing running water or entering a house without permission. And let’s not even talk about his joy at standing under the sunlight.

When you meet him on the beach for the first time and reveal what will happen if they don’t get rid of the Illithid tadpoles, Astarion’s bitter reaction, complete with laughter, shows just how much it truly weighs on him: "Of course it’s going to turn me into a monster, what else did I expect?!"

In fact, when his vampiric nature is revealed for the first time during the bite scene, he fears rejection and is quick to emphasize that he’s not some kind of monster. The morning after, when Shadowheart tactlessly points out this aspect of him, his expression changes, and we can see how being perceived as a monster wounds him. It keeps him at a distance, sets him apart as something other. Later, he will even say outright that he wants to be treated like a person—not as a slave, not as a vampire. Just a person. Not superior, not inferior. Exactly like everyone else. Because Astarion wants to be part of the world, to reconnect with people.

This is especially clear when he approves of Tav’s perspective—that he could find a place for himself in the world, where he could be accepted, supported, if he is willing to open up and do the same for others. He approves because the idea appeals to him—it makes him feel like he can belong. Not as a monster, but as a person finding his way back into the world he once inhabited.

But I’m digressing.

The mirror scene isn’t just there by chance—it’s narratively strategic. In that moment, Astarion explicitly asks the player what they see, because he wants to know how the world perceives him. He worries about how others see him precisely because he feels separate, othered, like a monster. And it’s not a matter of appearance—Astarion knows he’s gorgeous. He’s heard it thousands of times over the centuries. But he’s insecure about his place within the group, within society, within the world.

That’s why he appreciates it when Tav/Durge reassures him on the two things that trouble him most—his piercing gaze (the red eyes of a vampire) and his dangerous smile (the sharp fangs of a predator). He relaxes because, in that moment, he feels accepted. Because he realizes his defining traits aren’t the insurmountable barriers he thought they were. Because the person in front of him sees him—not through the lens of prejudice, but for who he really is.

This theme returns later, during the confrontation with Aurelia and Leon, when Astarion deflects the idea of being heroic by saying, "I can’t be what you see in me." Again, the motif of seeing, of looking deeper, of recognizing something more, of reading between the lines—both of the narrative and of his character.

And it’s beautiful when, the morning after the ritual, that relaxed, happy Astarion, with that wonderful smile on his lips, says that Tav/Durge saw something in him. Something different from everyone else. Something beyond his monstrous nature, beyond his darkest intentions, beyond his fear.

Tav/Durge saw him. Saw his potential.

And if you’re in a romantic relationship with him, in the graveyard scene, Astarion will bring up this idea once again. With a heroic Tav/Durge, Astarion feels safe. And he feels seen. Seen, for god’s sake. That’s huge.

This is where this narrative arc—about perception, about seeing him throughout the entire journey—finds its resolution. Astarion is truly more than what Cazador made him to be. He breaks free from the pattern of monster/vampire. He chooses to start living again. To rediscover himself. To reclaim his identity in the most human way possible—through the world and the people around him.

Perhaps his body has not regained its human traits, but spawn Astarion is, without a doubt, the Astarion who has reclaimed his humanity the most.

[julymusings]

PORTRAIT

jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges? 

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

[moonlightwritingf1]

What Remains of Us | LN4

𓆩❤︎𓆪 summary ━━━━━━━ A week after their divorce, Y/N and Lando find themselves back in the home they once shared, haunted by the memories of their love. When Lando arrives to collect his belongings, he finds Y/N crying over their wedding photos, and the weight of their heartbreak pulls them back into each other’s arms. In the quiet intimacy of their old bedroom, emotions overflow, leading them to seek comfort in each other one last time. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader, Lando Norris x ex-wife!reader

𓆩❤︎𓆪 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.8k

𓆩❤︎𓆪 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie,

Based on this request.

A heavy silence settled over the house—the kind that felt almost alive, pressing against the walls, lingering in the empty spaces where laughter used to echo. This had been their home once, a place filled with warmth and whispered confessions, but now, it was just a shell of what it used to be. The echo of each footstep seemed louder now, even as the sun streamed in through half-drawn curtains. Dust particles drifted lazily in the late afternoon light, and the faint hum of traffic outside was the only reminder that a world still moved on beyond those walls.

A week had passed since the divorce became final. The silence between them had been deafening since then. Y/N tried to live in the emptiness of the house, haunted by the memory of his laughter in the living room and the ghost of his touch in the hallways. That day, Lando came by unannounced to collect more of his belongings. Neither of them had explicitly planned this moment, but deep down, both must have known it was inevitable.

He let himself in quietly, the spare key still working in the front door’s lock. The hallway seemed so much smaller than before, or maybe it was the weight on his heart that made everything feel drawn in, claustrophobic. He called her name softly—“Y/N?”—but received no answer. There was only a slight shuffle behind the bedroom door.

When he pushed it open, he found her there on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath her slight weight. She was in her old pajamas, hair bundled into a haphazard knot. Spread across her lap were photographs from their wedding day—prints and polaroids that captured stolen smiles, playful kisses, the promise of forever. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them.

Lando’s heart clamped painfully in his chest. He set down the cardboard box he’d brought for collecting a few more of his things. “Y/N,” he murmured. Guilt and longing rippled across his features.

She swallowed hard, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I thought I’d be okay,” she whispered, gesturing to the pictures. “I—I thought…maybe looking at them would help me move on.”

He moved toward her slowly. His voice quivered, reflecting the same heartbreak in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything… for how it all ended.”

She shook her head. “No. I share in that fault too,” she managed, though her voice cracked. “I keep wondering if I could’ve done something… something more to keep us from losing each other.”

He lowered himself beside her on the bed, not quite touching at first. She was close enough for him to smell the faint traces of her shampoo and the salty tang of tears. The photographs fanned across her lap were so bright and happy—Lando spinning her around under fairy lights, Y/N laughing while Pietra and Max teased them with wedding games, the radiant grin on Lando’s face when he first saw Y/N walk down the aisle.

Softly, tentatively, he placed a hand over hers. “I never wanted to lose you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Her eyes snapped up to his, that old electric connection burning between them. “I know,” she replied. “Neither did I. But we lost sight of each other somehow.” A sob hiccuped in her throat, and tears welled up anew.

Gently, he brushed a tear from her cheek. “I gave you the house because… because it always felt like yours more than mine. You made it a home. Even after I moved to Monaco, it was here—your laughter, your warmth—that felt real to me.”

She closed her eyes at his touch, the memories threatening to pull her under. She remembered how she used to crave every teasing text he sent before they dated, how she’d make him work for her affection back when they first met. She recalled the way his dimpled grin and flirty remarks would make her heart race. And there had been that moment—the night she finally gave in to all the tension brewing for months—when he had taken her into his arms with such absolute certainty. Through everything, the heartbreak, the anger, and the distance that followed, this man was still the one person in the world who made her feel undeniably alive.

Lando could see the flicker of those memories in her tear-filled gaze. He let out a slow breath, feeling the heaviness in his own chest. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“Some of the best,” she whispered.

Silence settled again, but this time it hummed with an undercurrent of unspoken words, bottled-up confessions and regrets. Cautiously, Lando’s fingers laced through hers, and she squeezed back, a tentative acceptance of a comfort she had missed more than she’d ever admit.

He slid closer, so their knees touched. “You look so tired,” he said softly, eyes scanning the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you sleeping at all?”

She shook her head. “Not much.” Her gaze drifted to the wedding photo at the top of the stack—she was wiping cake frosting off Lando’s nose while he laughed with boyish delight. The memory tugged at her, and her throat tightened.

As though drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. It was a delicate gesture, one that lacked any presumption or expectation. She let her head tip forward, resting it against his shoulder. Her tears seeped into his shirt, and he wrapped an arm around her, breathing in the faint hint of vanilla and rose that always clung to her skin.

“I miss you,” he admitted in a raspy whisper.

She looked up, eyes shimmering with tears. “I miss you too,” she breathed. Her grip on his fingers grew firmer.

The swirling storm of emotions crested inside them, and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat. She remembered the ache of pushing him away back when he first chased after her. Now it felt like a cruel parallel—pushing him away all those months, only to watch them separate in an even bigger, more painful way.

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” he asked gently, stepping into the role of caretaker again, the way he used to.

Her voice was unsteady, but her gaze was unwavering. “No. Stay. Please… stay.”

That was all it took. The tension that had once pulled them apart now drew them together like a magnet. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing away the stray tears. She closed her eyes at his warmth, surrendering to the comfort of his presence. Every doubt, every regret, every moment of anger seemed to dissolve the second he pressed his lips softly to hers.

It was a kiss filled with heartbreak and longing—a sudden rush of desperate affection that built upon itself with each passing second. She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. Heat spread through her, a reminder that once, they had loved so fiercely it consumed them both.

He broke the kiss to breathe, and his forehead fell against hers, their breaths mingling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

She shook her head, blinking away fresh tears. “Don’t be,” she replied. “We’ve… we’ve both made mistakes. But I just… I can’t…” A sob caught in her throat, not fully forming a sentence.

“Shhh,” he soothed, pressing a series of featherlight kisses along her temple. His hands moved to her arms, shoulders, back—tentative at first, ensuring she welcomed his closeness. She melted into him, the sadness and passion colliding in a swirl of emotion that felt raw and overwhelming.

They found themselves lying back on the bed, the same bed they had once shared so many quiet mornings and late-night laughter in. The photographs fell off Y/N’s lap onto the floor, scattered like fragments of their memories. In the hush of the moment, their fingertips traced over familiar curves and contours, reacquainting themselves with a map they knew by heart.

Lando’s breath shook as he leaned down, capturing her lips again. This time, he took his time, a slow, deliberate exploration that coaxed a soft whimper from her. She welcomed him, hands roaming across his shoulders to feel the solidity of him, reminding herself that this was real—he was here. The heartbreak of the past weeks, the messy swirl of the final divorce papers, the swirling pain in both their chests—it all pressed them closer together, desperation singing in their veins.

He murmured her name, voice thick with a trembling need, and she answered with a kiss to his jawline. Each brush of their mouths was a plea for forgiveness, each touch an apology for what they lost, each whisper a promise they had once failed to keep. Yet in that moment, it seemed like all the anguish had forged a new kind of closeness between them.

He helped her ease out of her pajama top, trailing gentle kisses along the path of newly bared skin. His hair tickled her collarbone, and she shivered, clinging to the warmth of him. She pressed her hands against his chest, recalling that night years ago when she had finally given in to all the build-up of their flirtation. Back then, it had been exhilarating—wild, passionate, and overwhelming in the best way. Now, it was a softness born of sorrow and yearning, but no less intense.

Y/N’s breathing grew uneven as he continued, each movement carefully checking her comfort. At one point, they paused, eyes meeting in a fragile moment. “We don’t have to do this,” he said. “I just want to hold you if that’s what you need.”

She answered by pulling him down for another kiss, deeper than before. Her body arched beneath him, and his hands slid around her waist, bringing them flush against each other. They gave in, letting the storm of sadness and desire carry them further. In the hush that followed, the memories of their happiest times filtered through her mind—his grin on the day he first asked her out in London, the jokes they shared when he teased her about being shy, the flicker of longing in his eyes every time they parted ways when his racing schedule took him abroad.

A softness spread through them now, the moment free of words, replaced by gentle sighs and murmured names. His lips skimmed along her neck, her gasp answering the unspoken question in his eyes. She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, every nerve in her body alight with the need to feel him near. The bed creaked beneath their shifting weight, echoing quietly in the still air.

When the final barrier of clothing slipped away, the warmth of skin against skin felt familiar and right, as though no time had passed since the last time they touched. What started gently soon built in intensity, fueled by the pent-up longing that had tormented them both for far too long. She found comfort in the press of his body, his lips seeking out every part of her that still remembered him like a cherished secret.

“Lando,” she whispered, voice low and trembling. “I—”

He silenced her with another kiss, but his expression was laced with the same heartfelt intensity. “I know,” he breathed.

They lost themselves in each other, passion and tenderness entwined. It was a soft collision of two broken hearts trying to mend for just a moment in time. Each caress soothed an ache, each kiss a gentle reminder of how deeply they had once loved. 

Their breaths mingled in the quiet room, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the faint scent of vanilla and salt. Lando’s lips lingered on hers, soft and searching, as if trying to relearn the way she tasted. His hands trembled slightly as they traced the curve of her waist, his touch featherlight but deliberate, every movement a question. She answered with a sigh, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to feel her longing.

Y/N’s heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm that mirrored his. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. She could feel the rapid beat of his pulse against her skin, his warmth seeping into her, chasing away the cold emptiness she had carried since the divorce. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The intensity in his gaze was unmistakable—regret, desire, and something deeper, something that made her chest ache.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.

“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but certain. “I want you, Lando.”

His exhale was shaky, a mix of relief and something else—something raw and unfiltered. He leaned down, capturing her lips again, this time with more urgency. His kiss was warm, familiar yet new, a collision of past and present that left her dizzy. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands gripping his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.

His hands roamed her bare skin, the warmth of his palms a stark contrast to the cool air that had settled in the room. Her body lay exposed before him, every curve and contour familiar yet achingly new in this fragile moment. She shivered, not from the chill but from the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes traced her with a mixture of longing and reverence.

Lando’s touch was slow, deliberate, as though he was memorizing her all over again. His fingers brushed along her hip, then trailed upward, leaving a path of tingling warmth in their wake. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and leaned into his touch, needing to feel him, to remind herself that he was here, really here. His hand paused at her ribs, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate curve, and she felt the faint tremor in his fingers—the same vulnerability that had always made her love him even more.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy, heavy with emotion. The words were soft, but they carried the weight of everything they had lost and everything they might still find.

Her hands found his face, her thumbs brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “Look at me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but filled with the same intensity that pulsed between them. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had melted away. There was no divorce, no heartbreak, no regrets—only the two of them, raw and unfiltered, relearning how to exist in the same space.

His lips captured hers in a searing kiss, his body pressing closer, his warmth enveloping her. She arched into him, her hands sliding down to clutch at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the moment. His touch was soft yet insistent, every movement a silent promise, a plea for forgiveness, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still salvage.

In the quiet of the room, their breaths mingled, their heartbeats synchronized, and for the first time in weeks, she felt whole.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again against her neck, his lips brushing over her pulse point. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

She closed her eyes, her body arching into his as his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of fire in its wake. His breath was hot against her skin, and she could feel the way his body trembled above her, the way he was holding himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the tension between them grew.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Her hands found his face, gently guiding him back up to meet her eyes. “I need you. All of you.”

His gaze softened, and he nodded, his forehead resting against hers. “I’m here,” he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands roaming over her body with a familiarity that made her heart ache. She remembered the way he used to touch her—confident, playful, full of adoration. Now, there was a hesitancy to his movements, a cautiousness born of their shared heartbreak. But there was also a raw intensity, a need that matched her own.

When their bodies finally came together, it was slow, almost achingly so. Lando paused, his breath shallow, as he pressed the tip of his cock against her entrance, feeling the warmth and wetness of her. Her chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, her eyes fluttering closed as she braced herself. He lowered himself further, his hips pressing forward with deliberate care, allowing her body to adjust to him inch by inch. She was so tight, her walls clenching gently around him, as though welcoming him home after a long, painful absence. For him, it was an overwhelming sensation—the velvety heat of her, the way she embraced him so perfectly, as if they were made to fit together. For her, it was a mixture of relief and pleasure, the fullness of him stretching her just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his back as he slid deeper.

“God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. His name fell from her lips like a prayer, soft and broken, and he couldn’t help but press his lips to her temple, murmuring words of reassurance. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Her pussy felt like heaven to him—warm, slick, and so familiar yet new, as if he was rediscovering her for the first time. For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. It had been months since they had been this close, months since they had shared this intimacy, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. She could feel the tremble in his body as he held himself above her, the effort he was making to keep this slow, soft, and tender.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes was overwhelming—a swirling mix of love, pain, and hope that mirrored her own. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m here.”

They moved together, their bodies falling into a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. It was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly soft, each thrust a gentle exploration of their connection. Her walls tightened around him with each movement, pulling him deeper, and he groaned softly, his forehead pressing against hers. Every stroke was a wave of warmth, a gentle friction that built steadily, making her thighs quiver and her breath hitch. For him, it was the perfect balance of pressure and pleasure, her pussy gripping him in a way that made his chest ache with emotion.

This was the first time they had been together like this in months, and the weight of that knowledge hung heavy in the air between them. Yet, in this moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

The softness of it all was what struck her the most. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet rhythm of their bodies moving together, the sound of their breaths, the occasional whispered word or gentle moan. It was romantic in a way that made her heart swell, a reminder of what they had once shared and what they might still reclaim. His hands were tender as they roamed her body, his touch careful and reverent, as though she was something precious he was afraid to break. And she held him just as gently, her fingers tracing the muscles of his back, her body arching into his with a quiet need.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was a balm to the wounds they had inflicted on each other. The world outside didn’t matter—not the divorce, not the heartbreak, not the years of silence. In this moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. 

Her hands roamed over the familiar surface of his back, tracing the contours of his muscles as they tensed and relaxed beneath her touch. She could feel the strength in him, the way his body worked to keep their rhythm steady, yet there was a softness to his movements, a tenderness that made her heart ache. His breath was hot against her skin, each exhale sending a shiver down her spine as his lips brushed over her shoulder, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She could feel the heat building between them, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume them both, and yet, there was a gentleness to it, a carefulness that spoke of the love they still shared.

“Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in, her body arching into his with a desperate need to feel every inch of him. “I—I can’t—” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment, by the way his body moved against hers, by the way his breath mingled with hers in the quiet of the room.

He kissed her again, his lips claiming hers with a desperation that matched her own. His hands threaded through her hair, holding her close as their movements grew more frantic, their bodies moving in perfect sync, as though they had never been apart. The tension coiled tighter, a palpable force that seemed to hum in the air between them, and she could feel it in every fiber of her being, in the way his body shook above her, in the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

She could feel the way he trembled, the way he held himself back, trying to keep this soft, gentle, even as the need between them grew. His name fell from her lips again, a broken plea, and he answered with a kiss, his lips moving against hers with a quiet intensity that made her chest ache. His hands roamed her body, touching her with a reverence that spoke of the love they still shared, of the pain they had endured, of the hope they still held onto.

Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both new and achingly familiar. She could feel the heat building inside her, a slow, simmering fire that threatened to consume her, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she gasped his name. He held her close, his body trembling above hers, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as they moved together, finding their rhythm, finding their way back to each other.

In that moment, it didn’t matter how long it had been or how much had changed. All that mattered was the way they fit together, the way their bodies moved in sync, the way their breaths mingled as they clung to each other. It was a reunion, a rediscovery, a promise that they were still here, still connected, still capable of this kind of closeness.

When the wave finally broke, it was quiet, almost reverent. Her body tensed, her thighs trembling as a soft, rolling heat spread through her. Her pussy clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that felt like a warm, velvety embrace, pulling him deeper with each wave. “Lando,” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails dug into his back, anchoring herself to him. The sensations were overwhelming— a mix of warmth, pressure, and an electric pleasure that radiated from her core, leaving her breathless and trembling. “I—I can’t—” she whispered, her words swallowed by the intensity of the moment.

For Lando, the feeling was almost too much to bear. Her pussy was impossibly tight, her walls fluttering around him in a way that made his breath catch. “Oh, God, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. Her body was warm and slick, her pulse throbbing around him, and it felt like she was drawing him in, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat and love. He could feel every ripple, every tremor of her climax, and it sent a shiver down his spine, his own need building with every second.

His cock throbbed inside her, the sensation of her orgasm making him feel complete. For him, her pussy was a perfect fit, a warm, wet haven that seemed to cradle him with every movement. As she came, her walls tightened around him in a way that was both soothing and electrifying, and he could feel the way her body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “You feel so good,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so good.”

For her, his cock felt like a missing piece, sliding into place with an ease that made her heart ache. She could feel every ridge, every inch of him as he filled her completely, the pressure of him both comforting and electrifying. The warmth of his release followed, a soft, pulsing heat that spread through her, making her feel whole in a way she hadn’t felt in months. “Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I missed this. Missed you.”

For him, the sensation of coming inside her was overwhelming. His cock throbbed, the release intense and all-consuming, and he could feel the warmth of her pussy enveloping him, pulling him deeper. She felt like home, like the missing piece he had been searching for. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he held her close. “I’m here. Always.”

As they lay there, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room, the world outside seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of them, rediscovering what they had lost. The softness of it all was almost too much to bear—a quiet, gentle reminder of the love they still shared, the bond that had never truly broken. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible but filled with a quiet intensity. “Please, just… stay.”

He kissed her temple, his lips brushing over her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Always,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Always, Y/N.”

And in that moment, as they clung to each other, the softness of it all felt like a second chance—a quiet, gentle reminder that even after everything, they could still find their way back to each other.

Slowly, Lando shifted, adjusting his position so he could lay beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her. He pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head as he buried his face in her hair. His warmth enveloped her, a silent promise of comfort, and she curled into him, their bodies fitting together as though they had never been apart.

When at last they fell still, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms. Her cheek rested against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm that lulled her. Neither found the words to define what had just happened or what it meant for them.

Eventually, Y/N lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest to look at him. Tear tracks still glistened on her cheeks. “Do you regret it?” she asked hesitantly, fearing what his answer might be.

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, gazing at her with an achingly tender expression. “I could never regret being close to you,” he said, voice husky with emotion. His own eyes were bright, an unnamed sorrow lingering there. “We might be divorced, but… part of me will always love you.”

She closed her eyes at his confession, pain slicing through her all over again, yet also a warm reassurance flooding her heart. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you,” she admitted softly, tears threatening once more.

He pulled her against him again, arms tightening protectively around her. “I didn’t come here expecting this,” he said in a strained whisper. “I just… I needed to see you.”

She nodded, pressing her forehead against his collarbone. “Me too. I was so afraid that this house would be a reminder of everything lost. But now, for a moment… it feels like the old times.”

They lay there in the fading daylight, the curtains glowing gold as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the floor and the scattered wedding photos. A gentle breeze fluttered the curtains, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world held its breath in respect for the heartbreak and fleeting joy they shared.

[kingkaisen]

hello. just recently started reading your dad!gojo fics and i am obsessed with them. i saw you mention taking requests for it, so i thought i would send something in. feel free to change any details.

i would like to request a scenario about megumi finally feeling maternal love. i noticed he's always afraid y/n and gojo will change their minds about adopting him and he always compares himself to yuji.

could i request some bonding time between megumi and the reader? maybe he opens up about his worries and feelings. i was thinking the reader could defend him when someone being rude to him as well, but any direction you go in, i will love. i just really am asking for bonding time between mother and son.

MY SON || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: After you & Satoru adopt Yuji and Megumi, Megumi can’t help but fear that you both will abandon him.

♡ — CONTENT: general angst with comfort, satoru being a great family man, mentions of depression, not eating, very brief mention of wanting to die, & happy ending. you & satoru have a biological child as well.

♡ — WORD COUNT: 4K

♡ — AUTHOR’S NOTE: This fic is part of my Dad!Gojo series, but reading the other parts isn’t necessary.

Megumi’s eyes snapped open. Beads of sweat coated his forehead and neck as he was greeted by the darkness of his bedroom.

Another nightmare.

His fourth one this week.

They weren’t about curses or haunting memories of his past battles, not at all. But, what he did dream about was equally as terrifying; his belongings tossed out on the streets in garbage bags.

“We don’t need two adopted teenagers,” you’d say, glaring at him with utter resentment.

“We have Yuji. He’s the perfect son,” Satoru would add on.

Just like that, he’d return to his old, familiar title of an orphan. Just like that, he’d have to wonder what it felt like to be loved by a mother and father instead of experiencing it himself. Just like that.

He tried to shove the memory of those dreams away because that was all they happened to be. Dreams. A manifestation of his horrid fears. They weren’t real, right? Not some twisted form of foresight?

Megumi rolled over onto his side. The digital clock on his nightstand flickered to 3:47 A.M.

His left pajama pant leg was rolled up to his knee, and the neck of his blue t-shirt was damp with sweat — all signs of a rough slumber, though he had hardly slept at all.

He pulled the messy sheets and comforter over his body, but there was no chance of him falling back asleep. He never did after his nightmares, and it was evident based on the dark circles forming underneath his blue eyes. He’d just lie awake, and let his mind wander . . .

It wasn’t a dream.

It would soon become his reality.

He knew it.

He wasn’t your biological kid like his little sister, Maya. He wasn’t even half as energetic or enthusiastic as Yuji. That boy constantly showered you both with appreciation. Beyond that, Yuji's sudden appearance in your life was the main reason you and Gojo considered adopting Megumi in the first place, despite you both having known Megumi for years prior.

Why did you never consider adopting him before you met Yuji? Why?

It could only mean that his suspicions were correct. You and Gojo didn’t want him. You wanted Yuji and didn’t want to hurt Megumi’s feelings. So, you ended up adopting two teenagers instead of one.

And it was only a matter of time before you and Gojo would get fed up with him.

He should leave first instead of waiting for the day in which you both decide you’re better off without some moody sorcerer bringing the rest of the family down during board game nights and movie marathons.

He’d do it.

He’d pack his bags and leave.

No one would notice.

No one would care.

He was unwanted.

He wasn’t your son.

He was stowaway.

—

It was edging closer to 9:00 A.M., and there was an empty spot at the breakfast nook in the gourmet kitchen.

The table was packed to the brim with servings of toast, meat, eggs, and rice. Satoru took a bite of his egg, watching Maya spread jam on her piece of toasted bread as best as she could, all while Yuji gobbled down his food as if someone was going to snatch it from him.

“Slow down,” you approached, coffee in hand, ruffling your boy’s messy hair.

“Huh?” Yuji paused with a mouth full of food. He swallowed, then said, “Oh, sorry. Everything’s just really great!”

You took a sip of your coffee, frowning upon seeing that Megumi wasn’t at the breakfast nook.

“Did Megumi oversleep?” You locked eyes with Satoru.

“I’m pretty sure he’s awake,” Satoru said, grabbing a napkin before gently wiping strawberry jam off of his adorable daughter’s face. Speaking to the young girl, he mumbled, “careful now, Muffin.”

You took a tentative sip of your warm beverage. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

—

Three gentle knocks sounded from Megumi’s bedroom door.

“Megumi?” You called from the other side. “Breakfast is ready.”

There was a beat of silence, then, he weakly replied, “Not hungry.”

“Can I come in?”

Megumi sighed, but even so, he said yes, and you entered your son’s room to see him still in bed, curled up underneath his covers, the majority of his body hidden underneath the thick fabric.

“You barely touched your dinner last night,” you said, leaning against the frame of his door. “You’ve barely come out of your room at all. Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m fine.”

It was a lie.

You read enough books about raising teenagers to spot false tales. Even so, you didn’t press him, even when an enormous lump of worry started to form in your throat.

“Alright. Food’s here when you want it.” You grabbed his door handle, closing it slowly, awaiting his response, but one never came.

—

Two hours had passed. This time, when someone knocked on Megumi’s door, it was in the form of a rather silly tune, and that person did not wait for permission to enter. Megumi knew exactly who it was without emerging from underneath his comforter.

“Fushigubro!” Yuji peeled the layers of covers back and shook the boy’s shoulder. “Wanna see if Nobara’s free later? Maybe we can all catch a movie or something.”

Megumi didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the covers Yuji removed, and rehid himself as if the covers served as some sort of protective shield.

“You seem kinda tired,” Yuji tilted his head a bit. “Did you stay up late?”

“Go away, Yuji.”

“Why? You’ve been ducking me all week!” Much like the conversation between you and Megumi earlier, Yuji, too, waited for a response that never came.

With a heavy sigh, he started to leave his brother’s room. “Alright, your loss. Some pretty great stuff is coming out this weekend.” It was one, last, desperate attempt. An attempt that failed. With another sigh, Yuji mumbled, “See you later.”

—

The pitter-patter of small feet could be heard approaching Megumi’s door around noon. For Maya, Megumi at least built up both the patience and energy to turn over onto his side, facing the door as the little girl opened it and ran into his bedroom.

“Meg-mi! Come on, let’s play! Let’s play!”

He gathered all the energy he could muster to say, as kindly as he could, “Not right now.”

“But we always play,” Maya frowned.

“Maybe later.”

“Pleaseee?” She tapped her feet.

“Go away.”

Those words hurt her. Maya was almost five years old, and though she was one of the kindest kids one would ever meet, she was still incredibly sensitive. It was no surprise to see the young girl’s eyes widen with sadness and her bottom lip start to quiver. Megumi, who was the coolest person in the world to her, had never spoken to her in such a way. It hurt.

Her little sniffles grew louder as she left his bedroom.

—

By the time Maya made her way from Megumi’s room to the living room, she was practically drowning in her own tears. Through blurred vision, she sought out the hazy figure sitting on the couch, her arms outstretched.

“What’s wrong, Muffin? C’mere.” Satoru scooped her up, sitting her on his lap. “What happened?”

Hearing the commotion, you stepped into the living room, your eyebrows knitted together in great concern.

“Meg-mi didn’t wanna play,” she sniffled. “He-he said to go away!”

“I’ll play with you, sweetheart. We can play whatever you want until lunch is ready, hm?” Satoru wiped her tears away with the end of his sleeve. “Don’t cry. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Okay,” she spoke with a little mumble. “Does Meg-mi hate me? ‘Cause he’s my brother . . . and brothers aren’t s‘posed to hate you.”

“No, no, he doesn’t hate you. I think he might just be a little sick right now,” Satoru paused. “Sometimes people want a little peace and quiet when they’re not feeling well.”

“And soup.”

“That’s right, and soup,” Satoru gave her a soft smile.

“How about I make you something special for lunch, Maya?” You suddenly caught the young girl’s attention, faking a bright smile with the hopes of cheering her up. “What do you want to eat?”

“I . . . umm . . . uh . . . sandwiches!”

“Sandwiches it is. Mommy’s gonna make you the biggest sandwich ever,” you promised.

“Let’s go play,” Satoru said to Maya.

She hopped off of his lap, running as fast as her tiny feet would carry her to the backdoor, where she and her dad would spend the next hour playing together in the enchanting backyard.

—

Beautiful sandwiches were stuffed to the brim with meat, veggies, and sauces — every sandwich customized to each specific family member’s liking. They were cut in half, resting on plates with apple slices served on the side.

Satoru and Maya would be inside soon to gobble their sandwiches down. Yuji wasn’t home, and would perhaps grab lunch with his friend, so you stored his sandwich away in a Tupperware container, popping it in the fridge for later.

You held on to Megumi’s plate. He had skipped breakfast. He hadn’t left his room all day.

Approaching his bedroom, his lunch in hand, you noted that his door was open. This little fact would have made you smile under ordinary circumstances, but today, it snapped your heart into pieces.

You knew well that Maya never remembered to shut doors. Therefore, it was easy to gather that she left it open earlier when she asked Megumi to play, and if it was still open, then that meant your son couldn’t even find the strength or desire to close it himself.

You stepped into his room as quietly as you could. You eyed the lump underneath the covers, hoping Megumi would emerge, but at best, you were only able to see the very top of his head. Even his black hair wasn’t as spiky today.

The plate clanked against Megumi’s nightstand as you sat it down. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. If it wasn’t for the rise and fall of the covers, in sync with his slow breathing, you would have assumed he was dead.

It was motherly instinct that made your hand reach out, wanting to touch his shoulder or pull him in for a hug or even just pat his arm — anything. But you didn’t. You didn’t touch him at all. You only turned around and left, hoping that when you returned, it would be to collect an empty plate that needed to be washed.

—

The afternoon sun had warmed the big family home, casting gentle orange sun rays through the windows with drawn curtains, natural light filtering in.

A half-cold mug of tea sat on the coffee table in your den, right beside a closed novel you grabbed off of the bookshelf to read, but you had no desire to do so right now. Not when you could only think about your son.

It was time to check on him again.

His room, unlike the rest of the house, was dark. Chilly. His blackout curtains left the sunlight no chance of entering his space.

Megumi himself was in a slightly different position than he was when you stepped into his room earlier to give him his sandwich. He was still under the covers, still hidden, breathing slowly, but the shape of him indicated he was curled up into a ball.

The sandwich.

The plate was sitting on his nightstand. Not a piece of the sandwich had been nibbled on, not even a crumb. The untouched apple slices were starting to turn brown around the edges.

“Megumi . . .”

He shifted a bit but didn’t respond. Earlier in the day, he would have at least mumbled something, but now, he no longer bothered with doing that either. It was as if he was worsening by the hour.

You were on the verge of tears. What was wrong with him? What was going on with your boy?

—

Satoru joined you in the living room fifteen minutes later. During that time, you weren’t aware of your own endless pacing until your husband wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, halting your footsteps.

“Talk to me,” he whispered.

“I’m really worried about Megumi,” you wasted no time pouring out your grievances, resting the back of your head against your husband’s chest. “He won’t eat. I thought it was my cooking at first, but he won’t take a bite, Satoru. He won’t leave his bed, he’s barely sleeping . . . if he was sick, I think he’d tell us. And it’s not like him to hurt Maya’s feelings.”

“I think he’s depressed. It’s rare when a sorcerer isn’t depressed.”

“None of his latest missions have been too . . . traumatizing,” You turned around in Gojo’s arms, looking up into his eyes. “Why would he suddenly start to act this way now?”

“Sometimes that’s just how it works. All we can do is continue to give these kids the world, and hope that it balances out the shitty job that comes with being a sorcerer,” Satoru planted a kiss on your forehead. “Want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head as a way of saying no. “I want to do it. But I have a gut feeling he’s depressed about something else. I just know it.”

The white-haired man cradled your head, guiding it towards his chest. His other arm was still wrapped around your waist, and for a moment, he simply held you.

—

“Megumi?”

You stood at Megumi’s bedside. He didn’t answer at first, but you called his name again; this time, in a more pressing manner.

“Megumi.”

“Hm?” He mumbled. It was so low, that your ears almost didn’t catch it.

“Is it too lame for a teenager to spend a Saturday evening with their mother?” You questioned.

With a slow, exhausted tone, Megumi said, “It’s not personal, Yuji just likes hanging out with Nobara-”

“No, I mean- sorry. You misunderstood me. I’m not asking you about Yuji. I’m asking you if you’d like to spend time with me. Just you and me.”

For a brief moment in time, Megumi didn’t respond, nor did the covers rise and fall with the movements of his body. The teenager was holding his breath.

Suddenly, he pulled the covers down. For the first time in what felt like ages, you could see his face. It both sparked internal fireworks of joy and snapped your heart into pieces. You were happy to finally see him, but the sight of his pale skin, eye bags, and absolute misery glistening within his eyes broke you.

For Megumi, hearing your offer to spend time alone with him was confusing.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because I want to have some quality time with you, silly. There’s a new cafe, just opened up down the street. I checked out their menu online and I really think you’d enjoy it,” you smiled at him. “Best black coffee in town, so I’ve heard.”

“Satoru must be busy,” Megumi mumbled, “If you’re asking me to go with you.”

“Satoru is napping with Maya and doing absolutely nothing with his life right now. I could go with him, but I want to go with you.”

It was no understatement to say that Megumi’s mind was often unkind to him. Right now, a thousand different thoughts were flooding in: Was this some sort of tactic to get him out of the house, leave him stranded somewhere, and tell him to never return? Or was it more so a Last Good Day sort of method, where you’d give him special treatment to lessen the incoming blow: hey kid, we don’t want you around anymore.

What if this was something else entirely?

What if this determined whether you’d love him as a son?

If he said no, if he continued to sulk in bed, would that make you despise him? Send him back to the unwelcoming school grounds run by, as Satoru called them, “conservative fools?” Reduce him to nothing more than an orphan once again?

But, maybe, just maybe, if he said yes . . . if he said yes, he could prevent that from happening. Maybe.

—

“Isn’t this nice?”

The quaint cafe was so new, Megumi could still smell the fresh paint, though it was faint. Beige and brown tones were broken up with green plants placed nearest the entrance, and the late afternoon sun only made the atmosphere that much more cozy.

Megumi stared down at the hot black coffee in his mug. “Did you really want to spend time with me, or did you just make that up?”

Your eyes snapped away from the menu in your hand. “Of course I want to spend time with you. Why are you having such a hard time believing that?” You wanted to reach out and touch his hand, but noting how he wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection, you sought against it. “Megumi, what’s going on? Please talk to me. I’m trying to hide how worried I am, but I-”

“Well, well, well, you look like shit,” an unfamiliar voice started to speak — or, rather, unfamiliar to you, as Megumi’s face twisted into one of discomfort as a teenage boy approached your table. “Surprised to see you out of the infirmary for once, Megumi. You sure that coffee isn’t too hot for you? I bet you-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” You put your menu down on the table, folding your hands. You gave the sorcerer student a threatening smile. “Please don’t speak that way to my son.”

“Son?” The black-haired bully started to chuckle. “Are you-”

“Yes. Son. Now walk away.”

“Who do you-”

“Walk away.”

There was no cursed energy involved, no cursed speech, yelling, or anything of the sort, and therefore, the stranger couldn’t determine what about your presence made him turn on his heel and head in the other direction. Perhaps, it was just plain old fear.

“I oughta put him in the infirmary,” you frowned, turning your eyes away from the retreating bully and back towards Megumi. “Who was that?”

“Just some jerk. Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Though he was an expert when it came to neutral and emotionless facial expressions, you tried to read him, and noted that, shockingly, a small, amused smile tried to tug on Megumi’s lips.

“What?” A confused grin appeared on your face.

“Nothing,” he took a sip of his coffee. “Um, thank you, by the way.”

“Of course.” Your smile fell into a more serious expression. “But back to what we were talking about. Why do you think I wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I’m just not as fun to be around as everyone else. Yuji, for example.”

The look on your face changed into one that was all too familiar. It was the look you gave him whenever he came back from a mission covered in bruises — the look of love and worry.

“Megumi, I need you to understand that Satoru and I adore everything about you. You are a joy to be around. You have this . . . this comforting and kind presence. We love your quietness just as much as we love Yuji’s hyperness. It just worries us when you shut us out completely. You won’t leave your bed, you won’t touch your food-”

“I know, I know,” Megumi took another sip of his coffee, avoiding your gaze.

“Please tell me why. I want to help.”

Megumi’s leg started to shake. He scratched at the skin surrounding his thumbnail.

“I just think you and Satoru will wake up someday. . .” he paused, taking a small breath. Right now, he wished he could die. “Wake up and realize you don’t want me around.”

Half of you expected some sort of punchline or fit of laughter to indicate that this was some kind of joke, but it never came. Your son only stared holes into the table.

“What? Why would you think something as ridiculous as that?” Your frown deepened. “Do you feel as if we don’t treat you well, or?”

“It’s nothing like that. I think you treat me better than I deserve,” Megumi scratched the back of his neck, though it wasn’t itchy. “But, I met Satoru when I was six. I met you the second you two started dating just one year later. I’ve been in your lives for years now, but you didn’t bother adopting me until you met Yuji last year. Don’t get me wrong, you and Satoru were teenagers when we met and he was nothing more than my teacher until recently, but I can’t help but think that I’m only here now because you would’ve felt too guilty had you adopted Yuji, and not me.”

The instrumental tunes playing softly within the cafe filled the silence as you took a moment to process Megumi’s words.

It was only for a couple of seconds, but to Megumi, it was enough time for him to start mentally preparing for the realization that, perhaps, he would be sleeping elsewhere tonight.

“Megumi, even when Satoru and I were just a few years older than you are now, we still tried our best to care for you as often as we could. I know it was nothing more than a warm meal every now and then or a new shirt for your birthday, but we still loved you.” Megumi looked up at you at long last, and you continued, “We should’ve adopted you sooner. You were always so independent and mature, so I guess we didn’t realize how much it would’ve meant to you. I’m sorry. But please don’t ever think we only adopted you because we wanted to adopt Yuji. Once we opened our minds to the idea of adoption in general, we adopted you because making you our son officially was a no-brainer. In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.”

In our eyes, you were already our kid. Our very first kid. We love you.

Our very first kid.

We love you.

Those words were on a constant loop within Megumi’s mind like a broken record. The corners of his lips twitched, along with his eyebrows, and though his eyes were watery, it wasn’t from misery.

“I’m not used to anything like this . . . to people sticking around,” he couldn’t help but let one single tear fall.

“I know, hun. But you better get used it, because we’re not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.” Reaching out, you touched Megumi’s hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. He tensed, but he didn’t pull away. “C’mon, let’s order. And don’t you dare try to order the cheapest thing. Order something you actually want.”

The teenager nodded, discreetly wiping away another tear, and together, you both got up and headed for the counter.

—

Dining on cafe food was an enjoyable experience. Megumi didn’t finish his plate, but he ate around half of it — it was better than nothing.

After returning home, you rested your head in Satoru’s lap as you recounted the details of the late afternoon. You both stayed that way, doing nothing but softly and lovingly chatting with one another — and exchanging a few kisses — until evening fell. Yuji came home with 3D glasses on his head, a cup of soda in hand, and the scent of buttery popcorn all over his clothes. By then, Satoru was tucking his little girl into bed while Yuji rambled on to you about the movie he saw, all before taking a shower and preparing for bed himself.

A few hours later, every member of the Gojo household was fast asleep — except for you. Your back was pressed against the headboard of your enormous king-sized bed — bigger than a traditional king-sized, truth be told — and Satoru’s arm was draped across your lap as he slept on his stomach. You flipped another page of your novel.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in your doorway, visible thanks to the warm light of your touch-controlled lamp.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked.

Megumi shook his head, “another nightmare.”

Of course, your comforting words weren’t enough to undo the depression itself. However, the fact that Megumi was coming to you instead of lying awake, alone with his horrid thoughts, was progress. Great progress.

“Why don’t you try sleeping in here?” You offered a smile. “Would you be comfortable with that?”

Megumi nodded. He left briefly to grab his pillow and a blanket from his room, but when he returned and tossed it down on the floor, you frowned.

“No, no, no,” you objected. “I’d kick Satoru out of this bed before I let you sleep on the floor. There's plenty of room at the foot of the bed.”

Though he was hesitant at first, Megumi eventually crawled over your silk comforter with his blanket and pillow. It was true. The bed was big enough for him to lay across the bottom of it horizontally and not touch Satoru, who was well over six feet tall.

Soon enough, Megumi started to sleep.

But said sleep wasn’t peaceful.

Looking up from the pages of your book, you noticed Megumi was tossing and turning. His blanket was no longer draped over his body but knocked onto the floor.

That was enough for you to shove your bookmark into your novel. It thumped lightly when you closed it before placing it on your nightstand. You moved Satoru’s heavy arm off of your lap — he groaned, but he didn’t fully awaken.

Quietly, slowly, you approached your restless son. God, how the sight of him suffering made your heart ache. Grabbing the fuzzy blanket off of the floor, you tossed it back over him. Then, as gently as you could, you raised the boy’s head, sat down, and guided his head to your lap.

Your soft fingers alternated between stroking his forehead and his hair. Your motherly touch was soothing. Unfamiliar. Healing.

“Everything’s alright, Megumi,” you whispered. “We love you.”

Megumi’s thrashing started to calm down. In his sleep, he released a deep breath, and the muscles of his face started to relax with every gentle brush of your fingers.

For the first time in quite a while, your son slept peacefully for the rest of the night.

— Next Part.

🏷️: @marvel-girl3 @goldenglow149 @luaqsv @sstoru @pinkfemdolly @satorusgummies @therealmrsgojo @leehriie @iminlovewqr0w @odessa-is-my-queen @melodycelos

[prisjean]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ caleb x reader

synopsis: after suddenly arriving to a place you have never been before, abruptly a familiar figure appears in front of you. it's caleb.. but isn't he dead? what's going on? left with unanswered questions from a new caleb, you break the news that you wish to go home.. but someone doesn't let you leave..

tw: smut, MDNI +18, cream pie, sex on the desk!!, unprotected sex (pls use protection), caleb isn't letting you cum till he says so 0.<, fingering, love bites, fast but long plot before getting smut?, long smut (idk how to write smut help) you and him couldn't deny each other, he fucks you in his uniform (sorry uniforms is a turn off), slight aftercare??, caleb's arms mentioned hehe

wc: 2.2k

a/n: first smut ive ever written >:) as much as i love the sweet caleb we used to have, i also love the new possessive caleb we're getting! happy reading!

caleb’s office was a ideal display of order. everything had a place, a name, and date. he was sat at his desk, focused, his jaw tense as he worked through another report. The faint hum of the ship's engines was the only sound in the room. you had no idea how you ended up with caleb, he was just pronounced dead and now he's back with a change of character.

you stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him in silence. he was back but things were different now.

somehow he returned with a different air about him. he’d been through something, something you couldn’t even begin to piece together. the walls he’d built around himself were unbreakable, but above that, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

“staring won’t get you anywhere, pipsqueak,” caleb said without looking up from his paperwork, he grins to himself.

you huffed, now walking into his office. “why do you keep calling me that?” you said, slightly annoyed.

he looks up at you, his eyes dark and steady, but the grin never hesitated. “because no matter how much you try to act tough, i’ll always see you as someone who needs looking after,” he teased, his voice warm and low, savoring the effect it had on you.

a flush spread across your face, but you quickly masked it with a roll of your eyes. “...you’re crazy.”

“and you’re adorable when you’re mad,” he replied smoothly with a smirk, shifting in his chair as he focused on his work once more.

your mind swirls as you get close to him and his desk. the urge to be near him was undeniable, but the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat. then finally, you cleared your throat.

“...i want to leave.”

the words fill the air, caleb finally places his pen down as he raises his gaze, his face stern.

“leave?” he asked, his tone darker now.

“yeah..” you replied, taking a small step forward. “i-i think i need some time to process all this. i think we need time apart before we talk about every-”

he listens but then cuts you off. “no.” he said, sternly.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden cutoff. “no? that’s it? just ‘no’?”

“that’s all you’re getting, pipsqueak” he said, now standing up and walking around the desk, closing the distance between you two. he was close now, he was practically hovering over you, his uniform feeding an undeniable aura. “you’re not leaving. you belong here, with me.”

you pout to tease, taking a step back as if trying to put some distance between the two of you, but he catches and fills the space. “you can’t just decide that for me.”

“i’m not deciding,” he replied, his voice softer now, yet filled with a calm authority. “i’m reminding you. you have me and i’m not going to let you walk away from that.”

a part of you wanted to argue, to push back harder, but another part, the part that had always known this man in front of you, found him irresistible.

you cleared your throat, trying to be stable. “well..aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” you said, having teasing smile. “all this positivity is blinding.”

caleb’s lips quirked into a small, knowing grin. “you don’t seem too upset about it.”

“maybe cause i’m just used to you,” you shot back, stepping closer until you were mere inches from him, your breath mingling in the air between you. “though i do think you could use a little loosening up.”

his eyes darkened as he stared down at you, the playful challenge evident in his gaze. “oh?”

“yes,” your smile widens, feeling the familiar tension between you spark to life. “maybe it’s time i show you what happens when you’re not in control for once.” you tease again. you didn't know if you were teasing caleb just because you wanted to leave or because you couldn't deny him.

his expression didn’t change, if anything, it only deepened, a flicker of desire in his eyes as he still hovered you even while standing.

“pipsqueak.” he murmured, his voice a quiet growl as his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pressing into your sides with just enough force to make you gasp.

“yes..caleb?” you teased, your heart racing as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

without another word, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both commanding and tender. his hands slid down to lift you up. you let out a soft gasp as he cleared the desk in a single movement. papers scattered to the floor in a careless motion, already forgotten.

he set you on his desk, his body close as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. “you’re not leaving,” he whispered, his voice low and full of meaning.

you lock eyes with him, panting. “You’re really stubborn, you know that?”

“..and you love it,” he replied, his lips brushing against yours once more, the kiss deepening as his hands roamed to the buttons of your blouse.

his eyes look up at yours, his fingers gliding over the buttons of your blouse once more. "is this okay?" he asks, in a tone that reminded you of the caring caleb you once knew and learned to love for so long.

you nod, letting a slight flush roam your cheeks as he unbuttons your shirt. his eyes glances over each button being loose, his yearning and desires seeping through his expressions. in a shift motion, he brushes your blouse off your shoulders, leaving you with just a bra. caleb leans himself to plant tender kisses on your neck, leaning down towards your collarbone. the way he kissed your body was soft and loving. you really believe the old caleb is still in there.

as caleb continues to switch kissing your neck and your collarbone, he unclasps your bra, taking it off gently. he looks at your buds before taking one in his mouth and plays with the other, leaving you drown in ecstasy. caleb leads his lips a little above your swollen bud to suck and bite, leaving a red mark. he enjoyed the gasp you let out so he continues to leave more marks of his on both breasts, leaving you in a whimpering mess.

"mm.. caleb..", you wince.

he pauses, "mmh..i can't stop" he pants. "i need you now" he purred. you cup his cheeks, flushing at this point.

"then show me.." you cooed. he takes you up on that offer and steadily takes off the hem on your pants. he continues to slide down your pants and then your panties, throwing them to the side. you looks up and down at you, taking in every sight. "you're so beautiful.." he says. he continues his mission as he drags his hand down to your bare slit, never losing eye contact.

"fuck princess.. i barely touched you and you're already so wet" he teased with a grin. you squirm under his touch and felt his finger skim through your pussy lips, enjoying the wetness before rolling circles on your clit. you continue to squirm under his touch. you had used your arms to support your body on his desk but now he was practically plowing two fingers into you, all his touching led you lose balance so you decided to hold onto caleb's arms, feeling the fabric of his uniform. you kept moaning under his fingers while smelling his rich cologne. you missed that smell.

caleb continues to move his fingers against your walls, you clench him each time he moves himself up. his gaze softens, looking up at you. "you okay, princess?" he lowly says. your head and hands dig into his chest and muscles but you manage to whisper. "yes... please keep going caleb..". he nods and continues working his fingers, now not missing to aim your sweet spot. you throw your head back and your moans fill the air in his office as you slowly start to arrive your peak. at this point, you grind your hips, helping his fingers push into you more.

he captures your lips again in a sloppy kiss, his breath hitching and smooching noises echo the room after. he pulls away, "ugh..god, princess..." he groans. "mm not yet.." he teases, gaining his composure. "i'm not letting you cum yet" a devilish smirk appears in his face. he gently pulls his fingers out, leaving a low pop sound. he unbuckles his belt and unzips, freeing his erected cock. his tip already seeping with precum.

you lean your pelvis forward, you want him to take you already. you wanted to cum already. he pulls your legs to wrap around his waist, then grabs his heavy cock, making it hover over your wet begging cunt. he continues his teasing when he gives your erected clit taps.

"caleb...please" you pleaded him. letting him feel so in control. one of his secret fantasies was him taking power over you and to hear you beg him to fuck you. now he has his fantasy fulfilled.

you wiggle your hips, panting. "alright alright" he chuckles. " you've been such a good girl, taking my fingers. i guess ill give you what you want." he gently pushes his cock in, using your wetness as lubricant. you and him share a gasp at first contact.

"fuck.." he cries out. "you're so tight, princess" his hand continues to hold your waist while his other grips the edge of his desk, drowning himself in you. this was better than what he has envisioned. he leans down on your shoulder, pumping himself in and out of you. he could barely handle himself in front of the woman he's loved for his whole life. you arch your back, legs trembling at how big he was.

"oh caleb... caleb..." you continue to purr his name in his ears. hearing you gave him every right to continue pounding faster inside you, drowning himself in the wetness of your walls, also letting his cock give your cervix kisses.

"c-cum for me... on me..", he grunts, his voice hitching and his forehead showing a sweat. after a while, you felt yourself approaching. "caleb..m'im cumming..", with that announcement, your body tenses up as you cream on him, whimpering after every drop.

caleb sighs heavy at your ecstasy, enjoying every bit. this turns him on as he fastens his pace, almost near his end aswell. it wasn't long after till he also made his own announcement. “i-i’m gonna come,” caleb muttered, eyes squeezed shut, his pants getting heavy. now his grip on your hip and his desk hardens as he releases himself inside of your cunt, his thighs shook, his eyes rolled back in their sockets. he wanted to groan out his orgasm, but he suddenly remembered where they were, so he bit down on your shoulder, moaning quietly as he pulled out of your beautiful filled up pussy, spilling his some of his cum all over the tile floor.

He stood with his dick in his hand before zipping himself back up, trying to contain his composure, panting heavily, eyelids fluttering.

the air became still again, the quiet hum of the ship’s engines in the distance, a constant reminder of the void beyond these walls. caleb leaned forward, his forehead brushing against yours as you both caught your breath. his hands, once with a hard grip, now rested gently on your waist, his thumbs traced soothing circles over your skin.

as he lets you take a breath, caleb leaned back, his purple pinkish eyes scanning your face with a tenderness that left you breathless in an entirely different way. he unzips his uniform jacket, his movements deliberate and careful. “here,” he murmured, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders, giving you comforting look while covering you as much as he can. his jacket still lingered of his smell, something grounding and uniquely caleb. his fingers lingered at the edges, brushing lightly against your skin.

you looked up at him, your gaze softens and your body and heart still vulnerable. his eyes held a depth you hadn’t seen before, like he was memorizing every part of you, committing to never forget this eternal moment.

he leans down to press a delicate kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for longer than necessary. when he pulled back, his voice was low and steady.

“you’re my everything,” he said softly, his hand caresses your cheek. “more than I deserve, more than I ever thought i’d have.”

your throat tightened, a lump forming as his words settled over you. you could a flush coming onto your cheeks once more.

he gave you a small, reassuring smile. “i’ll explain everything soon. you deserve that, at the very least. but for now…” he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “just know i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nodded, leaning into his touch as tears pricked your eyes, the emotion of the moment nearly overwhelming. caleb held you close, his arms wrapping around you as he whispered one final reassurance.

“you’re safe with me. always.”

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Diasomnia

Go here for other dorms

Malleus Draconia

When you hand Malleus the box of chocolates, he takes it carefully, his touch delicate, reverent. His emerald eyes flicker between you and the gift, his expression curious.

“…What is the occasion?” he asks, tilting his head ever so slightly.

You blink. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

His brow furrows in thought. “Ah… I have read about this custom. A day where humans exchange tokens of affection.” His gaze settles back on you, warm and searching. “And you are giving this to me?”

You inhale, steadying yourself before you say it—before you make it real.

“Yes,” you say, voice firm but soft. “Because I like you, Malleus.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

And then—he lights up.

Not just in surprise, not just in happiness, but in something deeper, something radiant. His pupils dilate, his lips parting slightly as he processes the words, and then—his entire expression softens into something breathtaking.

“You…” He exhales, almost in wonder, as if he is memorizing this moment, etching it into eternity.

His grip on the chocolates tightens just slightly, like he’s holding something precious.

“…Then I must thank you,” he says at last, his voice so tender it nearly steals your breath. “For this gift. And for your feelings.”

He steps closer, his presence impossibly warm despite the cool night air. “Because I return them.”

Your heart stumbles. “You do?”

Malleus smiles, and it is gentle, certain—undeniably his.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “And if you will allow it… I would like to be your partner.”

The word settles over you like it belongs there—like it has always belonged there.

And how could you say anything but yes?

“I’d love that,” you whisper.

His smile deepens, something ancient and endless and full of warmth. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with a quiet certainty.

As you begin to walk together—his grip steady, unwavering, real—it feels so easy, so natural.

Like this was always meant to be.

Lilia Vanrouge

When you walk up to Lilia, he’s already watching you with knowing amusement, arms crossed, eyes twinkling like he’s been expecting this all along.

“Ah, I see, I see~” he hums, grinning before you even say a word. “Here comes my beastie with something important to say.”

Your steps slow. You narrow your eyes. “You already know?”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, I had my suspicions. But don’t let that stop you. Go on, I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping now. You take a breath and hold out the chocolates. “These are for you, Lilia. Because I like you.”

For a second, Lilia softens. It’s quick—a flicker of something warm and genuine—before he’s grinning again, sharp and playful.

“And here I thought you’d never confess!” He places a dramatic hand over his chest. “Making an old man wait for so long… how cruel!”

You snort. “Lilia, please. You don’t even look a day over twenty.”

He winks. “Why, thank you. I do try.”

You shake your head, exasperated but fond. “So? What do you say?”

Lilia’s grin softens just slightly. “Well, I say you’ve made a very bold choice, my dear.” He takes the chocolates, cradling them like a prized treasure. “And I accept, of course.”

Your stomach flutters.

Then—Lilia claps his hands together. “Well! We must celebrate! How about a homemade meal, cooked just for you?”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Lilia, wait—” You hold up both hands, alarmed. “We can save that for another day.”

He blinks, tilting his head innocently. “Oh? You don’t want to try my cooking?”

You scramble to save yourself. “No! I mean—yes! Just—not today! I want to, uh… savor the moment. Yeah.”

Lilia watches you far too knowingly, but after a beat, he laughs. “Fair enough! You drive a hard bargain, my dear.”

Then—with all the ease in the world—he reaches out, taking your hand and pressing a light kiss to your fingers.

“Well then,” he muses, looking up at you with mischief and something warmer. “Shall we go on our date?”

Your face burns. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

And as he pulls you along, chuckling to himself, you can’t help but think—

You’re in for quite the adventure.

Silver Vanrouge

Silver is fast asleep under a tree, looking so peaceful that you almost feel guilty waking him.

Almost.

Because one, you’re here to confess, and two… is that a squirrel braiding his hair?

You pause. Stare. The squirrel, completely unbothered, continues its work, its tiny paws weaving strands of silver like it’s done this a thousand times before.

…Never mind.

Shaking off your distraction, you step closer and crouch beside him. “Silver,” you call softly.

He stirs, blinking slowly as he wakes. And then he sees you.

His lips curl into a small, sleepy smile. “Oh,” he murmurs, voice still soft with drowsiness. “It’s you.”

Your stomach does a very unnecessary flip.

You exhale, steeling yourself. “I made these for you,” you say, holding out the chocolates. “Because it’s Valentine’s. And because I like you.”

Silver blinks. Once. Twice. His eyes focus a little sharper as he processes your words. Then, slowly, he pushes himself upright, his gaze never leaving yours.

“…You like me?” he asks, his tone gentle, careful.

You nod, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah. I do.”

For a moment, he just looks at you.

Then—softly, warmly—he smiles.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice so sincere it makes your heart ache. “I… like you too.”

Before you can even react, he reaches for your hand, lifting it carefully. His fingers are steady, warm, reverent as he brings it to his lips—and presses the softest kiss against your knuckles.

The gesture is so simple, so sweet, so utterly Silver. There’s no teasing, no dramatics—just quiet, unwavering affection.

When he pulls back, his thumb lingers just slightly over your fingers. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” he asks, his expression soft.

Your chest feels too full. You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

He stands, still holding your hand, his grip secure and warm.

The squirrel, now done with its masterpiece, chatters approvingly before scurrying off.

Neither of you even acknowledge it. Because right now—nothing else matters.

Sebek is not prepared.

Not for the chocolates. Not for your confession. Not for any of it.

One second, he’s standing tall, proud as ever, probably ready to launch into a speech about how he has no time for frivolous human customs.

And the next?

The usual loud, booming Sebek disappears.

Gone. Vanished. Launched into the stratosphere.

All that remains is a wide-eyed, speechless mess, his mouth opening and closing with nothing but a choked squeak escaping.

You wait, patiently.

Still, nothing.

“…Sebek?” you ask, biting back a smile.

He suddenly snaps upright, as if forcibly rebooting. “I—I—” His voice cracks spectacularly, and his face erupts into color, bright red from the tips of his ears down to his neck.

And then, as if his body is moving before his brain can keep up, he takes your hand in both of his own, bows his head, and presses the most reverent, careful kiss to the back of it.

Your breath catches.

When he looks back up, his usual intensity is still there—but this time, it’s softer. Warmer.

“I—I accept!” he declares, his grip strong, steady, firm. “I—I—I have long admired you as well! I—” He swallows hard, visibly overwhelmed. “I like you, too.”

Your heart melts.

Still smiling, you squeeze his hands lightly. “Then, will you be my boyfriend?”

Sebek freezes again.

His entire body tenses. His pupils dilate. You watch in real-time as his soul leaves his body, fights its way back, and then leaves again.

“I—” he tries, voice cracking once more. He clears his throat so aggressively that you’re almost worried for him.

Then, finally, finally, he nods, jerky but determined.

“Yes!” he exclaims, as if accepting the most sacred of oaths. “Yes, of course! I shall devote myself to you with all the strength and loyalty I possess!”

You can’t help it. You laugh.

Sebek, red-faced and flustered beyond belief, holds your hand even tighter, as if making sure you don’t disappear.

And honestly? You wouldn’t dream of it.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[girlfromflor]

part 2 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

“what?” johnny is the first one to say something audible, simon made a “huh?” noise that sounded more like a grunt whilst kyle remained silent.

“yeah, well… apparently a young soldier has been showing really good results and the general decided she would be moving to our unit.” john answers, almost as incredulous as he was when he first got the information, but keeping it together in front of his men.

“she?” simon asks, calmer and softer than he initially intended, but still a bit shocked – he blamed the confusion clouding his mind. johnny backs him up instantly, furrowed brows and crossed arms as he adds, “it’s a woman?” 

“yeah,” john sighs, taking a big breath. they all knew that women in the military were usually grouped in women-only task forces because they usually shared different tasks than men – it wasn’t like they wanted to be surrounded by entitled men anyway, so they did their own thing. so to know this soldier was getting sent to their unit said a lot about who they were as a person. “it is a woman.”

“when is she going to get her dose?” kyle mumbles, talking for the first time since he walked in the room, voice clear but enveloped in uncertainty, “we should know how much time we have, so we can get to training as soon as possible.”

and of course kyle would say that out of all of them, training as a unit before taking a dose was essential, the almost in sync rhythm had to be settled before the dose forced them into an unnatural harmony. taking a designated dose without training together was said to be bothersome and even painful in some cases. the mix of unwanted sensations eats the team up constantly because of their lack of bond – their lack of knowing how to deal with one another. the boys never got that problem, but kyle wanted to make sure that it wasn't going to happen.

“so… remember that weird, gnawing feeling from last week…?” price voices out, and the boys already understood what he meant.

simon couldn't hold himself back, barking out his words in a demanding tone. “they gave her the dose four days ago? we don't even know each other,” his exasperated tone matching the stress building on their shoulders. 

“i know, and i’m not happy either. but the only thing we can do now is try and make it work.” john says, more to himself than to calm his men. it was already a problem that they would have someone new to the team, having to share their emotions and sensations without proper preparation had to be the final straw. “if it will be bad for us, let's just think how bad it’s going to be for her taking a dose for the first time and having to deal with four new incoming sensations all at once.”

captain took his time sharing what he knew with the boys. to prevent big problems – like sending some of them into a mental spiral or something similar –, the woman was going to stay in her own place – nearby theirs – as they started training together. he said that they’ll meet at the base and that john will have full responsibility over their time together. it meant that no higher ups were going to stick their noses where they didn’t belong – which was a relief. he didn’t have much information about the soldier other than the fact that she was skilled enough to earn a spot on their team – probably something else too, because no ordinary soldier was grouped with supersoldiers with just ‘good enough skills’. 

john wasn’t stressed, and that also calmed the boys a bit. five was the limit of people within a task force and long passed the time that they were told to hire someone to fill the remaining position, but to know they were obligated to do so was excruciating. their defiant nature was just begging them to dismiss any and all possibilities of working together with the new addition. they worked as a united force, someone new coming in was only going to disturb that harmony. simon was already thinking ‘how will i see her face everyday and keep the boys at ease without making it hard for her’. he couldn’t help it, he already felt some type of empathy for the woman – he knew it was probably his captain and kyle’s fault, they had too much nurturing instincts to fight off. johnny also was thinking what could he do on his end, since he knew the experience was going to be intense already, it didn’t help that he was also and naturally an overwhelming being. he already felt how he’d have to neglect himself in order to make her feel comfortable – but then again, all of them felt that way. 

somehow, in between this new challenge and their usual work, the boys found within their group an ever stronger bond. the need for comfort to deal with the arrival of the recruit willed them to seek each other more – even if they didn’t meet her yet, it was like she was part of them in some ways, which was weird. they started acting like she was part of their routine already, leaving a spot on the table where she would sit during meals, buying more food, and cleaning the house more often – assuming that as a woman she’d like things to be tidy.

kyle started wordlessly moving to price’s room after dinner, where they’d sleep in each other's arms and somehow they seemed to dream the same fulfilling scenarios where she’d do the same. when they’d wake up, price was still with his eyes closed when he whispered “morning,” while his hand sneaked under kyle’s shirt to touch his waist. the sergeant was also with his eyes closed and he’d mumble “how’d you know i was awake?” to which the captain would just shrug. call it wild guess, they call it connection. simon and johnny were like one, literally. when simon felt like drinking water, johnny was already opening a bottle and handing it to him. when johnny felt a bit cold, simon would get up from his spot on the couch and close the window – and when john questioned why, simon simply replied with “johnny is cold,” even though he hadn’t spared johnny a single glance.

it eased their nerves, how they worked together through the uneasiness of having a new member. but then an uncomfortable, saddening feeling started creeping up their neck. simon is the first one to acknowledge it: insecurity. but it’s captain price who voices it out of their heads, “everything is going to be alright, lads, no need to worry.”

johnny only shrugs, and looks at kyle. kyle nods, answering for the both of them, “don’t think that’s us, cap.”

simon agrees, humming under his breath. he turns to price as he speaks, “think you know it too, right?”

“aye,” john answers, taking a pause. it was weird – to feel things from someone they didn’t know yet. “just wanted to make sure.”

“she seems precious,” kyle says, to which johnny lets out a laugh. “what? it’s true,” but he’s laughing as well. “think she’s shy, though.”

“aye,” is johnny who replies, his voice sounding as dreamy as kyle’s. “do ye think she can tell us apart?” then he grimaces, tilting his head as he adds, “mentally, i mean…”

simon snorts, but they know he’s thinking about it too. he looks at his captain then, and john hums in agreement, making a point of saying, “also don’t think it’s good to dwell on it, but i know… we all hope she does.”

you were always a bit of a nuisance, you thought. from a very young age you were sent to EDI which was short for “extra disciplinary institution”. it worked like an extension from school, you often got sent there for a week or two once you completed 12 years of age. it wasn’t bad, nor was it punitive. mostly, it was a place where you let out most of your pent up energy – something you had a lot growing up, and that often came out as defiance. their way of treating the kids depended on what it was that the child lacked control over the most. you invested your time in intense workout routines and logical reasoning exercises, to pass time and get distracted when you felt overwhelmed by your own thoughts – it worked for you, but a boy the same age as you who displayed the same traits spent his time painting and taking music classes.

police wasn't something that really existed anymore, neither did prisons. over the years “police” slowly morphed into SAET – security against external threats – and prisons were completely erased, along with most types of heavy crimes. SAET was only preoccupied with – obviously – external threats to civilians, they never really needed to intervene in crime within the city because that didn’t really happen anymore. robbery was still common, although the robbers were usually sent to work for the state in non-important roles where they could be attentively watched and still live life normally. kids who seem problematic or that caused too much commotion were sent to EDI for a while – never for too long, two weeks max in a row – to get enough attention and work their offenses against their lifestyle and sorts. you never caused actual problems, but you often skipped school and talked back to authoritative figures. lucky for you, you quickly found your place at EDI and by the age of 16 you started willingly going there. when you turned 18 you were recommended to work as a tutor and at 21 you were offered to be in charge of a whole class of kids sent there for the first time.

as the months passed by, you were offered a spot in SAET, but you declined. you didn’t like the idea of being stuck in your city, you wanted to be able to cross the border, study new places and see the remains of old civilizations on the wide places with empty concrete buildings and stray, wild animals. so when you got an informal visit from a general saying that he heard about your results and overall work at the institution and casually asked if you'd like to join the army, you thought ‘why not?’ and accepted.

SAET's whole purpose was to protect civilians, that's why they never moved beyond the border. but the army – huge thing that it was – worked as an active force against unknown targets beyond the city. they were the ones with the work on the field – actual action –, even though wars weren't a thing anymore. most threats came from mutation of wild animals and uncontrolled machines from failed experiments – sometimes both at once. the soldiers usually worked on search parties and rescue missions – when an injured animal was found somewhere too toxic or too hostile for it to survive. it wasn't a secret that all people who became part of the army had to be injected and experimented on. most of the time it was supposed to simply amplify their communicating skills, a way of improving their performance whenever they were inserted in their respective groups. although, a rumor that certain soldiers were kept somewhere far away from the city's edges – bordering wild life – started being more and more heard by you as you made your way through military life – two years was enough for you to come across all types of stories. they had too many years of training and became an extension of nature itself – faster, stronger and more willing to be protective towards the things they tend for. they also had a way to communicate that was unknown for human kind, it was more like when animals shared crucial information in order to survive.

you first learned that they were – in fact – real during a regular exam, when the doctor pointed an unusual response from your body to the usual procedures soldiers were subjected to – turns out you were one of the few people who “mutated” with the injections. you quickly learned that only one group of supersoldiers worked for this state at the moment, the other two task forces were working somewhere else around the world. you also learned that there was no way you could go to a normal task force because it would disturb the harmony of the group. it was best for you to work with task force 141, since it was where you’d fit in the most – it was where you belonged, naturally.

what you didn’t learn – or, better, what they didn’t tell you – was that task force 141 had bonded to a telepathic level. when you got your dose you didn’t question the fact that you had yet to train with them – to know them –, you felt different but nothing more. you thought it was mostly in your head, until you realized that you were growing closer to the day you’ll meet your team – yet to be team, actually, but you call them yours already. you couldn’t help the shadow of anxiety and insecurity that starts to drown you, and when a sudden – overwhelming – sense of confidence and tenderness washes over you, you start to pull the pieces together.

sometimes, over the first four days after you’ve taken your designated dose, you felt some things that didn’t feel quite yours – a thought would pop up out of nowhere and you’d think ‘the hell? the dose is making me think like a man’. after that, it doesn’t take too many days for the official meeting to happen. you had already moved to your new house and started what you called “dosed soldier training”, which was just an upgraded version of the training you used to do – it was the same, but adapted to your modifying body and improving skills.

it’s exactly eight days and 6 hours after you’ve taken your dose that you meet your soon-to-be teammates. when the boys see you they are nearly speechless. they are so lost, price has to slap the back of johnny’s head when he starts getting too lost in his imagination – which earned him some alone time with simon when they got home and kyle the beginning of a hard on. they watch you as you leave the car and move towards the entrance of the main building on base, where they stand completely entranced by how pretty you look – how well you already seem to fit with them. when you stand in front of them it's clear that you’re avoiding eye contact.

price clears his throat. “nice to meet you, soldier. captain john price.” he introduces himself, extending a hand. you take it in yours, shaking it a bit hesitant as you say your name. price looks to his right where a very pretty man stands, and he's quick to start talking.

“i'm sergeant kyle garrick. you can call me gaz,” his voice is calm and polite, but he doesn't put his hand out. you only nod, not having time to say anything because the man on the left side of john starts speaking as soon as kyle stops.

“john mactavish, i'm also a sergeant. most people call me soap, ye can call me johnny,” he finishes his sentence with a wink. he talks a lot, you notice, but it doesn’t bother you – if anything it eases the tense mood. different from gaz, he takes your hand in his in a small greeting and you give him a small smile as he does.

lastly, you look at the man standing beside soap – a very tall and masked man. you exchange a glance in a beat of silence before he says in a low tone, “ghost. lieutenant.”

you have to fight the urge to smile at him, unsure at how he’d receive it from you. you simply nod and turn your attention to the captain, waiting to follow them inside. john talks a bit about how the base works as you walk inside the building and into a meeting room. once inside the room, you are the first one to sit down, ghost taking a seat by your left and kyle moving to your right. you don't like it at first, but you feel less on edge when price and johnny settle on the table across from you. for most of the meeting it is price and soap who talk the most, telling you what you should know about their routine and how training will be from now on. they talk for a few minutes before the questions start, and then kyle starts to pipe in, asking a question every other moment. as you grow comfortable, you allow yourself to question a few things, settling in a nice, pleasant atmosphere – as the basic information about you is slowly being worked through. 

as most important things get sorted out and you reach the end of the two hour meeting, price stands up. “have you eaten already?”

it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, swiftly nodding as you watch the others stand up too. ghost gives you a look – you couldn’t possibly think of what was going through his head – and you feel pressured to elaborate your answer. so you glance back at john, taking the chance to look at your feet as you stand – to avoid eye contact – as you speak, “i’ve, hum… i had lunch before arriving, sir.”

“good, we already had lunch too,” john answers, moving to the door where he rests a hand on the doorknob. “we can go straight home, then.”

you follow them outside, expecting to have a car to pick you up and take you to your house. imagine your surprise when kyle holds the back seat door open for you, watching as your feet halt and you stop walking, making you chuckle nervously. and at your delayed entrance, johnny pops his head out of the window from the other side of the car. his voice is a bit too strained when he calls you out, “c’mon, get in, lass. we’ll drop you at your place.”

you clean your sweaty palms on the fabric of your pants in a nervous habit, climbing inside the car with your head low. johnny gives you a smile when you settle by his side, and kyle simply mutters “put your seatbelt on,” when he takes the seat to your left, closing the door as he does.

you spend the ride towards your house hyper-aware of how both your arms brush against johnny and kyle’s, whenever simon takes a turn on a high speed and your body sways towards one or the other. johnny has half a mind to grab your thigh to keep you from being pressed against his body whilst kyle is – nearly – purposefully manspreading to squeeze your smaller frame between the two of them. john has to turn to look back at them every once in a while, regretting not making you ride shotgun. hi keeps on squirming in his seat and he’s not sure if is simon’s hurry in getting home – his thoughts kept on betraying him and bringing him back to johnny’s reverie – or if it was from johnny and kyle who were fighting for their life at being so close to you so soon.

you, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the men’s inner dilemma. your mind was traveling towards the future as you tried to ignore the warmth radiating from the men sitting by your sides. should you invite them over? give them a tour of your house? maybe offer some tea? or should you just thank them and leave? you’ll see them in the morning alright, no need to fuss over their company—

“we’re here,” it’s price’s voice who snaps you out, and you look up from your fingers to realize that you’re already in front of your house. the lack of movement around your place is soothing – knowing it was always like that also soothed you, you kind of hated crowds.

“hum, thanks. for the ride…” your words are not as shaky as you thought they would be. you undo your seatbelt and turn to johnny’s side to leave the car. you two exchange a glance for a bit too long and kyle has to face his window in order to keep composure – johnny and simon keep on feeding into each other’s arousal, and it was making them all struggle. but, instead of being intimidated – like they thought you would – you laugh. maybe from the nervousness running through your veins, maybe because it is funny that you’re both kind of frozen.

“can you move? so i can leave…” you ask johnny, a smile still adorning your lips and johnny has to bite his cheek to refrain a – whimpered – ‘no’ to leave his lips. because no, he didn’t want you to leave just yet, but he also couldn’t stand being next to you anymore – oh, the perks of sharing deep emotions with your teammates. 

so he simply nods, brows knitting together as he whispers out an, “sorry.” he opens the door and steps out, not giving you a hand as you mimic his movements – but honestly you think nothing of it.

when you move past john’s window he calls out for you, “we live in a house ten minutes away, in that direction.”

he’s pointing towards a more remote part of the region, the beginning of the woods starting to cover the edges of the road. you make a face, questioning “ten-minute walk or drive?”

“drive,” his smile catches your attention, and you don’t even realize it brings one of your own.

“huh,” you nod, contemplating. “good to know.”

his smile increases, and suddenly he feels johnny’s urge getting at him. he mentally curses how easily they get in tune sometimes. he watches as you walk towards your front door, unlocking it and stepping inside without looking back. “i swear johnny, we ain’t gon’ last a week if ya keep this up,” he says once simon re-starts the engine.

“sorry, cap. couldnae help it,” he says sheepishly, moving to take the seat you were in just a minute ago.

“can’t blame him, luvie’s got a thing about her,” simon is still focused on driving as he speaks, his voice echoes all their inner thoughts. 

“aye. thought i’d lose it at how she smiled at johnny before the meeting,” kyle adds, his thigh brushing over johnny’s now that they’re side by side.

“fuckin’ hell,” john mumbles, a hint of amusement on his tone. “we’re fucked.”

a/n: thought it was dumb, then i realized it's a sci-fi fanfiction, i have all the rights to make it dumb. let me know what you think! | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda

[fckmebarnes]

˗ˏˋ ★ can’t get enough ★ ˎˊ˗

bucky barnes x reader

18+ MEN AND MINORS DNI. semi-ish public sex — in the bathroom! bucky is insatiable. grumpy at first. light choking. fingering + oral (r) p in v. bucky calls himself daddy. yeah! if anything’s missed please let me know!

this one i fr edited and added/took away some things so hehe. feedback is always appreciated!💓

“I don’t want to go to this stupid party.” Bucky grumbled as the two of you walked up to Steve’s house, people gathered on the front lawn in different parts, all holding red solo cups and making conversations with each other, having a fun time.

You were looking forward to this party, it was a fun get together before most of the team had to leave for a mission that would last about a few months. You wanted to spend time with your friends and you thought Bucky would have had higher spirits than the attitude he was bringing. You heard him huff under his breath and you stopped in your tracks and turned around to glare at him. He paused and looked at you, confused on why you stopped.

“If you want to have an attitude, that’s fine. You can stay out here, but if you follow me you better leave your grumpy old man ass at the door, got it?” You pointed a finger in his direction, Bucky’s eyes widening at the dominance in your voice. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t find that hot. He straightened up, fixing his collar and nodding his head, a smirk on his lips.

“Yes ma’am.” you smiled and chuckled at his response, pulling him by the arm and putting your arm through his elbow, walking up the stairs and into Steve’s house. The music was loud, partially crowded but not enough to where you weren’t able to walk. The smell of alcohol was strong in the air, streamers hung from the ceilings, and a buffet of food in the kitchen.

Somehow, Steve was surprisingly well off for being an Avenger. You always wondered if he did any side business for being able to pay for everything since the government doesn’t give them pay. You went straight to the kitchen for a drink while Bucky got stopped by some of his friends near the entrance. You didn’t mind, it made you happy that Bucky had friends, that he was finally able to come out of his shell.

“Hey stranger!” You felt a large hand on your shoulder and a voice that could belong to no one other than Steve. You turned around and smiled, having to look up because he was so tall, and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“Hey Steve.” You pulled back and took a sip of your drink, as Steve walked over to the chips and took a few from the mountain of potato chips in the glass bowl.

“Where’s Bucky?” You motioned over to the living room, watching Bucky smile along to whatever the brown haired guy had to say. Steve stood next to you, setting his cup down on the counter right next to yours.

“You guys just get here?” You nodded, looking around to the other people who were here as well. You saw Nat and Bruce in the corner of the living room, chatting about something you weren’t sure what of, Sam with the group of guys near Bucky, and a few other people you didn’t know.

Both you and Steve walked to the backyard and sat at one of the tables, sitting down and caught up on things going on in both of your lives. You hadn’t had a heart to heart conversation with Steve in so long, you missed how it felt to just chat with him. He was the kindest person you ever had the pleasure of meeting, and you were glad that Bucky had him growing up.

You had eventually lost track of time and how long you and Steve had been chatting when Bucky came to find you. He walked through a sea of people and made eye contact with you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach with the look he was giving you. Lust. He came over to the table you were sitting at and bent down to your ear, as close as possible to where you could feel his breath on your earlobe.

“Meet me inside in five minutes, the farthest bathroom in the house.” He kissed your cheek hard, standing back up, greeting Steve quickly before going back inside. Steve gave you a look but you shrugged, playing with the hem of your shirt as you crossed your legs.

You excused yourself after five minutes, and went into the house, wandering down the hallways towards the back of the house until you felt a cool, metal hand grab your arm and pull you into the bathroom.

“Bucky!” You swatted his chest as he pulled you in, and locked the door right after. You were met with the sound of running water, eyes flickering over to the shower and seeing it turned on high. A thick heat already started to coat the air and steam on the mirror.

“I see you had this planned, hm?” You tease, watching as a lopsided grin emerges onto his face.

“Maybe. You complaining?”

“Not at all, Mr. Barnes.”

With a grin, he pushes you up against the back of the door littered with bathrobes and towels — the cushion helping you not bump your head.

He looks down at you as his hand snakes its way up the front of your body to wrap slowly around your neck, feeling his fingers press softly against the skin right above your pulse. His mouth meets your ear as his other hand travels down to your pants, fingers hooked on your waistband.

“What you did earlier was so hot.” He murmurs into your ear, the scruff from his beard rubbing gently against your skin. You groan into him, his metal hand coming to find a hand of yours to cup to his crotch, feeling his hard cock through his jeans. “See what it fuckin’ did to me?” He breathes out desperately, his blue eyes darkening with the second.

He pulls his hand back, taking the loops of your pants again before pushing them down with both hands, kneeling and his face meeting your panties. The feeling in between your legs made you wonder if he could smell your arousal off you.

His fingers trailed down your thighs, leaving a burning sensation from his touch to your skin, the way he licked his lips as he looked up at you, soaking in the way you look just by him teasing you.

“Can I taste you?” He asks. Everytime he does, it makes your heart flutter. You nod with a whimper leaving your lips as he yanks down your panties, moaning softly at the sight of how wet you were just by the small actions he has done already. He trails a finger up on the inside of your thigh until he meets your folds, running a finger slowly through them.

“All this, for me, pretty girl?” He looks up at you as you blush, knowing you would fold the second his mouth touched you. You nodded as you felt his finger rubbing your slick through your folds, and pushed a finger inside of you, making you gasp.

“If you make a sound, I won’t let you cum. Understood?” You whined as he pumped his finger inside of you slowly, stopped for a second when you didn’t answer him. He pinched your clit, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for you to squeak out a “Yes, sir.”

He stood up and lifted you up, carried you to the countertop and placed your bare ass on the granite countertop, the coldness making you shiver and he kneeled down and moved you to the edge of the countertop, not giving you any warning as he licked a stripe against your folds.

He hummed against you, the feeling making you shiver with pleasure, your hands finding their way to his curling hair and gripping softly. Bucky growled into you as he worked his tongue through your folds, drinking up every ounce of your arousal, making sure to get every last drop. He pushed a metal finger into you, then a second one growing impatient as he curled his fingers.

The steam was rising in the bathroom, though you were grateful there was a window cracked — the heat still got to you along with the actions from Bucky. But Gods, was he smart for turning the shower on to drown out your moans.

You leaned back against the glass the, your mouth slightly opened as breathy moans emitted from your mouth. The work he was putting into you made you more wet than you already were, and the fact that you were getting eaten out in your best friend's bathroom turned you on more. Bucky knew this, he knew you were into this type of stuff and he thanked whoever was above every day that you were.

“Fuck you taste so good, pretty girl. Can’t wait to bury my cock in you.” He gripped your thighs to get you to stop squirming as he pumped his fingers faster, feeling the usual feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your thighs squeezed against his head and you could feel him smile against your wet cunt, pulling away and taking his fingers with him.

“I was close..” You whined as he chuckled, licking his lips and pressing his lips against yours. The taste of your arousal coated your tongue as he fought with yours, and you heard his belt buckle being played with and his fly being undone. He pulled away, and looked you up and down, pulling his cock out from his pants and stroked himself a few times.

“Don’t worry baby, daddy’’ll give you what you need.” Before you were able to respond, he pushed himself inside of you, hands finding your hips as he pushed into you as far as he could go. You wrapped your arms around his neck, his face falling in the crook of your neck, placing sweet but short kisses against your skin as he slammed into you.

“I wanna hear you, doll. Let everyone hear you moaning for my cock.” You whined, your head falling back and moans escaped your lips that have been caught in your throat the second he touched you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was so obscene, the moans that filled the bathroom. His fingers dug into your skin, his strokes becoming sloppy, knowing he was close. You tightened around him, a soft moan reaching your ears from him as you did so.

“I’m close, Buck..” You tugged at the ends of his hair, the feeling pooling in your stomach once more. Groaning, Bucky grabbed your face and pressed a hot and sloppy kiss against your lips as he came into you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you came right behind him.

He stalled, pulling out and grabbing some tissue to clean you up, taking your panties and putting them in his back pocket, refusing to give them back. He pulled his pants back up and tossed his hair out of the way of his eyes while you looked over at the mirror and saw it got fogged up, blushing at the thought of the next person who would come in here and figure out what happened.

He helped you off the counter, pulling you into him and kissing your forehead and smiling.

“You’re such a good girl, fuck.” You chuckled hearing his praises, as it filled you with such pride having such a good partner like Buck who made sure you knew how well you did.

“Come on, let’s go out there so we don’t keep anyone waiting.” He nodded, kissing you one last time before grabbing your hand, unlocking the bathroom door and exiting to find a few people lined up for the bathroom.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Title: Off Limits? Yeah, Right.

Bakugo Katsuki X reader

Trope: brothers bestfriend

Kirishima had always been firm about one thing—you were off-limits.

“If you even think about it, I’ll kill you,” he had told Bakugo once, no joking in his tone. “That’s my little sister, man. I don’t wanna deal with you breaking her heart.”

Bakugo had scoffed, crossing his arms. “Like I’d ever date that idiot.”

It was a lie. A big, fat, pathetic lie.

Because you weren’t just Kirishima’s little sister. You were you—loud when you wanted to be, stubborn as hell, always in Bakugo’s space like you belonged there. And maybe you did. Maybe you always had.

But you never looked at him that way.

So, you dated other guys.

Bakugo had spent years watching it happen, pretending not to care while secretly picking apart every single guy you brought around. He always found something wrong with them—too cocky, too weak, too boring. It didn’t matter if the guy was decent. Bakugo just wanted a reason to hate him.

But then this one came along.

And Bakugo had nothing.

He was a good guy. Treated you well. Made you smile. He didn’t flinch at your temper, didn’t put up with your bullshit but never belittled you either. Bakugo could see it—you were happy.

And it pissed him off.

The realization that he had no right to feel this way only made it worse.

So, he swallowed it. Buried it deep. Told himself it was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he saw you leaning into your boyfriend’s touch, laughing at something he said, eyes soft and warm in a way Bakugo had never been able to ignore.

And suddenly, he was moving.

You barely had time to react when he grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the crowd. “Bakugo—what the hell—”

“Do you actually like him?” His voice was sharp, almost accusing.

You ripped your wrist from his grasp, scowling. “Yeah. I do. Why does it matter?”

“Because it’s pissing me off!”

You stared at him, thrown off by the sudden outburst. “Why would me being happy piss you off?”

Bakugo clenched his jaw. His fists tightened at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, and suddenly, there was no point in lying anymore.

“Because it should be me.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“It should be me making you smile like that,” he admitted, voice raw. “It should be me making you happy.”

Silence stretched between you, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest.

“You’re serious,” you whispered, searching his face for any hesitation.

He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I am.” Then, quieter, “I have been for a long time.”

Your heart pounded, emotions colliding—shock, anger, disbelief, something dangerously close to hope. “And what about Kirishima?”

Bakugo scoffed. “Screw Kirishima.”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat. “You do realize he’s gonna kill you, right?”

“He can try.”

And then his hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and his lips crashed against yours. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was years of pent-up frustration, jealousy, and longing.

And when you kissed him back just as fiercely, neither of you gave a damn about Kirishima’s stupid rule anymore.

[bvrnesher]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄

cw: none.

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ🌙ㅤ˳ 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒚 𝒋𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒐𝒏 ! 𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒎. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

﹙𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆! ﹚ꪆ

𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗡𝗢 𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗔 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 the future had in store when you said yes to that son of Ares.

You were relatively lucky. Everyone liked charismatic people—you figured that out the moment you arrived at camp.

I mean, you were beautiful, kind, and… well, everything a daughter of Aphrodite was supposed to be.

Some people thought that made you shallow, but that was subjective. The thing was, good or bad, people were always watching you.

And you liked the attention, sure, but sometimes it was too much. Lately, your ex—an idiot son of Ares—decided it’d be a great idea to tell every camper at a bonfire party in the woods that you’d slept with him.

People said you were lucky. Lucky to be a daughter of Aphrodite, ridiculously gorgeous and popular, but… well, you felt more like you’d been used.

And you meant that. You found out that every single guy who had sworn to love you for a lifetime had a pretty short concept of what that meant—and not just because they were demigods.

Everything had a limit, including you. So it wasn’t a surprise when, a week later, you ended up crying on a forgotten dock, way out at the furthest edge of the camp’s beach.

The waves crashed against the rocks while the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a sunset that, under any other circumstance, you would’ve considered beautiful—if only your eyes weren’t drowning in tears just as salty as the ocean.

You cursed under your breath when you heard the wooden planks of the dock creak under unfamiliar footsteps. Pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, you tried to force the tears to stop.

You didn’t turn around as you wiped your face. Not until you heard a voice you recognized anywhere.

A voice belonging to a very specific idiot.

"Hey, you okay?"

Percy’s voice came from behind you, sounding ridiculously concerned compared to his usual habit of messing with you over… well, everything.

Seriously. Why now?

"Yeah," you answered on instinct, steady but quieter than usual.

Percy wasn’t that much of an idiot.

"Do you need something, or can you leave already?" The words came out harsher than you meant, but you couldn’t help it.

He frowned at your tone but hesitated before responding.

"No." His voice lacked the usual teasing edge. No witty comeback, no sarcasm—just that. "I don’t want to."

You let out an exasperated sigh, keeping your gaze fixed on the ocean, not even daring to look at him.

"Jackson, seriously, I’m not in the mood for your—"

"I’m not an idiot," he cut in, though even he didn’t sound entirely convinced. "I asked if you were okay." His voice was softer this time, surprisingly gentle coming from him.

For a second, he considered just walking away, letting you be miserable in peace. He had enough problems of his own—he didn’t need to get involved in yours.

And yet, he found himself stepping closer, slow, hesitant.

"You look like a mess," he said, sitting next to you on the dock, his feet dangling off the edge, dipping into the salty water below.

"How sweet," you muttered, turning away from him, clearing your throat as you started playing with the hem of your dress.

Percy winced at his own words. He sucked at this. He wasn’t exactly good with comforting people.

"I mean… you… uh… You look beautiful, but I just—" He stopped, realizing his slip but not bothering to correct himself. "I mean, you don’t exactly look happy." He shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, really? You think?” you didn’t meant sound like a jerk. He wasn’t being one. But old habits died hard.

Percy rolled his eyes.

“Look at me,” he said.

“No.” you refused, keeping your gaze locked on the waves.

Percy mumbled some curse in Ancient Greek. He could leave. He knew he should. But something kept him there. Impulse won over logic—again. Percy reached out, tilting your chin up between his fingers, forcing you to face him.

He frowned the second he saw your slightly red, tear-streaked eyes.

“This is ‘fine’ to you?”

You swallowed, caught off guard by the sudden touch, and felt heat rise to your face. You nodded and tried to pull away, but he held on just a little longer, keeping your eyes on his.

“We seriously need to work on your definition of ‘fine,’” he muttered.

His voice had softened.

Silence.

"You have a terrible definition of ‘okay.’"

He tilted his head, letting go of your chin only to wipe away a stray tear with his thumb.

And, as always, he didn’t think twice about it. And you? You almost died right there.

"Thanks," you murmured, your shoulders relaxing ever so slightly—something that never happened around him.

"Who did this to you?" he asked. His voice was relatively calm, but there was something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place. Was it… protectiveness?

"No o—"

"Was it that idiot son of Ares?" he cut in before you could finish. "Figures. It’s always them. Just as dumb as their dad."

"Percy!" you gasped, but a laugh escaped before you could stop it.

"What? It’s not a lie," he said, meeting your gaze head-on.

His eyes. The kind you could drown in and wake up in Elysium. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

You smiled. He smiled back. And, of course, an idea popped into his head—just like always.

"Come on, get up." He stood, offering you his hand. "I can’t dance, but I’ve been told I’m hilarious when I try. Want to confirm that for me?"

The grin he gave you wasn’t one he usually directed at you. His eyes gleamed with that signature mischief of his.

You hesitated before taking his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. Looking up, you found him already watching you. For the past two years, he’d had a solid height advantage over you—not that you’d ever admit it bothered you.

"On a half-rotten dock, at the beach, with no music?" You raised a brow, almost amused. "And without knowing how to dance? I knew making a fool of yourself was your thing, but this is a new level."

He scoffed.

"I learned it from you."

"Yeah, right," you shot back. "You do it so naturally, I thought you were born with it."

Before you could react, his hand was at your waist, pulling you closer in one quick movement.

Your hands landed against his chest from the suddenness of it, but he barely reacted. Instead, he took one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers.

"I’ve seen you dance," he murmured, his voice lower, softer. He leaned in, lips close to your ear. "Teach me." The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard.

"Put your hands like this," you murmured, adjusting the hand he had on your waist with your free one—bringing the two of you even closer.

You rested your head against his chest, and Percy felt his heart stumble. He exhaled, dropping his chin to the top of your head and closing his eyes, letting himself be guided by your steps.

You arched a brow at him. "You said you saw me dance before. When was that, Jackson?"

He shrugged, his movements awkward as he tried to follow your lead in what could barely be called a dance. "Once, in the Aphrodite cabin. One of your sisters was teaching you, I think. You weren’t terrible."

You scoffed, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. "So, you spy. How flattering."

"It’s not spying if it’s not intentional," he shot back, rolling his eyes, though the smirk never left his face.

His hands remained where they were—one on your waist, the other holding yours—as he led you in graceless, offbeat turns. You were pretty sure any child of Apollo watching would throw themselves into the sea from secondhand embarrassment. But Percy was right about one thing: he managed to make you laugh.

"Gods, you are awful at this," you wheezed between laughs, nearly tripping over his feet.

"I know," he said, all mock pride. "But at least you’re not crying anymore."

You froze. The laughter died on your lips, but the warmth in your chest did not. Percy stilled too, still holding your hand.

His eyes—those damn eyes—softened. And right then, with the salty breeze in the air and the waves crashing in the background, you knew you were screwed.

Percy Jackson had just made you forget your pain with nothing but a smile. Gods, what the hell was wrong with you? You didn’t even like Percy.

After a while, he started to catch the rhythm, the stumbles growing fewer.

"Like this?" he asked, voice quieter.

"Just like that," you answered.

A week later, the son of Ares woke up in the infirmary with no particular desire to go near water ever again.

ꪆৎ. Hope you guys liked it !

[berryispunk]

Everything But Us

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: we suffer first we love later, idiots in love, friends to lovers, dual POV, slow burn (but boy! worth it), once again talking is difficult, the boys have an appearance, best friend! Frankie, soft! Frankie, longing, mutual pining, ANGST, love confessions, tiny mention of past addiction,  emotional turmoil, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), kissing, swearing, wrap it up in real life please, no further physical description of reader apart from wearing a dress and having hair

summary: You danced around your feelings for each other, always toeing the line but never daring to cross it—until one fateful night in October, when hesitation gave way to something undeniable, changing everything forever.

notes: Did I write this in one manic sitting today? Absolutely. Any mistakes you find are mine. Happy Frankie Friday !

word count: 7,3 k

also readable on ao3

How was he supposed to tell you that his whole world revolved around you? That one night back in October had changed everything for him. You were both drunk, out of your minds, laughing afterward.

“Sorry,” you hiccuped, your fingers tracing the one patch on his cheek where his beard never fully grew. You looked at it like it was something special, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. Painfully unaware of how even the simplest touch from you set his skin on fire. Your fingers trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, and finally tangled in the tousled locks peeking out from under his cap—the one he was hardly ever without. Your eyes were glazed, unfocused from too many tequila shots. You were absolutely adorable when you were tipsy. Carefree. Relaxed. And, by God, it made him want you even more.

His head fell back against the taxi seat, eyes closing as he prayed to whatever cosmic force was listening that you were too drunk to notice how hard it was for him to hold back. But you were right there, purring next to his ear, your head resting against the seat beside him.

“You’re always so damn sweet, Frankie,” you murmured. “So attentive and kind. Why the hell are you still single?”

The words hit him where it hurt the most— his heart. Up until tonight, he had kept his respectful distance. Admiring you from afar, letting himself be what you allowed him to be: a friend. He even picked you up from all the failed dates, letting you ramble about whatever loser you thought was worthy of your time. He held you when you cried over another broken heart, never once overstepping, even when he wanted to. Even when your head rested on his shoulder, your breathing finally even after a sob-filled night, and he turned his head just slightly—just enough that he could have kissed your forehead. When, in reality, he wanted to kiss your lips. His hand would draw soothing circles up and down your arm, steadying you, grounding you. He stayed longer than necessary, making sure you were okay before he left. Placing water and painkillers on your nightstand because he knew you’d need them in the morning. And you did.

“You’re my lifesaver, Morales🩷”

That was the text you sent the next day, and he had smiled like an idiot at his phone before reality came crashing back. Because even if you meant it, it never meant the same thing to you.

Then came tonight.

The two of you had split off from the rest of your friends, waiting for a taxi on the curb. And out of nowhere, you stepped closer. Wrapped your arms around his neck. Played with the hair at the nape of it like you belonged there.

“You’re so damn cute, you know that?” His cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re drunk and out of your mind, hermosa,” he said, his hands settling at your waist. The warmth of your skin seeped through the thin fabric of your dress—one that you probably shouldn’t have been wearing in the October chill, but you had insisted ‘dress season was all year long’. And, damn, were you right. The way you paired it with tights and Doc Martens was a sight he knew would haunt his dreams. His thumbs traced slow circles over your hips as he held you, watching you carefully, preparing for whatever you’d throw at him next. With you, it could be anything—an insult or the sweetest compliment. There was no in-between when you were like this.

And then something shifted. You looked at him for a fraction too long. Your eyes flickered to his lips before finding his gaze again. You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and his grip tightened instinctively. You made this so damn hard for him.

“You cold?” he asked, desperate to break the tension simmering between you.

You shook your head, smirking. “I have my own personal heater. I’m fine.”

Then you closed the distance completely, pressing yourself against him. Softness against hardness, in all the right and wrong places, and his head spun. The alcohol in his system didn’t help. He hugged you back, letting your body heat mingle with his. Letting himself close his eyes and pretend—for just a moment—that this was real.

And now, here you were, in the taxi. So close. Too close. Something in him snapped.

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch with a small, tired smile, and his stomach twisted painfully. Such a simple gesture, yet so intimate it stole the air from his lungs. He leaned in, just a little, close enough to share the same breath, still giving you space to pull away. But you didn’t. You trusted him. And he would never take advantage of that, so he inhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back with the last restraint left. But before he could, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, and then your lips crashed onto his. It was electrifying. Addictive.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. But then your hand tugged at his hair, and he knew he wasn’t. This was real. And it was better than he had ever imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting you take the lead. Too afraid that if he kissed you the way he wanted to, he might ruin everything. Might scare you off. Your lips were soft but purposeful, tasting like tequila and the faintest trace of strawberry—the lip gloss you had put on before leaving the bar. You tasted like a promise of something he had never dared to dream about.

And then—just as suddenly as it had started—it ended. Your forehead rested against his, your breath slightly shallow. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, something new flickered in your gaze. A depth that wasn’t there before. Then it was gone.

“Are you okay?” he asked cautiously, picking up on the way your expression had shifted. His stomach clenched with dread. Your face paled. Next thing he knew, you were throwing open the window and vomiting onto the street. His eyes widened in horror.

Had he kissed that badly?

Panic surged through him as he scooted closer, rubbing a hand over your back, shouting to the driver to pull over. This was not how he had imagined this moment going. Not at all.

The taxi came to a screeching halt at the curb, and Frankie barely had time to reach into his wallet to pay before he was helping you out of the car. You groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “God, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly on your feet.

He steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. “Nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” he said softly. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead briefly to his shoulder like you were gathering the strength to move. Then, with a deep breath, you straightened and started walking. Your place wasn’t far, just a few blocks, but it felt longer with the way you stumbled every few steps. Frankie kept his arm wrapped securely around you, guiding you through the quiet streets. The cool night air bit at his skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering in his blood from the kiss.

That damn kiss.

He kept replaying it in his head, trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it had been nothing more than a drunken mistake. But the way your lips had moved against his, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair—it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like everything.

By the time they reached your apartment, you were half-asleep against him. He fished your keys from your purse and guided you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, leading you down the hallway to your room.

You collapsed onto the mattress with a content sigh, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto your side to look at him. He bent down, pulling your boots off and setting them neatly beside the bed. Then he reached for the blanket, ready to tuck you in and leave before he did something stupid. But then you spoke.

“Frankie?”

His movements stilled. “Yeah?”

Your voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “Did you ever think about sleeping with me?”

His throat went dry. You were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, your expression unreadable. And suddenly, the air in the room felt suffocating. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to tell the truth. To admit that he had thought about it more times than he could count. That he had dreamed about you, fantasized about what it would be like to have you beneath him, to feel your nails digging into his skin, to hear his name fall from your lips like it was the only thing that mattered. But he couldn’t tell you that. Because you were drunk. And he was supposed to be your friend.

So he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he lied, the word tasting like poison on his tongue. “Never crossed my mind.”

Something flickered in your expression—something like disappointment—but it was gone before he could be sure. You hummed softly, rolling onto your back and staring at the ceiling.

“Liar,” you murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just quiet acceptance.

Frankie swallowed hard.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pulling the blanket over you and stepping back before he did something reckless. He turned off the light, lingering in the doorway for just a second longer than he should have. And then he left. Because if he stayed any longer, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep lying.

Winter had come and gone, and with it, any mention of that night in October. You never brought it up. And Frankie never dared to. Not the kiss. Not the question you had asked him in the dim light of your bedroom. Not the way your voice had curled around the word liar like you already knew the truth. So he buried it. Shoved it deep into the same corner of his mind where he kept every other impossible feeling he had for you.

Now, the air smelled like spring—fresh rain on warm pavement, flowers blooming.The chill had faded, replaced with sun-kissed skin and longer days. And with it, you were glowing too. Frankie was trying not to notice, but it was to no avail. You sat across from him at the bar, wedged between two of your friends, laughing as you stirred your drink with a cocktail straw. You were in another one of those damn sundresses, bare legs crossed as you leaned forward excitedly.

“She’s talking about him again,” Benny muttered under his breath, taking a swig of his beer. Frankie clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who him was. Some guy you had met at a coffee shop a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d bumped into you in line, spilled a bit of his overpriced espresso on your sleeve, and instead of being pissed, you had laughed about it. Frankie hated him instantly.

“He’s just—ugh, I don’t know,” you gushed, shaking your head with a dreamy sigh. “There’s something about him.” Frankie rolled his beer bottle between his palms, staring at the table instead of you. Something about him.

Frankie had been something about you for years.

“I mean, it’s still early, obviously,” you continued, oblivious to the way his grip tightened around his drink. “But I don’t know, it just feels easy. Like we just clicked.” He forced a smirk, lifting his bottle to his lips. “Sounds perfect.” Drowning all the bad feelings bubbling up in alcohol. If you picked up on the flatness in his tone, you didn’t say anything. You just shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass before taking another sip. “It’s nice to be excited about someone, you know?”

Frankie hummed in response, taking another long sip of his beer and glancing down at the nearly empty bottle, as if the answers to all his unasked questions were waiting at the bottom. Excited, right.

Of course, he wanted you to be happy. That’s what he told himself every time you brought up some new guy, every time you smiled at a text that wasn’t from him, every time you looked across the bar for someone else. But tonight, something about the way you were talking about this one was different. Frankie could feel it, tightening in his chest like a warning.

And he knew, deep down, that if he kept lying to himself, if he kept pretending he was fine watching you fall for someone else—

One day, he might actually believe it.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Frankie had always been the quieter one in your group, measured and steady. A man of few words but with an unwavering presence. But lately, something had shifted. It was in the way he reacted when you talked about the guy you were seeing. The way his usual teasing remarks had dulled, his responses clipped and distant. The way he smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes anymore. You noticed, of course you did. But you didn’t ask. Maybe because you weren't sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Because if you look too closely, you might have to admit what had always been there—what you had spent years trying to ignore. Frankie had never just been a friend to you. Not really. There had been a time, long before that night in October, when you had wondered. Let your mind drift to the thought of what it would be like to be his.

To be the reason behind his softest smiles, the one he reached for without hesitation.

You had wanted that once. Wanted him, but you buried it. Swallowed it down and forced yourself to forget. Because Frankie was good. Too good. The kind of man who stayed. The kind of man who meant what he said and never made promises he couldn’t keep. And you, you were a wreck. A walking contradiction of bad choices and broken hearts. You loved too easily. Trusted too quickly. And time and time again, it left you standing in the ruins of something you should have never believed in to begin with. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you convinced yourself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough. Because losing him? That was the one thing you knew you wouldn’t survive. But then came the kiss.

And now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bury it. Couldn’t forget the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he let you kiss him but didn’t pull you closer, didn’t give in the way you thought he would. Like he had wanted to but also didn’t. Like he had been holding back. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was nothing. That it was just the alcohol, just the moment, just a mistake. And for a while, you almost believed it.

Then you met him, Luke. Someone new. Someone who checked every box, said all the right things, wanted you without hesitation. It should have been easy, you should have felt relieved, happy even.

But every time you looked at Frankie, you could feel it—the weight of something unspoken pressing down on you. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. The way he laughed at all the right times but never really looked at you the way he used to. You told yourself you were imagining it,that you were reading into things that weren’t there. But late at night, when you were lying next to Luke, it wasn’t him you thought about.

It was Frankie. And no matter how much you tried to deny it—that changed everything.

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived at Will’s house, your fingers laced with your boyfriend’s as you stepped inside. The air was thick with the smell of beer, grilled food, and whatever cologne Benny, Will’s brother, had drowned himself in. Laughter and music spilled from the open back doors where most of your friends had gathered, voices overlapping, drinks in hand, the kind of effortless camaraderie that had always made you feel at home.

But something felt off tonight. Or maybe it was just you.

Because for the first time in years, Frankie wasn’t there to greet you with that familiar, easy smile. He wasn’t hovering nearby, teasing you about being late or making sure you had a drink in hand. No, Frankie was across the room, deep in conversation with Will and Santi, nursing a beer like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. And he hadn’t looked at you once, even though you were sure he knew you had arrived—if not by seeing you, then by Benny’s over-the-top greeting 

You tried not to notice, tried to focus on introducing your boyfriend to everyone, on smiling and laughing in all the right places. But no matter where you were, some part of you was always aware of him, lingering just at the edge of your orbit. How he kept his distance, how he barely spoke to you. How, for the first time since you’d met him, it felt like he was avoiding you. And the worst part? It hurt. You weren’t supposed to care this much. You had a boyfriend now. A good guy. A guy who wanted you, who didn’t hesitate, who didn’t hold back. 

Then why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers? Like you were losing Frankie—losing something you never dared to name, but had always felt, just beneath the surface? 

It wasn’t until later, when the party had thinned out and the night had settled into something softer, that you finally found him alone. Outside and smoking, something you always did together. But tonight, he hadn’t waited for you. didn’t even ask. Tonight, it was just him, leaning against the railing of Will’s back porch, staring out at nothing, cigarette glowing between his fingers. And for the first time in weeks, you asked the question that had been gnawing at you since this whole thing started.

“What’s going on with you?”

Frankie didn’t look at you right away. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cool night air before finally shifting his gaze toward you. His eyes, usually so warm, were unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, voice low and gruff. You frowned, stepping closer. "Bullshit." That almost got a reaction—almost. The corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smirk, but it never quite made it there. Instead, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, shaking his head. "You should get back inside," he muttered. "Your boyfriend’s probably looking for you." The words landed like a slap. Of course he was right, but throwing this at you in this moment felt purposefully hurtful.  Your arms crossed over your chest, not from the cold but from the sudden, unfamiliar distance between you. "What the hell is your problem?"

Frankie let out a slow breath, shaking his head again, but this time, it wasn’t dismissive. It was like he was trying to hold something back, something threatening to spill over.

"You’ve been acting weird all night," you pressed, stepping even closer. "Hell, for weeks now. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because I know you, Frankie. I know when something’s wrong." His jaw tensed, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. That maybe, finally, he’d say whatever had been weighing on him. But then he just chuckled, low and humorless. "Nothing’s wrong, hermosa. I’m fine."

You know he was lying. You could see it, the way his shoulders stayed tight, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes for too long. And suddenly, the space between you felt impossible to conquer. 

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to do this."

Frankie quirked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Shut me out," you snapped. "Act like I don’t exist all night and then pretend like I’m the one imagining things." His lips pressed into a thin line, his grip tightening around the cigarette between his fingers. "You have a boyfriend now," he said after a beat, voice quieter. "Things are just… different."

The words stung in a way you didn’t expect.

"Different?" You repeated, barely above a whisper. "You made them different, Frankie. Not me." For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint music drifting from inside, laughter from the party carrying on without you. 

And then, softer, almost hesitant, you asked, "Did I do something?" Your brows furrowed, the hurt evident in your voice, written all over your face. His eyes snapped to yours at that, something unreadable flashing through them. "No," he said quickly—almost too quickly. "You didn’t do anything."

Then why did it feel like you had? Why did it feel like something had changed between you, like a line had been drawn and you hadn’t even realized you crossed it?

Frankie sighed, running a hand over his face before stubbing out his cigarette on the railing. "You should go back inside."

But before you could respond, the door creaked open behind you. A rush of warm air, laughter, and music spilled onto the porch. You turned just in time to see Luke stepping outside, his gaze flickering between you and Frankie. His expression didn’t change much, no obvious anger, no accusation, but something in his eyes told you he’d seen enough. Enough to notice the way you stood too close. Enough to feel the tension crackling between you and Frankie like a live wire.

"Hey," he said, his voice even, unreadable. "Everything okay out here?" You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Just getting some air."

Frankie had already taken a step back. He nodded once at Luke, then flicked his cigarette into the yard, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I was just heading inside." And just like that, the moment was gone. You watched as Frankie disappeared through the door, slipping seamlessly back into the party, into the noise, into the version of himself that had nothing to hide. But you knew better now. Because whatever this was, whatever had been simmering between you for longer than you wanted to admit, wasn't one-sided. And now, someone else had seen it too.

As you sat in Luke’s car later, the air was thick with something unspoken. The only sound was the hum of the engine, not even music to fill the silence. You felt his eyes flicker toward you more than once, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. You pretended not to notice, kept your gaze fixed outside, watching the city lights blur past. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope—beautiful, distorted, and just a little unreal.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Is there something going on with you and Frankie?” Your breath caught. It was the question you had been waiting for, the one you had feared. You turned your head, but he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tightening around the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. 

“Luke—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he interrupted, his voice steady, but laced with something raw underneath. “I’m not stupid. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. And the way you looked at him.”

Your stomach twisted. You could lie, smooth it over, tell him he was imagining things, that Frankie was just a friend. But the weight in your chest was suffocating, and you were so damn tired of pretending.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know.”

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He finally looked at you then, and it was worse than if he had been angry. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes told you everything—he already knew. He had known for longer than he let on. Maybe he could even feel it, that you were never quite there, even though he treated you the way you had always wanted to be treated. And you hated it. Hated yourself for feeling this way, for not being able to be happy with what was right in front of you.

“So you love him.” Not a question—a statement. It crashed down on you, effortless and undeniable, giving a name to the feeling you had denied yourself for so long before you were even ready to do it yourself. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head, grasping for words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I don’t.. I-It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, but the weight of it settled deep in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I wanted this to work, Luke. I really did.” A heavy silence stretched between you. Neither of you had anything left to say. Slowly, he pulled the car over to the curb in front of your apartment. The click of the gear shift the only sound between you. You didn’t ask why. You already knew. With shaking hands, you unclipped your seatbelt, wiping at your cheeks as you reached for the door handle. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time but Luke didn’t respond.

And as you stepped out into the cold night air, you knew this was the end of this chapter and the beginning of a new one you weren’t quite sure you were ready for.

Frankie was barely holding it together. Every day felt like a fight against something clawing at his chest, something desperate and ugly that whispered you lost her, you fucking lost her. He tried to drown it out by keeping  himself busy, working longer hours and spending more nights drinking just to feel something other than the ache. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was.

And then, one night, the thought crept in—familiar, insidious. Just one line. Just to take the edge off. He hadn’t really thought about it in years, hadn’t let himself even consider it, but tonight, with his hands shaking and his heart racing like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, it was right there. Too easy. The voice getting louder by the second. 

He might’ve done it, too. Might’ve given in if Santi hadn’t knocked on his door like he knew. Like he always knew. Frankie barely got the door open before Santi was pushing inside, eyes sharp, taking one look at him and shaking his head. “Jesus, Fish,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him. “You look like shit.”

Frankie let out a humorless laugh, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, fingers digging into the tense muscles. “Yeah, well. Feels about right.” Santi didn’t push, didn’t pry, just walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and tossed one his way. “Sit your ass down,” he ordered, voice softer than his words hit. “And start talking.”

And somehow, for the first time in weeks, Frankie did.

He let out a shaky breath, fingers still rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at the beer in his hand. He hadn’t meant to say anything. Hadn’t meant to let it slip. But once he started talking, it all came out—how he thought he was doing the right thing, how he tried to be happy for you, tried to step back and let you have what you deserved.

How it was fucking killing him.

He told Santi about the party, about the way you looked at him like you knew something had changed but couldn’t figure out what. How he avoided you because being close to you and not having you felt worse than anything he’d ever gone through. Worse than any withdrawal, any loss, any mistake he’d ever made. And then Santi said it. Just threw it out there like it wasn’t about to flip Frankie’s entire world upside down.

“You know she broke up with him, right?”

Frankie’s head snapped up so fast it almost hurt. “What?”

Santi sighed, giving him a look like he couldn’t believe he had to be the one spelling this out. “Luke. She ended it.” He took a sip of his beer, eyes flicking to Frankie’s. “She didn’t tell you?”

Frankie could only shake his head, something tight and desperate clawing its way up his throat. Because suddenly, all those nights of shoving his feelings down, of convincing himself that you were happy, that you were better off didn’t mean anything. Because if it wasn’t Luke anymore, if you chose to leave, then maybe… maybe it wasn’t just him feeling like something between you was never really gone.

But still, he hesitated, because doubt was a stubborn thing.  He spent so long convincing himself that he wasn’t what you wanted, what you deserved.  “That doesn’t mean—”

“Fish.” Santi’s voice cut through his thoughts, steady and sure. “You love her. She sure as hell loves you. And if you don’t do something about it now, you’re gonna spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

Frankie swallowed hard, the small flicker of hope battling against the fear still weighing heavy on his chest.

Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late.

It happened after weeks of avoiding each other. After Luke, after everything, you pulled away, trying to get space, trying to breathe. But Frankie noticed. Of course, he noticed. He always did.

So when he showed up at your apartment in the middle of the night, you weren’t even surprised. You hesitated before opening the door, but when you did, the sight of him nearly took the air from your lungs. He looked like hell. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration for hours. His jacket hung loose off his shoulders, and there was something wrecked about him—something that made your stomach twist.

"You gonna let me in?" His voice was rough, just a quiet rumble in the stillness of the night.

You should have said no. Should have told him this wasn’t a good idea. But instead, you stepped aside.

He walked in like he didn’t even know what to do with himself, pacing a little before finally stopping in the middle of your living room, hands on his hips. The air was thick, suffocating, before he exhaled sharply and turned to face you.

"Are you leaving me too?"

The words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Frankie–"

"Because I feel like I’m chasing something that doesn’t even want to be caught," he cut in, his voice tight. "Like I’m standing here, waiting for you to just—just fucking look at me, and you won’t." His jaw clenched. "And I don’t know if it’s because you don’t want to, or because you’re too damn scared to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself, like that would somehow hold you together. "I just… I needed time. To think."

Frankie scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. And did you figure it out?"

You hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated that you put it there.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Frankie took a step closer, and just like that, the air shifted.

"Then tell me what you want." Your throat tightened. "I can’t."

"Why not?" He was closer now, his voice raw, edged with something desperate. "Because if you say it, it becomes real?"

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head, stepping back like he needed the distance, like if he stayed too close, he’d do something neither of you could take back. "You know, it’s funny," he said, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "I spent so fucking long convincing myself that I didn’t have a chance. That you’d never see me like that." His jaw tensed. "And then you kissed me. And for one second—for one fucking second—I let myself think I was wrong."

Your breath caught again. "Frankie—"

"But I wasn’t, was I?" His voice was quiet, the hurt in it deafening. "You didn’t want me. You never did."

That broke something in you and you snapped.

"I never let myself want you!" The moment the words were out in the open, you couldn’t take them back.

Frankie froze.

Your hands were shaking, but you pushed forward, because if you stopped now, you’d never say it. "You were safe. You were the one person I could always count on. And I knew if I let myself want more, I’d ruin it, like I ruined everything else. Because that’s just what I’m good at. Being a mess." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. "So I buried it. Every time I looked at you and felt—" You sucked in a breath, blinking back tears. "I convinced myself that friendship was enough. That it had to be enough."

Frankie’s breathing was uneven now, his dark eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.

"And now?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Because you didn’t know how to say it. But then Frankie moved. Closed the space between you in two long strides, until he was so close you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and a cigarette he probably had before he came here.

"Tell me to leave," he murmured, his voice low and unsteady. "If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—tell me to leave."

Your heart pounded so hard it was unignorable. You didn’t answer, you didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, his beautiful brown eyes you had grown to admire so much, looked right through you. Into your soul, seeing what you didn’t even have the words for. Because you didn’t want him to leave. Not now. Not ever. In fact, for the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be—with him. His hand lifted, hesitated—then cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone like he was memorizing the feel of you. In the quiet of your apartment, the energy altered. Heavy. Electric. Inevitable.

His head dipped, and then his lips crashed onto yours with such force it stole the breath from your lungs, made you stumble back a step. Your hands found his face, holding him close as you melted into the kiss. But this time, it was different. He didn’t hold back like he had all those months ago. His fingers dug into your waist as he coaxed your mouth open, his tongue sliding against yours, deep and consuming. He walked you back with purpose, step after step, until your back met the hallway wall with a soft thud. The impact knocked over a few picture frames from the drawer beside you, but neither of you noticed. Because right then, there was only this. Only him.

The moment your back hit the wall, Frankie was on you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, fisting your shirt like he wanted to tear it off but couldn’t decide if he should. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue pushing past your lips as he pressed his body against yours, a low groan rumbling from his chest, deep and dangerous in its intensity.

You whimpered into the kiss, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him hiss. It only spurred him on. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs, lifting you off the ground effortlessly. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, locking him to you as he carried you down the hallway, lips never leaving yours, knocking into the walls like neither of you could think straight enough to care. But when he reached your bedroom, he paused.

Breathing hard, he set you down gently, hands still gripping your hips as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” His voice was hoarse, uneven. “Tell me now if you’re not, because I swear, I won’t—”

You cut him off, brushing your lips against his, softer this time, your fingers tracing along his jaw. “I’m sure, Frankie.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Like he didn’t trust that this wasn’t some cruel trick his mind was playing on him.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him unraveled at your words, tension melting from his shoulders. He exhaled sharply, nodding once before his lips crashed onto yours again, this time with more certainty, more purpose. You gasped when he finally dropped you onto your bed, following you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His hands pushed beneath your shirt, sliding up your stomach, your ribs, your breasts—palming you, squeezing just enough to make your back arch. He cursed under his breath, yanking the fabric over your head, barely giving you time to breathe before his mouth was on you again, kissing, biting, sucking a path down your throat.

“F-Frankie,” you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as he sucked a bruise into your collarbone. His hands made quick work of your clothes, tugging them off as he peppered kisses down your throat, over your collarbone, down your stomach. Every touch, every glance was heavy with something deeper, something unspoken. He took his time, learning every inch of you with his lips, his tongue, his hands, until you were trembling beneath him, breathless and aching.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against your skin, his breath hot. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you cupped his face, pulling him back up to you, crashing your lips into his.

You barely registered him kicking off his own jeans before his hands were on your thighs, spreading you open, gently tracing along the soft skin of your thighs despite the deep-seated need that was mirrored in his dark pupils. His fingers finally found your heat, sliding through the wetness pooling there.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hermosa.”

You whimpered in response, hips bucking into his touch. “Frankie, please—”

That was all it took. He groaned, deep and low, as he pushed into you, sinking in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you completely. It was almost too much and at the same time not enough. His jaw clenched, his grip on your hips tightening like he was holding on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “You feel—” He shook his head, like he couldn’t even find the words.

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Move, Frankie. Please.”

And then it was desperate. Frankie thrust into you, slow at first, deep and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of hesitation. But when all he saw was pleasure, when all he heard was the way you gasped his name like it was the only thing keeping you tethered, his restraint snapped.

He picked up the pace, fucking you harder now, rougher, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you knew there’d be bruises, but you didn’t care—you wanted them, needed them. A visible reminder of this finally happening.

His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, over and over, breathless, broken. He cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his own expression wrecked and raw.

“Look at me,” he panted, rocking into you, the friction sending sparks through your veins. “I need—I need to see you when you come.”

It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Your breath caught. The coil in your stomach tightened, tightened, until finally, it snapped. Your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body shaking as you cried out his name.

Frankie groaned, his hips stuttering before he thrust deep one last time, burying himself inside you as he came with a ragged moan, his whole body trembling against yours. You felt it—the warmth of him spilling deep, the way his cock twitched inside you as he pulsed through the aftershocks. A shiver ran down your spine, the intimacy of it all-consuming, overwhelming in the best way.

His breath came hot and uneven against your neck as he pressed soft, lazy kisses to your skin, grounding himself in you, like he never wanted to leave. His hands, still gripping your hips moments ago, softened, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over your skin. The only sound between you was the heavy rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of your hearts against sweat-dampened skin. Neither of you moved. He didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, hands cradling your face as if you might disappear.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as your fingers trailed gentle patterns up and down his back. After a moment, he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your face, his eyes tired but his smile warm, almost glowing.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, searching.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, still tracing lazy circles on his back. "You’re asking me that now?"

Frankie grinned, breathless, his nose brushing against yours. "Just making sure you haven’t changed your mind."

Rolling your eyes, you let your fingers glide over his shoulder. "If I had, you’d be the first to know."

His hands drifted down your sides, slow and reverent, as if still memorizing every inch of you. "Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

Something tight in your chest loosened, and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. "Yeah?"

Frankie leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, his fingers playing with your hair, his expression softer than you had ever seen. "Yeah," he said, like a promise, like an unshakable truth. "Not now. Not ever."

A shaky breath escaped you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pulled him down into another kiss—slower this time, deeper. Less desperate, but just as intense. Eventually, he sighed, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke.

"So, what now?"

You grinned, threading your fingers through his tousled locks. "Well, I’d say we could clean up the mess we made, but that would require moving, and I’m not sure I’m capable of that yet."

He chuckled, his chest rumbling against yours, warm and solid. "I think I broke a picture frame."

"You did."

"Guess I’ll have to replace it."

Tilting your head, you smirked. "You’re planning on sticking around long enough to redecorate?"

Frankie’s eyes darkened, filled with something you recognized now—something you were no longer afraid to name. His hands tightened around your waist, anchoring you to him. "You gonna let me?" You pretended to consider, but he saw right through you. He always had.

"I guess I can make room for you," you teased, running a fingertip over the patch in his beard, which, from up close almost looked like a heart.

Frankie smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Good. Because I wasn’t asking."

And just like that, the weight of every missed moment, every hesitation, every doubt that had once stood between you disappeared. Because this—him, you, together—was exactly where you were always meant to be.

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Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor!Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 of 5, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Angst, Fluff, & Eventual smut

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

The weekends, for Simon, tended to go the same: mundane and boring.

In other words, alone.

Simon didn’t cross your path on the weekends. He still walked Riley in the early mornings, but the weekend seemed to be your rest days. Slept in a little longer than usual, didn’t go on your runs. Opted for slow mornings in bed with a cup of tea before getting up for the day. Something Simon wished he had: lazy Sundays. He couldn’t sleep in even if he tried. Riley woke him up at the same time every day, demanded his morning walk.

The weekends, for both of you, were reserved for chores. Simon did his yard work in the beating sun and worked on his bike. You cleaned your house and baked an abundance of goods. Baked goods he could always smell when he was in his garage working. Wafted through your opened windows, let the breeze blow through your curtains. Always smelt so fucking good, had his mouth watering, even more so because he knew it was from you.

He always wondered who you baked for; why you were always cooking, but didn’t ever have any guests over to share with. Maybe you ate all your sweet treats yourself. Indulged in sugary items too often on the weekends and that’s why you ran during the week. Would explain the reason your thighs were still so thick.

Though if Simon had it his way, you wouldn’t feel the need to run, he’d cherish every plump curve, dig his teeth into your fat. Feed you the pies himself, lick the cream from your mouth, kiss the taste away. Knew it would taste better from your lips anyways.

Your opened windows were a luxury of their own. Not only did Simon get to smell your cooking, but he also got to see you clearly. The glare of glass a nonexistent barrier, cream curtains served to accentuate your beauty as they billowed in the wind instead of hiding you behind a thin layer of fabric. Loved the pretty view you gave him. But did you have to keep them open so late, love? It’s dangerous, you knew better than that.

It’s okay, you didn’t have to worry. Him and Riley would look out for you. Keep you safe, always would.

Though this weekend you seemed to have other plans. Showed up on his doorstep, a pleasant surprise for him and Riley. Had Riley barking excitedly at the sight of you.

“Hi, Simon. Hi, Riley!”

“Oh, hi lass.”

“Um, I was just wondering if you were busy?” Bashfully tangled your fingers together behind your back.

“No, why?” — Never for you.

“Could I borrow your strength for a minute, then?” You asked, turning to gesture to your driveway, “Got a new dresser in the mail, but I’m not exactly strong enough to lift it into my house.”

“Of course.”

You ha ve him a pretty smile when he stepped out to follow you, “Don’t know why they left it on my driveway, but that’s okay. I’m lucky to have you as a neighbor.”

“Happy to help with anythin’ you need.” Simon hummed, hoisting the box over his shoulder, “Just say the word.”

“Be careful, Simon!” You yelped, “It’s heavy!”

“Ts no problem,” He said, shrugging the box into a tighter grip.

And truthfully, it wasn’t. He wasn’t trying to impress you. Wasn’t trying to prove his worth to you. He’s just lifted heavier things before is all.

He followed you into your home as you guided him to your bedroom and instructed him where to place it. Asked him to excuse the mess, but there wasn’t one; he had seen you cleaning it this morning. Though if there was a mess it’s not like he would actually care, not when you were the center of his attention. Everything else faded away behind your plump cheeks and doe eyes.

“You gonna put it together on your own?” He asked when you began to thank him.

You pinched your lip between your teeth, pushing on to your tippy toes, “Maybe?”

“I’ll go get my toolbox.”

So, he spent the day building the dresser for you. Had assumed you would leave him be, but you sat on your bed while he worked on the floor. Asked if he wanted some help? Course not, told you to sit and relax.

Help? From you? No, don’t worry; he’d do everything for you, pretty bird.

So you did, made him tea and watched him work. Left the room every once in a while to attend to the food you were cooking in the kitchen. Filled the space with questions about his work, but he kept the answers short and sweet. He talked about his team rather than the work they were doing. Couldn’t exactly tell you everything about his occupation, what kind of man would you think he was? Would you even let him inside your home to help?

He chose to ask about your work instead, it was much easier to talk about teaching primary school students than his field of work. Though, this didn’t seem to be a problem for you, willingly told him about your classroom. Chuckled along as you told him stories about your young students, wasn’t surprised by the antics they were up to.

It made sense that a sweet girl like you worked with children, couldn’t be more different than himself. Had his own stories to share about Soap and Gaz. Made you giggle along, said you wanted to meet them, they seemed fun!

Maybe one day, he told you— but for now he’d keep his bird to himself.

Simon might’ve took longer than needed to finish the dresser, but he wanted to spend as much time with you as he could. Didn’t know the next time he’d find himself inside your home. Why would he rush it? So, he helped you move items onto the dresser, books and vases handed to him, any reason to stay longer, to help.

Though, you surprised him just as you did earlier that day. Asked him if he would stay for dinner as a thank you. And who was he to say no?

Could’ve cried when you placed a warm piece of chicken pot pie on the table. Perfect golden baked crust, made it from scratch— you had told him, but you didn’t need to, he knew.

He had a deep love for food, craved sustenance after grueling work on base. Kicked his ass every single second, tired body cherished the delicacy. He wasn’t even being dramatic when he groaned in appreciation at the first bite. Cleared the plate in seconds, didn’t even feel ashamed when he looked at your still full plate.

Not when you exhaled a quiet laugh, soft blush decorating your cheeks, “Was it good?”

“Bloody delicious,” He rasped, licking his lips clean, clinging on to any remnants of the taste.

You don’t give him much time to dwell on it, to crave more. Scooped a new piece into his plate for him without a second thought.

“Yeah?” You huff shyly, “Eat as much as you want.”

He eats more than his share, doesn’t even really register that he’s in your home having dinner with you. That his balaclava was pushed up to his nose, ugly scars on display. God, where were his manners?

But when he looks at you across the table your eyes just glimmer, smiling sweetly at him as you encourage him to get more before continuing your story.

You send him away with a container of leftovers and a baggie of pastries. He tried to protest because he already overstayed his welcome and ate half your pie. But you insisted, shushed him as you promised it was no big deal, what would you have done without him there to help? Tomorrow’s Monday anyways, eat it for lunch while at work!

When he crosses the street and returns to his home, it feels awfully quiet. Once again behind the glass barrier.

Lonely. Cold.

Even Riley at his feet, tucked into his side when he crawls into bed doesn’t quite warm him the way you had.

Tag list: @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares