#it's a little bit longer though be warned

[spxllcxstxr]

Mornings • S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hello✨ I would like to ask a morning routine with Silco (head cannons or fanfic or a little bit of both, whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind). Just describe how his routine changed after s/o appeared in his life or someone like this. With the best wishes and patiently waiting for the answer 🌚🫰-- anon

Summary: Silco adjusts to no longer living alone

Warnings: gn!reader raised in the undercity, established relationship though first time living with each other, food/drink mention, reformed bachelor silco doesn't know what breakfast is nor self-care lmao

Word Count: 962

A.N: Wrote this with young silco in mind because, let's be honest here, he's a bit more put together than his older self lmao. I'm also a sucker for longterm love so like, this is the first of many mornings you would experience with him ykwim lmao, first time writing silco! Enjoy!!!

•

The palm of Silco's hand is warm against your skin when your eyes open. It's still dark outside but the murky green hue of his bedroom windows offer you dim light.

Deep snores and faint whimpers emit from the man next to you, dark brows furrowed in his sleep. You dip your head down to kiss his forehead, hand running through his long hair at the same time. The tension eases from his pale face almost instantaneously. You smile at his sleeping form, now finally peaceful.

Moments later you quietly shift the covers from over top your body, placing Silco's hand beside him as well. He shifts at your movement, the mattress springs creaking underneath his bodyweight.

Growing up in the Undercity stressed the importance of rationing and saving food, meaning the three square meals a day the citizens of Piltover were used to were normally cut out altogether. Since then, however, Zaun’s food supply and imports had drastically improved and that along with your decent job wages, meals like breakfast had become important to you.

Cooking for two would be a change, certainly, but a welcomed one.

The chill in the air engulfs you as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen, which causes a slight shiver to move down your spine.

Yawning, you flick the light switch on. The sharpness of the yellow-white overhead light in the kitchen causes you to wince. The contrast of the brightness, or lack thereof, forces you to wake up a bit faster than you wished.

The light reveals a cluttered kitchen—not cluttered with pots and pans, but with various pieces of scrap metal and rusted screws. The counterspace is littered with schematics and maps of both Piltover and the Undercity.

Silco was usually a tidy man, his space at the Last Drop was well organized along with all of the other tiny rooms in the apartment. Clearly, the kitchen was not a space he frequented enough for his attention to be drawn to it.

Cracking your knuckles, you start shifting things over and away from the stovetop. You take everything flamible and place it precariously on an equally messy table.

After rummaging through the icebox, you discover a carton of mostly cracked or broken eggs, which were better than nothing. Getting straight to the point, you bring them over to the counterspace near the stovetop, which you light with one of Silco's lighters. The fire crackles to life, heating the pan above it.

"What in the world are you doing?"

You look behind you, pan still in hand. Silco stands behind you, leaning against the threshold to the little kitchen. His long dark hair hands loosely over his shoulders, fringe dangling messily over his face. Silco yawns, exhaustion still hanging over him.

The simplicity of his figure is a lot more attractive than it realistically should be. A red shirt is tight over his slim frame, causing your face to heat up. You're tempted to forego breakfast altogether in favor for grabbing your boyfriend by the hand and dragging him back to bed. He just looks that good.

But your stomach grumbles and your routine demands to be followed so you push that thought to the back of your mind, determined to act on it later.

His blue eyes take in the sight before him, you, still clad in your sleepwear with a small flame haphazardly lit underneath a small pan he doesn't recognize. Silco's brows are quirked up in confusion.

"Good morning to you too, darling..." You tease, rolling your eyes. Silco smirks, making your heart skip another beat. "And I'm making breakfast. Like a normal person."

"Breakfast? This kitchen hasn't seen the light of day since I've holed up here." His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. Blue eyes quickly scan over the room before landing back on your own. "As you could probably tell."

You nod in agreement, turning back to the task in front of you and the questionable carton of eggs off to the side.

"And I've been eating breakfast for years, so that's going to change now that I'm here."

"Is that so?" His voice is laced with a teasing curiosity that draws him towards you.

Silco stands behind you, breath just barely tickling the back of your neck. You feel his eyes carefully following your hands as they crack eggs on the edge of the pan. Steam rises as they sizzle against the hot surface.

You hum as you watch the whites of the egg turn opaque. It isn't any song in particular, just something you vaguely remember hearing at sone point in your life.

"I'm not used to this, dearest; this...domesticity," Silco mutters in your ear, this tip of his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of the crook of you neck.

"Maybe that's why you're so skinny." You tease, leaning into his touch. Briefly your eyelids flutter shut before returning to the unpredictable stovetop.

"Hm, maybe so." You feel his small smile against your skin. "If we were running on my routine, we'd already be out the door with a lukewarm coffee in hand."

With the eggs finished, you scrape them onto a freshly rinsed plate with a vaguely spatula-shaped item. Shopping for at least some sort of kitchen utensils was something you needed to do in order to make this place livable for someone other than your beloved Silco.

"Well this is your new routine, dear," You reply, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And you will love it."

With one hand placed on his waist and the other holding onto the plate of breakfast, you smile, almost like you're asking for him to challenge you on this. Instead, his eyes settle on your yours, signature smirk growing.

"I'm sure I will."

•

[xjcjuis]

EYELINER

pairing: billie eilish x reader

synopsis: you beg billie to let you do her make-up for.. personal reasons

warnings: kissing, use of pet names, fluff

wordcount: 0.8k

a/n: UGHHH billie with eyeliner i just. i cant

"pleaaase, bils, pleaaase."

billie's unreasonable no has been going on for what seems like hours. the night had started with you scrolling through your phone as billie watched some show on your shared netflix, and then you'd come across a photo of one of billie's photoshoots in which she was wearing eyeliner.

your lip found itself between your teeth somehow, your eyes flicking back and forth around your screen as you took in the photo, as if trying to absorb the image into your system.

billie, having noticed the sudden silence (you'd been commenting vocally about cute dog videos beforehand), turned to look at you, finding you very focused on whatever was on your phone.

confused, and, admittedly, a little jealous, billie left her place on the armchair and leaned over you on the couch, one arm on the backrest to hold her up. "watcha got there, pretty?"

you looked up and met her gaze. such a fine line between green and blue and silver, or perhaps all mixed into one to form the cosmos. you no longer believed what science says when the universe so obviously inhabited billie's eyes.

phone now placed face-down on the couch, you locked eyes with her, smiling with obvious intent. "let me do your make-up?"

it's a command disguised as a request. billie immediately saw how much you wanted it and decided to play a one-sided game. with a teasing grin, she pulled away. "no."

cut to the present and you find yourself on your knees on the carpet. "why not?" you whine, "i just want to see you in eyeliner again, please?"

admittedly, billie does not have a reason to say no. but seeing you with that cute little pout, hands dramatically clasped together as you basically beg to see her in something as basic as eyeliner? oh, she just had to take advantage of the situation.

"okay, alright, fine." she cackles, pulling you up from your three minutes of misery. "i don't see why not."

"you-" you jokingly pull back an arm as if to hit her. "you made me do all that when you were willing to in the first place?!"

your girlfriend's laugh intensifies, briefly kissing the frown on your lips away. "do what you wanna do, pretty."

you pull her eagerly to your dressing table, hurriedly opening and closing several mini drawers to look for a simple black eyeliner pencil. "sit down."

amused at your show of insistence, billie obediently complies. you turn around to face her, eyeliner pencil in hand, and bend over a little to cup her cheek and start with your masterpiece.

oh, but billie's not letting you do your job so easily. her hands are suddenly on your hips, grip tight, pulling you closer.

"billie!" you shriek, hand pushing against her shoulder to avoid falling. she replies with nothing but a mischievous grin as you scowl at her.

"do you want me to poke you in the eye?"

"no, ma'am. sorry."

she's not. but you just roll your eyes playfully and get on with it.

but she pulls you for a second time. you ignore it now, choosing instead to smudge the material on her eyelids. but when she jerks your hips forward towards her for the third time, you shoot her a glare.

"what is wrong with you?"

"sit on my lap, mama."

how you melted from that one sentence alone. that sweet, sweet tone in her voice paired with the gaze that stared up into your face a tad bit too longingly, and then that damn pet name. how could you even stay annoyed?

so you do, pretending to dislike the situation. billie could tell you liked it though, with the corner of your lip quirking up like that.

she behaves for the rest of the session, and you lick your lips in contentment upon leaning back to admire your handiwork.

with her tongue over her teeth and an eyebrow raised, your canvas silently asks how she looks. carefully, you put away your make-up materials and pick up your phone to snap a photo. then you set it aside before cupping billie's jaw, inching closer.

"so beautiful," you whisper, pressing your lips onto hers.

billie responds with fervor, one hand resting on your lower back as the other finds its place under your thigh. your back hits the dressing table as she kisses you, fingertips digging into your skin as yours caress every inch of her face. you pull away, out of breath.

"oh, whoops."

the eyeliner you had worked so hard on was now smudged. whose fault is it, you wonder? you, because you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, or billie's, because she was just too damn pretty to be left alone.

catching sight of her face in the mirror behind you, your girlfriend smirks. she reaches behind you and grabs her phone, stealing a quick photo of herself in the glass with you still on her lap.

you watch as her fingers type away speedily, leaning over to look only to see her posting the same picture on instagram with the caption, 'guess what happened?'

you stare at her with an unamused expression, but she only hooks her fingers under your chin. "kiss me again, gorgeous."

with no eyeliner to be worried about this time, what was stopping you?

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D

⊱ General Fluffy Headcanons ⊰ || Mr. Scarletella Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Obsession/Possessiveness, Cultural Barriers (Mr. Scarletella Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions/Expresses Them Differently Than a Human Would). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~900 words Request: “Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D” Author’s Note: I’ll be honest with y’all, writing straight-up fluff for these characters is really hard to do lmao. I try to stay as canon-compliant as possible (it’s low-key a curse, but it’s such a great way to practice writing 😔), so I hope these are fluffy enough for you given, well… the source material as a whole haha. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t originally one of my favorite characters from the game, but he’s honestly starting to grow on me at a concerning speed – shout-out to all the artists on Twitter who have added to my enjoyment of this man. ✌️

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

╰─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╯

🩸: Whenever it rains, Mr. Scarletella is always standing right there next to you, holding his red umbrella over your form so you do not become drenched because of the dreary weather. He takes his job very seriously, too, not minding how cold water causes his clothing to cling to his already deathly cold skin. He does it with an ever-present smile, too, watching you with unblinking eyes while he happily follows you around. Mr. Scarletella doesn’t get cold, he typically doesn’t feel any physical sensation in the first place, so getting a little wet while being able to keep you dry is something he doesn’t mind doing for you. If you invite him to join you under the umbrella, he falters for a bit before eventually standing next to you, shielding both of you from the rain (he loves being able to stand that close to you – he can almost feel the warmth radiating from you, and he finds himself craving it even after the two of you have found somewhere to take shelter). 

🩸: If there’s something you express an interest in, whether or not Mr. Scarletella is around when you make the off-handed comment, you’ll wake up to it lying right in front of your door. It’s honestly a bit creepy sometimes, just waking up to the article of clothing you looked at for longer than three seconds or the book whose title you briefly mentioned sitting at your feet when you open the door. In the past, any gift he left used to just be haphazardly placed in front of the door, and it reminded you of when a cat would catch a mouse and bring it to their owner (you’re not going to talk about the time you woke up to a literal human heart waiting for you, though…). However, Mr. Scarletella noticed that humans who exchanged gifts typically had them wrapped in paper, so he started to mimic their behavior, too, in the hopes you would like them more. Sure, his wrap-jobs were bad, almost hilariously so, but it was the thought that mattered. 

🩸: Whenever he looks at you, his pupils further dilate (even more than they usually are – it’s almost to the point where his entire eye is purely black, the red of his irises lost in the dark void of his gaze). Mr. Scarletella loves being able to just look at you, needing nothing more in life. He’ll watch you with an unblinking stare while you do literally anything. Whether it be cleaning your home or making yourself a meal, he will observe you as if you were the most interesting thing to have ever existed. As stated before, Mr. Scarletella is very good at mimicking human behaviors so, sometimes, he’ll ask if he can join you in whatever task you’re doing. He’ll copy the way you clean the floors or perfectly execute chopping the vegetables for the dish you were making after showing him what to do a single time. He’s very pleasant to be with during moments like these since he’s very good at acting like a human most of the time (other times, though – say if you need something from the top shelf – his body will twist and morph in very unsettling ways... It just emphasizes that, even if he’s good at pretending, he still isn’t human at the end of the day).   

🩸: Being with Mr. Scarletella means that you cannot have an unserious relationship, it’s just not in his vocabulary (because he’s obsessive, especially regarding you). He’s devoted to you entirely – body, mind, and soul – gladly letting you have the red umbrella to do with it whatever you wish. He’ll shiver slightly whenever you hold it in your hands, your touch is so strangely gentle as you softly run your fingers along the handle or press a kiss to the unassuming object. It hurts but in a different way. A part of him wishes you would just throw the umbrella to the ground, dig your heel into it, and have him experience a pain that was easier for him to understand… but you don’t. He loves your sweet touches, even if it’s painful and causes his chest to ache. He finds himself wishing he could touch you in that way, too, his ghost-like caresses causing your skin to tingle with static whenever his feather-light hands graze over your flesh (he loves cuddles and loving touches, even if he can’t experience them with you in a conventional sense). 

🩸: If you ever find yourself being bothered by someone who won’t leave you alone or someone who won’t take no for an answer, well… they may or may not end up missing. If you don’t want Mr. Scarletella to take care of anyone who is bothering you for you, you’ll definitely have to explain that it’s not appropriate because of the differences in your cultures – death and murder are common in the other world, after all (I’d also explain to him that he cannot harm or threaten people you care about, either, since he honestly wants you all to himself). This does mean, though, that you know that you’re safe no matter where you are. Mr. Scarletella is always watching you so, if you find yourself in a situation where your safety is at risk, you honestly have nothing to fear. He’ll keep you safe – you’re his love, his world, his reason for living, and he won’t let someone else take that from him.

[kennedyhateskanye]

Jinx dating head cannons

because i unfortunately developed a deep and uncharacteristic attraction to her.

Warnings: angst, f!reader, writing of drastically poor quality probably, codependency,

Jinx isn’t all there, you knew it very well going in, both of you, which is why her intelligence, depth, and capacity for love shocked you. Of course her mental illness rises and falls. Flaring up and resolving itself several times each day. It’s not uncommon for her to be extremely lucid and seemingly resolved of any mental block for a few hours, behaving so “normally” you’d forget she struggled at all if you didn’t know her so very well.

Of course the longer you loved her, the more resilient you became to the emotional roller coaster she dragged those around her on. You learned not to take it personally. And even more importantly, to never hold it against her, after all, if it was hard for you to deal with her mental anguish, it must be infinitely more difficult for her.

However, what most people don’t know about loving jinx, when they picture it, is that all the work it was seemed minuscule in comparison to the pay off.

She was a force of nature, complex and beautiful and unforgiving, to witness her was to be put in awe. Any struggle she gave you was collateral. You’d walk through fire through her love. Enormously more warm and sweet and all encompassing than that of any of the smirking pilties that turned their nose up at her.

She’d wake up in the middle of the night. To watch your chest rise and fall, and to thank her lucky stars that you were here with her.

She thought of you in everything, saw you in everything she did, evrey task she carried out, every tool and trinket she built

It was near constant you’d walk into your shared room to find something she’d crafted for you with her own two hands and her remarkable genius. Welded flowers, jewelry boxes, wind up toys, hell sometimes you didn’t even know what they were supposed to be, all painstakingly painted in great detail with her signature colors.

That and the notes, oh the notes. all scribed in her chicken scratch with her special quill fountain pen. You’d find them everywhere. Under cups, in your journals, on the walls, hidden beneath pillows. Some were proclamations of love, some were slightly nonsensical. Some were drawings of you two, or sketches she did of you while you weren’t looking, ink strokes depicting you distracted with a task, face scrunched in concentration.

You guessed all her little tendencies were not only small acts of love, but also reminders, that she was there, even when she was away. Jinx struggles with abandonment, scratching grading voices telling her you’ll leave her, storm off and forget about her without a second thought. So, Subconsciously she reminds you, tries to entertain and to please even in her absence.

You are her first thought in the loneliness of the morning when you’re not yet awake, she often feels a pang in her heart at the thought of you and wraps herself desperately around your body, nuzzling her face into your neck or chest to capture your scent and your presence.

She lets loose for you, lets her hair down, lets her hips sway to the music while she’s working, lets her foot tap absentmindedly, lets her subconscious train of thought out, and finds herself loving nothing more than when you reply to each bit of her ramblings as she goes.

She has never felt such relief as she has for the duration of your relationship. Someone to stay, to rub her temples and hum for her when the voices swarm hurting her head. Someone to disarm her when she hallucinates, using practiced exercises to help her check reality. Someone to bandage her hands when she chews at her cuticles and skin absent mindedly

The care absolutely goes both ways, though, and jinx truly does dote over you in endless ways.

She can sense when you are even slightly altered in any way, frustrated, sad, doesn’t matter. She can tell, and she uses her supercomputer of a brain to make a mental bullet list of the most effective ways to make your uncomfortably dissapear

Sometimes jinx looses herself in her scattered mind and forgets to come up for breath. Forgetting to bathe, to eat, to sleep. You take the burden off her shoulders, slowly and tediously washing all of her long blue hair, braiding it back into a wearable style. Scrubbing days old makeup of her face with a washcloth and a gentle hand, taking turns biting out of something you cooked for her.

After these sessions you dress her in your clothes and lay in bed together for hours wide awake, while she stares at you with wide beautiful eyes, saying very little, iorn grip on your arm or your hand, her heart racing with immeasurable love and affection

That’s a whole other thing, jinx has a very serious staring problem, your not sure what it is, but you’ve come to accept it, she often goes selectively silent and stares with her eyes blown wide. Taking in evrey facet of your being. It’s unmistakably affectionate

Jinx wants to be buried with you, jinx wants to see you through evrey season of every lifetime. There’s no question that girl loves you

[strnilolover]

NNN - chris sturniolo - pregnant

You let out a long, exhausted sigh as you settled into the couch, one hand cradling your round belly and the other rubbing the small of your aching back. The baby had been sitting low all day, and no amount of shifting, pillows, or stretches seemed to help.

Chris, who had been scrolling through his phone on the opposite end of the couch, glanced over at you. He frowned, setting his phone down as he noticed you wince while trying to find a more comfortable position.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his tone laced with concern.

“Yeah,” you said, though your voice betrayed you. ��My back’s just killing me. I’ll be fine.” you muttered, trying to brush it off as no big deal like you normally did.

Chris didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his eyes on you as you tried — unsuccessfully — to adjust again. Finally, he stood up.

“Alright, I want to try something,” he said, moving toward you with a determined look. You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘try something’? Chris, what are you—”

“Just trust me,” he interrupted gently, holding out his hands to help you up. “It’s nothing crazy, I promise.” With a curious look, you took his hands, letting him pull you to your feet. You groaned as the weight of your belly immediately pulled on your back again.

“Turn around,” he said softly, positioning himself behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, still confused but willing to go along with whatever he had planned. “Chris, if this is some kind of weird massage thing—”

“It’s not,” he cut in, his hands carefully sliding around your belly. “Just hold still for a second.” You tensed slightly as his hands cupped the underside of your belly, but then he gently lifted, taking the full weight off your back. The relief was so immediate and overwhelming that you gasped.

“Oh my god,” you murmured, your head tilting back slightly to rest against his shoulder as the tension in your back melted away. “Chris… what are you doing?” you mumbled.

“Helping,” he said simply, holding your belly steady as he peeked over your shoulder. “I saw this thing earlier, and I thought it might work. Does it?” he asked.

“Does it?!” you exclaimed, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Chris, this feels amazing. How did you even think of this?” you retorted.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I just hate seeing you in pain. If I can take some of the weight off for a bit, I’ll do it.” he stated — and it was true. He was the one who did this to you in the first place.

Your chest tightened at his words, warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned back against him even more. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” you say softly.

“Not possible,” he teased, swaying slightly as he kept holding your belly. “You carry this around all day, every day. This is the least I can do.” You sighed contentedly, letting yourself relax into him. “I wish you could do this forever. I feel like I’m floating.” say say, the relief laced into your voice.

He chuckled softly, his hands steady under your belly. “Yeah, well, I don’t know about forever. My arms are starting to feel it already.” he teased lightly, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Don’t you dare let go,” you warned, half-joking but entirely serious. Chris laughed again, a low, warm sound in your ear. “I’ll give you a little longer, but you’re gonna have to figure out another way to bribe me if you want more time.”

For a few minutes, the two of you stood like that, swaying slightly as he held your belly. You felt lighter than you had in weeks, and the pain that had been nagging at you all day was nothing more than a distant memory.

But then, slowly, Chris eased his grip, lowering your belly back to where it naturally rested. The relief vanished almost instantly, and the familiar ache shot through your back like a rubber band snapping.

“Chris!” you whined, leaning forward slightly as you tried to ease the discomfort on your own. “Why’d you stop? That was perfect!” He smirked, coming around to face you. “Because my arms aren’t built for holding that forever. Besides, you’re the one with super strength, carrying this around all day.”

“I don’t want super strength,” you pouted, shifting your weight and rubbing your back. “I want you to hold it again.” Chris leaned in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “You’re so cute when you’re dramatic,” he teased.

You swatted at his chest half-heartedly, glaring at him. “Chris, I’m serious! That was the only time I haven’t felt like I’m being crushed under a boulder all day.” you say, your pout deepening.

“Alright, alright,” he said, his grin softening. “I’ll hold it again later, I promise. But right now, I’m getting you some water and a heating pad.”

You grumbled under your breath but allowed him to guide you back to the couch. As you lowered yourself carefully, you muttered, “Next time, you’re holding it for an hour.”

Chris laughed, tucking a blanket around you. “Next time, I’m hiring someone to do it for me.” he teased — though he wasn’t serious about that. He would hold your stomach again over and over again for you until you were satisfied.

Despite your complaints, you couldn’t help but smile at him. He always had a way of making you feel loved — even if he was a tease about it.

© strnilolover

[kkayyerr]

Little girls don’t smoke.

Summary: Rafe catching little!reader smoking with Pogues. He isn’t very pleased about that, but he know how to deal with her.

Warnings: Age regression, dark!Rafe, manipulations, slightly forced regression, smoking.

„C’mon, he won’t find out!”

 

Kiara said, giving you a cigarette. You have never smoked before, and you were pretty unsure if you wanted to try. But Pogues were almost insisting; they wanted to see your reaction to the first cigarette, and they also wanted you to finally break free from your overprotective boyfriend. They were happy that you had sneaked out to hang out with them, and they wanted to remind you about your past lifestyle at least a little bit. 

You took a cigarette from the Kiara’s hands and put it in your mouth, frowning at the bitter taste. You coughed when the smoke filled up your lungs, but you had to admit that there was something addicting in that process. Though you were resisting to take another puff. 

 

„You know he’s always smoking, right?”

 

Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. They didn’t know about your regression, and from their perspective, it was looking like an abusive relationship. They didn’t know that you needed his care, and sometimes you also you needed his control, even if you won’t ever admit it. You nodded, quickly folding under all the pressure and taking another puff, when you heard a loud cough behind you. You knew it was him. 

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just silently approached you, taking a cigarette from your trembling hands. He took a long puff before giving it back to Kiara. He was trying not to show any emotions, but his clenching jaw was betraying him.

Rafe was not happy about that. At all.

 

„It was nice to see you, folks, but we’re going home.”

 

Rafe wasn’t feeling like fighting with them right now. He needed to deal with you going against his rules first. He grabbed your arm roughly, almost enough to make it hurt, but you kept your mouth shut, knowing that anything you’d say would trigger him even more. When he had finally dragged inside the house, he silently commanded you to go upstairs and wait for him, and you did as you were told. You knew that he needed a couple of minutes to calm down, so he won’t freak out. Every minute felt like eternity, and when he finally entered the room, you sighed with a small relief. You saw that his expression softened a little bit, as he was trying his best to remain calm. 

 

„Who gave it to you?”

 

Rafe broke the silence immediately, making you even more anxious. His voice didn’t sound angry or upset; it seemed like he was curious about the whole situation. You didn’t want to betray Pogues by blaming your actions on them, but you also knew that they were partly responsible for that. 

 

„Kiara. But it’s my fault for taking it.” 

 

Rafe nodded, knowing that he would have a friendly chat with her later. But for now, his main priority was to make sure that you wouldn’t ever do stupid things like that again. He didn’t plan on punishing you. Why would he do that? The punishment would only have a temporary effect on you. He needed something that would last much longer than that.

He gently cupped your face with his hands; his thumb was caressing your cheek. Your gaze was already filled with naivety and with sincere devotion. It seemed like you were almost on your breaking point and he just had to push some buttons.

 

„Daddy isn’t mad at you, little one.”

 

He said, watching how quickly the anxiety look on your face turned into something else, something that only he could’ve caused, using the specific words that he knew for sure would trigger you enough to fall even deeper in the littlespace. He wanted you to regress even harder, so you won’t be able to take care of yourself and also won’t be able to sneak out or runaway from him like you did today. He needed you to need him. 

 

„I just care about you a lot, and they clearly don’t. I want you to understand that, baby.”

 

You nodded, even though you weren’t paying attention to his words. There were other things that made you feel so little. His gentle touches, soft voice, pet names. He just made you wish that you could’ve been small forever. But who said you couldn’t? You would be his little girl, always behaving and never leaving his side; isn’t that sound like an actual dream?

 

„You’re still Daddy’s little girl, yeah?”

 

The second he said that, your face was buried in his neck, and your hands were holding him tightly, demonstrating just how much you needed him. Rafe’s eyes closed as he was enjoying that peaceful moment. His little girl was here, with him, under his care and control. The pogues can call it abuse; they can call it whatever they want, but for both of you, it was an escape. Rafe was your savior, and you somehow became his. He slowly picked you up, so you would hold onto him more comfortably. 

 

„Do you want your pacifier?”

 

Rafe knew that he had won when, instead of words, he heard your quiet murmuring. 

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[lila-lou]

✨Little Soldier✨

Summary: Ben’s approach to parenting is all grit and discipline, just like the way his own father raised him. But with a little nudge from you, he starts to see that being a good dad is more than just teaching strength—it’s about showing love too.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, (Ben is mistreating your poor son)

Word Count: 9291

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

It was one of those crisp winter mornings where the air bit at your skin, but the sunlight danced across the snow, making everything shimmer like a dream. The backyard stretched wide, blanketed in white, untouched except for the paths Ben and your son, Logan, had carved into the snow as they trained. Ben stood tall and imposing in the center, the green jacket of his suit open just enough to let the cold sting his chest. He didn’t seem to feel it. Soldier Boy never did.

Logan, just eight years old, was across from him, his small fists raised in a stance that mimicked his father’s. His breath came out in quick, visible bursts, more from effort than the cold. He kept glancing toward his feet, unsure of himself, while Ben paced a tight circle around him.

“Come on, kid”, Ben said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness. “You think anyone’s gonna wait for you to figure it out? Eyes up. Watch your opponent. Always”.

You knelt nearby in the snow, your four-year-old daughter, Lila, bundled up in her puffy coat and mittens, happily building the base of a snowman. Her little hands moved clumsily, her giggles breaking the quiet each time the snow didn’t quite cooperate. You helped her pack the snow tighter, gently guiding her hands and brushing her hair away from her flushed cheeks as you did.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Logan glancing over. Logan’s gaze lingered on you and Lila for just a heartbeat longer than it should have, his eyes filled with something unspoken. He wanted that—building a snowman, laughing, playing without a care in the world. He wanted to feel the warmth of your praise, the way you smiled at Lila when she held up a misshapen clump of snow as if it were a masterpiece. But he couldn’t. Not right now. Not when his dad was watching.

He straightened his stance, forcing the longing down into the pit of his stomach. He was a man, or at least, he was supposed to be. That’s what Dad always said. “You’re not a little kid anymore, Logan. You’ve got to be strong, got to take care of the people you love”. So even though his arms ached and the cold bit at his cheeks, Logan clenched his fists and focused on his father.

Ben noticed the hesitation, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What’s with the looking around, huh? You think your enemies are gonna stop because you’re distracted?”. He stepped forward and lightly tapped Logan on the forehead with two fingers. “This? This is your weapon. If you don’t keep it sharp, you’re dead, kid. Now, eyes on me”.

“Yes, sir”, Logan muttered, his small voice barely audible. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles raw from the cold.

Ben circled him again, his boots crunching against the snow. “Better. Now, hit me like you mean it. Don’t pull your punches just because I’m your old man”.

Logan hesitated for a split second, stealing one more glance at you and Lila. Lila was giggling again, her tiny voice ringing out like a bell as she held up two sticks she’d found for the snowman’s arms. You caught Logan’s glance once more, and your heart clenched. He looked so torn, so much older than his eight years in that moment.

But Logan turned back to his dad, his small frame trembling as he stepped forward and threw another punch. It landed on Ben’s open palm with a dull thud. Ben caught his wrist, holding him in place.

“That all you got?”, Ben asked, his voice calm but challenging.

Logan sighed quietly, his breath visible in the cold air. He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the snow before muttering, “I’ve got my laser eyes, Dad… do I really need to learn how to fight? I could just… laser an enemy”.

Ben froze for a moment, his grip still on Logan’s wrist. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was that half-smile he wore when he was about to make a point, the kind that sent a chill down your spine as much as the cold air did.

“Your laser eyes?”, Ben repeated, letting go of Logan’s wrist. He straightened to his full height, towering over the boy like a general over a recruit. “That’s what you’re gonna rely on? Some flashy power you barely know how to control?”.

Logan’s shoulders sank slightly under the weight of his father’s words, but Ben wasn’t done.

“Let me tell you something, kid”, Ben continued, stepping closer. “You think some bad guy’s gonna just stand there and let you zap him? Powers don’t mean squat if you don’t know how to fight. If you don’t have the guts to stand your ground when things get real. You run outta juice, you get caught off guard, and guess what? You’re toast”.

Logan flinched, his face turning red, though whether from the cold or his father’s words, it was hard to tell. He looked down at his fists, the little tremor in his hands betraying the frustration he was trying to hide.

“But—”, Logan started, only for Ben to cut him off.

“No buts, Logan”. Ben’s voice softened slightly, though the steel remained. “You’re my son. You fight, and you fight smart. Lasers or not, you’ve got to learn how to handle yourself. You’ve got to be ready for the worst. Because trust me, one day, someone’s gonna come at you, and they’re gonna be faster, smarter, and meaner than you ever thought possible”.

Ben crouched down now, meeting Logan’s eyes. His tone shifted, quieter but no less intense. “And when that day comes, you don’t want to be the kid who only knows how to hide behind a fancy power. You want to be the kid who looks them in the eye and says, ‘Come on, give me your best shot’. You hear me?”.

Logan stared at him, his small frame trembling not just from the cold but from the weight of what his father was saying. After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sir”, he whispered, his voice steadier this time.

Ben clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a rare moment of affection. “Good. Now hit me again. Harder this time”.

You watched from where you knelt with Lila, your heart aching for your son. He was trying so hard, carrying a weight far too heavy for someone so young. But there was a flicker of something in his expression now—determination, maybe, or even pride.

Logan set his jaw, stepping forward again. His small fist swung upward, and this time, the impact against Ben’s hand was louder, sharper. Ben grinned, nodding approvingly.

“That’s my boy”, he said. “Now we’re getting somewhere".

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Lila tugging at your sleeve, her little hands holding a snowball. “Mommy, can we throw this at Daddy?”, she asked, her mischievous grin spreading wide across her face.

You watched for a few more minutes, letting Logan and Ben have their moment. Logan’s punches were getting stronger, his stance more confident. Ben’s rare but genuine nods of approval lit up Logan’s face, even as his small fists grew red and raw from the cold. It was a scene that tugged at your heart—intense, yes, but filled with love in its own complicated way.

But enough was enough. Everyone needed a break, even Soldier Boy.

You silently scooped up a handful of snow, packing it tightly in your gloved hands. Lila watched you with wide, sparkling eyes, her grin spreading as she realized what you were about to do. “Shh”, you whispered, pressing a finger to your lips. She mimicked the gesture, though her giggles threatened to give you away.

Ben’s back was turned as he adjusted Logan’s footing, his deep voice still carrying instructions. He had no idea what was coming. You took careful aim, pulled your arm back, and let the snowball fly.

It hit Ben squarely on the back of the head.

For a split second, the world froze. Logan’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting to you in shock. Lila’s laughter erupted, high and bright, as she clapped her mittened hands together. Ben straightened slowly, turning to face you with an expression that was equal parts surprise and challenge. A few snowflakes clung to his hair, and you couldn’t help but smirk at the sight.

“Really?”, Ben said, his tone low and dangerous, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement. “You think you can take me on, sweetheart?”.

You shrugged innocently, already packing another snowball. “Well, someone had to remind you to have a little fun”.

Ben’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that”.

Before you could react, Ben scooped up a massive handful of snow and hurled it in your direction. You ducked, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile, and tossed your snowball back, catching him on the shoulder. Logan burst into laughter, his previous tension melting away as he watched the two of you go at it.

“Oh, it’s on now!”, you shouted, grabbing another handful of snow.

“Logan!”, Ben called out, already forming another snowball. “You with me or her?”.

Logan hesitated for half a second before grinning mischievously. “Her!”, he declared, running toward you. Lila squealed with delight, abandoning the snowman to join your side, her tiny hands struggling to form a snowball of her own.

Ben feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “Fucking traitors! All of you!”.

What followed was pure chaos. Snowballs flew in every direction, laughter ringing out across the yard. Ben, true to form, didn’t hold back, though he made sure to go easy on the humans, meaning you. Logan and Lila worked together, pelting him relentlessly, while you managed to land a few well-aimed shots of your own.

By the time the battle ended, all of you were breathless and rosy-cheeked, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. Ben stood in the middle of the yard, dusting snow off his jacket, while Logan and Lila collapsed into the snow, giggling uncontrollably.

You started walking toward Ben, a triumphant smile on your face as you prepared to rub in the fact that you and the kids had clearly won the impromptu snowball fight. But before you could get too close, Ben’s grin shifted into something sly and mischievous—a look you recognized all too well.

“Don’t even think about it”, you warned, holding up your hands.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, with one quick, fluid motion Ben effortlessly pushed you backward into the towering pile of snow that had been stacked from the snow fort construction. You landed with a muffled thud in the cold, soft powder, your breath leaving you in a surprised gasp.

“Ben!”, you yelled, sitting up and brushing snow out of your hair, your cheeks flushing from the chill and the sheer audacity of the man. He stood over you, grinning like a smug teenager, his hands on his hips as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Never let your guard down. I thought I taught you better than that”, he drawled, shrugging one shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes, a mixture of irritation and amusement bubbling to the surface. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Soldier Boy”.

“Big talk for someone sitting in a snowbank”, he teased, holding out a hand as if to help you up.

For a moment, you considered taking his offer. But then you saw the smirk on his face and knew better. Instead, you grabbed another handful of snow and flung it straight at his chest, catching him off guard. He stumbled back slightly, laughing as he brushed the snow off.

“That’s it”, Ben said, stepping forward with mock menace in his stride. “Now you´re done”.

Ben’s grin turned wicked as he shook the snow from his hair and stepped forward. Before you could even think to scramble away, he reached down, his strong hands gripping your waist with ease. “You started this”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Now you’ve got to pay for it”.

“Ben, don’t you dare—”, you started, but the rest of your words were lost in a squeal as he hoisted you up and slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You pounded lightly on his back, laughter spilling out of you despite yourself.

“Too late for mercy now”, he said, his tone full of mock authority. “This is what happens when you challenge the champ”.

As you protested, he started toward the house, his boots crunching through the snow. Behind you, Logan and Lila dissolved into giggles, rolling in the snow as they started making snow angels, entirely unbothered by the fact that their parents were still in the middle of their antics.

“Ben, you’re getting me soaked!”, you protested, but your words were muffled by your laughter. Snow clung to your coat, melting quickly in the warmth of the house as he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him.

“That’s the least of your worries”, he shot back, his voice full of mischief.

He strode into the living room, his boots leaving a trail of melting snow, and without hesitation, he dropped you onto the couch. The plush cushions sank under your weight, and before you could react, he was hovering over you, bracing himself on his hands on either side of your head.

“See?”, he teased, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath despite the cold water dripping from both of you. “You can’t win against me. I’m unstoppable”.

You glared up at him, though the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth betrayed your true feelings. You reached up and grabbed his jacket, tugging him slightly forward. “You’re soaking the couch, genius”, you said, though the laughter in your voice was impossible to hide.

“So are you”, he shot back, leaning closer, droplets of melted snow falling from his collar and onto your skin.

The two of you were practically nose to nose now, water pooling under both of you.

Ben’s smirk softened into something more heated as his fingers toyed with the edge of your jacket. His voice dropped, rough and low, as he muttered, “You know, I fucking hate winter”.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath from laughing. “Oh yeah? Could’ve fooled me, the way you were having a field day out there”.

His hands slid to the edges of your jacket, slowly pushing it open as he hovered over you. “Nah”, he said, a big smirk on his face again. “I hate all these damn clothes. Hiding this”. His gaze raked over you as his fingers began to undo the buttons of your shirt, his touch confident and deliberate, yet surprisingly gentle. “Hiding your perfect little tits”.

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing warmer than they already were from the snow. “Ben”, you started, half in protest, though your voice lacked conviction. His boldness always caught you off guard, even after all this time.

“What?”, he said, mock innocence dripping from his words as his hands worked their way lower. His green eyes locked with yours, full of mischief and intent. “You start a fight, sweetheart, you gotta be ready for the consequences”.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, even as you felt his calloused fingers graze your skin beneath your shirt. “Is this how you settle scores now?”.

Ben leaned closer, his lips brushing against your jawline, his breath warm against your chilled skin. “When it’s with you? Damn right it is”.

Before either of you could go further, the sound of the kids’ muffled giggles echoed through the window. Ben froze, glancing toward the frost-covered glass, then back at you, his grin faltering for just a moment before it returned full force.

“Saved by the brats”, he murmured, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He leaned back, giving you space to sit up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Guess you get a pass this time”.

You laughed, buttoning your shirt back up as you pushed his chest playfully. “You’re impossible”.

Lila, hands pressed to the glass. “Eww, Mommy and Daddy you´re gross!”, she teased, sticking her tongue out dramatically, while Logan laughed and shook his head, clearly trying to act like he wasn’t entertained but failing miserably.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Lila’s exaggerated expression, her hands still pressed against the window as she made a show of grossing herself out. Logan, on the other hand, was doing his best to look serious, though the laughter that bubbled up from his chest betrayed his attempt to remain mature.

“Eww, Mommy and Daddy always kissing!”, Lila mumbled with a playful scrunch of her nose, her voice full of mock disgust. She stuck her tongue out again, clearly enjoying the attention.

Logan, trying his best to be the older, wiser sibling, crossed his arms and shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “You guys are so embarrassing”, he said, though the way his eyes sparkled showed he didn’t actually mind one bit.

Ben, standing beside you, glanced at you and then back at the kids. His grin softened, and he leaned down toward you, speaking in a voice only you could hear. “They don’t have a clue, do they?”, he said with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully at the scene unfolding in front of you. “Not a single one”.

Lila, clearly not done yet, leaned closer to the window, still giving you both the dramatic “eww” face. “You’re gonna make us barf!”, she announced loudly, her face scrunching as though it was all just too much to bear.

Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s antics. “What are you two up to, huh?”, he called through the window. “Making fun of your parents? You should be building that snowman”.

Lila, always the instigator, puffed out her chest proudly. “We already did!”, she declared. “But now we’re watching you guys because it’s funny!”.

As Lila stood there, still making faces at you and Ben, Logan saw the perfect opportunity to sneak away. Without warning, he grabbed his younger sister by the hand, pulling her away from the window with a quick tug.

“C’mon, Lila!”, Logan urged, his voice filled with excitement. “Let’s finish the snowman! Dad and Mom are being all gross again!”.

Lila let out a reluctant giggle but quickly followed, her mittens flapping as she tried to keep up with her brother. “Okay, okay, but only if we can give him a crown!”; she shouted, already planning the next addition to their snow creation.

Ben watched them go with a fond smile before his gaze shifted back to you. His grin softened as he stood beside you, his arms crossing in that familiar, relaxed way. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, with an undercurrent of concern.

You sighed, keeping your eyes on the kids as they ran back into the snow, their laughter a welcome distraction from the heaviness of the moment. “I think you need to ease up with him, Ben”, you mumbled, your voice soft but steady. “You’re demanding too much from him. He’s just 8”.

Ben didn’t respond right away. His gaze followed Logan and Lila for a moment, his jaw working as though weighing your words. You could see him considering it, but you knew how hard it was for him to let go of the lessons, the expectations he had for Logan. It had been instilled in him—toughness, strength, independence. But Logan was still a child, and there was only so much he could handle before it became too much.

Ben turned to you, his expression slightly guarded but not entirely dismissive. “I’m not asking him to be something he’s not”, he said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m just trying to make sure he doesn’t get soft. The world isn’t gonna treat him like a kid forever”.

You crossed your arms, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you looked at him. “He is a kid, Ben”, you said, your voice rising a little, frustration creeping in. “Let him be one. You can’t push him to grow up this fast. You can’t always expect him to be your mini-me, a smaller version of you. He’s Logan, not Soldier Boy”.

“I’m just trying to prepare him. If he’s not tough enough, the world will eat him alive. You know that as well as I do”.

You shook your head, exhaling slowly, trying to rein in your emotions. “I know, but there’s a balance. You can teach him those things, Ben, but not at the cost of his childhood. He’s just 8”. You softened your tone, meeting his gaze directly. “I just… I just don’t want him to resent you. I don’t want him to think he has to be something he’s not to earn your approval”.

Ben was quiet for a moment, and you could see the internal battle in his eyes. He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated, chewing on the words for a second before letting out a long breath.

Ben’s silence lingered, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. You could see the tension ripple through him, the way his shoulders stiffened and his gaze faltered. You hesitated, carefully choosing your next words, not wanting to push him too far but needing him to understand.

“You should know it best, Ben”, you mumbled softly, almost afraid of how he’d react. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “You know what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough, no matter how hard you try. You’ve told me… how your dad was with you”.

The words hit him like a physical blow, and you saw it immediately. His confident, almost cocky exterior faltered, replaced by a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked away, his eyes drifting toward the snow-covered yard where Logan and Lila were playing.

“Don’t”, he finally muttered, his voice rough, strained. “Don’t bring him into this”.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Ben”, you said gently, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “I’m just saying… you know how it feels to grow up under that kind of pressure. Always trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, never feeling like you’re enough. You’ve told me you hated it. And I know you never want Logan to feel that way”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound filled with frustration—but not at you. At himself. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he finally looked back at you, his green eyes clouded with something between regret and resolve.

“I don’t”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want him to feel like that. Ever”.

“Then let him breathe, Ben”, you urged, your voice soft but steady. “He’s just a kid. He needs to know he’s enough as he is. That he doesn’t have to be the toughest or the strongest to make you proud. He just has to be Logan”.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers dragging down to rest at his chin. He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I’m turning into him, don’t you?”, he asked quietly, almost to himself.

You shook your head firmly. “No, I don’t. You’re not your dad, Ben. You’re already so much more than he ever was. But sometimes… sometimes I think you’re carrying his shadow. And it’s time to let it go. For Logan. For you”.

Ben let out a slow exhale, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as your words settled between you. You leaned up and kissed his cheek gently, the warmth of the moment cutting through the tension that had lingered in the air. His eyes softened as he looked down at you, though he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. You could tell he was listening, really listening, and that was enough for now.

“I’m going to get the kids”, you said softly, brushing your hand along his arm before stepping toward the door.

He nodded once, his gaze following you for a moment before shifting back to the snowy yard, where Logan and Lila were laughing together as they finished up their snowman.

“Alright, you two!”, you called, standing in the door, your voice cutting through their laughter. “Time to come inside! Wash your hands, and then we’re going to bake some cookies”.

Lila’s face lit up, and she immediately clapped her mittened hands together. “Cookies!”, she squealed, already abandoning the snowman and running toward you with excitement. “Can we make the ones with the sprinkles?”.

“Of course, sweetheart”, you said, catching her as she barreled into you. “But first, upstairs. Wash up”.

Logan, however, lingered behind, his small figure standing just a few feet from the snowman. His expression shifted slightly, the bright enthusiasm dimming as he avoided your eyes. You could tell something was on his mind.

“Logan”, you called gently, holding the door open as Lila darted inside. “Come on, sweetie. Time to wash up”.

He trudged toward you slowly, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. When he finally reached you, he hesitated once more, his small boots crunching in the snow, but he kept his gaze low, his face unreadable. You crouched down to his level, brushing some of the snow off his coat. You tilted your head slightly, trying to meet his eyes.

“Logan, sweetie”, you said gently, “Do you not want to bake cookies? It’s okay if you don’t feel like it”.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before darting away again. This time, they landed where Ben still stood, his broad figure shadowed by the light from the living room. Ben had turned slightly, his gaze now fixed on the two of you at the door, his expression unreadable but clearly focused.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his small hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Then, he shook his head firmly. “It’s… it’s women’s stuff”, he muttered, his tone wavering. Without waiting for your response, he turned abruptly, his small boots stomping against the hardwood floor as he headed for the stairs.

“Logan”, you called after him gently, but he didn’t stop. You caught a glimpse of his face before he disappeared up the staircase—the tight set of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was fighting something back. And then you saw it: the tears gathering in his eyes.

Your heart sank as you realized what was really going on. Logan usually loved baking cookies, that much you knew. He had always lit up at the chance to mix dough, sprinkle sugar, and get his hands messy in the process. But he wouldn’t admit that in front of Ben, not after what he thought his dad believed about “women’s stuff”. And Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to let Ben see him cry.

You sighed, glancing back at Ben, his expression unreadable. He had been watching the entire exchange, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. For a moment, you thought he might come, might say something, but he stayed frozen in place, his eyes following Logan’s retreat.

Without saying a word, you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you and heading upstairs. As much as you wanted to comfort Logan, you also knew that Ben needed to face this moment, to see the impact of his words—not just through your eyes, but his own.

You found Logan in his room, curled up on the edge of his bed, his back to the door. His small shoulders trembled slightly, though he tried to keep quiet. It broke your heart to see him like that, trying so hard to hold everything in.

“Logan?”, you said softly, stepping into the room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful to give him space. “It’s okay to be upset. You don’t have to hide it from me”.

“I’m not upset”, he muttered, his voice muffled. “I don’t care. I hate baking cookies”.

You reached out gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you do care. And it’s okay if you love baking cookies, Logan. That doesn’t make you less of anything”.

He didn’t respond at first, but after a long pause, he whispered, “Dad thinks it does”.

Those words hit you hard, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. “Your dad doesn’t think that, sweetie. He just… sometimes he says things without thinking. But that doesn’t mean he’s right”.

Logan finally turned to look at you, his tear-streaked face breaking your heart all over again. “He’ll think I’m weak”, he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to think I’m weak”.

You pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as his small frame shook against you. “Logan, you’re not weak”, you said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And being strong doesn’t mean hiding the things you love. It means being brave enough to be yourself”.

At that moment, you heard footsteps approaching. The door creaked open slightly, and you looked up to see Ben standing in the doorway. He hesitated, his expression soft but conflicted as his eyes landed on Logan. He didn’t say anything right away, but the regret on his face was clear.

“Logan”, Ben finally said, his voice quieter than usual. He stepped into the room, his broad figure filling the small space as he crouched down next to the bed.

Logan’s reaction was immediate and almost frantic. He pulled away from your embrace, turning his back to both you and Ben as he roughly wiped at his face with his small fists. His movements were sharp and deliberate, as though he was trying to erase the evidence of his tears before anyone could say a word.

“I’m fine”, he muttered, his voice tight and trembling. “I wasn’t crying”.

You glanced at Ben, whose face tightened at the sight. You could see the regret and guilt pooling in his eyes, the weight of his own words and lessons crashing down on him as he watched his son fight so hard to suppress his emotions.

Ben cleared his throat, his voice softer than usual. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. It’s okay—”.

“I said I’m fine!”, Logan snapped, spinning around to glare at him. His eyes were red and glassy, but his jaw was set in defiance. “Women cry. That’s what you always say. So I’m not crying”.

Ben froze, visibly taken aback by the raw honesty in Logan’s voice. For a moment, he just stared, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond but no words coming out. It was like he was looking into a mirror of himself, the echoes of his father’s harsh lessons staring back at him in his own son’s tear-streaked face.

You saw the way Ben’s shoulders sagged, his defenses crumbling as Logan’s words hit him harder than any punch ever could. He finally sat down on the floor next to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure he was on Logan’s level.

Your heart aching as you watched Logan’s small figure tremble with frustration, hurt, and confusion. You couldn’t take it anymore. Turning to Ben, your voice came sharp and firm, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade.

“Fix this, Ben”, you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. Your eyes locked on his, stern and unwavering. “That’s my baby boy, and I will not let him feel like this because of something you’ve said”.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew you were right, and the weight of the situation was already pressing down on him. You took a deep breath, your own emotions threatening to spill over, and with one last look at both of them, you turned on your heel and left the room. Your own eyes were glassy, tears threatening to fall as you closed the door softly behind you.

In the quiet of the hallway, you leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to your chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Hearing Logan say those words, seeing the pain etched on his small face—it was almost too much to bear. But you trusted Ben to handle it. He had to handle it.

Inside the room, Ben remained seated on the floor, his gaze fixed on Logan, who was still turned away from him. The boy’s small hands clenched into fists at his sides, his head bowed low as he tried to mask the occasional sniffle that escaped him.

“Logan”, Ben started softly, his voice steady but carrying a rare gentleness that was almost foreign. “Can I tell you something? Something about me?”.

Logan didn’t respond, but Ben noticed the slight twitch of his shoulders, the way his posture stiffened just enough to show he was listening. Ben took that as his cue to continue.

“When I was your age”, Ben began, leaning forward slightly, “My dad used to say the same things to me. He’d tell me that crying made me weak. That showing how I felt was… wrong. And I believed him. I thought if I ever let myself cry, or feel scared, or be anything other than ‘tough’, I was a failure”.

Logan shifted slightly but still didn’t turn around. Ben kept going, his voice growing heavier with emotion.

“And you know what? For a long time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t let myself feel anything, really. I just kept it all inside, like I was supposed to. But it didn’t make me stronger, Logan. It made me angry. It made me feel alone. Like I had to handle everything by myself, and no one else could ever understand”.

Finally, Logan turned, his tear-streaked face filled with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You?”, he asked, his voice cracking. “You felt like that?”.

Ben nodded, his eyes meeting Logan’s with an honesty that he rarely let anyone see. “Yeah, kid. I did. And it wasn’t until I met your mom—until I had you and Lila—that I realized how wrong my dad was. Being tough doesn’t mean keeping everything inside. It doesn’t mean pretending you don’t care or don’t hurt. Being tough means letting yourself feel all of it and still finding the strength to keep going”.

Logan sniffled, his fists unclenching as he wiped at his eyes again. “But you said—”.

Ben let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “I know what I said”, he repeated, his voice carrying that gruff edge that always came with vulnerability. “And yeah, I messed up. I say a lot of dumb shit, Logan. Your mom would probably tell you I’ve got a talent for it”.

That earned a small, almost involuntary laugh from Logan, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped his nose on his sleeve. Ben’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes.

“But here’s the thing”, Ben continued, his voice softening again as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking you’ve got to be me. Hell, I don’t even like half the crap I’ve done. You’re better than that. Better than me”.

Logan stared at him, his tear-streaked face a mix of surprise and confusion. “But you’re… you’re, like, the strongest guy ever. You’re not scared of anything”.

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough as he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not scared of anything, huh?”. He smirked, shaking his head. “Kid, I’m scared as shit of your mom”.

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. “What? Mom?”.

“Yeah, your mom”, Ben said, his tone a mix of humor and honesty. “You think I’m out there facing down bad guys like it’s no big deal? That’s nothing compared to when she gives me the look”. He mimicked an exaggerated version of your stern glare, crossing his arms and tapping his foot, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Logan giggled, the tension melting further as he watched his dad pretend to shrink under an invisible scolding. “Really?”.

“Oh yeah”, Ben said, nodding seriously. “One time I forgot to take the trash out. She didn’t even yell—she just stood there, arms crossed, staring me down like I’d committed a fucking war crime”. He mock-shuddered. “I’d rather face supervillains".

Logan laughed harder this time, wiping his face again, though the tears were gone now, replaced by a small, genuine smile.

Ben leaned closer, his expression softening. “Look, kid, being scared isn’t a bad thing. It just means you care about something—or someone. Like how I’m scared of messing up with you and your sister. And yeah, I’m scared of your mom sometimes, but only because she’s got this way of making me want to be better, even when I screw up”.

Logan tilted his head, considering his dad’s words. “So… it’s okay to be scared?”.

Ben nodded firmly. “Scared, nervous, happy, mad—it’s all part of being human. What matters is what you do with it. And right now?”. He gave Logan a lopsided grin. “We’re gonna take those feelings, roll up our sleeves, and bake the best cookies this house has ever seen. You in?”.

Logan hesitated for a second before nodding, his smile growing. “I’m in”.

Ben stood, holding out a hand to help Logan up. “Good. But fair warning—your mom’s probably waiting outside that door to see if I fixed this. And if she’s still mad at me, I might need you to tell her I did a good job. Deal?”.

Logan laughed, taking his dad’s hand and standing up. “Deal”.

When the door opened, you were standing there in the hallway, arms crossed but a soft smile on your face. Ben gave you a sheepish grin, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, boss. Mission accomplished”.

You shook your head, stepping aside to let them pass. “For now”, you said teasingly, though the gratitude in your eyes said everything you didn’t.

As the three of you headed downstairs, Logan walked between you and Ben, his small hand brushing against yours.

An hour later, the kitchen was alive with laughter and the sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. Logan and Lila sat at the table, surrounded by bowls of frosting and sprinkles, each focused on decorating their creations. Logan was surprisingly precise, carefully piping designs onto a gingerbread man, while Lila was happily dumping an entire handful of rainbow sprinkles onto one cookie, creating a chaotic masterpiece.

You leaned against Ben, his warmth a steady comfort as you watched the kids. His arm slid lazily around your shoulders, and he let out a soft sigh, one that carried a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“You did good today, Soldier Boy”, you murmured, grinning up at him. Standing on your tiptoes, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing the faint stubble there.

Ben smirked, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, well”, he started, clearly about to respond with one of his usual witty comebacks, when—

“Ewww!”, Lila groaned dramatically from the table, dragging out the word as she scrunched her nose and waved her hands like she was fending off a swarm of bees. “Mommy and Daddy are being gross again!”.

Logan snickered, not looking up from his cookie but clearly amused by his sister’s reaction. “Told you they do that all the time”, he said with a teasing grin. “It’s so embarrassing”.

Ben raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you with an exaggerated look of mock offense. “Didn’t realize we were raising such critics”, he said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Ben shook his head, smirking as he turned toward the kids. “Alright, listen up, you two. You keep calling us gross, and I’m eating all these cookies myself. No sprinkles, no frosting, just plain cookies. How’s that for embarrassing?”.

“Daddy, nooo!”, Lila shrieked, clutching one of her sprinkle-covered cookies protectively to her chest. “You can’t! These are mine!”.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he took a deliberate step toward the table, his eyes locked on one of Lila’s chaotic sprinkle-covered cookies. “Oh, really?”, he drawled, his tone teasing and slow. “You think you can stop me, little miss sprinkle queen?”.

Lila gasped dramatically. “Daddy, no!”, she squealed, scooting back in her chair and holding up a hand to block him. “You can’t take this one! It’s perfect!”.

“Perfect, huh?”, Ben quirked an eyebrow, inching closer, his large frame towering over the table. “Let me see. Gotta make sure it’s up to regulation”.

“It’s mine!”, Lila shouted, jumping out of her chair and running around to the other side of the table, her plate wobbling in her hands. “Go eat Logan’s cookies instead!”.

“Hey!”, Logan said, finally looking up from his carefully decorated gingerbread man. “Don’t drag me into this! My cookies are art”.

Ben burst out laughing, glancing over at Logan with mock offense. “Art, huh? Let me be the judge of that”. He reached out as if to grab one of Logan’s cookies, but Logan quickly pulled his plate away, holding it up high.

“Back off, Dad!”, Logan said with a grin, using his other hand to block him. “These are for Mom!”.

Ben stopped, placing his hands on his hips, his grin turning into a smirk. “Oh, for Mom, huh? Well, in that case…”. He lunged toward Lila, pretending to swipe for her plate.

Lila let out a delighted shriek, ducking under the table and crawling to the other side. “You’ll never catch me!”, she declared, her giggles filling the kitchen.

You leaned against the counter, watching the chaos unfold with an amused smile. “Ben”, you said, crossing your arms and giving him a mock stern look, “if you don’t leave their cookies alone, you’re not getting any of… mine”.

Ben froze mid-step, his hand still outstretched toward Lila’s plate, as your words hung in the air. Slowly, he turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Not getting any of… yours, huh?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. “That’s exactly what I said”, you replied, the double meaning clear in your tone.

Before Ben could respond with one of his usual cheeky comebacks, Logan groaned loudly from his seat, his hands slapping the table. “I know you guys aren’t talking about cookies”, he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. “And for the record, I don’t want another baby sister, okay? One is enough”.

Ben blinked, taken completely off guard by Logan’s blunt statement. He let out a bark of laughter, leaning against the table for support as he pointed at Logan. “Kid, what the hell—where did that even come from?”.

“Logan!”, you gasped, though you couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up in your chest. “What are you talking about?”.

Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as if he’d just solved a great mystery. “You guys are always giving each other those looks, and Dad’s always making those weird jokes”. He waved his hand in Ben’s direction. “It’s not rocket science”.

Ben, still chuckling, wiped a hand over his face as he shook his head. “The kid’s too smart for his own good”, he muttered, grinning at you. “He’s onto us”.

“Logan”, you said, trying to suppress your laughter and keep a straight face, “You are way too young to be worrying about this kind of thing”.

Logan kept his arms crossed, his gaze shifting between you and Ben as his face took on that serious, almost grown-up expression he liked to wear when he was deep in thought. “I’m just saying”, he said slowly, his voice losing some of its teasing edge, “you don’t need another kid. We’re good like this”,

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes slightly. There was something unspoken in his words, a flicker of uncertainty behind the bravado. He wasn’t just teasing—this was something else. But you knew better than to press him here, not in front of Ben, not when Logan was so guarded.

“Of course we’re good like this”, you said gently, leaning forward and resting your arms on the table. “But would another sibling be that bad?”.

Logan shrugged, his lips pressing together in that tight, nervous way he had when he didn’t want to say what he was really thinking. “I don’t know”m he mumbled, his eyes dropping to his cookie. “I just think… things are fine the way they are”.

Ben, still standing beside you, raised an eyebrow. He glanced down at you, clearly noticing the shift in Logan’s tone, but didn’t push either. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned casually against the counter.

Logan’s words struck a chord, and you could see the layers of concern in his small face—concerns he didn’t know how to voice yet. You gave Logan a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair gently.

“You’re right, buddy”, you said softly. “Things are perfect just the way they are”.

Logan relaxed slightly at your reassurance, nodding as he returned his attention to his cookie. Ben gave you a questioning look, his eyebrow raised as if he were silently asking, What’s that about? You shook your head slightly, a silent later passing between you.

Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that had been tugging at the back of your mind. You were late. Only a few days, but still. You were never late.

You hadn’t said anything to Ben yet because you weren’t ready to make it real, not until you were sure. But as Logan’s words played over in your head, you felt a swirl of emotions: uncertainty, anticipation, and a hint of fear.

Ben’s voice broke into your thoughts. “Alright, Logan”, he said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You better not be hogging all the good cookies over there. I need to taste-test those”.

Logan rolled his eyes, his small smirk returning as he pushed one of his neatly decorated cookies toward his dad. “Here, take one. But don’t mess up my frosting”.

Ben grinned, plucking the cookie off the plate with exaggerated care. “Wouldn’t dream of it, champ”.

When the kitchen filled with laughter again, you let yourself lean into the moment, deciding to hold off on the conversation for now.

As the evening wore on, the warmth of the kitchen turned into the quiet hum of nighttime. Lila had curled up on the couch under a blanket, clutching a small stuffed animal in one hand and a half-eaten cookie in the other. Her eyelids had grown heavy, and eventually, she’d surrendered to sleep, her soft snores filling the cozy space.

Ben glanced over from where he was tidying up the counter, his face softening as he took in the sight of his little girl. “Looks like the Sprinkle Queen’s out for the count”, he said, his voice low.

You smiled, drying your hands on a towel. “She had a big day. All those sprinkles wore her out”.

Ben crossed the room, scooping Lila into his arms with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but settled quickly against his chest, her tiny hand clutching at his shirt.

“I’ll take her up”, he said, his voice quiet but firm, as though it wasn’t up for discussion. You nodded, watching as he carried her out of the room, the sight of his broad figure cradling her so gently always tugging at your heart.

Logan appeared in the doorway then, his steps hesitant as he glanced between you and the direction his dad had gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, standing a little taller as if to remind you—and himself—that he didn’t need the same kind of care his little sister did.

“I don’t need anyone to bring me to bed”, Logan said, his voice firm but lacking the usual bite of defiance. “I can do it myself”.

You gave him a small smile, stepping closer. “I know you can, sweetheart”, you said softly. “You’ve been doing great. But you let me help when Dad’s not here. Maybe you can let him help tonight?”.

Logan hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor before looking back up at you. “Dad’s never… he doesn’t usually…”. He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

You crouched down, resting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Sometimes he doesn’t know how to ask”, you said gently. “But he’d love to, Logan. If you’re okay with it”.

Logan frowned, his small brows furrowing as he thought it over. Then he gave a small, almost reluctant nod. “Okay”, he mumbled, glancing toward the stairs. “But only if he doesn’t make a big deal about it”.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his hair. “Deal”.

By the time Ben returned, Logan was waiting at the foot of the stairs, his arms still crossed but his posture less tense.

Ben appeared at the top of the stairs, his heavy steps softening as he noticed Logan standing there, arms crossed in that telltale way that meant he was trying to appear tougher than he felt. Ben paused for a moment, taking in the sight of his son waiting for him, and his face softened in a way that only you seemed to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still up”, Ben said, his tone light but without the teasing edge he sometimes used. He walked down the last few steps, his movements slower, less hurried, as though giving Logan time to decide what he wanted.

Logan glanced at you briefly, then back at his dad. “I’m ready for bed”, he said, his voice neutral, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

Ben nodded, his hands settling on his hips as he studied his son for a moment. “Alright”, he said, his tone casual. “Let’s get you tucked in, then”.

Logan didn’t move at first, glancing at the floor like he was waiting for Ben to say more. When nothing else came, he gave a small nod and started up the stairs, his pace slower than usual. Ben followed closely behind, casting a quick glance at you as he passed. You gave him an encouraging smile, silently urging him to let this moment be what Logan needed.

When they reached Logan’s room, Ben paused in the doorway, watching as Logan climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. Logan fidgeted with the edge of the fabric, his small hands gripping it tightly.

Ben stood in the doorway for a moment, watching as Logan burrowed into his bed, the blanket clutched tightly to his chest. He let out a quiet sigh, stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed, his movements uncharacteristically gentle.

“You all set, champ?”, Ben asked, his voice low and steady.

Logan nodded, but his hands still fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that Ben hadn’t seen in a while. Without thinking too much about it, Ben reached out and grabbed the blanket, pulling it up snugly around Logan’s shoulders.

“Gotta make sure you’re tucked in properly”, Ben said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost teasing. “Don’t want you freezing in the middle of the night”.

Logan giggled softly, his small voice breaking the quiet of the room. “Dad, I’m not gonna freeze”.

“Oh, you think so?”, Ben said, raising an eyebrow as he tugged the blanket even tighter around Logan, practically swaddling him. “What if a snowstorm hits? What if you wake up and there’s frost on your nose? Gotta be prepared”.

Logan laughed harder now, his small hands pushing at the blanket as he squirmed. “Dad! Stop, it’s too tight!”.

“Nope”, Ben said with mock seriousness, sitting back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. You’re like a little burrito now. Nothing’s getting to you”.

“Dad!”, Logan squealed, his laughter breaking through the last of his earlier hesitation. He wiggled under the tightly tucked blanket, his face lighting up with a joy that reminded Ben of when he was younger, back before Ben had decided he was too big for things like this.

Ben grinned, leaning forward and ruffling Logan’s hair. “There we go”, he said softly. “That’s better. Haven’t heard you laugh like that in a while”.

Logan’s giggles faded into a warm smile, his eyes meeting his dad’s with a rare openness. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off Logan’s forehead. “Anytime, kiddo. You know that”.

He stood slowly and glanced toward the door before he turned back to Logan, his voice low and serious now.

“Alright, get some sleep. Sweet dreams, champ”.

“Goodnight, Dad”, Logan murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.

Ben hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Logan’s head, something he hadn’t done in years. Logan didn’t pull away, instead letting his eyes flutter closed as he sank deeper into his blankets.

———————————

A/N: Not that much of Christmas, but it’s snowy and cold. So let’s just count it, lol. Please let me know what you think.🥰

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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

[crimsonrubie]

A Quiet Night

Rider!Bakugou would have one of the fastest motorcycles in the gang because he's a freak for speed and power. His bike would probably be a Suzuki GSX-R750, black and orange, with 750cc. He would be speeding with this baby everywhere. It's perfect for him because of its aerodynamic design and sharp and aggressive lines.

I imagine he loves taking his bike out on late-night rides. Especially when his mind is running a mile a second, what better way to cool off than speeding through the streets with his bike?

Warnings: Teeny tiny bit of angst then fluff! Also this is the first fic I've written in years so my writing is floppy at best and English isn't my first language so please excuse any mistakes!!

Word count: 3.3k

~~~

The cool night wind of Musutafu swept by and ruffled his blonde spikes as the roar of the engine purred in the background.

It was one of those nights. The silence at his home was eating him alive like an infection and without thinking, Katsuki grabbed his keys, forgoing his helmet and headed to his sleek dark and orange bike. He threw on a leather jacket over his top and sped off from his garage.

His mind hadn't calmed down since the incident this morning when he was on patrol. Heroes are known for doing their best to save everyone, but it's no secret that not everyone can be saved. The thought alone urged him to twist the throttle, revving the engine and letting it drown out his loud thoughts.

At his action, he heard a cheer similar to a kid's and turned his head to the side for only a second. The little kid's bright smile from the car beside him on the highway silenced his thoughts as he focused on him now. The car was keeping up with his bike, due to the empty road this time of night and the kid extended his hand out of the window and mimicked the motion of revving an engine.

Katsuki, to entertain the little boy, did as he wished and twisted the throttle, letting it last for a little longer and the bright smile from the boy brightened a small spot inside Katsuki's heart. The car then took a turn and the boy waved to him, Katsuki giving him one last rev before they separated.

He drove along the road, the streetlights blurring past him as the night remained quiet and peaceful except for a few cars. His emotions were still in chaos, but the low hum of the engine and the distraction of driving provided him with only some sense of satisfaction.

After half an hour, a park became visible in the distance. Katsuki noticed it was deserted for the most part and was situated a good distance away from the busy streets of the city so he decided it was a good place to stop. He parked his bike in the empty parking lot belonging to the park overlooking the beach. He killed the engine and got off of the seat, fixing his leather jacket and zipping it up as the cool air arriving from the sea sent a shiver down his body.

His lungs expanded to take in as much of the salty air as he could, letting it out in a deep sigh. Though looking out into the night sky, far from the blinding lights of the bustling city did little to distract his mind from his thoughts as they came rushing back. Now nothing around him could distract him from his swirling dark thoughts.

He hated it most when he failed in a mission, despised it and loathed it really. Whether he was bleeding all over or even had one of his arms rendered useless because of the damage, he refused to give up. Always pushing forward to save the day and kick some villain's ass. This passion was with him since he was a little boy and never left but only grew when the seed was sowed at the awakening of his quirk.

His quirk was supposed to be used for good, to save and win. What happened today was a complete contrast to that. He hated himself for letting the villain get him in such a vulnerable state. One little mistake lead to a chaotic and traumatizing ending for everyone on the scene.

Just remembering the anguished faces of the boy's parents after he utterly failed to get to him in time shattered another piece of his already broken soul. Now breathing didn't come to him as easily. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and his chest felt like it was being restricted by a boulder. His hands sought out his throat, gripping it as if his life depended on it and he gritted his teeth.

"D-damn it- Damn it all to hell!" His hand heated up without his knowledge, the nitroglycerin sweat on his palms reacting to his quirk. At his yell, a cat jumped up on a stone seat beside him and meowed. His breathing hitched and his eyes scanned the cat. Under the dim lightening of the lamp post beside the stone bench, he could decipher beautiful black fur and slit eyes that rounded out just a little at him. It wasn't a kitten, but didn't appear to be old but maybe a few years old perhaps.

The cat was looking at him, as if interested in what made him yell out into the night but he left it and plopped down on the stone seat, just a few feet away from the cat on the other side and buried his face in his hands. A minute passed which felt like an eternity before the tiniest of sobs escaped his lips. His hands now in his hair, he pulled harshly at the roots, needing anything to distract him from the searing pain in his chest if even for a second.

Gradually, the sobs left him like a dam with a crack, starting out slow and only deepening the crack and breaking it even more to allow more to flood out. His aching chest hurt, and one of his hands left his hair and grabbed at his jacket, right above the scar shielded underneath all the clothing. His fingers clutched tightly at the leather, crinkling it up as tears ran freely down his face, quiet sobs escaping without his permission.

It hurt. Everything hurt. His heart, his mind, his chest, even his hand from how tightly he was holding onto his jacket as if it was his lifeline and he was hanging on by a thread. His head was ducked as he suffered mentally and physically under the dim lightening when a weight was pressed against his thigh.

At first, he didn't notice but another thing landed on his thigh and he then pulled his head back and noticed the cat with its front paws now on his thigh, meowing up at him so softly. It was as if the little being knew he was in a vulnerable state and was offering comfort.

He sniffed, his arm rubbing over his red face and cold nose from the cold air. "You're weird, you know that?" His voice was gruff when he spoke, raspy from all the crying but the cat only climbed further into his lap, curling up as if getting ready to sleep and loafing on his lap.

The added weight of the feline and its warmth chased away some of the demons tormenting his mind. He looked down at the cat and scoffed with a sniff afterwards, realising that the cat in some way, knew to comfort him.

Katsuki wasn't a cat or dog person. His best friend Eijirou Kirishima, owned a Staffordshire bull terrier, the little guy both energetic and affectionate, a carbon copy of his owner but Katsuki never knew the appeal of owning a live animal and taking care of their needs, training them, and just sharing space with a living being he can't directly communicate with.

The cat was snuggled up on his lap and his mind now momentarily forgetting the pain in his chest, urged his hand to pet the soft fur of the black cat and he let out a breath when the soft sound of purring reached his ears. The side of his lip quirked up just slightly at seeing the little creature happily snuggled into his lap and purring like nobody's business.

While he was petting it, he then noticed a thin pink collar hidden under its fur and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You lost or something?" He mumbled under his breath and reached under the cat's chin to look at the tag and saw a phone number. He hummed then seeing the pink collar again, noted the cat must be female.

No wonder the cat wasn't sceptical of him. She was a house cat and well cared for from the looks of it so she didn't carry the same hesitance to humans like other street cats and approached him right away. The cat must have been emotionally intelligent, maybe a service animal?

Pushing those thoughts to the side for now, he got out his phone and texted the number a picture of the cat on his lap and his location.

Found her at the park in front of the parking lot.

He clicked send and not a second later, his phone dinged with a response and he opened it up again, the bright screen illuminating his face in the darkness.

I'm on my way! Thank you so much!!

He left it at that and put his phone down. He continued petting the cat, the notion calming him down as he soaked up the last few minutes he had with his unusual companion before she had to go back to her owner.

He gave a quick glance at the number's profile picture before he put his phone down and knew it was a girl but didn't look clearly to know any more details.

A few minutes passed by of him silently petting the feline and admiring her soft dark fur, letting the time run as he distracted himself with the continuous motion of petting the cute animal. The cat then pressed her paws on his lap then stretched making him chuckle under his breath at the cat comfortably doing whatever she desired on his lap.

"Ohh big stretch! She loves you." At the new voice, his head lifted instinctively and his breath was knocked out of his lungs. His back straightened like a board. This time it was a nice feeling, not choking him up but instead providing him with a sense of calmness and the smell of fresh air. Why, he had no idea but he welcomed the feeling in this dark time.

You looked pretty. With no makeup on and wearing a light colored hoodie and comfortable pants, you looked like you were on a leisurely walk before you lost sight of your feline friend. He found it endearing the moment his eyes skimmed briefly over your figure and back to your eyes.

Your figure closed the distance between you and you sat beside him on the stone bench, your cat upon recognising you, lazily switching from Katsuki's lap and snuggling up on yours instead. You provided her with scratches under the chin and ears as she purred. "You seriously need to be on a leash sometimes." You spoke out to the cat but he didn't detect any malice in your voice. "You always escape right under my nose but come crawling back for food huh?" The cat meowed in response, as if sassily replying to you and he watched the interaction with curiosity.

You suddenly sat up straight with a start and acknowledged the man beside you. Your reaction was similar to his if not the same. Your back straightened up and your lips formed a small rounded shape in surprise when your eyes scanned his naturally pale face. Red piercing eyes stared into yours as if to hypnotize you but you cleared your throat and offered up your hand in greeting, thankful this specimen of a man hadn't made you forget your manners.

"Katsuki bakugou." He greeted you in return, accepting your hand and nodding towards the cat in your lap. "She yours then?" He internally slapped himself for the stupid question.

You didn't seem to mind his gruff exterior and nodded with a smile, "Yes, her name's Aiko." At the familiar word, he remembers its meaning and hums.

"Little loved one."

Your eyes widened a fraction at the fact he knew the meaning and you let out a small laugh. "Yes, I love her so much and after a week of having her, I decided Aiko was perfect for her. She wouldn't hurt a fly and is so sweet with everyone, even little kids who aren't sure how to treat her. Everyone falls in love with her cuteness too, she's charming that way." You purse your lips and a blush blooms on your cheeks when you notice you rambled. "Sorry, I tend to ramble about her." You scratch at the back of your neck and he grunts in response, his shoulders relaxed as he sits back against the backrest.

"It's fine."

With his lack of words, you go ahead and ask a question in return. "You were out on a nightly stroll I'm guessing?" You tilt your head, Aiko now purring in your lap as you tuck her in your hoodie pocket so she won't get cold. It became a habit for the cat since she was a few months old and always crawled into the spacious pocket of your hoodie to warm up and surprisingly still fits.

He hums, fidgeting with his hands in his lap as he looks forward. "Just came here for some fresh air. I needed space and quiet, and found it here."

You hum and he blinks when a second later, you have your hand outstretched towards him, palm up with a snack in hand. "Take this, it's a homemade cookie, I made it. Don't worry I'm actually a good baker and you can take it as a sign of my gratitude for finding Aiko." You nudge your hand in his direction, encouraging him to take it and after a second of confusion, he accepts the cookie.

"Thanks. Do you carry cookies everywhere with you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, his attention now diverted from the beach. You noticed a small smirk appearing on his lips and rolled your eyes playfully.

"Well on occasion, yes. I always go out on walks with snacks and treats for Aiko too. Sometimes I can be out here for hours so I get hungry and speaking of that I also get my books a lot of the time too, I love reading in this park." He watched you talk with a gentle smile while your hands were busy petting Aiko's head that was peeking out of your pocket.

"Oh and I never saw you here before, you aren't from around here?" At your question, he nods in reply.

"I live in the city. I found this place by coincidence and parked here to get some fresh air." You hum and a minute later, he opens the packet you stored the cookie in and takes it out. "Chocolate chip." He comments and you nod with a smile.

"Yes, tell me how it tastes and hopefully you don't completely hate it." You giggle and watch as he takes a bite and chews.

Those few seconds felt like one of those cooking shows where the judge is eating antagonizingly slow as the crowd waits for their reaction. That's how you felt when you watched him chew down on the cookie and swallow. He licked his lips to get rid of the crumbs left and your stomach fluttered at the action but you cleared your throat and looked back into his eyes.

To your utter shame, he was smirking knowingly at you and you knew you were caught ogling at his lips but quickly asked him a question to avoid the embarrassment. "So? How is it?"

He hums and eats another bite, this one bigger than the last and you smile. "I'm guessing it's nice?" He nods, wiping his mouth with his thumb after he swallows.

"Send me the recipe." You blink. Well, that was straightforward.

"Uh, sure-" Your reply gets cut off by your laughter. He had his own unique ways of expressing his liking to something but you took it, sensing that he was just like that. "I'll make sure to send it to you now that I have your number don't worry. Right when I get back home!" He grunts and continues eating till the cookie is finished.

Conversation flowed from there for another hour at least. Talking with Katsuki felt like reuniting with a dear old friend as if you had known each other for years. Unfortunately, it was becoming late making you realise that you would have to part ways with this handsome stranger who helped you find your cat.

"Well, I'll have to head back home sadly. I have a shift tomorrow afternoon so I need to get back if I don't want to go looking like a zombie." You got up with Aiko in your hoodie's pocket, Katsuki standing up with you and burying his hands in his pockets.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"Oh! It's fine you don't need to! My apartment is only a few minutes away."

"I'm giving you a ride home. Whether you come or refuse and get kidnapped out on the street. Your choice." He raises an expectant eyebrow and you hate that he's right at the possibility of you getting kidnapped.

You sigh in defeat and nod. "Fine okay, I didn't want to be a bother that's all!" He grunts and starts walking. You quickly zip up your bag, sling it over your shoulder and jog after him until you're walking by his side.

"You are a man of few words?" He side-eyes you and shrugs.

"Don't feel like talking. Don't mistake it for me not giving a shit about our time together though. It wasn't half bad I guess." You conclude you can't get better than that from him and a smile creeps on your lips. He was being nice in his own way and even though only meeting him tonight, you felt comfortable with him.

He reaches a sleek motorcycle and your eyes bulge out of their sockets at the expensive-looking vehicle. "You gonna keep staring like a creep or what?" He snarks out but you notice a proud smirk on his lips at having his baby be marvelled at. It was apparent that he took pride in his motorcycle.

You then snap out of it and pout. "Hey, I'm not a creep! Your bike is just so cool and I'm not really used to seeing them so up close."

At your compliment, his cheeks redden just slightly and he ducks his head with the cover of taking out his keys. "Anyway get on." He nudges his head towards the bike and you walk over, swinging your leg around it, being mindful of the feline in your pocket and shuffle back on the seat as he gets on in front of you. He swings his leg over the bike with practised ease and his boots find secure footings on the foot pegs.

He inserts the key, twists it and the low purr of the engine roared to life in the silence of the night. "Hold on to me and make sure your little friend doesn't get ideas." You laugh and hold on to Aiko with one arm, wrapping your other free arm around his waist. The moment your arm makes contact with his front a blush explodes on your face at being so close to this stranger.

He had an air of kindness to him that you think isn't seen or noticed by many but when you do see it, you see a part he keeps reserved for only a handful of people in his life. You're glad the stranger who ended up finding your cat wasn't a creep or weirdo but instead turned out to be this handsome man who accepted your cookie and demanded the recipe be sent to him.

"Where do you live?" He asks from behind his shoulder as he kicks off the stand and pulls out of the parking spot, then makes a turn and gets on the road.

You relay your address to him and he scoffs. "A few minutes away? That's at least half an hour's walk away you shitty woman!" He exclaims, the wind from the ride making it come out a little muffled and you mockingly gasp. You guess he's more comfortable with you now with how his words left his mouth so smoothly and with no reluctance.

"Well sorry for declining your gentlemanly offer! I didn't want you going out of your way to get me there because you could be going in the opposite direction!"

"This is nothing. As long as you're fine I don't care how much further it is from my own home, next time you better not be as stupid with me or anyone else!" You open your mouth to retort but find yourself unable to think of anything so instead you grumble under your breath.

He chuckles at your grumbling and you feel your face heat up once again as his body vibrates with his deep laugh. The air is cold this time of night and you instinctively snuggle closer to his back, unknowingly making the blonde flush to his ears but he doesn't complain and the ride is spent in comfortable silence till you arrive at your apartment.

You dejectedly unwrap your arm from his waist and he gets up to help you out of the bike. You're swinging your leg to get off when it suddenly catches on something on the bike and you yelp as you lose balance but before you can fall any further, firm arms are wrapped around you and you're enveloped in the deep musky scent of Katsuki.

"Hey, easy. You okay?" His deep voice reverberates throughout your body and you shiver at the welcoming sound of his voice and nod, your arms braced on his chest while you're still in an awkward position on his bike. You were flustered behind belief because you felt his hard and defined chest underneath and all of it along with his voice will make you combust.

He moves to pick you up from your waist and plop you down safely on the ground and you blink at his strength. No wonder he owns such a powerful bike, it basically represents its owner. Sharp and striking just like his red eyes. Powerful and loud like him but in an endearing way, leading you to realise that you like it.

"T-Thank you, I'm not usually clumsy." You mumble, suddenly shy and he shrugs as he gets back on his bike and nods.

"Stay safe."

"Yeah, you too, Bakugou." You give him an appreciative smile and he nods in acknowledgement, a small smile making its way to his lips and you catch it before he turns his bike and speeds off into the night.

You hear an annoyed meow from your pocket and shiver at the cold air, "Whoops, sorry Aiko, let's go get warmed up in bed yeah?"

[writersdare]

You Should Always Come First | Bang Chan 방찬 Drabble

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Chan could no longer watch Y/N exhausting herself.

Warning: fluff

Word Count: 688 (drubble)

Author’s Note:  For those who are worried about an upcoming exam, test or a job interview. You can do it, don't doubt yourself ♡

“Baby, what is it?” 

Chan has noticed Y/N being rather tense that evening, yet, he didn’t want to get on her nerves with the same questions, as he pretty much knew the main reason of his girlfriend’s mood — the upcoming exams. Even though Bang Chan was sure that Y/N would pass them well, he could understand Y/N’s concerns. It’s never easy to be confident in your own abilities in general, and being under a stress it felt  almost impossible at all. The idol learnt it from his own experience. 

Chan understood that words such as "it’ll be alright" and "you know the material well, don’t worry" wouldn’t help much. Of course, support was important, yet, in the moments, when everything felt like a bare wire, each phrase should have been chosen very carefully. He didn’t want to give Y/N even more pressure — she was giving it enough herself. Chan tried his best just by saying small "don’t be harsh on yourself", "don’t forget to rest" and "I know you work hard, and it’s way more important than the result". 

Yet, when he saw that Y/N was getting angry at herself for not being able to learn important terms once again, the guy decided it was time to interfere. Her brain simply refused to accept new information, as it simply had enough today. And yesterday, and the day before yesterday… His girl needed a break. 

“It’s nothing, just can’t memorise it. I don’t know how I’m going to pass it,” Y/N sighed and closed the eyes, trying to keep herself together. 

“Let’s get some rest, it’s been a while," Chan said softly. “I’ll help you to learn it after a break, okay?” he promised and stood up from his place to take a seat next to the girl. They were in his studio, but while Y/N was studying, the idol couldn’t  really concentrate on music the last thirty minutes, being too worried for the girl. She’s been exhausting herself lately, and all Bang Chan cared about was Y/N’s well-being.

“You’re doing great, I promise,” the guy gently cuddled Y/N, trying to soothe her. Finally relaxing a bit, she went a little numb in his embrace and placed a head on Chan’s shoulder. 

“I know rest is important. It’s just… I don’t have time. The exams are in few days, and it seems like I still don’t know anything,” Y/N admitted quietly, at the same time hating herself for the recent complaining.

“Learn as much as you can, but don’t exhaust yourself. It’ll make things only worse, Y/N," Chan reminded and patted her head lightly. "And just a lunch break isn’t enough. Let’s spend this evening together, not thinking of anything, okay? Tomorrow will be a new day, and you can start again," the idol pecked her cheek tenderly.

The girl sighed and nodded,

"Channie? I’m sorry I was a bit gloomy lately. I didn’t mean it like this. It’s just… the exams–" after a moment of silence she quietly mumbled, but Bang Chan didn’t let her finish.

"I know. Don’t worry about it, Y/N. And I know it’s not easy to get distracted, when all you can think about is your exam. I don’t mean to say it’s not important, you put value on it for a reason, yet, I don’t want you to forget that it’s not the only thing that matters. You should always come first," he smiled and lightly tickled her, so the girl shivered, and a quiet giggle left her lips – she was extremely bad when it came to tickling. However, Chan was no better. "Got it?"

"Mhm. I like how you can be serious for only few minutes, and then you are back to your normal self" Y/N joked and shrieked, when the idol tickled her side once again.

"Yah! I can be very serious, when it’s needed! Do you doubt me?!" the guy jokingly outraged, feeling a warmth spreading all over his body. He missed her sincere smile and silly little giggles. After all, it’s all what he needed now.

– photos and a gif aren’t mine and belong to the rightful owner, gif found here @chanstopher –

taglist: @yukichan67, @laylasbunbunny, @skz-streamer

© writersdare | all rights reserved

All stories are original and written by me. Do not copy, trace and post anywhere without permission and credit. The stories are fictional, they do not correspond to reality and written just for fun ♡

Main Masterlist | K-pop Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.4  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.6

p.5

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

mrs. fushiguro

You were deep into cleaning the fridge when the sharp ring of the landline broke the quiet.

Wiping your hands on a nearby dish towel, you approached it cautiously.

Thankfully, calls from your clan had become less and less frequent over time, though the unease they left behind always lingered.

This time, however, the voice on the other end was unfamiliar. 

“Mrs. Fushiguro?” the voice was polite but firm. The tone carrying an unsettling weight.

“Hello?” you replied, a bit wary.

“Hello, I’m calling from Saitama Junior High. We need you to come in regarding Megumi. There’s been an incident.”

And just like that, your heart sank, the words cutting through the air like a knife. You thought back to the last time Toji had warned Megumi about fighting, but you held back from jumping to conclusions.

“What happened?” you asked, keeping your tone steady despite the unease clawing in your throat.

“There was an altercation involving Megumi and a few other students,” the administrator explained, sighing into the phone. “He’s unharmed, but we need to discuss the matter in person. Please come as soon as you’re able.”

The line went silent for a moment as you processed the information, your mind already racing through the possibilities. Without hesitation, you nodded, as if the person on the other end could see you.

“I’ll be there shortly,” you said, your voice calm but resolute.

You hung up, staring at the phone in your hand for a beat longer before setting it down.

You arrived at the school not long after the call, worry weighing heavy on your chest but keeping your steps brisk. Whatever had happened, you were resolved to hear Megumi out.

At the front desk, the receptionist gave you a questioning stare, her eyes lingering just a second too long.

“I’m here for Megumi,” you said firmly, your tone polite but leaving no room for doubt. You could practically feel her judgment, her unspoken questions about your age and your role in Megumi’s life. It stung, but you brushed it off. Whatever. She sighed, motioning for you to follow.

The walk to the office felt longer than it should have, tension growing with each step. When you finally stepped inside, you noticed Megumi already there. He was seated in a stiff chair, arms crossed, posture leaned back yet rigid. His usual grumpy expression was firmly in place, but you noticed the telltale signs of a fight—the bruised knuckles, the faint smear of dirt on his cheek. A small flicker of surprise at seeing you. Otherwise, his face remained blank, unreadable.

This was his last year of Junior High. Did he really need to be getting into trouble now?

“Megumi,” you try softly, your voice calm but edged with concern as you attempt to gauge his mood. He didn’t look up, his eyes locked on some invisible point on the floor. His brow furrowing all the deeper. God what a moody kid.

The administrator cleared her throat, breaking your focus as she gestured for you to take a seat. You did so, your gaze shifting briefly between the two of them before settling back on Megumi.

“Thank you for coming…Mrs. Fushiguro?” the administrator said—sounding more like a question. Her gaze lingering on you for a moment, a subtle once-over that you didn’t appreciate. “It seems Megumi was involved in a physical altercation with three other students.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you turned to Megumi. “Three?” The word slipped out before you could stop it. A flicker of something—pride? crossed your mind, but you quickly pushed it aside, schooling your expression. Professional. Composed.

“Yes, three,” she confirmed, her tone pointed as her disapproving eyes bore down on Megumi. Something about the way she addressed him rubbed you the wrong way, irritation prickling at your skin. 'Maternal' instincts, you supposed.

“According to a few other students nearby, Megumi intervened when these students were picking on another boy. While his intentions may have been…commendable, violence is not an acceptable response.”

You turned back to Megumi, your voice still gentle but firm. “Is that true?”

He finally looked up and away, his expression cold and unreadable. “Yeah,” he said simply, his tone bored and matter-of-fact. “They had him cornered, shoving him around. I told them to stop. They didn’t.”

You waited a pause. “So? You fought them?” you pressed, searching for confirmation. If they so much as started it—

“They threw the first punch,” he said, his gaze met yours, unwavering. His tone firm yet detached. “I made sure they wouldn’t do it again.”

You sport a frown. The administrator sighed, her disapproval clear.

“While we understand Megumi’s intentions, we cannot overlook the severity of this incident. The other boys have injuries that required medical attention. As such, Megumi will be suspended for the next week.”

You head swung back at a breakneck speed. Suspended. For a week? Your chest tightened at the mention of punishment. Sure, fighting wasn’t the right answer, but you knew Megumi wouldn’t have stepped in without a good reason.

He did what he felt he needed to do. It frustrated you to no end how she painted him as the sole aggressor. You opened your mouth to argue, but before the words could form, Megumi gave a small shake of his head, barely perceptible. He could read you so well, already anticipating what you were about to do. He just wanted to leave.

He sat there stiffly, his gaze fixed on the table, his knuckles still bruised and his jaw set in defiance. You hesitated for a moment before turning back to the administrator, swallowing the retort building in your throat. You grew frustrated with the situation, not liking that this was the outcome for him.

You looked back at Megumi, your expression softening as you tilted your head slightly to meet his eye level. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, gentle, but you strained to get it that way. You were furious.

“Let’s go."

Something in him relaxed just slightly at your words, though his heart still felt tight. He hated this as much as you did. Frustrated by the situation. By the office ladies. By the fact that they actually called you. How did they even get the house landline?

But without a word, he followed you, his sharp eyes lingering on you, catching the way your shoulders heaved just a little faster with your breathing. He felt terrible.

The walk home was silent, Megumi keeping a steady pace beside you. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his face as unreadable as ever. Once inside the apartment, you gestured for him to sit at the table.

You cooled yourself off, the walk home helping tremendously. One of you would needed to be cool headed here. And he seemed to tense up by the second. Your eyes glanced at his bruised and bloody knuckles. You took a deep breath, counting slowly.

He complied without a word, his eyes flickering briefly to you as you grabbed a first-aid kit and an ice pack from the fridge. Even now you were caring for him. He almost couldn't believe it. But then again. It was you.

You sat across from him, gently taking one of his hands to inspect the bruises. His heart hammered at the contact. Though he wasn't entirely sure why.

He had a few cuts scattered across his knuckles, and you frowned at the sight. "Megumi," you started, the words coming naturally despite his silence. Your tone was calm and even. "I’m not angry. Not at you."

The silence that followed was heavy, your words lingering in the air. Megumi sat there, his hands still resting in yours on the table, not pulling away.

His expression was unreadable as you scanned his face—so crabby, so closed off. Yet you could feel the tension radiating from him—the tightness in his shoulders, the way his gaze flicked toward the door like he was debating whether to run.

He hadn’t expected you to come.

He hadn’t wanted you to get involved. This was just another fight, another mess he’d clean up on his own. That’s how it always went, right? Toji wasn’t here, and no one else ever had been either.

But now you were. You’d sat across from him, tending to his bruises like it mattered. Like he mattered.

“You really didn’t have to come,” Megumi muttered after a moment, his tone sharp but fraying just slightly at the edges. He wasn’t trying to be mean—it was just what he was thinking. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

You tilted your head, fixing him with your softest gaze. The way his eyes flicked toward your hands before meeting your gaze didn’t go unnoticed. “It is a big deal, Megumi,” you said softly but firmly. “You’re a kid. You shouldn’t have to handle this kind of thing on your own.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening as though your words had struck a nerve. “I’m not a kid,” he shot back quickly, his tone colder now, though there was a flicker of frustration behind his words. This feels familiar. “I can handle it. I have been handling it.”

His words weren’t just defensive—they were determined, almost desperate.

Of all the people he didn’t want to see him as a child, you were at the very top of the list. The thought of you viewing him as small, fragile, or in need of constant care was—in this moment—unbearable.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started to matter, but somewhere along the way, he’d come to realize just how much your opinion meant to him. His thoughts were conflicting. Wanting your affection. Not wanting you to view him as weak.

That realization left him uncomfortably self-conscious, turning every interaction into a mental minefield. He hated how it made him second-guess himself, how it tied his tongue and made him overthink even the smallest gestures.

Caring about what you thought of him was unfamiliar territory, and it unsettled him in ways he couldn’t fully understand. He told himself he couldn’t grow attached, couldn’t fully trust you—not yet. You could leave at any second. And yet, despite all that, he couldn’t deny how much your opinion weighed on him.

“Maybe you have,” you admitted gently, leaning forward. “But you don’t have to anymore. You’ve got me now.”

There was something unreadable in his eyes—something caught between distrust and apprehension. “For now,” he said flatly, forcing his tone to remain detached. “But you’ll leave too. Just like everyone else.”

Your heart sank at his words, at the resigned way he said them, like he’d already made peace with the idea. You thought about the clan calls, the way they’d been pestering you for months, interrogating you for information. Megumi wasn’t stupid. He’d overheard more than you realized.

His eyes flicked away, his voice quieter now, tinged with bitterness. “You’re probably just waiting for the right time to leave.”

Your breath hitched at the accusation. “Megumi, that’s not—”

"Look, you don’t have to lie about it," his tone sharper, turning his gaze away from you. His voice was low but carried an edge of bitterness. "I know they’ve been calling you. I know they must be wanting you back. You must have friends back home. You’re probably sick of us. The fights. The arguing. Of me," he interrupted sharply, cutting off any protest you might have.

His voice dipped at his last words, a defeated look flashing his face. "You don’t have to explain. Just… don’t pretend."

The weight of his words hit you square in the chest, heavier than you could have anticipated.

How he got that idea in his head, you'll never know. For all he knows, this is a solid marriage. Arranged-yes. But something that was established. What lead him to think they'd pull you back so easily? Maybe he's thinking you'll divorce Toji if things got to be too much? Surely not that you missed your clan estate?

You leaned forward instinctively, gently gripping his hands in yours. "I’m not leaving," you said firmly, your voice steady, unwavering. You willed him to believe you, to see the sincerity in your eyes. "This is my home now. You’re my family now."

And yet, even as the words left your lips, a quiet, unwelcome voice in the back of your mind whispered the truth you didn’t want to acknowledge. You couldn’t fully guarantee it. If your clan came for you, you weren’t certain you could stop them. The thought lingered like a shadow, but you pushed it aside, focusing on him.

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharp and searching, his defenses cracking for just a moment. For the first time, you saw something raw in his expression—surprise, a flicker of hope, and something deeper, something unspoken.

He didn’t say anything, but his grip on your hands tightened ever so slightly, as if he were trying to hold onto your words, to hold onto you.

"I’m not going anywhere," you repeated softly, your voice quieter but no less determined. Deep down, you knew it was a fragile nearly impossible promise, but you clung to it as if saying it enough times could make it true. "You’re stuck with me, okay?"

Megumi swallowed hard, his gaze dropped to your hands still holding his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either. You could see the wariness in his eyes, the weight of his doubts.

He wanted to believe you—needed to—but something in him held back. He fought with his thoughts for a moment. His expression guarded, like he didn’t quite believe you.

But a brief flicker of emotion crossed his face at that moment—a hint of desperation, of hope, a need to have someone like you in his life. Someone who cared about him. And he really, really wanted to believe you cared.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and hesitant, almost like he was afraid of your answer. "Why?" he asked, his tone laced with uncertainty. "Why would you want to stay here? With him? With me?"

The way he said it—like he couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose this life, choose him—made your throat tighten. You squeezed his hands again—confirming your intentions, trying to find the right words, words that might ease the storm in his eyes. Your mind flashed back to your mother's words again before you shut your mind off.

You gave him a warm look, holding his hands firmly now, putting your conviction into every word. “Because I care about you, Megumi. I’m not going to walk away just because things get hard. I won’t be chased away that easily.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping again to where your hand rested over his. You watched as his fists unclenched, ever so slightly, his fingers beginning to loosen as if to reciprocate your touch. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction, a small but significant shift. You could feel it—maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to let his guard down. Beginning to believe you. Beginning to trust you.

But the boy in front of you was still struggling, the weight of his doubts and fears etched into every microexpression on his face. Your chest tightened at the sight of it, at the silent war he seemed to fight with himself.

You didn’t want him to feel this way—to carry the same loneliness and uncertainty you’d known. Before you could stop yourself, you let go of his hands and leaned forward, pulling him into a hug.

The movement was instinctive and you felt him go stiff immediately, his entire body rigid in surprise.

“W-what are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled against your shoulder. His tone was sharp, defensive, but there was a faint waver in it, betraying his confusion.

“Hugging you,” you said simply, your grip on him tightening. “You seemed like you needed it.”

For a long, tense moment, he didn’t move, his arms hovering awkwardly at his sides. The seconds dragged on, and you wondered if you’d misstepped, if you’d pushed too far. But then, slowly, he relaxed—just a little. The rigidity in his posture eased, and you felt his breathing slow, though it was still uneven.

He still didn’t hug you back, but his head tilted slightly against your shoulder, like he was trying to make sense of the moment, trying to figure out just how this worked. The tremor in his breathing gave him away, his discomfort blending with something else—reluctant acceptance, maybe even relief.

It dawned on you that he might not have been hugged like this before. Were you making him uncomfortable? Man you weren't good at this.

When you finally let go and pulled back, Megumi’s face was flushed with an emotion that he couldn’t quite mask—a mix of surprise, vulnerability, and something he couldn’t name. He'd never shown so much emotion. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, soft and genuine. 

His heart gave an uncomfortable thud, and he glanced away quickly, scowling. “You’re… weird,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, the sharpness blunted by a thread of undeniable fondness he couldn’t hide.

His cheeks were warmer than they should have been, and he shifted in his chair uncomfortably, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

No matter how hard he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t ignore the warmth your words and actions left behind—or the growing admiration that stirred every time he looked at you.

You laughed again, and before you could stop yourself, you reached over to ruffle his hair, earning a grumbled protest and a half-hearted swat at your hand. “Get used to it,” you teased, your tone light yet laced with an undercurrent of sincerity. “You’re part of my family now, so you’re stuck with me.”

It wasn’t the first time Megumi had noticed the way your warmth reached him, breaking past walls he’d carefully constructed. But this time, it left him feeling… different. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression still guarded but undeniably softer.

“Fine,” he muttered, crossing his arms in a weak attempt to appear unaffected. Yet there was no real bite in his tone, and you didn’t miss the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

From that day forward, you became Megumi’s most cherished person. Something shifted within him—his dynamic with you no longer felt so simple. There was an urge he couldn’t fully understand, something instinctual and…new.

It wasn’t just admiration or gratitude—it ran deeper. It was a fierce need to shield your kindness from the world, to ensure that nothing dimmed the warmth you brought into his life. And it only grew the longer he stayed next to you. He would ensure your happiness even if it killed him. 

He wanted to be the one you leaned on, the one who supported you when you needed it most. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, but it settled into him like a seed, quietly growing. Natural.

He’d never felt this way before about anyone, and though he couldn’t name it, he couldn’t deny it either. You mattered to him in a way he hadn’t expected, and that realization changed everything. 

What you hadn’t expected was how your relationship with Megumi began to evolve in ways that left you both surprised. He was still the same stoic, sharp-tongued teenager, but he lingered more often.

He stayed close while you cooked, offering small, almost shy gestures of help around the house more frequently than before. Instead of retreating to his room, he started sitting beside you on the couch more often, listening quietly as you talked about your day or read aloud. While he pretended not to care, you caught the subtle ways he betrayed himself—the way his eyes tracked your every move or how he absorbed your words like they mattered to him.

Then came the day he surprised you completely.

You were in the kitchen, humming softly as you prepared dinner, the familiar rhythm of cooking easing your thoughts. Megumi had come home from school and wandered in like he often did, standing quietly at your side.

You’d asked him about his day, mentioning with a hint of pride that you’d made his favorite dinner for the night. He mumbled something about a school project as you handed him his plate, but then he hesitated, his fingers curling slightly around the edge of the counter as his gaze dropped.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said so casually, it almost felt intentional—until you saw the faint flush creeping up his cheeks.

You froze mid-motion, the spoon in your hand hovering over the pot as your brain scrambled to process what you’d just heard. The word echoed in your mind, sweet and unexpected, warming you to your core. Slowly, you turned to look at him, searching his expression. His face looked flushed, like he was evading your gaze. 

“What… did you just call me?” you asked softly, disbelief coloring your tone. Your heart was already swelling, and you knew you’d remember this moment forever, no matter what he said next.

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I said thanks,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, clearly hoping you’d let it slide. It was obvious he was avoiding repeating that word.

Your chest tightened with emotion, a warm, uncontrollable smile spreading across your face. “You called me Mom,” you said softly, your tone brimming with affection. You couldn’t hide the joy his words brought you, the warmth they ignited deep in your chest. Sure, you were only five years older than him, but the fact that he viewed you as someone important enough to call that—someone he trusted, someone he wanted to keep close—left you reeling. This marked something different in your relationship. He was finally, truly warming up to you. And while you weren’t his mother in the traditional sense it felt just as heartwarming. You never knew being a step mother could feel so fulfilling.

On Megumi’s end, the moment was less heartwarming and more nerve-wracking. He knew saying those words would undoubtedly make you happy, but it wasn’t entirely selfless. A small part of him—a part he hated to acknowledge—still worried you might leave, that you’d vanish like everyone else had in his life. The thought gnawed at him, clinging to the edges of his mind. He hated how much it mattered to him, hated the vulnerability it exposed. And this… this was his way of anchoring you, of keeping you close.

If calling you "Mom" made you happy, if it gave you a reason to stay just a little longer, he’d swallow his pride and play his hand. For someone as guarded as Megumi, it was a calculated risk, and he was willing to gamble.

“…Yeah,” he admitted at last, his voice quieter now, tinged with uncertainty. He leaned into the discomfort, knowing it would tug at your heartstrings. He'd always hated seeming pitiful. But...His gaze dropped to the floor, his posture stiff, every movement carefully measured to sell the vulnerability. “I mean… you kind of are.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning, more than just a casual admission. They were deliberate, intentional, and carried a weight he couldn’t put into words. This wasn’t just him acknowledging your supposed role in his life—it was a plea, quiet but unmistakable. Stay, his tone seemed to say. Don’t leave me.

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you held them back, not wanting to embarrass him. Instead, you pulled him into a tight hug. “That means a lot to me, Megumi,” you said warmly. “Really.”

He glanced up at you, his sharp gaze softening for just a moment before he looked away again, mumbling something about it not being a big deal. But you knew it was—it was huge.

From that moment on, everything shifted between you. Megumi called you "Mom" sparingly at first, almost shyly, like he was still testing the waters. He never used it in front of Toji or anyone else, keeping it just between the two of you. And every time he said it, it warmed you to your core, a quiet confirmation that your place in the family was finally being recognized.

What surprised you even more was how much Megumi began to take initiative on his own. He started bringing you small gifts—things he thought you’d like or need. A new dishcloth, your favorite snack, a trinket he’d found at the store. He even offered to cook meals for you now and then, carefully remembering the dishes he’d seen you enjoy the most. It wasn’t just about helping around the house anymore; he wanted to contribute, to make things easier for you in his own way.

His presence became constant. He didn’t just carry groceries or tidy up without being asked; he lingered, finding excuses to be near you. Whether it was hovering by the kitchen while you cooked or sitting closer than usual when you watched TV, he stayed within arm’s reach, as though being close to you brought him some unspoken comfort.

Megumi also grew more comfortable with physical affection, something that once seemed completely foreign to him. It started small—a brush of his fingers when handing you something, a light touch on your arm in passing. But over time, his gestures grew bolder. He began to seek you out when you were busy, quietly wrapping his arms around your waist from behind in a wordless hug. His presence was steady, grounding, like he didn’t need words to tell you what he felt.

He reminded you of a cat in the way he moved—subtle yet deliberate, always seeking your warmth in quiet, understated ways. At first, these sudden bursts of affection caught you off guard. You weren’t used to him being so openly physical, but it didn’t take long to realize this was his way of showing trust, of finding comfort in your presence.

It was endearing how often he sought you out—draping his head in your lap while you watched TV, holding your hand in crowded places with a firm, almost protective grip, or following you from room to room like he couldn’t stand to be apart. Though you’d never say it aloud, he was almost unbearably clingy, and it made your heart ache in the best way. 

But as sweet as it was, something was shifting, and you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

p.6?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

[kingkat12]

so... this is the deleted original ending to the first chapter of seven minutes in heaven. made centuries ago. enjoy!!

(it sorta starts in the middle of the closet scene, so here goes nothing)

WARNINGS: SMUT! SMUT! ROMAN BEING AN ASSHOLE! mind control powers being used for BAD bad bad BAD things!! implied mind control during sex so is it dub-con?, dark!Roman, not-so-happy-ending

word count: 1,811

a/n: there was a reason this version was scrapped... it felt too dark and not fun and urgh i'm simply posting this as an ancient artifact lol. it might suck as i wrote this back in august, but oh well!!!

(Roman is NOT a feminist in this one, so... irony<333 generalizing cunt)

 "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, no longer meeting his gaze. I couldn't look at him, not right not, not when we were this close and alone. 

"So..." Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, and he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've wanted to try out, now's the time."

My breath hitched, hoping the thumping of my heart wasn't audible to him. 

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman, and I knew she'd be against it.

However... I was being served my biggest dream on a platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he wasn't holding a needle or no. That was when I knew my anxiety was through the roof. "So... you want a kiss? That's all?"

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would say no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he wouldn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what it was that I was actually asking of him. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry overcome me— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

I shouldn't have been so shocked— I should've expected this. I should've known that Roman would spin this around on me. I definitely knew he wouldn't reciprocate, but this? What was it, revenge? 

"I could make your every waking moment a living hell," he continued, his cold hands suddenly travelling up my body, gripping my waist with a grip I was afraid would bruise. "Letha would take my side, of course... Who else do you have but her, hm?"

I wanted to break out into tears, now grabbing at his hands. Almost panicked, I tried to get him off of me, but to no avail. "I'll leave you alone," I pleaded, finding his eyes.

"Nah, that's not what I want," I could see the sadistic satisfaction overcome him— I saw how he broke out into a wide grin at the sight of my glossy eyes. "How about we make a deal?"

Making a deal with the devil reincarnated? Very smart move, on my part. Fucking genius. "Okay?"

Roman hummed, his harsh grip around my waist releasing, allowing me to finally suck in a heave of air. Catching me off guard, he suddenly pressed his lips against my forehead with the softest touch I had ever felt— was he trying to throw me off course? 

"Start being nice..." Roman murmured, his now hands drawing soothing circles onto my back. "And I will reward you."

I let out a shaky breath; I was thankful that the agreement didn't involve any needles. "... That's all?"

"That's all," Roman echoed, pulling away to watch my expression. "You and your mouth have been making my life hell, do you know that? So if you can calm the fuck down, we could both get what we want. How does that sounds?"

I wasn't completely sold. "And what is it that you think I want?"

Roman's eyes darkened; he knew he had won. "Me," 

Oh, how I hated him. I hated him, and I knew I always would. But as his lips ghosted over mine, seconds away from touching, I didn't stand a chance anymore when the following words sounded past his plush lips; "I have a feeling I might have to put you in your place a little, hm? Maybe you'd even want that? Because honestly, I know girls like you... You fight until your last breath, then you're completely in denial, and then you'll fall apart the minute you get what you've always wanted,"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this... me? 

"And you've always wanted to be one of my girls, haven't you?" Roman leaned down, pressing a deadly soft kiss against my cheek which nearly took my breath away; I could feel him smirk against my skin. "Or maybe... the only one?"

At this point, I felt so broken down that I gave in to a nod. 

Roman's hand slowly ghosted up my body until his fingers gently wrapped around my neck, holding me in place, almost as though he feared I would run; "I can arrange that, y'know?"

This conversation had unlocked a deep, dark part of me that I didn't know I had— like this, completely at his mercy, I had a feeling I was made to be his. Brainwashed. That I was put on this earth to find him and be with him, and that we were destined to be together. It made me feel so weak and pathetic that my lower lip eventually gave in to a quiver, feeling a sob build.

Roman let go of my neck, stroking his fingers through my hair. "Shh, no need for that... You're fine, you're okay. It's just me."

Just me. Just Roman. He who that had haunted my dreams for months, the only one I could think of when I got myself off, and the one I had been longing for from afar for so long that it turned into burning hate. 

Roman must've felt like he was done torturing me, finally meeting my lips with the most gentle kiss I had ever shared. This was all I had ever wanted— he was right. My heart beat hard in my chest as I let myself melt against his dangerously soft lips. 

I wanted to be his, no matter the cost. No matter what happened or what I had to sacrifice. 

I loved Roman Godfrey.

... and I was sure of it now.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Yes— This was right.

Of course. 

I loved him. 

I loved him, I loved him, God, how I loved him. With every fibre of my being, I loved him. 

I loved the feeling of his body against mine, corrupting my mind until I was nothing but mindless. A small part of me also loved that it was our little secret, and ours only. 

Letha didn't have a clue, of course— I had kept my act up quite well when I was around her. I had kept it up around everyone else as well, but the anger that was ravaging through my system, the hate that was burning me up from inside was currently being mended by one thing and one thing only;

"A-Aah—"

My fingers tangled into Roman's hair, feeling his bruising grip around my hips tighten as he fucked me into my mattress. I let out a small cry, feeling my legs starting to go numb after how long they had been thrown over his broad shoulders. Deep down, I didn't care— nothing could put out the angry fire in my soul like Roman did. Nothing was a better remedy than feeling his cock inside me, no matter what, when, or where.

I let out a gasp as Roman shifted, pulling me into his lap with ease. I couldn't feel my legs now, and I had a sense that he knew— he barely had to put any strength into moving me around, especially with how he was towering over me in general. 

I let out a gasp as he sunk me down on his length, and I gripped his shoulders with a short squeak for support. Heavy breaths escaped my parted lips as I clung to him, whimpering at the feeling of his thick cock stroking my insides. 

Roman seemed beyond content, gazing up at me with half-lidded eyes. He revelled in the sight of how ruined I was before he attached his soft lips to my collarbone to bring forth a hickey, humming. That was the one place we both knew Letha wouldn't see it, after all. 

It was impossible not to submit to the devil reincarnated when sex could feel this good with him. It didn't matter that I had practically sold my soul for this, because every second, every stroke of his cock, was worth it. 

"You're heaven," he murmured, lifting my hips and pushing himself further into me, taking more control. "You feel so... shit, this is heaven—"

Ironic.

And just as I felt my climax approaching, flashes of thoughts I had suppressed came crashing forward. No matter how nice all of this felt, I couldn't help but wonder how I had even agreed to any of this in the first place. But it wasn't like he had mind control powers, right? It wasn't like this was some sadistic ploy to seek revenge against all the times I had been a complete and utter bitch to him.

No— it couldn't be. Don't be ridiculous.

... Right?

[rottencherrypie]

R-18+; Lessons (Legolas x Reader)

Summary - There were few things deemed "typical" in Middle-Earth, but your training lessons with the prince of Mirkwood were not one of them.

Warnings - Smut, language, slight dom!Legolas, oral sex (male receiving), mention of male genitalia (Legolas), mention of bodily fluids (Legolas), reader swallows, slight sub!Reader, possible power play dynamics (if you squint), semi-public oral sex.

Pronouns & POV - None, third-person-ish (written a bit in the past tense)

Word Count - 1,440+

A/N - I wrote a majority of this while waiting to get an EEG done, so it is a bit all over the place, I just had time to edit it and polish it up a bit today. This was originally meant to go in a completely different direction, but I will save that idea for another character. I tried to give this a hint of plot, or at least a little seasoning of plot so it would not be pure smut, but you could likely just ignore the plot if you decide to I won't blame you. Reader has no specified gender or attributes other than hair long enough to be tangled in and plump lips. Smut under the cut.

Read on Wattpad Read on AO3

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Typical was a word not often found within the lands of Middle-Earth. The word itself was a paradox, as to know typicality was to know untypicality itself. The word and definition were a conundrum, something nearly as untypical as the situation you had found yourself in with the heir of Mirkwood.

This perplexing situation had begun innocently in the form of training lessons—private lessons, to be exact.

The elven prince would aid you in perfecting your stance, as his firm yet smooth hands would adjust your form ever so slightly—gliding over the smoothness of your exposed skin as he shifted your supple form, ensuring it would meld perfectly with each motion you made. The tender act like a god with his creation, ensuring only perfection would prosper. Though, in the odd chance you would stumble over your own feet, he would be there with a helping hand, guiding you back into the proper form as the corners of his thin lips curved into a small, reassuring smile.

Yet, the seeds of tender acts began to sprout into something more. A quick adjustment of your stance turned to a gentle glide, a lingering touch as his sturdy hands hovered above your limbs for a few moments longer than necessary. The once comfortable distance held between the pair slowly closed with each lesson, something you had convinced yourself was a mere illusion as you grew more confident in the skills learned, yet the subtle breeze of his breath grazing upon the nape of your neck and the heat of his toned body pressing against your back assured you that this was no mere mirage.

The changes had been so subtle, yet so fluid, that you could not place when the training topics had shifted from the golden-haired prince teaching you which stance was the most beneficial whilst holding a bow; to him adjusting your position while on your knees with his cock buried in your throat.

His firm, smooth hands tangled in your hair as he guided the bobbing of your head at a steady pace. A pleased exhale escaped from his thin lips as he sunk the thickness of his cock deeper into your mouth; the bitter tang of him made your eyes water as the vibrations of your gag buzzed against his throbbing length.

The corners of your lips overflowed with a mixture of your saliva and his precum as the mass of his cock continued to thrust into your mouth. A mixture that flowed forth, rolling down onto your chin as the speed at which his hips moved increased.

"Just like that." He'd purr, his voice dripping with cockiness as the speed of his hips would rise. The bones of his hips met the flesh of your face, his balls hitting against your chin at a rhythmic beat as he continued to feed you his cock. The vibrations of your muffled gags vibrating against his throbbing length caused the elven prince to groan in pleasure as he looked down, his sapphire gaze meeting your glazed-over gemstone one.

The corners of his lips rose in a smirk as the grasp he held upon your head tightened, the tips of his fingernails digging into your scalp, earning the vibration of a hiss to be stifled on his cock. The sting of his nails digging into the roots of your head caused your jaw to open a bit further, despite the soreness it felt from being held in such a compromising position for so long, yet you could not help it. It was a natural response as if there was a secret switch upon your scalp that only knew his fingers, his nails, and his grasp—a switch that turned you into the perfect sheath for his cock.

"Touch me." He'd command—one you would eagerly abide by as your hands shot up from the cold, dryness of the dirt you knelt upon and quickly sought after the smooth, toned flesh of the prince who continued to fuck your throat.

The warmth of your soft caress would start at his hips, holding a light grasp around them as they continued to pump into your mouth—filling it to the brim with the salty tang of his cock and the beginning of his potent seed. Slowly, they would shift up from there; the touch you placed upon his toned skin was delicate—as if the elven prince was not pounding into your throat, leaving it aching in the wake of each thrust. The tips of your fingers gliding towards the center of his abdomen, slowly sliding up an inch and then back down near the base of his cock; the slow motions practically made the elven prince purr.

The pace of his hips began to slow, allowing you to hollow your cheeks as you sucked against the bitter, salty member while he puppeted your head—slowly inching it down to the base of his cock, watching as tears overflowed from the corners of your eyes as your lips encased his mass entirely. A low growl vibrated from the center of his chest as the lower muscles within his abdomen began to quiver, signaling he was close to the verge of release.

A quivering that fueled your efforts. The grasp the elven prince held upon your head loosened, allowing your motions to become that of your own rather than his desires; the speed at which you bobbed your head was rapid, almost identical to the pace that the golden-haired elf once held, the hue of your hair but a blur to the elf who stared down at you.

The sight before him was erotic. The way you easily took every inch of his length, swallowing it down with such ease and grace, the way his cock forced all saliva in your mouth to come flooding out, flowing down your chin like a river, the caress of your soft hands against the hardness of his muscles and the desperate, cock-hungry gaze that stared up at him was all too much.

His hands tightly tangled in your hair, his harsh grasp returning as his hips bucked into your mouth. A slew of incoherent moans fell from his lips, a mixture of common tongue and his mother tongue amidst the sea of whimpers of your name.

The slap of his balls against your chin quickened, a string of saliva connecting a bridge between your flesh and his as he continued to plow into your throat like a feral animal. The weight of his balls began to shift, tightening as his hips began to quiver within each buck, a wordless warning that the dam of pleasure was on the verge of breaking within him—a dam you were eager to burst.

The smoothness of your touch delved down between his legs, finding the sensitive flesh of his balls as you cupped them, a sensation that made the elven prince suddenly buck into your mouth. His hips stalled as his sapphire gaze bore down at you, a mixture of surprise and arousal danced behind the lust of his eyes. The gentle yet firm caress of your hands, gently massaging and swirling the balls within your hand made both them and his core tighten.

Speed returned to his hips, no longer stalling against your lips as he frantically bucked into them. The suction, the massage, and the way you looked at him pushed the elven prince over the edge.

His throbbing cock twitched frantically inside of your mouth, as the warmth of his seed quickly flooded your mouth. The sudden volume of his salty, hot seed in the dampness of your mouth forced a mixture of your saliva and his essence to spill out of the corners, leaking down your chin as the mass of his cock stayed firmly down your throat—forcing you to swallow down the bitter tang of him.

After a few moments, the elven prince pulled back entirely; his cock exiting your mouth in a pop from the suction of you continuing to swallow down his seed—the taste oddly appetizing. The throbbing, red head of his cock rested on the plumpness of your moistened lips.

"Good." The elven prince spoke, his voice wavering slightly from the pleasure he had been given. The oh-so-heavenly tingle of pleasure still ran rampant throughout his veins as he pried the tip of his cock away from your supple lips, making the string of saliva and cum break and drip down your chin. "We will explore other entrances in your next lesson." He said as he stuffed his softened cock into his breeches.

A lesson you would eagerly await despite its untypical nature, but then again—what was anything truly typical within the lands of Middle-Earth?

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

[thollandsgirl2013]

𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝

Parings → Dad! Peter Parker x Mom! Reader

Warnings → fluff, swear words

Summary → Baby Parker learns a new word.

The sound of something hard being stepped on echoed through the living room, followed by Peter’s exasperated voice. “Shit!” He hissed in pain, immediately hopping on one foot while holding the other, glaring down at the brightly colored toy car he'd just crushed under his weight.

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch, stifling a laugh as you took in the sight of your husband cursing under his breath while clutching his throbbing foot. "Are you okay, Pete?"

Peter rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, just... stepped on one of Ben's toys. It hurts like—"

Before Peter could finish, the small voice of your three-year-old son, Ben, piped up from across the room, sitting on the floor surrounded by more toys. “Shit!”

Both of you froze. Ben, giggling, clearly enjoying the new word he'd just learned, repeated it, louder this time. "Shit! Shit!"

Your hands flew to your mouth, barely containing your laughter. Peter, wide-eyed and mortified, immediately crouched down in front of Ben. "No, no, buddy. We don’t say that word, okay? That’s... that's a bad word."

But Ben only grinned up at Peter, eyes twinkling with mischief, before chanting again, “Shit!”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to hold it in anymore. Peter shot you a look of despair, his face already red with embarrassment. "This is not funny! He's going to be saying that all day now!"

"Oh, come on, it’s a little funny," you teased, getting up from the couch and ruffling Peter’s hair as you walked by. "Besides, it’s your fault for saying it in front of him."

Peter groaned, plopping down onto the floor next to Ben, who was still giggling and playing with his toys. "I’m such an idiot. Now our three-year-old knows how to swear." He slumped against the wall, rubbing his face. “Aunt May is going to be here soon, and God forbid he says that in front of her.”

You smiled, watching the two of them, Peter looking utterly defeated while Ben was thoroughly entertained. "Don’t worry," you reassured him. "We’ll just have to make sure Ben doesn’t say it again tonight."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

You shrugged, grinning. "We'll just have to pray."

Peter sighed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. "Great. Prayer. That’ll totally work with a three-year-old."

Ben, oblivious to the chaos he'd caused, grabbed one of his toy cars and drove it across the floor, making little engine sounds. You sat down next to Peter, leaning your head on his shoulder. "It’ll be fine," you said, though the amusement in your voice betrayed you. "May won’t even notice."

Peter gave you a skeptical look. "You’re way too calm about this."

You just smiled, deciding to let him sweat it out a bit longer. After all, it was Peter’s fault for swearing in the first place. And besides, Ben repeating the word was kind of hilarious, in a mischievous, toddler way.

The doorbell rang later that evening, signaling May’s arrival. Peter jumped up, giving you one last pleading look. “Please, please make sure he doesn’t say it.”

You smirked, raising your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll do my best.”

Peter opened the door, greeting May with a hug. “Hey, May! Come on in.”

May smiled warmly, stepping into the living room, her arms loaded with shopping bags. “Hello, my favorite people!” She said, beaming when she saw Ben. “And how’s my little man today?”

Ben’s eyes lit up at the sight of his grandma, and he bolted toward her, excited. “Gramma May!” He squealed.

Peter shot you a quick, nervous glance as May bent down to greet Ben. “Hi, sweetheart,” she cooed, reaching into one of her bags. “I brought you a new car!”

Ben’s eyes grew wide with excitement, and you saw Peter visibly relax. For a moment, it seemed like everything was fine. But then it happened.

Ben, his face full of glee, clutched the new toy car May handed him and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Shit!”

The room fell into stunned silence. Peter’s face drained of all color, while you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying — and failing — to hold back laughter. May blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What... did he just say?”

Ben, grinning up at his great-aunt, held up his new toy car proudly. “Shit!”

Peter scrambled to explain, his voice high-pitched and panicked. “No, no, it’s not what it sounds like! I-I stepped on one of his toys earlier, and I accidentally swore, and now he’s—he’s just repeating it, but it wasn't on purpose, I swear!”

May raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Peter Benjamin Parker, you taught your child to swear?"

“I didn’t mean to!” Peter blurted out, running a hand through his hair. “It just slipped out, and now he thinks it’s funny!”

You couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing, the whole situation just too absurd. “He’s been saying it all day,” you wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “It’s kind of hilarious.”

May looked between the two of you, shaking her head, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Peter, you really need to watch your mouth around your son. He’s at that age where he’ll repeat anything.”

“I know, I know,” Peter groaned, facepalming. “But how was I supposed to know he’d pick that up so fast?”

Ben, completely unaware of the chaos he’d caused, started playing with his new toy car, still occasionally muttering “shit” under his breath as he zoomed it across the floor.

May shot Peter a stern look, though you could see she was holding back a smile. “Well, you’d better figure out how to stop him from saying it before he starts doing it at school.”

Peter let out a long, defeated sigh. “Yeah, I’ll work on that.”

As the evening wore on, Ben’s new favorite word thankfully began to lose its charm, though every now and then he’d whisper it just to get a reaction out of Peter. But by the end of the night, Peter had accepted his fate.

As May said her goodbyes, she patted Peter on the back. “Good luck, sweetie. You’re going to need it.”

Peter just groaned, rubbing his temples. "Thanks, Aunt May."

After she left, you turned to Peter, still grinning. “Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

Peter gave you a halfhearted glare. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you replied, chuckling.

‎∗ ࣪ ˖༺ 𓆩☆𓆪 ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

[unhingedangstaddict]

Here's a fun little snippet of the latest chapter of All Of You, All Of Me (Intertwined) my bucktommy mpreg fic!

Tommy carried on with the conversation as he put some of the peel-free orange slices on his breakfast burrito.

Evan looked concerned at Tommy's actions. “Craving?”

“Yeah.” Tommy mumbled sheepishly.

“Maddie wanted Crab Rangoon with Nutella the other day. Could be far worse.” Evan decided with a shrug. “Actually,” Evan thought about it a moment longer. “It kinda makes perfect sense? The burritos are great, don’t get me wrong, but the problem with it being a breakfast burrito is it lacks a fresh component and the orange does that and gives some acidity to balance the taste.”

Tommy didn’t want Evan to worry that Tommy felt judged for it, nor did he want Evan to feel like he had to come up with some way to explain or justify Tommy’s craving. He knew it didn’t make sense. “I just put oranges on a breakfast burrito, Evan. It’s weird.”

“I’m being serious,” Evan insisted in a playful tone. “Let me try it with you,” Evan began unwrapping his burrito to make the same additions Tommy had.

“Ev, are you sure? You really don’t have to.” Tommy rolled his burrito back up.

Evan grinned at Tommy and pulled the peel off a couple orange slices, put them on his burrito, then added some hot sauce and re-wrapped the burrito.

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. “Evan-”

Evan enthusiastically bit into his burrito and chewed for a moment. “This is great.” He said, mouth half full.

Tommy watched Evan for a moment before shaking his head, then taking a bite of his own food. Like with most of his cravings to date, it tasted great even if he wasn’t really sure it actually did or if it was just the satisfaction of the craving making it seem good. This did legitimately seem half decent though. “That’s actually not awful.” He admitted.

“Right?” Evan asked. “It’s different, sure, but it’s not bad.”

“No.” Tommy agreed.

“I’m not going out of my way to try your PB-cheese-and-tomato sandwiches though,” Evan warned. “Or Maddie’s Nutella-Crab Rangoon.”

Tommy chuckled at that.

(Read the full chapter on ao3)

[avastyetwats]

The kiss lasted longer than the ones before, but Stede still managed self control by letting it stay as just that — a kiss. A sweet, loving and deep kiss that he didn’t pull away from just yet… a kiss that he wanted to last just a little bit longer. His tongue found his and he caressed it with his own while his hands continued to caress his chest, their noses pressed together and the water still warm. Though perhaps even warmer now. He kissed him with passion and though he was just a little aroused — how could he not be with their wet, naked bodies pressed like this while engaged in a passionate kiss — he didn’t let anything come from it. No. He didn’t want to ruin the romantic moment by turning it sexual. He just wanted to love on him, he wanted to spoil him so he would continue doing just that.

“Aye aye, Captain.” He said with a giggle at Izzy’s demand, doing just that by continuing to caress his chest but when his returned to his normal position, with his face looking forward, Stede moved one hand back to the top of his head so he could scratch at his scalp again. But the urge to do… something became too powerful to ignore when we looked down at his wet shoulder that was just barely above the water. He leaned his head down to kiss away the droplets of water there and then he moved his lips to the neck, close to where it connected with his shoulder and he gently licked that spot with his tongue. He gently tilted his head to the side and without word, without warning, he bit down. Gently. Teeth captured his skin and lips closed around it as he started to suck, his eyes falling closed with a moan as one hand caressed the side of his head and the other his chest.

He wasn’t quite sure what came over him, but he just really wanted to leave his mark on him all of a sudden. So, he sucked a little harder while hugging him harder against his body, little moans and whines falling from his lips at the wonderful taste and smell of his husband.

Stede could be a handful, but it was moments like this that made it all worth it. He pampered Izzy, loved him so much it was almost frightening. He gave him love every way he could, and Izzy had never felt more whole in his life.

He sighed happily and did as instructed, shutting his eyes. He wasn’t expecting the water, he had to spit some out from his mouth, but as soon as those hands went into his hair, his chest rumbled with a loud purring moan. “ You’re spoiling me.. “ He mumbled dazily with a blissful sigh. He knew what those hands in his hair did to him. Izzy just became goo, completely relaxing into the waters of the tub, and against his husband.

He laughed softly though at his comment. “ Better make it lunch at this rate.. “ Because after this relaxing bath, he was going to pat him back for this kindness with making love to him. He opened his eyes about halfway, turning his head so he could nuzzle into his neck. “ How the fook did I ever get so lucky.. “

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 4✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, John being a dick

Word Count: 6498

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

Dean’s eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint, but there was a gentleness beneath it that you hadn’t seen before, a warmth that seemed to speak of all the unspoken things between you. He leaned in a little closer, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked down at you.

“Still making me work for it, huh?”, he teased, his tone playful but filled with an affection that felt deeply personal. “I swear, you haven’t changed a bit”.

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, the tender gesture sending a wave of warmth through you. “But maybe that’s just part of your charm”, he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, so soft it felt like it was meant only for you. “You always knew how to keep me on my damn toes”.

His gaze never wavered, locked on yours with an intensity that seemed to cut through the noise of the world around you. There was a vulnerability there, a hint of something deeper that he was offering without saying a word. The teasing smirk softened, his eyes reflecting the weight of everything he was trying to convey, all the words he hadn’t said back then and the feelings that had lingered, just waiting for this moment.

“Think you might give me another chance to make a few new memories?”, he asked softly, the question hanging in the air, equal parts hopeful and sincere.

You felt a spark of excitement mingling with a sudden wave of nerves, the mixture leaving you a bit breathless. Dean’s presence, his soft teasing, his gaze that seemed to reach right through you—it was overwhelming in the best way, but the memory of yesterday lingered. You took a shaky breath, letting your fingers brush against his hand before you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a little smile tugging at your lips despite your nerves.

“What about that whole goodbye yesterday?”, you asked, raising an eyebrow, hoping the question might mask just how giddy you felt inside. “I thought you were out of here, off to some other town by now”.

Before Dean could answer, Sam, who was still deeply engrossed in his book, piped up with a deadpan comment, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the page. “Oh, we’re sticking around for a few more days”, he mumbled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Dean’s a little too… distracted to focus on the case right now”.

Dean shot Sam a glare, though he couldn’t hide the faint blush that crept up his neck. “Thanks, Sammy. Real subtle”.

Sam still didn’t even look up, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he flipped another page. “Hey, someone’s gotta point out the obvious”, he said, shrugging casually. “Otherwise, we’ll be here forever while you pretend it’s all about ‘research’”.

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. “Real funny, Sam. I’m just trying to… handle things”, he said. But Sam wasn’t done.

“Yeah, ‘handle things’. That what we’re calling it now?”, Sam finally looked up, his grin unrepentant. “Pretty sure this case could’ve been wrapped up yesterday if someone hadn’t been, you know..”.

Dean looked ready to retort, but you cut in, suppressing a laugh. “Well, I’m glad he’s sticking around for the ‘case’”, you teased, raising an eyebrow at Dean. “Though, maybe Sam’s right. Wouldn’t want you to get too… distracted”.

Sam’s laughter bubbled up as he leaned back in the armchair, clearly enjoying every moment of Dean’s embarrassment. “See, she gets it”, he said, winking at you. “Guess I’ll just take the lead on the case. Let you two ‘handle things’ in the meantime”.

Dean gave an exasperated sigh, but there was no hiding the smile that played on his lips as he shot his brother a look. “Fine. You get point on the case”, he grumbled, “but I swear, one more comment out of you and you’re sleeping in the car”.

“Worth it”, Sam replied, unfazed, his grin wide.

Then, Sam stood up, holding up a book he’d clearly deemed useful, and looked at you with a casual, “How much?”. But before he could reach for his wallet, you shook your head gently, a small smile on your lips as you looked between the two brothers.

“It’s on the house”, you murmured, “if your brother agrees to get those milkshakes with me”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, surprised but clearly pleased, his smirk quickly replacing his stunned expression. “Well, that sounds like a deal to me”, he replied, shooting Sam a triumphant look. “Milkshakes it is”.

Sam rolled his eyes with a good-natured sigh, tossing Dean a look that said, I knew this was coming. “I’ll wait in the car”, he said, clearly amused by the whole situation. He held the book up in a half-hearted salute, then headed toward the door, the bell above jingling as he stepped outside.

Dean watched his brother leave, rolling his eyes but smiling to himself. As the door closed, he turned back to you, the teasing smirk gone, replaced by something softer, more genuine.

“So”, he said, his voice warm and almost hesitant, “guess we’re on for those milkshakes?”.

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you nodded, feeling a quiet excitement settle over you. “Guess so”, you replied, your smile mirroring his.

Dean shifted slightly, hands finding their way into his pockets, his gaze never wavering from yours as he spoke. “Well… when do you close up here?”, he asked, his tone casual but his eyes carrying that unmistakable spark of anticipation. “Figure I can come back and pick you up”.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looked back at him. “I’ll be done around six”, you replied, feeling a little thrill run through you at the thought of him coming back, of sharing a night out with him like old times.

Dean nodded, that familiar grin breaking through. “Alright, I’ll be here”, he said, his voice warm with certainty. He took a small step back, as if giving you space but still keeping close enough to make it clear he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. “Guess I’ll see you at six, then”.

“Looking forward to it”, you replied, your voice softer than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The easy charm in his smile, the way he looked at you—it all made it impossible to hide your excitement.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave you a final, lingering look before heading toward the door. “See you soon”, he said, the words carrying a promise. With one last grin, he stepped out, leaving the door to chime softly in his wake.

Back in the car, Sam was already nose-deep in the book he’d picked up from your shop, eyes scanning the pages as he began to mutter. “Alright, I think I might have a lead here. Looks like there’s something about local lore—could be tied to a spirit or curse”. He continued to flip through the pages, his voice growing more animated as he pieced together the clues. But a few moments later, he glanced up, quickly realizing that Dean’s focus was nowhere near the case.

Dean was leaning back in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield with a faint smile on his face, his gaze distant and his expression soft. Sam raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he closed the book slightly to get his brother’s attention.

“Earth to Dean”, Sam said, nudging his shoulder. “I’m over here talking about the case, and you’re clearly somewhere else”.

Dean blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, but the smirk on his face didn’t fade. “Huh? Oh, yeah, the case. Ghosts and… stuff”. He shrugged, clearly trying to play it off, though he wasn’t fooling Sam in the slightest.

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning back with an exasperated sigh. “You’re seriously gone, aren’t you?”, he teased, crossing his arms as he watched Dean with a knowing grin. “Don’t think I’ve seen you this distracted since—well, probably since the last time you saw her”.

Dean tried to hide his grin, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Can you blame me?”, he muttered, glancing out the window as if trying to avoid Sam’s teasing look. “I mean… she’s different. Always was”.

Sam’s expression softened slightly, his teasing tone fading as he nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I know”, he said quietly, giving Dean a small, supportive smile. “Guess it’s about time you got a second chance, huh? Without… dad being a dick about it”.

Dean looked toward Sam, his expression shifting as a flicker of something unspoken passed between them. He knew Sam was right—this was a second chance, a rare one in their lives. The memory surfaced then, unbidden, of the last time he’d felt this strongly, back when he’d snuck into the motel after that first night with you, only to find his father waiting, disapproval practically radiating off him.

-Flashback-

The motel was silent as Dean carefully turned the doorknob, hoping to sneak back in unnoticed. He was exhausted, still floating in the quiet afterglow of the night he’d spent with you, and all he wanted was a few hours of sleep before facing another day of the usual grind. But as he stepped inside, he froze. John was sitting at the small table by the window, a cup of coffee in hand, his eyes dark and cold as he stared at his son.

Dean swallowed, knowing immediately that he wasn’t getting off easy. He barely managed to shut the door before John spoke, his voice low and laced with that familiar edge of disappointment.

"Where the hell have you been, Dean?", John’s tone wasn’t just accusatory—it was dismissive, as if he already knew the answer and couldn’t bring himself to care about anything other than his own frustration. "Out wasting time, doing God-knows-what? Thought you were better than some lovesick idiot chasing after a girl".

Dean clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body tense. "Just needed some air", he muttered, trying to downplay it, hoping that would be enough. But John wasn’t having it.

"Air, huh?", John scoffed, standing up and moving closer, his presence filling the small room. "You're supposed to be focused, Dean. Not out there making a fool of yourself over some girl". The way he spat out the word "girl" made it clear how little he thought of you—or anyone outside their world.

Dean felt his fists clench, a sharp pang of anger shooting through him. "I know my priorities, Dad", he replied, his voice controlled but barely hiding the frustration he felt.

"Doesn’t look like it", John shot back, his voice growing louder. "You’ve got responsibilities. You think any girl out there is gonna understand that? Gonna put up with our life?". He shook his head, a harsh laugh escaping him. "No, Dean, you’re fooling yourself. And you’re wasting your damn time. Love is for idiots who can afford it".

The noise stirred Sam, who was asleep in the bed. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, clearly disoriented. "What’s going on?".

"Nothing", John snapped, shooting a glare at Sam. "Just your brother learning the hard way that our family doesn’t get to have normal lives. We don’t get to waste time on pointless things". He turned his gaze back to Dean, his expression hard and unyielding. "You’re gonna end up just like me, Dean. Chained to this life because it’s all you’ll ever have".

The words hit Dean like a punch to the gut, and for a second, he felt every bit the "lovesick kid" his father accused him of being. He wanted to argue, to push back, to tell John he was wrong. But the weight of his father’s expectations, of the life they’d been handed, pressed down on him, leaving him feeling trapped and small.

As John finally walked away, heading to the bathroom without another word, Sam looked at Dean, his eyes wide with sympathy and quiet understanding.

“Dean…”, Sam began, his voice tentative, but Dean shook his head, silencing his brother. He didn’t want Sam’s sympathy. He didn’t want to admit that John’s words had gotten to him, that they’d dug deep into his insecurities.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy”, Dean mumbled, his voice thick, trying to bury everything he felt.

-End of the Flashback-

Dean let out a quiet sigh, his gaze distant as he thought about that night, about how he’d felt torn between his father’s expectations and his own desire for something real, something normal. Sitting here now, next to Sam, he realized just how different things could be now, with John gone and the two of them forging their own path.

“Guess I don’t have to worry about Dad breathing down my neck this time”, Dean said softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, well, Dad’s not here to tell you what you can’t do”, Sam replied quietly, his tone both gentle and encouraging. “So maybe… it’s time to focus on what you actually want”.

Dean let Sam’s words sink in. For years, every choice he’d made, every relationship he’d considered, had always been shaped by his father’s voice in the back of his mind. But now? There was no rulebook.

“Maybe”, Dean murmured, looking out the window as if he could already see a new path forming before him. He gave a wry smile, finally meeting Sam’s gaze. “Didn’t think you’d be my life coach, Sammy, but… thanks”.

Sam shrugged, that familiar teasing smirk returning. “Don’t mention it. Just try not to screw this up, alright?”, he joked, though there was real warmth behind the words.

Dean laughed, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement settle in his chest. He knew what he wanted—to be with you, at least for now, without worrying about where it might lead or how it might end. It was a freedom he hadn’t felt in a long time, and it filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.

A few hours later, Dean found himself in tiny bathroom of the motel, carefully trimming his beard with a level of precision he usually reserved for his Impala’s engine. The air was thick with his familiar cologne, the rich, woodsy scent mixing with the stale air of the cramped bathroom. He traced his jawline with his fingertips, checking the results in the mirror.

Just then, Sam appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, a wide, amused grin spreading across his face.

Dean caught sight of Sam’s reflection in the mirror and groaned, already anticipating the ribbing he was about to get. He turned off the trimmer, setting it down.

“Well, I’d say you look a little too good for just ‘milkshakes’, don’t you think?”, Sam teased, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. His gaze dropped pointedly to Dean’s chest, which was notably smoother than usual.

Dean shot him a mock glare, though a slight blush crept up his neck. “Give it a rest, Sammy”, he muttered, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head a little too quickly, as if that might cover up both the grooming and his embarrassment. “Nothing wrong with looking decent once in a while”.

“Decent? Dean, you shaved your damn chest. Just admit it—you’re trying to impress her”.

Dean rolled his eyes, looking down at the red flannel in his hands with a hint of frustration. He didn’t have anything particularly nice to wear—nothing that screamed “date night” instead of “hunter”. Besides his usual gear, the only remotely formal outfit he owned was the standard FBI getup he kept stashed for cases. The thought crossed his mind that it would’ve been nice to have something a little different, something that didn’t reek of constant travel, hunts, and long hours on the road.

With a resigned sigh, he slipped into the flannel over his black T-shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. It wasn’t flashy, but at least it was him. He caught his reflection in the mirror, his expression softening, and he mumbled almost to himself, “Just don’t want her to think… bad of me, you know?”.

Sam’s smirk softened into a small, understanding smile. “Dean”, he murmured, his voice carrying that brotherly reassurance, “She’s known you since high school. You looked the same back then”.

Dean scoffed lightly, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, I was hoping I’d improved a little since then”, he replied, though the tension in his voice had softened. “It’s been a while, Sammy”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, she’s not interested in the clothes or the cologne, Dean. She’s interested in you”. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “And honestly, I think she’s already pretty into you, flannel and all”.

Dean ran a hand over his face, the trace of a blush still visible. “Guess it’s not like I’ve got a whole lot of options anyway”, he muttered, but Sam could hear the hint of nerves in his tone—the rare, genuine excitement that Dean hadn’t shown in a long time.

Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. “You’re gonna be fine. Just… be yourself”.

Dean groaned, rolling his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he was 18 all over again, back in those early days when he’d first met you. “Be myself”, he muttered, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m worried about”.

Sam chuckled, leaning back with a knowing look. “Yeah, but it worked back then, didn’t it? Flannel, leather jacket, that same cocky smile… trust me, Dean, it’s part of the package”.

Dean let out a reluctant laugh, but there was a hint of warmth there, too. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”.

“I try”, Sam replied, grinning. “Now, go on—don’t keep her waiting”.

Dean took a steadying breath, letting himself absorb the moment, that nervous energy thrumming beneath the surface. “Fine, fine”, he muttered, grabbing his jacket and tossing Sam a smirk as he headed toward the door. “Just don’t get too cozy in the motel room without me, alright?”.

Sam’s laugh echoed behind him as Dean stepped outside, each step bringing him closer to that familiar flutter of excitement and nerves he hadn’t felt in ages. He couldn’t believe it—he was actually nervous.

Dean drove through town toward your bookstore, his fingers tapping the wheel rhythmically as he tried to calm his nerves. It wasn’t like him to feel this jittery over a simple outing, but with you, it felt like so much more than just milkshakes.

When he finally pulled up outside your shop, you greeted him with a warm smile as you slid into the passenger seat. He could feel his heart pick up as you buckled in, your presence somehow amplifying his nerves and excitement all at once.

After a few minutes, you glanced at him, biting your lip as you hesitated before asking, “Hey, would you mind making a quick stop at my apartment? I just want to freshen up a bit”.

Dean glanced over, caught off guard by the question. His instinct was to say there was no need—he thought you looked perfect already, but he wasn’t quite sure how to say that without sounding too forward. Instead, he fumbled slightly, scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, uh, sure. I mean, you… you don’t have to or anything. You look great”. His words tumbled out in an awkward rush, and he added, “But yeah, if you want, of course. No problem”.

You smiled, clearly amused by his flustered response, and gave him the directions. The short drive to your apartment was filled with light conversation, but he could sense the undercurrent of anticipation between you both. As he parked outside, he cleared his throat, giving you a little grin as you got out. “I’ll be here”, he said, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Come on, Dean, you can wait upstairs”, you teased. “No more parents around”. You gave him a wink, which had him chuckling awkwardly, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

He cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance as he stepped out of the car to follow you up, but his mind was already wandering back to those sneaking-around days and you both had been a little less lucky…

-Flashback-

It was early morning, the sunlight streaming through the window brighter than either of you had planned for. Dean blinked himself awake, his arm draped over you, only to realize with a jolt that you’d both overslept. “Crap”, he muttered under his breath, easing himself out of bed as quietly as he could manage.

You were still drowsy, wrapped up in a blanket, a sleepy smile on your face as you watched him stumble around, pulling on his jeans and grabbing his boots. You knew the drill by now—Dean’s early exits were routine, sneaking out before your parents could suspect anything. But today, you both miscalculated.

Dean had just tied one boot and was reaching for the other when the door creaked open. He froze, his eyes wide, and you quickly pulled the blanket tighter around you, but it was too late.

Your mom stood there, taking in the scene with an expression that was both shocked and… slightly amused.

Your mom crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look, and then turned her gaze to you, arching a brow. “Good morning. I didn’t realize we had… company”.

You bit your lip, scrambling for something, anything, to say, but the words just wouldn’t come. She raised an eyebrow, glancing down at her watch with a slightly exasperated smile. “Shouldn’t you have been out of the window, say… two hours ago?”.

Your eyes went wide, and you glanced at Dean, whose face mirrored your expression of pure disbelief. Neither of you had expected this; for all the times he’d snuck in and out, you’d never imagined she’d known about it.

“Wait”, Dean stammered, looking between you and your mom, “you… you knew?”.

Your mom gave a half-sigh, half-smile, crossing her arms with a look that was almost amused. “A mother knows when her daughter’s sneaking someone in”. she said matter-of-factly. “I let it slide because… well, I had my suspicions that it was just you two being young and… figuring things out”. She glanced pointedly at Dean’s boots on the floor, then back at you. “But you’d better hope your dad never catches you, because he’s nowhere near as… understanding”.

Your cheeks burned, and you could barely look up at Dean, who was still frozen in place. But, as mortifying as it was, there was a warmth to her tone, an unspoken acknowledgment that somehow, she understood. It softened the edge of the embarrassment, though only slightly.

Dean managed a small smile, one that held a hint of sheepishness. “I, uh… appreciate the heads-up, ma’am”.

She gave him a look that was both stern and kind. “Just be smart”, she replied, giving you both one last glance before she turned to leave, muttering, “And next time… maybe set an alarm”.

The door closed, and the two of you sat in stunned silence for a moment before you both burst into nervous laughter, the shared shock and relief pulling you closer.

-End of the Flashback-

Standing in your apartment now, you looked back at Dean, the memory filling the space between you. Dean chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Guess we weren’t as sneaky as we thought”, he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your heart skip.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth rise in your cheeks again. “Yeah, guess we were a little obvious, huh?”, you said, shaking your head as the memory settled between you both. It felt strangely comforting, this shared history that only the two of you truly understood.

Dean’s grin softened, his gaze lingering on you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. “Well, at least we’re a little older now”, he teased, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the doorframe. “No more sneaking out windows or dodging your mom”.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Right. Now it’s just dodging Sam’s smart comments”, you joked, but there was an undeniable sweetness beneath your words.

Dean’s gaze drifted around your apartment, taking in the small details that made it feel so distinctly you—the cozy throw draped over the couch, the collection of books stacked in one corner, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air. He paused in front of a framed family picture on a nearby shelf, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips as he looked at it.

“How’s your mom?”, he asked softly, his tone gentle, as if the question held a dozen other questions he hadn’t quite figured out how to ask yet.

You stepped beside him, following his gaze to the photo. It was a snapshot from a family picnic years ago, your mom’s arm around you, both of you laughing at some long-forgotten joke. A rush of warmth and nostalgia filled you, mingling with the lingering nervous excitement of having Dean here, in your space, sharing these memories with you.

“She’s good”, you replied, a fond smile slipping onto your face. “Still looking out for me, always asking if I’ve ‘met any nice boys’ lately”. You gave him a playful nudge, rolling your eyes at the memory. “Not sure what she’d say if she knew I was spending time with… well, you again”.

Dean chuckled, but his expression softened, a hint of warmth in his gaze as he looked at you. “Guess I didn’t leave the best impression back then, huh?”. There was a flicker of something like regret in his eyes, but he brushed it off quickly, his gaze settling back on you. “Even though I liked her… a lot”, he murmured, almost to himself, like he was processing the weight of his own memories. His gaze dropped for a moment, a flicker of nostalgia and maybe even a touch of regret lingering there.

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him with an incredulous smile. “You’re kidding, right?”, you chuckled, nudging him lightly. “Dean, she loved you. At least every two months, she’s sitting with me and Dad at dinner, looking all thoughtful and sighing, ‘I bet you and Dean would’ve given me a grandchild by now’”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth dropping open slightly before he let out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard. “Seriously? She said that?”. He grinned, a little self-conscious, but you could see the hint of pride in his expression, like he hadn’t expected to have left that kind of impression on her.

“Every time”, you affirmed, laughing as you thought back to the countless times your mom had brought him up. “It’s like, no matter how much time passes, she just can’t let go of the idea that you and I were supposed to… I don’t know, end up together or something”.

You looked up at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “You won her over on Halloween”, you murmured, remembering that night vividly.

-Flashback-

Halloween night had settled in with the chill of autumn, pumpkins lit on doorsteps and a hint of wood smoke in the air. Your dad was out of town, as he often was, leaving just you and your mom to keep up the Halloween traditions. You’d promised her a cozy movie night, just the two of you with popcorn, cookies, and your favorite horror flicks.

When Dean asked if you’d wanted to see a movie with him, the thought of slipping away for a bit had been tempting. But you hesitated, mumbling, “I promised my mom I’d stay in tonight. She’s got this whole thing planned—snacks, homemade cookies. I just… I don’t want to leave her alone, you know?”.

Dean’s face softened in understanding, a warmth in his tone that took you by surprise. “Yeah, I get it”, he said, nodding as if he genuinely respected that. He’d never quite been used to this kind of affection or tradition, but he could see how much it meant to you.

You bit your lip, feeling a bit shy as you added, “And… Actually… She sort of asked if you were planning on sneaking in again tonight or… if you’d want to come by a little earlier. Through the front door this time”. You glanced up at him, nerves fluttering in your stomach. “She said she wouldn’t mind getting to know you… you know, officially”.

Dean blinked, taken aback for a moment, a faint blush creeping up his neck. But then a small smile broke through, soft and genuine. “Yeah?”, he murmured, surprised but clearly pleased. “Well, I could do that. I mean… if you’re sure she’s okay with it?”.

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “She’s more than okay with it. She was… well, I think she’s actually a little curious about the guy I keep sneaking around with”.

Dean chuckled, the sound warm and a bit bashful. “Alright, then. I guess I’ll bring my best manners”. There was a glimmer of humor in his eyes, but you could tell that underneath it, he was touched by the invitation.

A couple of hours later, Dean stood on your front porch, fidgeting slightly as he smoothed down his jacket, looking more nervous than ever. When you opened the door, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him standing there, his usual bravado softened into something more real, more earnest.

As you led him into the cozy warmth of your home, the aroma of freshly baked cookies greeted him. Your mom appeared in the kitchen doorway, a warm smile lighting up her face as she wiped her hands on a towel. “So, Dean was it, right?”, she said, her tone welcoming but curious. She extended her hand, and he shook it, his smile both charming and a little shy.

“Yes, ma’am”, he replied, his voice respectful, clearly wanting to make a good impression.

Your mom chuckled softly as she looked him over, her eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of approval. “ma'am? Uhh, I like him”, she mused aloud, turning to you with a playful smile before looking back at Dean. “I like you, Dean! You’ve got good manners”. She winked, clearly enjoying herself, making Dean shift a bit under the unexpected praise, but his grin didn’t falter.

“Thank you, ma’am”, Dean replied, his voice genuinely grateful.

Your mom led you both toward the kitchen, where the smell of warm cider filled the air. She grabbed three mugs, filling them with the steaming drink before setting them on the table. “I made this batch a little special”, she said with a conspiratorial grin. “Added a touch of something stronger—don’t worry, Dean, in Europe you’re well within the drinking age”, she winked. “Helps with the Halloween chill”.

Dean chuckled, his eyes lighting up as he took the warm mug from her hands. “Well, can’t say no to that”, he said, looking at you with a playful smirk before taking a sip. The taste was warm, spiced, and a little sharper than he expected, but he took it in stride, enjoying the drink and the friendly welcome.

The three of you settled around the kitchen table, and your mom wasted no time in asking Dean questions about his life, his family, and his interests. She listened with genuine interest, her gaze flicking between you and Dean with a subtle smile. You could tell she was pleased, maybe even relieved, to see the two of you together like this, as if her instincts about him had been right all along.

As the evening went on, Dean’s natural charm and respectful demeanor had your mom fully captivated. Even though he had to be careful about what he shared, steering away from the supernatural realities of his life, he answered her questions with an easy politeness that felt genuine. He spoke about his love of cars, a few of his favorite bands, and, without meaning to, started talking about you.

Every time he mentioned your name, there was a softness in his voice that didn’t go unnoticed by your mom. He described the way you’d sneak out for late-night talks, how you could make him laugh no matter what was going on, and his voice took on a rare tenderness when he looked your way. It was clear he was speaking from a place of true admiration and respect, and he had your mom completely wrapped around his finger, though he didn’t seem aware of it.

Your mom beamed, clearly enjoying every bit of his stories. “Well”, she said with a warm smile, looking between you and Dean, “it sounds like you two have been getting along just fine. And you know, Dean, I’m glad she has a friend like you around. She’s always been independent, but it’s good to know there’s someone watching out for her”.

Dean glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment, as if he was still taking in the fact that he was here, being welcomed like this. “She’s something special”, he said, almost to himself, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart skip a beat.

Your mom smiled, nodding. “I can see that”, she replied, looking at you with a proud, knowing expression before shifting her gaze back to Dean. “And you’re welcome here anytime, Dean”.

-End of the Flashback-

Dean took a deep breath, grounding himself back in the present as the warm memory faded, leaving behind a bittersweet ache. He looked around your apartment, taking in the familiar comfort of your space, and he felt that same warmth from years ago, the kind that made him feel at home in a way he rarely did.

You caught him staring at the family photo again, a soft smile pulling at your lips as you noticed the look of nostalgia in his eyes. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Having these memories”.

Dean nodded, his gaze meeting yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah”, he murmured. “It is”.

The silence between you felt heavy but comforting, filled with words left unsaid and memories that spoke for themselves. There was something in Dean’s eyes that made you feel like he was seeing you as that teenager all over again—the girl he’d climbed through windows for.

“Didn’t think of them for a while tho”, Dean mumbled, his gaze still fixed on the family photo, though his mind was miles away. His voice held a quiet vulnerability, as if he were opening a door he’d kept closed for years, trying to keep those memories and all they meant at arm’s length.

You moved a little closer, your presence grounding him as he stood there, shoulders slightly slouched, a small, soft smile pulling at his lips despite himself. “It’s strange, but… it feels like it hasn’t been that long since—well, since all of this”.

You felt the weight of his words, sensing that he wasn’t just talking about your apartment or even the past itself but something deeper, something that still connected the two of you. There was a warmth in his eyes, a lingering reminder of that young man he’d been, and the version of yourself that had found something so real in him, even when everything else was uncertain.

“Maybe some things are worth remembering”, you said softly, meeting his gaze and letting the words hang in the air.

Dean nodded, his eyes holding yours, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah”. he replied, his voice barely a whisper, filled with a sincerity that made your heart flutter. “Some things definitely are”.

The quiet, unspoken understanding between you felt like a fragile bridge, connecting who you were then with who you were now.

Before the moment could deepen, you took a small step back, feeling the intensity of the conversation settle over you like a warm but slightly overwhelming blanket. “I’m just… gonna head to the bathroom real quick”, you murmured, offering a shy smile. “Make yourself at home”.

Dean gave you a quick nod, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Will do”, he replied, watching as you slipped away. He took a deep breath, looking around your apartment once more with a sense of reverence, noticing all the small details that made it so distinctly yours.

As you closed the bathroom door, you leaned against it for a moment, catching your breath. The quiet excitement of having him here, of feeling the past rush back with such clarity, filled you with a thrill that was both comforting and new. You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, the sense that no matter how many years had passed, there was still something alive between you, something that neither time nor distance had managed to erase.

Meanwhile, Dean took in the space around him, glancing at your bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines of well-loved novels, and finding little reminders of who you’d grown into. He smiled to himself, feeling at home in a way he hadn’t in a long time, as if this space held all the things that had been missing from his life on the road.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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