#she refuses to talk about anything serious or real

[werewolfmack]

Started the day texting my mom back and idk I'm really determined to talk WITH her about what the fuck is wrong with our relationship every time we DO talk because I'm sick of this burying her head in the sand thing she has been doing and I'm trying to overcome my own confrontation avoidance. But its also a hard way to start the day because it was a birthday text where she dreamed I gave her a hug, so that sucks.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Tension Between Us | LN4

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary ━━━━━━━ Y/n, shy and reluctant, has been resisting Lando’s advances for months. After accidentally flashing him at a gathering, their tension builds, and Y/n eventually gives in to their chemistry.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 word count ━━━━━━━ 4.7k

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

“Lando, please, stop looking at me like that,” Y/n said, her voice a mix of exasperation and something softer she couldn’t quite name. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from the intensity of his gaze. But it was too late. He had already seen it—the way her cheeks flushed, the way her breath hitched when he leaned in just a little too close.

“Like what?” Lando smirked, his British accent curling around the words like a tease. He tilted his head, his eyes filled with desire never leaving hers. “Like I can’t believe how fucking beautiful you are?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. God, why did he have to be so relentless? Six months of this—six months of him showing up unexpectedly, sending her texts that made her heart race, and saying things that left her speechless. And yet, she still refused to let herself believe it. Lando Norris, F1 driver, Monaco resident, and the man who could have anyone he wanted, was pursuing her. It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be real.

“You’re such a flirt,” she muttered, turning away to grab her drink from the coffee table. They were at a friend’s house, some casual gathering she hadn’t expected him to show up to. But of course, he had. He always found a way to be where she was.

“I’m not flirting,” Lando corrected, his voice low and smooth as he stepped closer. “I’m stating facts. You’re stunning, Y/n. And honestly, I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”

Y/n’s grip tightened on her glass. Pretending? What was he even talking about? She wasn’t the one pretending here. She was the one trying to keep her feelings locked away, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped every time he smiled or the way her skin tingled when he brushed against her. Meanwhile, Lando was… well, Lando. Confident. Charming. Persistent.

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “But you also don’t have to say things like that just because—”

“Just because what?” he interrupted, stepping even closer until they were almost touching. His cologne—something subtle and expensive—wrapped around her, making it hard to think straight. “Because I mean it? Because I’ve been trying to get you to see that I’m serious for six months now?”

Y/n swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Lando…”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “Do you really think I’d waste my time chasing someone I didn’t want?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Startled, she jumped, her drink slipping from her hand. The glass shattered on the floor, and instinctively, she bent down to start cleaning it up. She bent down to pick up the shards, her movements quick and flustered. The loose, flowy blouse she wore—soft and barely clinging to her frame—shifted with the motion. The neckline dipped lower than she realized, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, there was nothing but skin. Her breasts, bare and exposed, caught the light as the fabric slipped away.

Lando froze. His breath hitched, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. The room seemed to shrink, the noise of the party fading into a distant hum. He didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t look away. The curve of her breasts, the softness of her skin—it was all so unexpected, so utterly captivating.

Y/n straightened abruptly, her face burning as she realized what had just happened. She clutched the edges of her blouse, pulling it back into place, but the damage was done. Lando’s gaze lingered, heavy and unapologetic, before slowly lifting to meet hers.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the party. Her fingers fumbled with the fabric, trying to secure it, but her hands felt clumsy, betraying her nerves. She glanced up at Lando, who was staring at her with wide eyes and a grin that could only be described as shit-eating.

“Well,” he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the couch. “That’s one way to get my attention.”

“Shut up,” Y/n hissed, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spilled drink. But as she moved, she could feel his eyes on her, hot and heavy, and it made her heart race in a way she couldn’t ignore. She stood up abruptly, tossing the napkin onto the table. “It was an accident, okay?”

“Sure it was,” Lando said, his tone teasing but his eyes still dark with something she couldn’t quite name. He took a step toward her, his presence overwhelming. “But you know what? I’m not complaining.”

Y/n glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. How could there be when he was looking at her like that? Like she was the only person in the room. No, the only person in the world.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he shot back, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, sending a jolt of electricity through her. “But seriously, Y/n. Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She hesitated, her mind racing. Because she was scared. Because she didn’t believe someone like him could truly want someone like her. Because the thought of letting him in terrified her more than anything else.

But before she could answer, the sound of laughter from the kitchen broke the moment. Lando sighed, dropping his hand and taking a step back. “We’ll finish this conversation later,” he promised, his voice soft but firm.

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. And as she watched him walk away, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, she should take the risk. After all, Lando had spent the last six months proving he wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe it was time she stopped running.

---

Later that night, after most of the guests had left, Y/n found herself alone with Lando in the living room. The air between them was thick with tension, and she could feel his eyes on her as she sat on the couch, nervously playing with the hem of her shirt.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?”

Y/n’s head snapped up, her cheeks heating once again. “Nothing happened,” she insisted, though her voice wavered.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Right. And my imagination just decided to conjure up images of your—”

“Lando!” she interrupted, her face burning. But despite her embarrassment, there was a part of her that felt… bold. Empowered, even. He had been chasing her for months, and maybe it was time she stopped holding back.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up and walked over to where he was sitting. “Fine,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “You want to talk about it? Let’s talk.”

Lando’s eyes widened slightly, but he recovered quickly, leaning back with a smirk. “I’m all ears.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, then, before she could second-guess herself, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, exposing her bare chest to him. Lando’s jaw dropped, his eyes locking on hers with a mixture of shock and raw desire.

“Now,” she said, her voice trembling but determined. “What do you want to say?”

The room seemed to shrink as Y/n stood there, her chest exposed, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Lando’s eyes flicked down for a moment, lingering on her bare skin before snapping back up to meet hers. His smirk had faded, replaced by something far more primal.

“You really know how to make a man speechless,” he said, his voice low and filled with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine.

Y/n swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of herself. “I… I didn’t mean—”

Before she could finish, Lando reached out, his hand searing against her hip as he pulled her sharply onto his lap. She gasped, her hands instinctively landing on his shoulders for balance. His grip tightened, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other slid up her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine.

“Don’t” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, “don’t try to take it back now.”

Her heart was racing, her body betraying her resolve as she felt the heat radiating off him. She should push him away. She should stop this. But she couldn’t. Not when every part of her was screaming to stay close.

Lando’s hands moved slowly, almost reverently, over her skin. His fingertips trailed along her side, sending goosebumps in their wake, before sliding up to cup her breast. She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering shut as his thumb brushed over her nipple, teasing it into a hardened peak.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is this. About touching you. Making you feel good.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her nails digging into his shoulders as he leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. She wanted to speak, to say something—anything—but words failed her. All she could do was hold on as he explored her, his touch igniting a fire she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling.

His mouth traveled lower, leaving a trail of kisses along her collarbone before latching onto her breast. Her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips as his tongue swirled around her nipple, sucking gently but relentlessly. Heat pooled between her thighs, her body arching instinctively into his touch.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice shaking.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you want this.”

It wasn’t a demand—it was a plea. And in that moment, Y/n knew she couldn’t lie to herself anymore. Not when every fiber of her being was crying out for him.

“I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Lando’s face before he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. It was hungry, desperate, full of all the pent-up desire they’d both been holding onto for months. His hands roamed her body, claiming every inch of her as if he couldn’t get enough.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. She could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, and it only fueled her own need. The world outside this room ceased to exist. There was only Lando—his touch, his taste, the way he made her feel completely and utterly alive.

When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless. He rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n smiled faintly, her fingers trailing down his jaw. “I think I might have some idea.”

Lando chuckled softly, his hands moving to her hips. “Good. Because I’m not done yet.”

Before she could respond, he stood, lifting her effortlessly in his arms. She let out a surprised laugh, clinging to him as he carried her to the couch and laid her down gently. His body hovered over hers, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Let me show you how much I want you.”

She nodded, her voice catching in her throat as he kissed her again, his hands exploring every inch of her body. His touch was deliberate, each movement designed to unravel her completely.

As his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans, Y/n’s breath hitched. “Lando…”

“Trust me,” he whispered, his lips trailing down her neck. “I’ll take care of you.”

And she did. In that moment, surrounded by him, she trusted him completely. When his fingers found her core, she gasped, her body arching into his touch. “Oh god…”

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice achingly soft. “Let go.”

And she did, her world shattering into a thousand pieces as he brought her to the edge and pushed her over.

Lando pulled back slightly, his breath uneven as he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. Y/n lay there, her chest rising and falling, trying to steady herself after the intensity of the moment. He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his thumb tracing over her cheek as his lips curled into a soft smile.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You okay?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushing as she tried to meet his gaze. “Yeah… I’m more than okay.”

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss her briefly again before pulling away. But instead of resuming where they left off, Lando reached for her shirt, which had been discarded earlier in the heat of the moment. Gently, he slipped it back over her head, covering her with care. She blinked up at him, confused.

“Lando?” she questioned softly.

He sat back, running a hand through his messy curls before meeting her eyes again. His expression was warm but filled with a new resolve. “Get your stuff.”

Her brows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Because we’re leaving,” he said simply, standing up and offering her a hand.

---

Lando’s hand was warm against hers as he led her out of the party, fingers intertwined tightly, as if he were afraid she might slip away. The cool London air brushed against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through her body. She glanced up at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

“Where are we going?” Y/n asked, her voice trembling slightly. She already knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

He turned to her, that mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “My place,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “Unless you’d rather not.”

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. This was Lando Norris—charming, confident, and everything she never thought she deserved. But the look in his eyes, the way he spoke to her like she was the only person in the world, made it impossible to say no.

“I… I want to,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushing.

His grin widened, and he pulled her closer, his free hand resting gently on her waist. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

The car ride to his apartment was a blur. His hand never left hers, his fingers occasionally tracing patterns on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He kept stealing glances at her, his gaze lingering on her lips, her neck, her hands—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he wanted to touch. And every time their eyes met, the tension between them grew thicker, more intoxicating.

When they finally arrived at his building, Lando led her inside with an urgency she hadn’t expected. The elevator ride felt eternal, the silence heavy with unspoken words. She stood close to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm, and when he shifted slightly, their bodies pressed together, her breath hitched.

As soon as the doors opened, Lando tugged her toward his apartment, unlocking the door with practiced ease. He stepped inside, pulling her with him, and the moment the door closed behind them, he turned to her, his hands cupping her face.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “But I’ve waited too long to kiss you again.”

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, urgent and demanding. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him as if he were the only thing keeping her grounded. He tasted like mint, intoxicating and familiar, and she couldn’t help but lean into him, her body humming with need.

His hands slid down her sides, settling on her hips, and he pulled her closer until there was no space left between them. She could feel the hardness of his chest against hers, the warmth of his body seeping into her skin, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, Lando rested his forehead against hers, his eyes dark with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She swallowed hard, her heart racing. “I think I have some idea,” she teased, her voice shaky but playful.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and then he was kissing her again, softer this time, more intimate. His hands wandered, exploring every inch of her as if memorizing her shape, her curves, her reactions. And when his fingers found the hem of her shirt, he paused, looking at her with a question in his eyes.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, he lifted her shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the waist up. His eyes widened for a moment, taking in the sight of her exposed skin, the curve of her breasts, the way her nipples hardened under his gaze.

“Third time tonight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Still just as fucking breathtaking.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. There was something about the way he stared at her—like she was the only thing that mattered—that made her feel bold, unashamed. She arched her back slightly, letting him see more of her, and watched as his jaw tightened.

“You like what you see?” she asked, her voice low, teasing.

He let out a rough laugh, his hands sliding up her sides, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just below her breasts. “Like? Y/n, I’ve been obsessed since the first time I saw you. But this…” His thumbs grazed her nipples, and she gasped. “This is beyond anything I could’ve imagined.”

His touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. She reached for him, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush, her bare chest pressed against his shirt. He groaned, his hands moving to cup her breasts, his palms warm and firm.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, his voice rough, almost pained. “How much I’ve thought about touching you, tasting you…”

She bit her lip, her hips instinctively grinding against his. “Then stop talking and show me.”

A wicked grin spread across his face, and before she could react, his mouth was on her neck, sucking and biting in a way that made her knees weak. His hands never left her breasts, kneading them gently, his thumbs circling her nipples until she was gasping for air.

“Lando…” she moaned, her fingers gripping his shoulders for support.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his lips trailing down to the curve of her breast. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “God, I want you so much.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard, and she cried out, her body arching into him. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alight with pleasure. His free hand slid down to her jeans, popping the button open with ease, and she knew there was no turning back now.

He kissed her again, deep and passionate, his hands roaming freely now, teasing and tempting every part of her. And when he finally lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom, she knew there was no turning back.

The room was bathed in moonlight when he laid her down on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. He stripped off his own shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest, and she reached for him, eager to feel his skin against hers.

“I want you,” she confessed, her voice trembling but steady. “All of you.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “You have me,” he promised, his hands sliding under her hips to remove her jeans. “Every part of me.”

As their clothes fell away, leaving nothing but skin and desire between them, Y/n realized she had never felt more herself than she did in that moment. With Lando, she wasn’t hiding, wasn’t pretending. She was just her, and that was enough.

And when he finally joined her on the bed, his body pressing into hers, she knew this was only the beginning.

Lando’s lips trailed down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he reached the curve of her shoulder. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch like he was memorizing her. She arched into him, her fingers clutching at his back, nails lightly scraping against his skin. He groaned low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through her.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His lips continued their descent, leaving a trail of fire down her chest until they reached the swell of her breast. His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing it to a hardened peak before taking it into his mouth. Y/n gasped, her head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shot through her.

His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he moved lower. He kissed a path down her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel before he settled between her thighs. He looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger, and she could feel his breath ghosting over her most sensitive area.

“Lando,” she breathed, her voice trembling. She knew what he was about to do, and while the thought sent a thrill through her, she couldn’t wait. She needed more. Now.

He grinned, that mischievous glint in his eye she had come to adore. “Patience, love,” he teased, his fingers brushing lightly over her inner thigh. “I want to taste you.”

Her heart raced, but she shook her head, her hand reaching down to stop him. “No,” she said, her voice firmer than she expected. “I need you. I need to feel you inside me. Right now.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Someone’s eager,” he said, his tone playful. But there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze or the way his breathing had quickened.

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she met his eyes, her own filled with determination. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” she reminded him, her voice low but steady. “And now… I need you. All of you.”

His smirk softened into something more tender, and he leaned up to kiss her. It was slow, deep, and full of promise. “Then you’ll have me,” he whispered against her lips. “But don’t think I won’t make you beg for it later.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her hands moving to his shoulders as he positioned himself above her. Her heart pounded in anticipation, her body already aching for him. When he finally pressed into her, she gasped, her head dropping back against the pillow as pleasure coursed through her.

Lando paused, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in shallow pants. “You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. He kissed her deeply before beginning to move, each thrust driving her closer to the edge.

Y/n wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as her nails dug into his back. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, the soft moans escaping her lips only spurring him on. Every touch, every movement, felt like electricity surging through her veins.

“Look at me,” Lando commanded, his voice husky but gentle. She opened her eyes, meeting his intense gaze, and found herself completely lost in him. In that moment, there was nothing else—no doubts, no fears, just the two of them, consumed by each other.

“You drive me crazy,” he admitted, his pace slowing slightly as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “In the best way possible.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

He laughed softly, the sound sending a warmth spreading through her chest. “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied before capturing her lips in another searing kiss. His movements became more urgent, his hips driving into her harder, faster, until she felt herself teetering on the brink.

“Lando,” she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair. “I’m so close…”

“Let go,” he urged, his voice low and commanding. “I’ve got you.”

And then she was falling, stars bursting behind her eyelids as waves of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out his name, her body trembling as he followed her over the edge, his own release shuddering through him.

For a moment, they lay there, still connected, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Lando brushed a kiss against her forehead, his arms holding her tightly as if he never wanted to let go.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice light but affectionate.

She swatted his arm playfully, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “Only for you,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing again.

He grinned, that boyish charm that always made her heart skip a beat. “Good,” he said, his hand cupping her cheek. “Because I plan on keeping you very needy.”

Y/n laughed softly, but her heart was racing for an entirely different reason now. The vulnerability of the moment hung in the air, and she realized she couldn’t hold back any longer. If she didn’t tell him now, she might never find the courage.

“Lando,” she started, her voice trembling slightly. His thumb brushed against her cheek, his eyes searching hers as he waited patiently. “I… I need to say something.”

“Go on,” he encouraged gently, his gaze softening.

She took a shaky breath, her hands resting against his chest. “I don’t know when it happened, but… I’ve fallen for you. Completely. I kept telling myself it was just a crush, that it would pass, but it hasn’t. And it won’t. I care about you so much, Lando, and—”

Before she could finish, his lips were on hers, silencing her words with a kiss that left her breathless. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his own emotions shining brightly in his eyes.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against hers. “Six months. Six painfully long months where I’ve done nothing but think about you. Wanting you. Yearning for you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “From the moment we met, I knew there was something special about you.”

Her eyes filled with tears at his confession, and she reached up to frame his face with her hands. “I wish I’d told you sooner,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“Hey, none of that,” he said softly, kissing away the tear that slipped down her cheek. “We’re here now, aren’t we? That’s all that matters.”

She nodded, her heart swelling as he pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Lando,” she whispered, her words barely audible.

“I love you too, Y/n,” he replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sure. “So much.”

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming realization that they were finally on the same page. No more hesitations, no more holding back—just them, and a future they couldn’t wait to explore together.

[mwagneto]

hungarian/nomadic magyar tumblr circa 998AD dashboard simulator

🏞️ vándor-ló-979 Follow

not yall still spreading emese's foundation myth??? she literally claims she fucked a bird????? like either she's lying or she cheated and she's trying to cover it up or well. i dont even want to consider the third option

🪺 magánügyek Follow

tengri forbid women do anything???

735 notes

🦅 szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay im sick of the discourse let's do this.

8,572 notes

🐎 istván-rovására Follow

that took so long lmao -> !!!!!!!∧◇ᛏ⋈∧

481 notes

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

i'm so serious rn if you support """istván""" in any way just unfollow and block me. we do NOT need him or his dumbass god and what he's been doing to our people to spread his religion is shameful.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

btw we all know your real name is vajk stop larping as a christian it's EMBARRASSINGGGG

✝️ esztergom-örökké Follow

love seeing my mutuals reblogging this /s anyway op has multiple posts on their blog supporting quartering and human sacrifice. in case you were wondering. anyway stand with István

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

1) we dont even do human sacrifices, are you fucking stupid??? show me ONE post where i talk about that. 2) are you seriously forgetting that your bestie istván LITERALLY QUARTERED HIS UNCLE?????

#sorry to put this dumbass on the dash😭 dont even engage just block them #ur not making it up the tree of life lmao #discourse

3,264 notes

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

friendly reminder that just because you're white passing doesn't mean you're not a real magyar!! people with mixed parents are just as valid <3

🏇 attila-népe Follow

cranky coz ur ancestors decided to mix with the europeans arent you

🧺 lemezelő Follow

isnt your girlfriend literally frankish????

🏇 attila-népe Follow

you had to have done some serious stalking to find that💀 and first of all i didn't have a choice, my parents picked the tribe, and second of all she's not my "girlfriend" i got her via ritual kidnapping (WITH consent. before anyone gets weird)

🌐 a-kiber-kovács Follow

Couldn't you have kidnapped another magyar woman? Or someone from another mongoloid tribe?

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

ohh sure so now human pet guy is gonna chime in to advocate for the kidnapping of our women while being lowkey racist. what are you even doing on nomadblr????

🌅 bolygó-kárpáti Follow

what the fuck happened to my post

19,276 notes

🪔 rakabonciás Follow

for the nth time, you're only a true shaman if you were born with teeth OR with extra fingers OR in the sac. the rest of you are faking & we can tell.

🦅szél-könnyű-szárnyán-szállj Follow

okay people keep spreading this but this is literally just wrong?? like congrats on the 6 fingers op im glad u and Little Golden Father have a special connection (genuinely) but like. táltos and sámán and mágus and garabonciás and javas etc are all different things with completely different requirements and life paths which you should definitely know if you're claiming to be one?? especially since your post says shaman but you're listing the criteria for a táltos, and your username looks like a play on garabonciás so. which is it🤔 maybe get your facts in order before trying to gatekeep

anyway don't listen to op!! your connection to the Upper World is yours alone and you're the best judge of what the Fathers and Mothers want your path in life to be!!

646 notes

🛐 mea-culpa Follow

It breaks my heart that the majority of my people still refuse to see the One True God and insist on sticking to their pagan spirits. I fear that when judgement day comes, we will all be wiped out thanks to their foul godless ways.

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

how tf am i godless when i literally have dozens of gods? little mothers and little fathers are in everything all around us & it must suck ass to live in a world where you're not surrounded by the small gods that inhabit everything. manifesting that the fene and the guta tag team beat your ass tonight

🔅 hadúrsimp Follow

hadúr will literally strike op down personally. he told me himself. whispered it to me sweetly even

🐴 csillagösvény Follow

while i agree with you, i feel like you might also have ulterior motives, nomadblr user hadúrsimp

#but live your truth! doubly so on the posts of these freak repressed bible lovers. meanwhile on the #COOL side of magyarhood we walk around butt ass naked!!! op have fun never experiencing joy ever again tho #discourse

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👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

posting from an alt so i don't get cancelled but lowkey i'm starting to think koppány was right.... maybe this christianity thing isn't gonna work out after all

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

WRONG BLOG

👑 sanctus-stephanus Follow

THIS WAS A JOKE. IGNORE THIS

🪺 magánügyek Follow

ISTVÁN????????????? 💀

[sai-int]

hello! i was wondering if you could either write about mainly soap (or the whole TF-141) finding out you’re pregnant and what they would be like all throughout the 9 months. It could either be head cannons or a fic, whatever you prefer 🤗

i tried to find fics about it but i can find barely any 😞

i tried to fight the poly!141 x reader demons, but i couldn't

cw: poly!141 x reader, pregnancy stuff, implied fem/afab!reader, (use of mom), no, it doesn't matter who's kid it is.

finding out....

johnny is the first to react when you tell them the news. he's stunned silent for a split second before breaking into a wide grin and laughing. “we’re havin’ a bairn?” he pulls you into his arms, twirling you around despite your protests. “this is amazin’! we're gonna be parents!”

he's immediately excited, though slightly panicked. “wait…what do we need tae do? do we start buyin’ things? are we ready for this?” he's practically already nesting.

simon doesn’t say much at first. his gaze shifts between you and the others before he lets out a quiet, “well, that’s somethin' new."

in truth, he didn't know how to handle this information. his trauma left him scarred and terrified of the idea of parenting, but after some thought, he’ll find you alone and murmur, “y'gonna be great at this, lovie. we all will.” It’s one of the rare times he lets his emotions show.

kyle reacts with a mix of shock and excitement. “wait, wait—are we serious? this is real?” when you nod, he breaks into a wide smile, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“this is amazing. you're gonna be a great mom, doll. we'll figure it out together.”

john's reaction is steady but warm. he gives you a soft smile and kisses the top of your head. “looks like our family’s getting a little bigger.”

he's calm and reassuring, already thinking about what this means for the team and how they’ll support you in the months ahead.

first trimester...

johnny's bouncing off the walls, thrilled about the news but hilariously overprotective. he refuses to let you lift anything heavier than a water bottle and constantly asks how you’re feeling.

“ye need anythin’? a pillow? water? more snacks?” you'll have to reassure him a hundred times a day that you’re fine.

he's also immediately obsessed with baby gear, sending you links to cribs, strollers, and onesies with ridiculous captions like, “look at this wee one—it’s got ducks on it!”

simon is less overtly excited but becomes quietly attentive. he starts keeping track of your cravings and your mood swings, making sure the others don’t overwhelm you too much.

if you’re feeling nauseous, he’ll silently sit with you, rubbing small circles on your back. he's not one for grand gestures, but his steady presence is comforting.

he's also the one who subtly puts his foot down when johnny starts suggesting that the kid'll be named “soap junior.”

kyle is practical but sweet, always checking in with you and making sure you’re eating enough. “don't forget to take your vitamins. and let me know if you need me to grab anything.”

he's fascinated by the changes in your body, always asking questions. “is it weird? like, do you feel different already?” he's genuinely curious and wants to understand every part of the process. not to mention the fact this his eyes refuse to leave your stomach once you start showing.

john keeps the everyone grounded. when the others (cough—johnny—cough) start fussing too much, he steps in. “give her some space. she's not made of glass.”

second trimester...

by now, johnny's even more excited, especially when the baby starts moving. he insists on feeling every kick and might even get a little competitive with the others. “aye, th' bairn kicked fur me first, didn’t it?”

he starts talking to your belly in gaelic. no one knows that he's saying but kyle has a hunch that he's praying.

simon is more engaged now, though still subtle. he'll casually start doing the more practical things like baby-proofing or arranging for a larger living space.

he secretly reads up on pregnancy and parenthood, though he’ll never admit it. you catch him once, and he grumbles, “just making sure we’re prepared.” but you know it's for his own sake.

kyle takes the role of “baby planner” seriously, organizing everything from nursery ideas to potential schedules for when the baby arrives. he's also the one to encourage you to take care of yourself.

“you're doing amazing, love. just let us handle the rest, yeah?” he's always ready with a shoulder rub or a cup of tea when you need it.

john really begins to hone his 'dad energy'. he ensures you’re not overexerting yourself and keeps everyone focused. he starts sharing stories about his own experiences with kids, whether it’s nieces, nephews, or friends’ children, to reassure you. he holds your hand on the days when you're feeling a bit off, offering a warm embrace for you to melt in.

third trimester...

johnny is on defcon 1. he's counting down the seconds and trying to distract himself with building the crib (badly) and then taking it down, just to reassemble it. or assembling strollers. “don't worry, love, i've got this… where’s the instruction manual?”

he's constantly doting on you, rubbing your calves and back or carrying things for you. “you're a goddess, y’know that? absolutely goddess.”

simon becomes even more protective. the parenthood book he'd been reading mentioned having a mhospital bag' for when the time comes. when your third trimester comes, he's prepping, making sure a bag is packed and everything’s ready to go when the time comes. “better t'be prepared than scramblin' last minute.”

kyle is the calmest of the bunch, which makes him your go-to when you’re feeling overwhelmed. he's always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand.

"you're not doing this alone.” he'd mumble to you while drawing soft circles on your skin. his steady reassurance keeps everyone else from spiraling into chaos, as well.

d-day...

it starts with you waking up in the middle of the night, a sharp cramp making you wince. you sit up, trying to brush it off, but another contraction hits, and it’s unmistakable: the baby is coming.

johnny is the first one you wake up. he's immediately wide-eyed and panicking. “wait, this is it? this is actually it?” he's scrambling to find his boots, yelling down the hall for the others, and tripping over his own feet in his rush.

simon appears a moment later, calm but laser-focused. “time the contractions,” he says, already grabbing the hospital bag he prepared weeks ago. he gently helps you to your feet, his hand steady on your lower back to support you.

kyle's ushering you to sit down (as simon tries to shove him off) and asking practical questions. “how far apart are they? are you feeling okay? deep breaths, love.” he's already calling ahead to the hospital to let them know you’re on your way.

john takes charge of the logistics. he's already in the car and heating it up. “let's move, lads. we're trained for chaos; this is no different.” his voice is firm, but his eyes are filled with concern as he checks on you.

the ride is chaotic, to say the least. johnny insists on sitting in the backseat with you, holding your hand and offering completely and entirely unhelpful but enthusiastic encouragement.

"you’re doin’ amazing, lass. just breathe! In and out, aye? we're almost there!”

"i'm going into labor, i didn't forget how to fucking breathe, johnny!" this is starting to feel like the worst period cramps of your life.

kyle is the one actually timing your contractions and giving johnny side-eyes every time he gets too loud. “you're not the one in labor, soap. chill.”

under any other circumstance, simon would not be allowed to drive. not even around the block. tonight though? he drives like a man on a mission. he's cutting through traffic like a getaway driver with 50k in the trunk. he barely says a word nd his jaw is clenched tight, his knuckles are white on the wheel. when you let out a particularly loud groan, he mutters, “we're almost there. hang on.”

john rides shotgun, barking out directions to simon and giving you steady updates. “you're doing great, dove. just focus on breathing. we'll be there in five.”

the team storms the hospital like it's a raid. john carries you inside while johnny frantically explains to the nurses, barely coherent in his excitement. “she's havin’ th' bairn! right now!”

when they wheel you into the delivery room, johnny is by your side, holding your hand like his life depends on it. he's grinning and panicking simultaneously. “yer incredible, love. just a bit more. ye've got this!”

simon stands beside you and smooths your hair out of your face, placing a hand on your shoulder during every contraction. he can tell you're a little scared. “one at a time. you're stronger than this.” his presence feels like a rock in the storm.

kyle makes sure you’re comfortable and liaising with the medical team. “she likes ice chips, not water,” he tells a nurse, even as he offers you his hand. “you're amazing. we're so proud of you, hun."

john is the unshakable anchor, standing at the foot of the bed, his voice steady and calm. “that's it. just like that. one more push.” he doesn’t waver for a second, even when you're literally howling in pain.

when the baby’s first cries fill the room, everything changes.

johnny lets out an actual cheer, tears streaming down his face. “we did it! we've got a bairn!” he's laughing, crying, and probably squeezing your hand too hard.

simon doesn’t say a word, all shock and awe, but when the nurse places the baby in your arms, his eyes soften in a way you’ve never seen before. He murmurs, “it's perfect,” his voice breaking slightly.

kyle cuts the cord with a shaky laugh, grinning ear-to-ear. “welcome to the world, little one.” he presses a kiss to your temple, his joy radiant.

john is last to hold the baby, cradling it in his large, steady hands. “you've done so well, love... I'm so proud of you.” his voice is thick with unshed tears and pride as he hands the baby back to you.

the night ends with a baby nestled in your arms and your family surrounding you. a chaotic, loving, perfectly imperfect family.

mlist

[rafeandonlyrafe]

baby shoes

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, best friend!rafe, childhood friends to lovers, pretty fluffy :), p in v sex, unprotected smut, breeding!, pregnancy kink?, no actual sex while pregnant but lots of like. bump descriptions?

rafe rolls his eyes as you let out a squeal, already knowing what is happening.

“oh. my. god.” you pick up the baby shoes off the shelf, a pair of sparkly flats with the cutest flower straps you've ever seen. “rafe, they're so tiny!”

you hold them up for him to look at as if he's never seen baby shoes before, despite you pointing them out to him every time you're out shopping together.

“yeah, real cute.” he says, keeping his voice completely monotone.

“rafe, don't be so sour.” you pout at him. your friendship is an unexpected one. started in kindergarten and has only grown closer since, your sweet nature in contrast to rafes hard exterior.

“y/n.” rafe sighs, taking the baby shoes from your hands as he sets them back on the shelf. “we look at baby shoes and onesies every time we go to target. i brought you here to buy you a pair of boots, let's go.”

rafe tries to usher you down the aisle. despite you also being a kook he refuses to let you (or, really, your parents credit card) pay for anything.

you nod and continue to the women's section when you cross by a pair of ugg boots made for toddlers and stop in your tracks. “raaaafe!” you coo.

--

look how cute this baby is rafey

“are you serious?” rafe questions reading your text message. “im laying right next to you.”

“too much work to roll over and show you.” you shrug, both scrolling on your phones, having just gotten back from a long day. so long rafe insisted you slept at his because it was closer. only one block closer, but you didn't argue. rafes bed is also yours, and yours his. you've always shared, no need to change now just because you're older.

“that baby isn't even that cute.” rafe huffs out.

you turn over now, rolling onto your stomach to glare at him. “rafe cameron, you are such a dick!”

“oh, so you'll roll over to yell at me?” rafe questions, a smile on his face. usually he wouldn't take shit from anyone, but you're not just anyone to him.

“yes because you deserve it asshole. that baby is adorable.”

“yours would be way cuter.” rafe grins, knowing how flustered you get talking about having a child of your own.

“okay, true.” 

--

“what the fuck is going on?” rafe questions, his mouth literally dropping as he walks in.

“oh my god!” you squeal. “you told me you were coming over at 2, you idiot!” 

rafe looks at the time on your alarm clock. 1:55. rafe may have not knocked before letting himself in, but he figured it was fine. 

“what are you wearing?”

“it's… it's a fake pregnancy belly. my friend carly who works with the school plays said they were getting rid of it bc it was getting old… and i asked to have it.” you shrug, your embarrassment melting away the longer you talk about it.

“why would you want that?” rafe questions.

“i just wanted to see what id look like.” you shrug, turning again to look at yourself in the mirror, running your hands over the tshirt stretching around the plastic material. “i think i look cute.”

rafes eyes are on the round swell of your belly. he thinks you look more than cute, he thinks you look so ravishing he wants to make that belly real right this second.

“gonna take a shower.” rafe makes a turn towards your bathroom before you can argue, saving himself by locking the door behind him.

-- 

“why are you in a mood?” rafe just entered your house but he can already tell from the look on your face that something has upset you.

“freaking kelsey is pregnant.” you spit her name out like it's an insult. she's been your sworn moral enemy ever since she “dated” rafe in the fourth grade and told him he had to choose between staying friends with you or dating her. he chose staying friends of course, but you've despised her anyways since.

“okay…” rafe waits for more reasoning to you being so upset.

“that should be me.” you whine, not ashamed as you throw a little tantrum, stomping your feet on the ground.

“it can be.” rafe shrugs.

“huh?” you question, plopping back on the couch behind you, waiting for rafe to join you for movie night.

“you're not a kid anymore, y/n. you're 21. have a baby if you want.” rafe simply states.

“i- who would i even have a baby with? im single.” you've been single a majority of your life. there were flings in high school, but no one that lasted.

what you don't know if rafe contributed heavily to those relationships ending. he had staked his claim on you, and no guy was worthy in his eyes.

“id help you raise a baby.” rafe says without really thinking, sitting down on the couch next to you, not flinching as you turn to place your feet on his lap, always wanting to stretch out and get comfortable.

“you would?”

“im with you all the time anyways.” rafe nods. “if you had a baby id basically be their dad anyways.”

“id want that.” you admit. “you're the only guy out there i trust enough to get me pregnant.” you're not really thinking about your words themselves as you press your fingers to your stomach, imagining it filled up with a baby, with rafes baby.

“alright, we gotta talk about something else.” rafe shifts on the couch, pushing your feet off his lap to turn himself slightly away from you.

“wait why?” you question, sitting forward.

“just… change the subject.” rafe takes a deep breath, trying to calm down the boner that is growing in his pants.

“no, tell me!” you move closer, which only makes rafe turn away more. “tell me, rafey!”

he's never kept anything from you, and shockingly you can't figure out why he's behaving like this now.

“jesus, stop!” rafe scooches away when you grab onto his arm, trying to get him to face you, to look at you.

“tell me!” you complain again.

“because im fucking hard okay!” rafe shouts, standing up from the couch. “it's getting me fucking hard thinking about getting you pregnant so change the fucking subject!”

you sit on the couch in shock, eyes wide open. you know you shouldn't, he's your best friend after all, but you find your eyes moving lower, and sure enough, the front of rafes pants and tented, cock pushing away from his body.

“i-i-” you stammer.

“you nothing. okay? we forget this happened. just stop talking about getting fucking pregnant and stop talking about me being the one to do it.”

“but i want it to be you.” you blink up at rafe, head suddenly clearing. you do want it or be rafe. he's the only one who should be waking up in the middle of the night with you when your baby cries. he's the one you want to experience every milestone with. he's the one you want filling you up over and over until your tummy starts to swell.

“we can't go back.” rafe says, his tone suddenly serious. “we can't go back to just friends.”

“i know.” it's all you need to say for rafe to surge forward, dropping his knees to the floor as he kisses you, mouth easily dominating yours. you let out a soft moan as his hands cup your jaw, keeping you close even though you press yourself into him, hands fisted in his shirt.

“let me have you.” rafe pants against your mouth. “i need you. let me fill you up.”

“yes.” you nod. “yes, please. take your clothes off.”

you don't care that you're in the middle of your living room, you immediately tug your shirt off over your head, bearing your breasts to him. rafe knew you never wore a bra when in your own home, but seeing your bare tits is still a shock.

he doesn't even take his shirt off despite you tugging at it, cupping your chest as he leans in, mouth wrapping around your nipple.

“oh my god!” you squeal, fisting your hands in rafes hair, holding him close to your body as his tongue flicks over your nipple, hardening it quickly.

“i… im sorry baby i need to get inside of you.” rafe feels crude, tugging at your shorts to pull them down your legs, tossing them away.

“i need you too.” there will be plenty of time now that you've admitted feelings for each other to take your time, to go slow and learn each other's bodies.

rafe stands up, looking down at you in just your underwear, eyes glassy with lust as he pulls his shirt off, followed by him tugging his pants down, finally getting your eyes off his face as your eyes move down. you reach forward, hand rubbing over rafes length, annoyed that the fabric of his underwear is not allowing you to see him properly.

“fuck, stop.” rafe takes a step back. “im supposed to cum in you. get you pregnant. you're gonna make me bust.”

you smile, flattered that your simple touch can cause him to almost lose it.

“where do you want me.” you whisper. you aren't a virgin but you certainly aren't as experienced as rafe. while you know he partakes in hookups at parties you don't attend, you were never interested in sleeping around just for the sake of sleeping around.

“just lay back, baby.” rafe let's out a huff as you turn from sitting on the couch to laying down, your breasts falling beautifully as you wait for him to make the next move. “let's get these off.” rafe pulls your underwear down, but you keep your legs together to hide yourself for a little longer.

rafe shucks his underwear off next, praying his throbbing erection doesn't cause him to cum the second he gets inside of you.

you let out a low moan just from the both of you being naked. “gonna kneel down. wrap your leg around me.” rafe helps position you, spreading your legs as his eyes take in your wet cunt, pretty and perfect as he wraps your knee around his hips as he sinks himself down, moving to drape his body over yours.

“ill go slow.” rafe says, hoping he can stay true to his word as he reaches down, running his cock briefly through your folds, obsessed with the way your expression changed into one of pure pleasure.

“okay, just at first.” you nod. you need slow to open you up, to stretch your walls to allow rafes size, but you dont want it to stay slow, needing to feel him pound into you, make a mess of your cunt.

rafe sinks in with a gasp as your tightness and warmth envelops him. “fuck.” he mutters out, eyes squeezing closed as he inserts himself until he’s fully buried inside you pussy.

“feels real good rafey.” you pout. “cant believe we didn’t do this sooner. could already have a baby by now.” “oh, im gonna give you plenty.” rafe bends down to kiss you, letting himself get lost in the kiss, focusing on your mouth against his to distract from his throbbing cock.

“move.” you gasp, starting to grind your hips. “move.”

its all rafe needs to start smashing his hips back and forth, rocking into you in a steady but fast motion, aiming every time to get his cock as deep inside of you as possible.

“yes, yes!” you squeal, hands gripping his shoulders. as good as rafe thrusting into you feels, you want his cum more than anything. you begin to squeeze your pussy around him every time he pulls out before thrusting back in, and you can tell from the way rafes mouth hangs open that he likes it.

“fuck, im already close, sorry.” rafe has never had a problem cumming too early with anyone else, but hes never been with you, his best friend who he’s been head over heels for since kindergarten, who is begging to have him put a baby in your womb.

“cum in me. please.” you don’t even care about your own orgasm. you don’t even want it, already feeling so overwhelmed from the way rafes cock swells inside of you.

your eyebrows raise when you realize what the warmth spreading inside of you is, never having let a man take you without a condom. you let out a moan to match rafes as he cums, flooding your insides as he grinds into you. 

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto you, not caring about the weight as you squeeze your cunt, milking any last drops out of him.

--

“oh my god, i’m gonna cry its so cute.” tears brim in your eyes as you look at your finished nursery, rafe having done the last of the decorations when you were napping, putting the final touches on.

“you're so cute.” he hums, wrapping his arms around you as he stands behind you, also looking over the room. 

“thank you. its perfect.” you sniffle.

“you’re perfect.” rafe has been overwhelming you with compliments lately, wanting to make sure that you know he is still very much attracted to you with your pregnant belly. “and beautiful. and hot. and sexy.” “oh, stop it.” you roll your eyes with a giggle, turning to face rafe.

“it would be inappropriate to have sex in our babies nursery, wouldn’t it?” despite the baby not even being here yet, rafe looks around the former guest bedroom and realizes that it simply wouldn’t be right.

“you’re not getting me on the floor anyways.” you press your hands to your stomach. seven months along with rafes baby.

“probably for the best.” rafe places his hand on your back, leading you out of the nursery and towards your bed. “wanna eat you out on our bed anyways, mamas.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @folklorsweet @soilderpoetandking @auryyz

[littlelamy]

Hiii! :) Reader x Rafe idea..........They have taken some sexy polaroid pictures just being silly one night and Rafe carrys a photo of her in his wallet, which accidently slips out one day when he is with Topper, who sees it. Next time Topper sees Reader with Rafe, he makes some crude joke and she thinks that Rafe has shown his friends her intimate photos and she leaves in tears, with Rafe running after her in pure panic, cue angsty feels.

a/n: hii! :) omg, i absolutely love this request! i was excited to write it. i hope you love how it turns out! thank you so much for sending it in! <3

the night you and rafe took those polaroid pictures was just supposed to be a joke. you were both a little tipsy, laughing, and just messing around in his room. the camera in his hands was just a reason to capture a few silly moments between the two of you—nothing serious. you weren’t planning on anything hot or personal. it was a joke, that’s all. but somewhere between the shots of you sticking your tongue out and rafe making goofy faces, the camera caught you in your underwear, chest all exposed, ass poking out just enough for the picture to be provocative without being obscene. it wasn’t something you thought about afterward—it was just something that happened in the moment.

but apparently, it meant something to rafe. because later, when you both sat down on his bed to sort through the pictures, he picked that one out—the one of you in lace, tits barely covered—and tucked it into his wallet. you thought it was just a silly keepsake for him, something he'll probably use to jerk off to when you leave. you never thought he’d actually keep it, let alone show anyone. it was just something between the two of you.

days passed, and things went back to normal—hanging out, drinking, teasing each other. but then one day, you’re standing with rafe at the bar, waiting for him to grab a drink when topper walks up with his usual smirk.

“hey, y/n, heard rafe’s been keeping a little picture of you in his wallet, huh?” topper says with that cocky grin, eyes trailing over to rafe. “must’ve been a real good shot. looks like you’ve been working on that ass, huh?”

you freeze. something about the way he says it, like it’s a joke but not really a joke, makes your stomach churn. you glance at rafe, looking for any sign of explanation, but he’s already looking away, his jaw clenched tight, and his hands gripping the counter like he’s trying to hold it together.

“what’s he talking about?” you ask, voice a little too sharp, eyes darting between them.

“it’s nothing,” rafe mutters quickly, shaking his head like he’s trying to brush it off. but the way his eyes won’t meet yours has you wondering if it’s really nothing. “it’s just—”

but before he can explain, topper cuts him off, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “oh, it’s definitely something. nice tits in that picture, huh? I’d keep that one too, rafe. wouldn’t want to forget what you're fucking late at night.”

you feel the blood drain from your face. your breath catches in your throat, and before you can stop it, the words slip out. “did you show them?” you ask, your voice trembling with hurt. “you showed them that picture?”

rafe looks like he’s been punched in the stomach, his hands stilling as he looks up at you, panic in his eyes. “no, y/n,” he says quickly. “I didn’t show anyone. it just—it slipped out of my wallet, and topper saw it by accident. i swear.”

but the damage is already done. topper’s stupid joke, the way he looked at you like he knew, like he had some claim on you—it stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. you try to shake it off, but it’s like a weight on your chest that won’t budge.

“so what, rafe? you just kept it in your wallet on display for everyone, huh? I was just some joke for you and your friends to laugh at?” you can feel the tears start to burn in your eyes, but you hold them back, refusing to let him see how much it hurts.

“no, baby,” rafe says softly, his hand reaching for yours, but you pull it back, not wanting to let him touch you right now. “I didn’t want anyone else to see it. it was just for me, just something private between us. I swear. I didn’t show it to anyone.”

you shake your head, unable to stop the words from slipping out. “why didn’t you tell me about it, then? why didn’t you tell me it was still in your wallet?”

he’s speechless for a moment, like he didn’t think that part through. “i didn’t want you to feel weird about it, y/n. i just... I thought it’d be something private, something just for us, not something anyone else needed to see.”

but topper had already seen it, and you can’t shake the feeling that something so intimate being out in the open now just feels wrong. you back away, shaking your head, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

“don’t touch me, rafe,” you say, your voice breaking. “don’t touch me right now.”

he doesn’t listen. of course he doesn’t listen. he reaches out for you anyway, his fingers brushing your arm. “please, just—just let me explain. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I swear, I didn’t show it to anyone. it was just—”

you cut him off, your voice rising. “it was just what, rafe? a secret little keepsake for you to keep from your friends to jerk off to? that’s what it is, right?”

he flinches like you’ve slapped him. “no,” he says, his voice desperate. “no, it wasn’t like that. it was just a stupid picture. something stupid we did together. I didn’t think anyone would—”

“then why didn’t you tell me?” you demand, your eyes flashing with anger now. “why didn’t you tell me what you were keeping in your wallet? why didn’t you tell me it was me, looking like that, with my tits out and my ass hanging out for everyone to see?”

he stares at you, his face pale, eyes wide with regret. “I never meant for it to go this far, y/n. I never wanted you to feel like I was treating it like a joke or some... something for my friends to laugh at. it was just for us. just for you and me.”

but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s not just for the two of you anymore. it’s public now, and that’s enough to make your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect. it feels like something has shifted, like a piece of your trust in him has cracked and now everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

“whatever,” you mutter, turning to leave. “I can’t do this right now.”

you don’t wait for him to stop you. you don’t want to hear anything else he has to say. so you walk away, the tears you’ve been holding back finally spilling down your face as you move through the crowd. it’s all too much—too much betrayal, too much confusion.

rafe doesn’t think. he just runs after you, his heart hammering in his chest as he tries to catch up. he knows he fucked up. he knows he should’ve told you. should’ve done more. but now it’s too late, and the only thing on his mind is fixing this, somehow. he can’t lose you. not over something so stupid.

“y/n, wait!” he calls, grabbing your arm just as you turn the corner. you yank your arm out of his grip, glaring at him through tear-filled eyes.

“don’t,” you snap, your voice shaky. “don’t fucking touch me.”

“please,” he pleads, his chest tight with panic. “please, just listen to me. I swear, i didn’t mean for it to go like this. I didn’t show anyone. it was just—just for us, y/n. please.”

you look at him, tears streaking down your face, the hurt in your eyes making his stomach twist. “I don’t know, rafe. I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours, but you take a step back, shaking your head. “i never meant for you to feel like that,” he says, his voice soft now, regret dripping in every word. “i’m sorry. i fucked up. please, just... please don’t leave.”

you stop, just for a second, long enough for him to catch his breath. but then you turn away, shaking your head again. “I don’t know if I can trust you right now.”

rafe feels like he’s dying inside, like he’s losing everything in that one moment. “I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this,” he says, his voice desperate. “I swear. just please don’t leave.”

but you don’t answer him. you just keep walking, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the night as he stands there, helpless, watching you disappear from his sight.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Only Knew Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 1

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, tooth rotting fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v)

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Nothing better than making a man be down bad.

Word Count: 8.5k

He’d pulled out the fucking stops. Ben didn’t even know what the fucking stops were, but he’d pulled them out. He was going to make every goddamn romance in history look fucking pathetic. She was going to swoon and fall into his arms like a movie, and he’d kiss Her like the hero he was, and then he’d have Her forever.

Just Her. All for him. 

If Ben did this right—and he would, because he was a goddamn gentleman and not a fucking pussy asshole who would fail the first woman who’d managed to make his heart move—he’d get to have Her forever. He’d have one fucking person he didn’t need to prance around like a monkey for, who he could walk home to, smile at, and fucking mean it. One person he actually liked, who didn’t want to see him do a trick or say the right thing, who just wanted him. Who spoke to him without fear, but still with reverence, because Ben would make Her fall for him so fucking hard, she’d finally feel all these stupid goddamn emotions he’d been plagued with over the last year. 

Ben would do whatever the hell he needed to for Her feel this. This strange fucking pull to be near Her all the goddamn time, and serve her, and talk to her. He’d throw everything he had into showing Her that he felt it—more than he’d ever felt fucking anything—and that if She could feel it too, he’d never allow her to stop feeling it. He’d fucking worship Her. He’d be whatever She needed him to be. 

And She just seemed to want Ben to be Ben. 

Which made him fall harder. 

And made him all the more resolved to romance the fucking Christ out of Her. 

He was picking Her up. Standing outside Her apartment with a bouquet of flowers like some goddamn idiot. Shifting on his feet as he waited for Her, because her roommates said she was still getting ready, and Ben wasn’t allowed inside. 

Her roommates didn’t really seem to like him. Ben didn’t really fucking care what they thought. They weren’t Her, and she was the only one who fucking mattered right now. Maybe ever.

Christ on a cross, that would be nice. If She got to be the only thing that mattered to Ben. If Ben got to be the only thing that mattered to Her.

He should knock on the door again, because it could not take that fucking long to get ready for a date. Ben had done fucking everything—suit, shaving, shoes, cologne—and that had taken him five goddamn minutes. Maybe those fucking bitches were trying to talk Her out of this. Trying to tell Her that Ben wasn’t serious about her, and she shouldn’t waste Her time with him.

She needed to waste Her time with him. Ben was here to do fucking everything with Her, and that included wasting time. Together. If he had it his way, they’d waste time all fucking night, and then keep wasting it for another million years.

He needed to break that fucking door down. He’d fix it after, too, for Her. He’d do fucking anything for Her, and if she was having doubts, he needed to kill them-

The door swung open only a second before his fist went flying, and Ben felt like he’d gotten punched.

She was flawless. Fucking gorgeous, designed by goddamn heaven and sent to Earth like some star that never burned out. Ben had never seen anything like Her, in front of him and smiling. Perfectly colored lips and styled hair and sinful body, more beautiful every second because She was being beautiful for Ben. She always looked like a fucking incarnation of Ben’s fantasies and dreams—no matter what She wore or how she did her makeup—and he’d seen Her look like this a million times for charity galas, but it had never been for Ben.

She’d chosen that dress for him. She’d done Her hair because they were going out. She picked a lipstick she wanted Ben to see.

And if Ben did this fucking right—did this like She deserved—he could have that color staining his cock by the end of the night. 

“Hi.” She whispered, giving him a sweet smile, and Ben was going to fucking explode. “I’m sorry about my roommates. They’re protective.”

“Good.” He grunted, glaring over Her head. “You deserve to be protected. But they don’t have to fucking protect you from me!”

She raised Her brows, even as a faint, pretty flush crept over her face. “I don’t think that’s going to convince them, Ben.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He muttered, moving his gaze back to Her. Christ, She was too goddamn beautiful. It was trapping him in a loop. “You look fucking hot.”

“Thank you. You, um, you too.” 

Her voice sounded breathy, and She was looking at Ben like she wanted to jump on him. He needed to keep that look on Her face for the rest of goddamn time.

The stops. Ben needed to pull out the fucking stops.

“These are for you.” He shoved the flowers into Her hands, scanning over Her pretty features to check that they had the intended effect. They seemed to. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and Ben could hear her heart do a little stumble in Her chest, so he was pretty damn sure they’d worked.

“Ben-“

“There’s paper in my car, too.” Ben jumped in, because She needed to know about everything before She formed an opinion. “And a fuck ton of pencils.”

She blinked at him. “Why?”

“You said you needed more paper and pencils.”

“I said-“ She swallowed, Her body leaning a little closer to his. That seemed good. “I said I needed more paper and pencils, so you bought me more paper and pencils?”

Ben frowned. He was pretty he’d made that damn clear. “What the fuck else was I supposed to do.”

“Nothing.” She smiled at Ben. The soft smile. He’d fucking nailed it. “Thank you, Ben.”

He grunted, offering Her his arm. “Are you ready.”

She nodded, disappearing back into Her apartment for only a second to put the flowers in a vase before returning, fucking smiling at him again, and letting Ben lead Her out of her shitty apartment building to his car. She looked fucking right in his car. The seat molded perfectly around Her, she was beautiful at Ben’s side, and this was where She belonged. Where Ben could touch Her—his hand curled into a fist in an effort to not touch Her, not yet—and she could be comfortable. In luxury. 

She deserved luxury more than fucking pussy Ben knew. More than the assholes who already had it, more than the brown-nosing dick-riders who chased it at Vought. Ben could fucking give it Her. She didn’t even have to ask, and he’d move the world onto a platter at Her feet. Because She was real, and beautiful, and so fucking sweet Ben got a little fucking high on it when She spoke. When She told him about all her students in the car, and giggled at his jokes. When She smiled at him in the golden light of the road, took his hand out of the car with sparkling eyes, and leaned into his touch as he guided Her into the empty restaurant.

He could get used to this. To the look of wide, blatant awe on Her face as they were led to their table—it was a nice fucking restaurant, and Ben had picked it out specifically for Her, so that was another damn good sign—and the way that whenever their eyes met, she’d give him that soft smile again.

“Ben.” She whispered as they sat down. “Where are all the other people?”

He shrugged, giving the waiter a curt nod as he poured the water and left them alone. “Not fucking here, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I know that. Why aren’t they here?”

“Probably because I rented the place.”

She sat a little taller, and Her expression open as her lips parted and brow furrowed. 

“What’s-“

“The whole restaurant?” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben frowned. 

“Obviously,” He grunted, trying to work out why the fuck this was freaking Her out. “Do you not like it?”

“Not at all, it’s just-“ She pulled her lower lip between Her teeth, fingers fidgeting with her napkin. “You didn’t have to do that. For me.”

Ben scowled. “Of course I fucking had to-“

“Ben-“

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t, people would be gawking at us all damn night. Sticking their fucking noses in your business, crawling up your taint like they’re always up mine.” Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide gaze. She needed to know he was serious. That She was damn worth this, and Ben would keep Her safe. Keep Her at peace, away from the fucking vultures and monsters, at Vought and in the media. “This is for us, babygirl. I’m not going let any fucking pussy bother you, let anyone look at you who you don’t want to. And nobody,” he shot Her a wink. “Is going to crawl up your taint but me.”

She giggled, Her body relaxing, and Ben counted that as another fucking victory. “That’s gross, Ben.”

“It’s true.” He shrugged, bracing his forearms on the table. “Until you say the word, nobody’s going to know fucking shit about us.”

“The waiters will know.” She pointed out, even as the pretty flush returned. “About… us.”

Christ, the word us had never sounded so fucking good. Ben never wanted to hear anyone but Her say it again. He never wanted it to mean anyone but them. Her and Ben. Us. Something he could defend and protect and keep just for them, together.

He chuckled. “The waiters will keep their pussy fucking mouths shut, if they know what’s good for them.”

She rolled Her eyes, but her smile remained. “You’d murder a waiter for me?”

She was joking. Ben would murder a waiter for Her, if she asked—She never would, but if she did, she wouldn’t even have to say please—but She was joking, so he just laughed.

“For you, I’d kill the damn president.”

Another fucking giggle escaped her. Ben wanted to bottle that sound and shoot it into his blood like goddamn heroine. “That’s not very American of you, Soldier-“

“Don’t fucking say it.” He raised an accusing finger at Her, even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s Ben to you, sweetheart.”

She hummed, raising Her brows slightly. “Is it Ben for all the other girls, too?” 

“Wouldn’t know.” He leaned forward with a smirk, lowering his voice to the rumble that always seemed to make that slack, wanting expression pop up. “There aren’t any other girls.”

“Oh.” She whispered, and there it was. Ben had Her. So fucking close. “No girls?”

“No girls,” Ben’s voice was firm as he said Her name, because he’d had countless other women in his bed but none of them had been his. None of them had been even fucking close to what She was, what Ben hoped she could be to him. “I was damn serious, sweetheart. I haven’t fucked another woman in a year.”

She swallowed. “For me?”

He nodded, watching Her carefully, and she gave him a soft, slightly nervous smile.

“No sex?” She raised Her brows. “You must have a lot a free time now, huh?”

Ben laughed. It was loud and rolling through his chest, breaking the static silence of the restaurant because Christ, he needed to have Her. 

“Smart fucking mouth, babygirl.” He smirked, leaning forward. “Not wrong, either. You’re going to get a fucking master.”

He winked, and there was a soft hitch in Her breath.

“I’m getting a master?”

“I haven’t be keeping it in my pants for fun,” Ben drawled Her name, and he could get addicted to that flush and small gasp. “We’re going to fill up that free time together.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

She was gaping at Ben—practically fucking drooling—and if he grabbed Her face, he could kiss her. Here. Now. Blow Her fucking mind and fill that free time right here on the damn table. Fill Her on the damn table-

“What have you been using the free time for?” She asked. “While you’ve been, um, keeping it in your pants.”

He shrugged. He’d waited a year. He could wait a few more hours to fuck Her stupid. “Watched TV. Smoked.” He tilted his head at Her. “What do you use your free time for.”

“I, um, I don’t really have free time,” She mumbled, and Ben frowned. He’d have to fix that.

“What would you do?” He pushed, ready to mentally mark whatever he’d need to keep around for Her, once she had that time. “If you had the time?”

“Maybe a hobby?” She pulled her lips between her teeth, and if She kept doing that, they wouldn’t make it to actual dinner. “I could make art. Or write. Or bake.” She tilted Her head. “I think I just like making things. Seeing that I did something, and it was me. I did it.”

Ben nodded. He could get paint. And more fucking paper and pencils. And whatever the hell people used to bake. He didn’t understand Her making something shit, but Christ, he liked Her for feeling it and saying it. She was so fucking caring and sweet, he was going to lose his damn mind. “That why you teach?”

“Yeah, actually. I think it is.” She gave him an odd look. “What about you? What would you do as a hobby?”

Ben opened his mouth, and She shook her head.

“Don’t say drugs. Or me.”

He scoffed, and fuck, She looked hot when she was smug. “Fuck off, Sweetheart-“

“Was I wrong?”

“No.” He grumbled. “But I don’t fucking do hobbies.”

She snorted. “Everyone does hobbies, Ben. You just haven’t found one you like.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but he was still grinning. He didn’t know how the fuck She did that to his face. “What, you think I’m going to start fucking knitting, like some damn pussy grandma-“

“You could collect something,” She offered, and Ben might fucking die if She kept sounding so sincere. Like She actually fucking cared that he found something to enjoy. “Or do a sport-“

He snorted. “I don’t fucking do sports. No one can keep up with me, it’s not fucking fun.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She swallowed, and Ben didn’t miss how She glanced at his arms, and chest, and hands. How that expression like She wanted to jump on him was back. “How about woodworking?”

Ben raised his brows. “Woodworking.”

She hummed, nodding with a small, teasing smile. “It’s a very masculine hobby, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s probably that, or coaching little league.”

Ben chuckled, but his brain started to spin into images of coaching little league for their kids. And he’d be more fucking thrown by that image if similar ones didn’t flash through his brain all the damn time. If he didn’t constantly fucking imagine a real life with Her. If he didn’t think about it all the goddamn time, because She was it. Ben wanted all of Her, and he’d be damned if he didn’t give Her his own all once he had her-

Right before Ben could damn it, throw himself over the table at Her, and prove to her that he was damn serious about his with his mouth and hands and cock—that he’d never fantasize about fucking Little League for any other woman—the waiter interrupted them to get their orders.

Ben ordered first, and She just took what he was having. She didn’t even glance at the damn menu.

“You know,” he drawled Her name, raising his brows. “I just fucking eat whatever the hell people put in front of me. That food might be fucking shit.”

She didn’t laugh like he’d expected. She just gave him an odd, unreadable look, and moved on. It wasn’t until the end of the night, when the food was gone and Ben felt fucking high on Her laugher and beauty, that it was mentioned again. When he asked if the food was worth the risk, and that look came back, this time with a question that threw Ben right off his goddamn axis. 

“What’s it like?”

He frowned. “What’s what-“

“Having your life be a brand? Designed by Vought?”

Ben’s blinked. If it wasn’t Her asking, he would’ve stormed off with a roar. But that wasn’t some fucking gotcha question, meant to make his head spin and test his temper. She just wanted to know, so she could know Ben. And if that was all She was asking for, fuck him if he wouldn’t give it to Her.

“My job is the brand.” He shrugged. “And Vought is full of fucking pussies, but they do their damn jobs, I do mine, and we all fucking go home. That’s all it is.”

The Vought assholes went home to families, and Ben went home to cold, empty riches, but that wasn’t the point. Ben did his job, and he was fucking good at it, and the brand—Soldier Boy—was the fucking job. Simple as that.

“Do you like it?” 

Her voice was still fucking soft. She was going to goddamn kill him, if She kept fucking caring. If She kept making Ben think about how he fucking loathed it. It was filled with gold and wealth and fucking nothing. All the light was just cameras flashing. All the warmth only stayed on his skin, never sinking into his muscles and organs. All his co-workers were fucking pussy idiots. And that had always been enough. It had always been all he wanted.

Until it wasn’t.

Ben leaned forward, holding Her wide, open gaze. “I like that it got me to you.” He muttered, and that was the goddamn truth. “And you’ve fucking got me, babygirl. I meant it, there wasn’t a damn lady before you. Not like this. And I’ll keep fucking saying that until you get it. Solider Boy might be the brand, might be the job, but I’ll keep it in my pants for another damn year and pick up fucking woodworking if I get you. Understood?”

There was a long moment of silence as She scanned over his face—looking for whatever She needed to find—and Ben felt an itch on his skin and a prickle over his heart. It might be fucking nerves.

He didn’t care for it.

“Understood.” She whispered, and the nerves vanished into some sort of euphoria as She smiled at him. “Do you, um, you want to go? Back to my place?”

Ben’s grin was unrestrained and probably looked a little feral, but thank fucking Christ. He had Her. He didn’t have to keep it in his pants, because he had Her.

And when he stood up, picking Her up into his arms with a squeal and carrying Her out of the restaurant, he made a silent vow.

He wouldn’t give Her a single goddamn reason to ever leave.

And he’d start proving why She should stay right fucking now.

—————————

Ben’s really strong. And you’d known that—it was the whole Soldier Boy brand—but that didn’t stop you from being shocked by how that strength feels wrapped around you. Pressed right up against your body, arms flexing and muscles shifting under his shirt, his chest and shoulders like a rock, but still somehow comfortable and warm.

You’d like to stay here, in Ben’s arms and against his body, for maybe the rest of your life. It feels safe, but not like a cage. Like a blanket or shield around you, promising that harm wouldn’t even dare to look at you, because only a fool would try to attack something that belongs to Ben.

Fuck.

You don’t belong to Ben. Not in the way you’d want to mean it, where it’s your heart out of your chest and into his hands, and you never have to worry about it again. Never have to worry about anything again. 

It doesn’t help that it feels like you could belong to him. Like if you asked, he would keep you here. Maybe he’d carry you everywhere. Maybe he’d offer his heart back.

He won’t. You can hear his heart pounding, when you turn your head and press your ear to his skin. It’s loud and powerful, and you’d really like for it to move in a rhythm with yours. But you don’t know if you could keep up, and you’re terrified to learn that he wouldn’t slow down.

But your lips graze his neck when you breathe, and you could swear he shudders. That his grip on you tightens, and a low grunt escapes his throat that has nothing to do with walking to the car.

You’re too far gone. This is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, trying to dodge and weave around with giggles and eye rolls. Belonging to Ben. Making your dumb little heart really believe that he’d care about you in a way that he’d fight for. Falling into him until he’s less taking you, and more being offered to have you. However he’d like. 

And God, if he asks to have you tonight, you’ll say yes. All your previous rules will fly out the window. Rules about waiting a certain number of dates, kissing first before going right into more, or ensuring that—when the sun rises the next morning—you won’t be alone in bed. Rules that would be pointless, because this is Ben and you’ve been dreaming about touching him for a year. He can never know you’ve lost sleep to it. To feeling heat between your legs at just the thought of him, to covering your face with a pillow because just the idea of him was enough to make you scream and moan and wake your roommates up.

Shit. Your roommates. 

You’re going to have to figure out how to justify to them that you will be seeing Ben again, because you hadn’t stopped feeling dizzy and drunk on him for the whole night, and now you’re gone—the last piece of your resistance to his advances gone, your will to not fall in love completely dissolved—and you won’t be coming back until Ben breaks you in half.

That if Ben doesn’t break you—if he chooses to keep you, just you, because for reasons you don’t understand he seems to only want you—but holds you close and stretches tonight into sixty years, you’ll never even bother to try and return.

You don’t know if he’ll want to keep you. He’s placing you in the passenger’s seat with careful movements, but brushing hair from your face with an unreadable expression and restrained hands. He kisses your brow before drawing back up, and he glances at your lips, but he doesn’t touch them. He doesn’t say a word, only closing the door behind him and walking around the hood of the car.

When he drops in the driver’s seat, his hands rest on the wheel, and he stares ahead with a frown. He doesn’t grab the keys from his pocket. He doesn’t speak, or look at you, or move. 

There’s a long and horrible moment when you think he’s done with you. Where everything tastes like ash and dust, and you can feel your body deflating and crumbling. Of course he wouldn’t want you. You’re normal and boring and wouldn’t look right on his arm. You’d fit there—you know you would, because you’d slotted right into him all night like you were meant to be there, and now that will haunt you for the rest of your life—but you wouldn’t dazzle and sparkle and flash. You aren’t a good accessory. You’d cleaned up best you could for this, but your clothing was cheap, your lipstick cheaper, and your hair styled by your own hands. Hands with little bumps on the fingers from writing, that you did your best to keep soft but also ended up dry, because your apartment’s humidifier was broken, and it’s the middle of winter.

You’re nothing horrible. Nothing worse than anyone else. But also normal. So painfully average, just another face that walked on the street. 

Ben should be with someone bright. Someone blinding who wore lipstick that cost as much as that fancy dinner, and clothing that could probably out-sell this car. Someone who had their hair styled by a team, because they were American royalty like Ben was.

Girls like you don’t get to linger in divinity. They don’t get more than a night.

And you might not even get a night. Ben isn’t moving or talking or teasing about how he’s going to touch you, so he might not want to. He might have been trying you on, and now he’s ready to throw you out because he’d realized you didn’t look as good on him as he’d thought you would-

“We’re going to my place.” He grunts, and you blink at him.

“Your place?”

He nods, and finally looks at you. He’s so handsome. You’ve never seen anyone have a face like that. You’d been being dramatic and lovelorn before, thinking of him as divinity, but there couldn’t possibly be another reason for him looking like that.

Untouchable.

Reaching out to touch you.

Ben’s hand cups your face, keeping your gaze trapped on his, and his words are a low rumble that rip through your body like a wildfire. Your skin and heart are ablaze, and you’re completely ruined, and he’s only talking.

“I’m going to touch you, babygirl.” He mutters, and you think you whine. “Going to fucking ruin you.”

This isn’t fair. He looks like he’s about to ask you a question, and you’ll never be able to give an answer that isn’t a breathless plea.

“Ben-“

“But,” he pushes on, smirking as your breathing start to get ragged. “I’m going to have you screaming my name all fucking night, and I’m not interested in having an audience. I fucking love you, but your apartment is goddamn fucking. Dramatic roommates who won’t let me fuck you like you deserve, too goddamn small, and not nearly fucking good enough for you. So come back to my place.”

That’s probably supposed to be a question. Ben’s tone didn’t sound like he was asking—more like ordering, or telling you what was going to happen—but he’s also not starting to car or letting go of your face, so you think he’s waiting for an answer.

It takes a moment, because you’re trapped in his voice, still echoing in your head. 

I fucking love you.

You don’t know if he’s aware he said that. If he is, it doesn’t seem as if he’s about to elaborate.

But he did say it. And he’s not taking it back.

You’re kind of done with testing the waters. With holding yourself back from what you want for the sake of your sanity. 

Sanity that’s already long gone anyway. Razed and wrecked and shaped into the same sound of Ben saying I fucking love you, all while touch you and looking at you and speaking to you, and you alone.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you can’t really imagine saying anything else.

Ben nods, his hand moves to your thigh, and you can feel something changing inside of you. His touch is so measured—so carefully controlled with a big, rough hand that kneads mindlessly at your skin—and it’s igniting your whole body up in a way you’ve never felt. It’s like lighting in your blood and water on your skin, soothing and electric and so completely consuming. 

He really is consuming. You’ve never met anyone whose very presence devours your every thought and nerve until you’re glowing from inside. Even if you weren’t being branded by his touch on your body, weren’t drowning in his cologne, you’d still only be thinking about Ben. He’d said you looked hot, and under his cannon-like attention—loud and powerful and demanding—you’d really felt like you were. He’d said there were no other girls, and you believed him because you could feel the words over your bones. He’d said he’d kill the president for you, and it had oddly been the most romantic thing any had ever told you.

Ben’s life was Solider Boy. Soldier Boy’s brand was America. 

He didn’t want to be Solider Boy with you. He didn’t care about Soldier Boy for you. 

And you’d never tell him to kill the president, but if you do get to ask for anything—just one thing for Ben to give you, and only you, because you asked for it—it would be that he keeps doing that. Keeps being consuming. Keeps looking at you like you’re all the stars in the sky, when you’re the one getting lost.

Because you’re so lost. You’d promised yourself you’d be careful, but now you’re lost in Ben, and you’d never chose to be anywhere else. Not when his hand on your thigh is a promise of being a master and filling free time. You’d love to waste free time with him. You’d love to get more and more lost in this odd sense of given security—Ben is here, and he’s built like a tank that’s designed to keep you from horror—for the rest of your life.

And you’d think that was dramatic, if Ben didn’t keep looking at you like that. Like you’re a rare treasure he’d found buried underground, and he’s going to make you shine.

You’re already shining. Just that look—full of promises and stoic, firm care–makes you sit a little taller in your seat, warmth sparking and pooling in your gut like an oil meeting a match.

The explosion is going to wreck you. 

You’re more than ready for it.

Ben parks outside of a shocking normal apartment complex, helps you out of the car, and half covers your body with his—his face bent down and hidden, you barely a shadow below him—before moving you inside. 

This is a normal building. You’re awestruck, how average this place is. You’ve heard about Ben’s house, but it’s further upstate. You’ve been to one of his apartments for a Vought party—and ended up mostly curled near him, but not against him, on a couch—but that was across the city. And this place didn’t have the marble floors and doorman and oil paintings. It was all stained brown carpet and small mailboxes, walking up concrete stairs and passing worn welcome mats.

“Ben?” You lean back to look at him, and he seems vigilant. Watching every corner you turn and tensing at every creek of the building.

He grunts, his eyes falling to yours—something that’s always rough behind them not softening, but becoming honed, and aimed all at you—and you take it as a cue to continue. 

“Where are we?”

Ben lets out a long, heavy breath, stopping in front of another, boring, generic door. “My apartment.”

“Oh.” You look around the hall, then back to Ben. He’s started to fidget with the keys. You didn’t hear him wrong. 

You’re still incredibly confused, right up until Ben pushes the door open.

This is more what you expected. Plush sofas and polished chairs, a glass table and expensive looking art on the walls. It’s a little different that his other apartment—there seems to be more personal things scattered across the room, bits of Ben left out on the side table and shelves—but not at all in line with the rest of this building.

And Ben must see all your questions on your face, because he leans down to whisper in your ear, his arms wrapped around your stomach and light stubble brushing on your skin. 

“Bought this place off the books.” He starts to guide you further inside, his hands rubbing slow, mind-numbing circles on your hips. “Place for myself, when I don’t want anyone intruding or interfering with my shit.”

You swallow. “Does anyone else know-“

“Just me.” He mutters, starting to kiss a very distracting line up your throat. “Not one damn pussy at Vought knows this place exists. Landlord thinks I’m a reclusive artist or some shit. Like I said, sweetheart. My place.”

Ben’s place. Just his place. For his shit. That he doesn’t want intruded on. 

It takes you longer than you’d like to piece it all together. In your defense, you’re a little overwhelmed—in all your wildest fantasies about Ben looking at you and meaning it, you still hadn’t manage to imagine this—and Ben’s not really helping your thought process at all. One hand has moved down to pull and squeeze your upper thigh, the other is still keeping you pinned to his chest, and his mouth has started to wander. Grow bolder. Wet, sloppy kisses over your collarbone and along your jaw, sucking a small bruise behind your ear and making you a little dizzy. 

But you slot it all into place.

And there’s not a thing in the universe that could save you now. Fuck, if anyone tried, you’d probably punch them.

“You’re serious about me.” You mumble, and Ben hums, the sound echoing around your head like a fucked up, love drunk lullaby.

“About fucking time you got it.” He mutters, his hands sliding up to grip your throat. It’s a light touch, barely any pressure at all, but Ben doesn’t need to be firm. He tilts your head slightly back, and you go all the way. Leaning on his shoulder, holding his darkened gaze with your own, slightly dazed one, smiling at him like an idiot.

You can be an idiot for this. For Ben, you’ll be a fucking fool, because you can be. There’s nothing else to do here. Nothing to work for. He’s won. You’re his. 

All that’s left to do fall down. 

Ben smirks at you, that hand on your thigh starting to drift further and further between your legs, and you don’t think he’s going to make this easy on you.

“Do you know how much I’ve fucking dreamt about this?” Ben drawls, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth. It’s light, and taunting, and in perfect time with his fingers. Playing with the hem of your panties, knuckles occasionally bumping on your clit and making your knees weak, all while he continues talking. “I’ve spent fucking months working out exactly how I want to fuck you, babygirl. Thought about how fucking good you’d feel, wrapped around my cock, how pretty you’d sound screaming my name, how fucking beautiful you’d look all fucked out and wrecked under me, or against me, or fucking riding me. But nothing,” Ben nips at your ear, and you think you squeak. “Could’ve gotten me ready for this. Look so fucking gorgeous just here. Hardly ever touched you yet and you look like a dream.”

You’re going to lose your fucking mind. Ben’s hand has moved to cup you over your underwear, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding shamelessly onto him.

“Christ, sweetheart, already fucking soaked just from dinner.” Ben looks awestruck, his lips parted and breath hot on your skin. It just makes you more desperate. “You like it when I talk dirty? Like it when I tell you how much I fucking want you? How much I need you?”

You moan, nodding like a bobble-head, and he chuckles.

“Tell me what you want,” Ben says your name, pressing his thumb over your clothed clit, and you definitely squeaked that time. 

“You, want you-“

“How do you want me. Get specific, babygirl, want to hear-“

“I want you with me,” you gasp, rolling your hips in search of any friction at all, whining when his grip on you tightens. “Want to have you Ben, fuck- Want all of you-“

You might have ascended. Ben cuts you off with a strangling, heavy, starved kiss, and if it wasn’t the most carnal thing you’d ever experienced you’d have thought it was holy. It’s invasive and rough—his tongue down your throat and his teeth nipping at your lower lip, swallowing your moan when he rips off you panties and shoves one, broad finger into your cunt—but there’s something softer behind it. His hand stays on your neck, but only to tip you further back and grant him more access, never tightening enough for you to really feel it. Your legs give out as he starts to finger-fuck you at a brutal, unforgiving pace, but he also keeps you upright and steady. 

Ben pulls you apart on just his hand—palm rolling on your clit, fingers taunting and teasing on the deepest, most sensitive place inside of you—and he never breaks the kiss. You reach behind your body, wrapping an arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, and when you tug it, he groans. The sound moves through your whole body, fueling every bit of your arousal, melting you further into Ben’s body as he picks up his speed. He keeps a rough pace and firm pattern, drags your right up to the edge until you’re writhing against him and scratching hopelessly at his arm in a slight plea for more. You need more, you’re already inhaling him and filled with him but it’s not enough. 

When he finally crooks his fingers inside of you, everything goes white. It’s only Ben sucking on your upper lip and pumping his fingers through your orgasm, only his pounding heartbeat near your ear and ragged breath over your face.

He’s hard. Pressing right up against your ass, and hard, and big. He’s fucking huge. 

You need him. You need him now. 

“Ben,” you tug on his hair again—your voice breathy and weak as your head spins—and he hums against your skin, that sinful fucking mouth sucking small marks along your jaw. “More. Need more, please-“

“Patience,” he mutters your name, and you moan, shaking your head. “I’ve been waiting too fucking long to take this slow. Got fucking months to make up for. You’re not going to be able to walk for a goddamn year when I’m done with you, babygirl, so calm the fuck down, and take what I give you. Got it?”

You nod a little stupidly, and Ben draws back from your neck with a smirk, teasing along your pussy with those same, sinful fingers before pulling them away and—before you can even whine from the loss of him—bringing them to his mouth. Licking your arousal off his skin, never breaking your gaze.

You can’t be patient. It’s an impossible thing to ask, when he’s toying with you like this. When he looks like that—so fucking satisfied from the taste of you and cocky when you moan from only the sight of him—and wraps his arm back around your waist, keeping you steady as he kisses you again. It should be illegal to be this good a kisser. It’s like a drug right into your bloodstream, making everything just pleasure and Ben. He tastes like wine and smoke and you. That’s you on his tongue.

You’re going to fly out of your skin. 

“Please.” You gasp, tugging on his hair again until that same groan from before rumbles in his chest. “Ben, please-“

Ben squeezes your throat once before dragging it away, prying your hand off his head and kissing your knuckles with a softness that might be worse than the animalistic lust. It’s just a small, tiny second of care—silent, real affection—but you’re still going to go mad from it.

“You want my cock, babygirl?” He asks the question with the most smug grin you’ve ever seen. Like he knows there’s not a world where you’ll say anything but yes. “Want me to fuck you nice and dumb, take good fucking care of my girl?”

His girl. You’ve put it together that he really somehow means that, but it doesn’t change how the words are electric in your body. Your legs almost give out just from the sound of Ben’s deep voice saying them.

He tightens his grip around you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head backward. “Not a mind-reader, sweetheart, give me some fucking words-“

“Yes-“

The answer is barely out of your mouth when Ben hauls you off the ground and starts to move, walking into the bedroom and dropping you onto his mattress. This is Ben’s mattress. He’s slept on it before, and the sheets smell like him and have touched his bare skin.

You’re going to touch his bare skin. He’s ripping clothing off like it’s paper as you crawl backwards, and you barely have time to remove your dress—let alone take him in—before he’s prowling over you, his eyes gleaming and sparkling in a way that makes you start to drool.

He’s completely naked. You want to see him, see all that impossible, powerful glory that’s about to wrap around you, but you don’t get the chance before Ben starts to leave wet, open-mouthed kisses up your legs and your vision blurs with pleasure. He’s so good at this, and you’re not at all surprised, but it still makes every fantasy and wet dream you’ve had feel like a crude, faded sketch. The real thing is a work of art. You’d been joking when you’d called this his hobby, but he’s playing you like an instrument and molding you like clay. He finds his way between your legs, and stays there just long enough to work you into a frenzy. Broad licks up your pussy and flicks of his tongue over your clit, sucking the already burning nerve bundle into his mouth and letting his teeth graze against it until you’re grinding up into his face.

Then he’s moving on, leaving you dangling right on the edge and kissing over your stomach. Up your body until he drags you into a long, heavy kiss, silencing your every needy, high plea for release. He won’t let you have release. He’s kissing you far too passionately and firmly for you to do anything but melt further into him, but God you’re burning up from the inside and he won’t even let you move. He had dropped his waist to pin you down to the mattress, and you can feel him poking again your inner thigh, and fuck-

Ben rises up with a grin, and there’s the awestruck look again. He can’t keep looking at you like that. It’s going to kill you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” He mutters your name, and you were wrong. That’s going to kill you. How sincere and blunt his words are, like they’re pure fact and not at all subjective. “Never seen a goddamn thing like it.” He rolls his hips against you, and you whine. “Look like a fucking angel.”

You want to tell him that he looks better, or at least thank him, but all you can remember how to do is moan, squirming a little beneath him as he chuckles. 

“You got something you need, sweetheart?”

He rolls his hips again, and your eyes almost roll back in your head as you nod. 

Ben clicks his tongue, leaning back down to speak against your lips. “Need you to fucking say it, baby.”

“Fuck me.” You gasp, because you’re past dignity and dancing around things. “Fuck me, Ben, please, fuck me-“

You yelp as he rolls you over, hauling you up onto his lap and impaling you on his cock in one movement. And when he starts to move—grabbing your hips and guiding them in a smooth rhythm with his thrusts—you know he’s not going to stop proving you wrong. He cares, and this is higher and better than any heaven you could’ve—and had—imagined. This is what’s going to kill you.

Because you’ve thought about this far too often, imagined this exact moment countless times, but it’s still more than you know how to comprehend. Ben’s splitting you open and bumping against all the right places inside of you, the angle pushing him so deep into your cunt there’s not a second where you aren’t on fire. He keeps alternating between wild, demanding bites—hickeys on your throat and shoulders—and gentle, hot kisses on your lips that swallow your every soft moan and whine. Your arms wrap around his neck as your try to drag him impossibly closer, and he smirks, his hold on your hips tightening as he starts to drill up into you.

It’s brutal and sudden and rough—his skin slapping on yours and his gaze burning right into your body—and if Ben wasn’t holding you up, you would’ve collapsed. You might be saying his name, might be begging for more, but you can’t hear it over a fogging haze of Ben, talking so dirty you’re surprised his voice alone isn’t bring you to release.

“Look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock, such pretty fucking tits, fucking tight and warm, goddamn soaked for me-“

“Fuck,” you try to grind down onto him, but he’s too strong. All you can do is kiss on his jaw and pray he’ll give you more. “Feels good, so good, please-“

“Who’s fucking you good?” He demands, nipping on your lower lip and guiding you in a circle on his dick, smirking as you whimper from the sensation. “Fucking scream it, sweetheart, tell the whole goddamn world who’s fucking you-“

“Ben!“ You almost scream, and you’d be embarrassed if it didn’t immediately earn you another long kiss and groan of your name against your skin.

“There you go,” he mutters, snaking one hand around your body to rub at your clit. “Good girl, feel so fucking good squeezing my cock, so fucking needy-“

“Ben,” Your brow drops to his, and your nails scratching at his neck and shoulder blades. “Please, wanna cum, please-“

He cuts you off with a searing, almost violent kiss, growling down your throat. “Since you asked so fucking pretty,” he jerks his hips up in a rough, blinding movement, pinching your clit at the same time. “Cum for me, babygirl.”

This orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Springing in your gut and washing your body in a burning but comfortable heat, filling your vision with stars and wracking your body with a pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. This is better than heaven. This is Ben kissing you through your high and still dragging you higher, rubbing his thumb around your clit and palming at your breast as you scream into his mouth.

And you don’t come down. Ben doesn’t stop, and you’re not sure if this is just a million smaller orgasms exploding like fireworks in your body, or if he’s trapped you in an infinite state of bliss, but the orgasm doesn’t end.

And Ben’s not done with you. 

He’s getting rougher. He’s still hard inside of you, starting to throb and lose rhythm with his movements, and you barely have the mind to gasp or whimper when he rolls you back under him, pulls out of you for a brief second, and flips you around onto your stomach. There’s a brief, cold moment where he’s gone—still hard against your thighs but no longer caging you against him—and then he drags your ass into the air, pushes himself back into your dripping, oversensitive pussy, and starts to hammer into you with a pace you can only describe as feral. His balls slap on your clit as he hits somehow deeper inside of you, groaning behind you as you grind back into him, and you’re still cumming. You don’t now know how that’s possible. You didn’t know your body could do that. 

You don’t really know anything but Ben right now. Thrusts becoming short and uneven, draping himself back over you to kiss at your shoulder and throat and behind your ear, pinching and rolling a nipple between two rough fingers, and groaning right in your ear in a way that just keeps everything going. 

Ben grabs your chin right as his hips stutter, turning your head to roar your name against your mouth as he cums. It finally brings you down—when he’s spent inside of you and pinning you to the mattress in his warmth—and you like out a soft, happy sound of content when he kisses your swollen lips with a gentler, easier pressure. It seems like he’s kissing you just to kiss you. Touching you just to touch you.

Laying with you just to lay with you.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” he mutters in your ear, pressing another small kiss to your cheek. “You’re so fucking good, sweetheart. Never going to go a week without this pussy again, best thing I’ve ever fucking felt.”

You smile, craning your neck back to look at him, and you’ve barely started to move before Ben’s flipping you one last time, keeping you caged between his body and the mattress.

And he’s grinning at you. A powerful, wide grin that would look strange on his face if it didn’t feel so natural. You rarely see Ben really grin—all joy and teeth and something unbridled and almost pure—at all, his expression usually rough smirks and more taunting smiles, but this is just Ben, grinning at you. 

And he looks like a human. He’s sweaty, short hair sticking up at odd angles and eyes a little brighter from his own release, and you really think this could be it. That he could be a life you’d be happy to lead. 

Because Ben’s got you. Outside of how he’d just fucked you within an inch of paradise, he’s also pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and a longer one to your lips, before moving away to grab a towel and clean the mess he left between your thighs. He’s bringing you water and tucking you right against his body, muttering that you should get some rest before round two, because there will be a round fucking two.

“Ben?” You mumble, and he grunts near your skin in a silent acknowledgment to continue. “What… um, I don’t know what you- what we-“

“We’re together.” He grunts, and you let out a long breath of relief. You hadn’t even had to say the stupid, embarrassing question aloud. “Nobody’s touch you but me, and not one single fucking lady is getting their hands on me but you.”

“Okay.” You hum, wiggling a little further into his hold. “Good.”

Ben chuckled. “Real fucking good, babygirl. You’re going to get spoiled fucking rotten.”

You smile, and you’ll fight that later. You don’t want to become only a doll on a shelf just because Ben’s got you. 

But you also think you have him. And that if you asked for the world he’d try and figure out a way to put it into your hands. That if you demanded he not be an asshole about you continuing to work, he’d grumble but relent.

And you can live with that. 

You can thrive with it.

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

@panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde

@heyimolive @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

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@lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r

[magics-neptunes-things]

The Dork And The Nerd

Hello there!

I didn't post anything with Leah since like for ever, so there it is!

Please enjoy :)

TW : None I think, or please let me know :)

Looking around the room, you readjust the camera one last time before starting your stream. It’s your job, even if some people are still saying that it isn’t a real job and stupid things like that.

You were winning your life easily with it, living your dream. You always loved playing video games, you started alone because it wasn’t what your little sisters were loving to do. When you discovered online games it was a life changing for you. You started streaming when you were 18 years old, which was seven years ago now. It was hard at first to be honest, being a woman in this man world.

But you find some friends in popular streamers who took you under their wings and help you to be where you are now.

You have several thousand people who follow you to each of your live, four night each week. You still have some shit to deal with, like harassers, but you took a manager who is the one reading your mail. He takes on him to choose your different partnership and sometimes answer to the people sending you strange things.

You are openly gay, but that doesn’t make stop some of men to send you disturbing pictures. Thanks god it’s your agent who see them, but you are aware of it. Just like your girlfriend, though.

You start your stream like usual, saying hello to your followers and talking a little bit about actuality or what you did today. You have a white kitten, who you called Purrito, who is almost as famous as you are. He keeps coming when you are playing, sometimes lying on your hand, or trying to catch the mouse of your computer. You already have a lot of bloopers because of him, but you can’t be mad with him.

Lately, your passion for video games seems to have catch the attention of your girlfriend. She always was looking at you when you are streaming, when she can. You usually do it during the evening so she’s back from training or games.

When Leah asked you to learn to her how to play video games, at first you thought she was messing with you. But she was really serious and ask you one more time. And who are you to refuse something to your girlfriend?

At first it was just to have fun, but you soon have an idea, and you used your best puppy eyes to get your girlfriend agreed with it. You wanted to make her play with you, but without her showing her face in your screen.

You never talked about Leah being your girlfriend, even if you are together for two years now. The public know that you are in a relationship, you sometimes mention your girlfriend live. They just don’t know who she is.

You met Leah at a ceremony and Katie who is a fan of your job took Leah when she went to met you. You were happy to met Katie, but you find yourself thunderstruck by Leah. You don’t remember if you were really coherent that night, but Leah followed you back almost immediately when you did it on Instagram.

You waited the next Arsenal games to sent her a message, congratulating her for her performance. You even take a picture of you in the stand with your father (who really was surprised when you ask him to go with you to a women football game). Leah answered you that next time you come you have to tell her, so she could give you a better seat.

You didn’t know if she was serious or not, but she then asked you the next game in London if you are coming and she find you a seat in the friends and family area. After the game she offers you to go for a drink. You then had other dates, and the rest is history.

You got together one month before she did her ACL and even if it was a hard time, you both get stronger. You let Lia Wälti take the lead in Leah’s recovery, but you were always around to help too. When Lia return to her home, you were the one staying with Leah at night. And you kept taking her in her rehab and cooking for her.

The day Leah started to run again, you were at the training to watch her. This is the day where she officially asked you to move in with her now that she could do things alone again. Unless cooking maybe, but that’s another question.

You accepted of course and the blonde happily transformed one of her guest room in your studio of stream.

It’s where you are now, Leah peacefully setting on your living room, ready to go live with you.

“Oh, it looks like our guest is here” you smile when you see that Leah is connected too. “Hi Baby!”

You only said to your viewers that it was your girlfriend, without saying anything else. You are aware that maybe someone will recognize Leah’s voice, but it would be fun anyway.

“Hi Love” she answers.

You make a reminder of the game you were going to play, for her first live Leah chose a car games, Trackmania. It wasn’t your favorite game, but you were so happy that she said yes to you that you would have accept a Tetris game.

“How are you?” you ask her, while making the game ready.

“I’m fine. Happy to play with you tonight.”

“I am happy too” you smile before looking at the camera. “Let’s have her a good evening guys so she will accept to do it more often yeah?”

You hear Leah chuckle, and you can’t help but smile. You already are seeing comments saying that you look whipped, what makes you roll your eyes. It seems to you that Leah’s voice is a little different from what it is in reality, but maybe your mind is playing trick.

You play several runs with Leah, before switching to another game after talking with your chat who recommend to you to make Leah try an adventure RPG. When you look at the clock again, it’s past midnight.

“Oh wow I didn’t realize that it was already so late” you exclaimed yourself. “We are going to stop here guys, I’m sorry. Maybe next time we will try Minecraft or something else, I’ll let you know. I hope you had as fun as I had Babe.”

“It was really fun. Thank you for inviting me.”

You can hear Leah smile and you can’t wait to go to the living room for a cuddle and kiss session. When you played together until know, you were able to show each other or tease the other with kisses.

“You will be invited for more times” you smirk.

Leah left and you take the time to thanks your viewers a little more longer before logging off. You stretch, finishing your bottle of water before going to find Leah. You run on the stairs and Leah already knew you were coming before you jump on the couch next to her.

She laughs when you attack her with kisses all over her face, finishing on her lips.

“Did you really have fun?” you ask, looking at her with attention.

She nods, playing with your hair. She’s smiling and every time you look at her, you wonder how in the world you get so lucky. She’s perfect.

“I did” she smiles at you. “I’m not saying that I want to do that all the night every night, but it was great.”

“Mh I maybe have another idea for us to have fun all night” you smirk.

The tone of your voice is very obvious and if Leah had one doubt, she just has to look the way you are looking at her. Your fingers run on her tight and you kiss her one more time, before sucking slightly at her neck.

Leah gulp and just hums, tilting her head on the side for you to have a better access. You know what you are doing, after more than two years, you know Leah’s body and reactions like the back of your hand.

“Let’s go to bed” Leah decides several seconds after, taking your hand before dragging you in your bedroom on the first floor.

********

“It was a great session.”

You smile at Leah who came to your studio after you played together again. You were still sitting when she entered the room, and she passed her hand around your shoulder from behind to kiss your cheek.

“It was” you smile before turning your chair to face Leah.

She sits on your lap, and you pass your arms around her. It wasn’t the second time that you are playing together while you are streaming, today you chose Fifa and it was very fun. You made the pact not to play with Arsenal or England, but it was still very funny. Leah is a very bad looser, so you play several games in the same team too.

“People are starting to have some suspicion though” Leah says.

She was right, you saw on social media some things about your girlfriend being Leah. But it wasn’t the only name coming.

“Yeah, they said I will make a great couple with some of your teammates too” you shrug, before counting on your fingers “They are talking about Sabrina, Alessia, Kyra and Lia.”

Leah frown, not really liking the picture who comes in her mind.

“Nah. You’re mine.” she answers possessively.

“Do you want to tell people?”

Leah looks at you, thinking for several seconds before answering. This is lasting for some weeks now and you know that you can’t stay hidden forever. You attract the attention of the world by playing together.

“Not now. It’s fun like this, don’t you think?”

“It is” you confirm with a smile.

Leah has the habit to be coupled with every teammate and you are sometimes shipped with other streamers. You like to stream with other of them, certain being your friends too. There is nothing much, but that doesn’t stop people to imagine that you are dating one of them.

But you have to admit too that your stream with Leah attracts more people than usual, and you are a little scared that people will assume that you’re using your girlfriend for the views.

Your face being very close to Leah, she seems to realize very quickly that something is on your mind.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

“Nothing” you say at first, before sighing. “Well, I mean… I already have some viewers saying that I’m using my girlfriend to gain more viewers, so I was wondering how they would react when they realize it’s you.”

You shrug to show her that it’s not really important, you don’t want to think you are worried about something so little.

“If someone say that you know what my answer will be?” Leah asks with a serious face.

“No” you mumble.

“I will tell them that we are together for two years, that you have been the best girlfriend in the world since. I will tell them how affectionate, caring, sweet, funny, clever and passionate you are.”

You can’t help but smile and feel your cheek being a little red at that statement. Leah smirks and kisses your cheek.

“And I’ll add that if you use me, it’s only in the bedroom and the way you do is actually very talented and also very private.”

You laugh this time, hitting her on the arm. Leah seems very happy about her joke, her eyes shinning with malice. She’s so beautiful. You bite her jaw before whispering.

“You’re such a dork.”

“The Nerd and the Dork, it would be a great book title” she smirks.

“You’re not totally wrong.”

********

“You’re cheating!”

You can’t help but laugh at Leah. You are playing once again against your girlfriend, during a live. You are playing at Mario Kart and you just won the race for the third time in a row. She’s fuming and even if you can’t see her, the noise coming from downstairs are letting you know that she’s actually kicking the ground right now.

“I’m not, Baby I swear. You can’t cheat in this game.”

“Yes, you are!”

You roll your eyes, not answering anything. You are of course very aware about of much your girlfriend hates to lose. You are at the first place while Leah is third, which is really good for someone who isn’t playing video games daily like you. But not for the great Leah Williamson.

“Someone in the comment is saying that I will sleep on the couch. I won’t Babe, right?”

“I’m not sure about it for now” Leah grumbles. “Or maybe I’ll go sleep to the trai…”

You cough suddenly and Leah stops talking, realizing what she was just about to say. You really hope that no one would understand what she was going to say. Or at least another end of sentence, not “training ground”.

“Alright, next game” you say right after.

“I’m gonna crush you.”

She doesn’t and when you join her in the kitchen after, she seems really embarrassed. You ignore the different messages asking what Leah wanted to say and the answer some of them gave. You saw that some people where right and you know that the research will start again.

“I’m so sorry” she says, coming for you while you’re entering the room. “I was fuming because I was losing, and I forgot for some seconds that it wasn’t only you and me.”

You smile, easily passing your arms around her to give her a hug. She cuddles against you when you kiss her temple.

“It’s ok, don’t worry. Plus, you are the most famous between the both of us, you will be the most annoyed by all that.”

“Why would I be annoyed?”

Leah back up her head a little bit, just to be able to have a better look at your face. You arch an eyebrow before answering.

“Because you always told me you want privacy.”

It was in the early hours of your relationship, and you never said anything against it. You understood Leah’s needs, at this time you weren’t as famous as you are right now. She wanted to be known for her skills, her job in football or her implications in different charities. And the point was very easy for you to be understood. Your friends are families know obviously about you two, it would be strange and difficult to hide a relationship when you live together. Plus because of her answer last time you talked about it, you were really sure that it was what she want.

“I told you that at first, but now I wouldn’t mind if people start to know about us.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing, but your mind just blown. You were used to the idea of people stay in the ignorance about your relationship and the love you have for this woman. As long as you have her, why would you complain?

“Do you… Really?” you frown.

“Yeah, I mean if you don’t want to be out…”

“No, I do. I just thought that you would like to stay private for like forever?”

“I love you. I want the world to know how happy you make me. But in several weeks. I want to play with your fans a little more.”

“Sounds good to me” you smirk. “And I love you too.”

********

For the next weeks, you chose one day of the week to play and stream with Leah. Between those days, you were careful to post some things on social media, giving little clues to your followers about the identity of your girlfriend. You never posted something with Leah or even with a part of her hand or hair. It was more subtle than that.

Until one day, where you were peacefully streaming while Leah went out with her friends. You usually go with her, but today it was more an unexpected drink, so you already have something planned on your channel. You have an entire trust in Leah, and you know that nothing would ever happen with anyone. If you go with her almost every time, it’s only to have a great time with her.

Plus, tonight she’s out with Katie, Caitlin, Steph, her boyfriend, and Kyra, so there are really no risks.

You usually wait for Leah to text you that she was coming home to cut your stream, so you have the time to finish what you are doing and say goodbye to your viewers. Tonight though, either you didn’t see her message, or she forgot to send it to you.

Still, there is suddenly a stunning blonde who enters your studio, showing herself in the camera at the same time. You are so surprised that you only can look at her on the screen of your camera.

“Hello Hot stuff! You won’t believe what I just learned about Kyra! Did you k- … Oh shit.”

That’s the moment she realizes. It was almost comical to be honest, the enthusiastic tone with which she began her sentence, the moment of silence and the last words spoken in a low voice.

You only have like two seconds to decide if you want to cut the stream and never talk about it again, or if it’s time to be honest with everyone. You chose a third way and turn to the camera.

“Well it’s time for me to say goodbye. See you tomorrow at eight. Thanks for being here!”

You wave and cut the stream and the camera before turning in Leah’s direction. She seems amused but she has at the same time the same look on the face of a teenager caught doing something wrong.

“Funny way to outing things, this clip will be viral” you comment with a small smile.

“I’m sorry?”

Leah can’t hide her smile and you can’t either. You can be mad at her for something like that. You let Leah comes to sit on your lap, kissing her softly when she’s settled. She taste like tequila.

“How was your night?”

“Great. But I missed you.”

She hides her face in your neck, and you feel the goosebumps forming when her breath stroke your skin.

“Did you have fun?”

She hums, start to kiss your neck and you know that the discussion you were supposed to have right now is delayed for now. You will have a lot of time to talk about it later. Your phones are way too busy receiving tons notifications to be able to do anything with it right now anyway.

********

YourInstagram and LeahWilliamson

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YourInstagram Two years and a half with this dork. I love you ❤️🤍

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[ckret2]

I have a public service announcement! No one's done this lately so it's not aimed at anyone specific—but that's why I'm posting now, so it doesn't single anyone out.

It's true that, in-universe, Bill's said he's apathetic about what gender humans see him as. But you and I aren't in his fictional universe; we're in the real universe.

And out here in our real universe, when someone discovers that a guy they've ONLY ever referred to with he/him pronouns actually has breasts under his shirt? If that person is a conservative, they might start calling this man "she." If that person is more progressive, sometimes they start calling him "they." Like they'll respect that he's trans but refuse to respect that he's transmasc.

And because we live out here in the real world where I'm sick and tired of watching this happen, I'm also sick and tired of watching it happen to characters I write with he/him pronouns. Because multiple times I have had readers—nominally pro-LGBT readers!—start calling a he/him character I write "they/them" the second I headcanon him as transmasc or give him physical traits associated with AFAB bodies, in spite of the pronouns they see me use for him.

You've never seen canon call Bill anything but he/him. You've never seen the guy who invented Bill call him anything but he/him. Except when I write from the perspective of a character who literally DOESN'T KNOW they're looking at Bill, you've never seen ME refer to my specific interpretation of Bill with anything but he/him pronouns.

(And not to get too serious over cartoons, but—if you can't get a character's pronouns right after seeing me use THOUSANDS of he/him pronouns for him—a character whom you were INTRODUCED TO with the correct pronouns and whom you likely ONLY called by the correct pronouns for years, right up until the moment you saw him drawn with tits & hips—if the mere knowledge of his anatomy is enough to completely overwrite every single time you've seen & heard his pronouns used—then I worry about how y'all would talk about an IRL transmasc guy if you could see immediately that he's AFAB and only hear his pronouns once.)

Knowingly using the wrong pronouns doesn't magically become woke when it's gender neutral wrong pronouns. Stop ignoring the only pronouns you've ever seen me or the show call Bill. Do not misgender the silly cartoon triangle in my inbox & comments.

Thank you.

I'm GRUDGINGLY more flexible on calling Bill the wrong name, since I know sometimes y'all need to differentiate whether you're talking to me about the vague concept of canon Bill or, specifically, the copy of Bill undergoing the events in my fic, and using his in-fic "this is the name used by PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW WHO HE IS" nickname is convenient for that.

So, yeah, if you HAVE to, you can call Bill another name. But please know: 1) I dislike that; 2) I'd rather you only do it in contexts where it's necessary for clarity; and 3) even if you're calling him the wrong name out of grammatical necessity, it's still the wrong name.

[suzukiblu]

I beg you desperately and with all the hope that makes a lump in my throat, may we please get some more Jason going home accidentally. My week is testing me aggressively and I'm tipsily seeking comfort.

I tried to write a bit of new content for this but tbh I did not have the spoons or the focus to manage it, so instead here's the whole current story-so-far all put together and all in order behind the cut here, since even the "chrono" tag for this story is not really all that chronological and I'm, like, eighty-five percent sure that there's gotta be at least a COUPLE excerpts in here that haven't gone up yet. If nothing else, I know there's some little bits and pieces I've added or adjusted in editing, and hopefully it'll be a satisfying read to get all in order and all together for . . . quite possibly the first time, yeah, hah.

Well, it's 16.5k, if nothing else, haha.

Sorry for the day or two's wait on getting back to you with this; hope your week's improved, friend.

.

.

Jason fucked up his suppressants somewhere in fucking Barbados, of all places, and by "fucked up" he means "lost in a firefight". 

So that was a problem, definitely. 

He'd had two days before it was going to be a serious problem, though, and a lot of bad guys to deal with before he could deal with said problem. But it would've been fine, if there hadn't been a local supply chain issue with omega suppressants. 

Or it would've been fine if he hadn't been with Roy and Kori at the time. If he hadn't been with two unfairly gorgeous alphas that he'd been relying on to watch his ass for months, who'd both saved his life and carried him out of the shit more than once; who'd both looked at him like he was a real and actual person, still, and had never once been disappointed in the kind of real and actual person that he really and actually was. 

Or maybe just if he hadn't known damn well just how fat both their knots were from Dick's goddamn locker room gossip when he'd been a fucking stupid and stupidly impressionable not-dead-yet teenager. 

Dick was a goddamn beta, the bastard. He shouldn't have even known how good Tamaranean knot supposedly was! That should not have been a thing! 

Jason, unfortunately, had been gifted with an absolute whore with absolutely no shame for a predecessor, and so had spent his accidentally suppressant-free time thinking far, far too much about Dick's goddamn dumbass war stories from his Titans days and exactly how many of them had ended with "and then Kori blew my fucking back out and it was the fucking shit". 

The bastard. 

So yeah, Jason had gone into a stress heat after two lousy missed doses of suppressants, because of fucking course he had! Of fucking course that was his fucking life! 

And of fucking course said stress heat had happened while he was laying low in a bare-bones safehouse with Roy and Kori and a California king and absolutely no other methods of distraction. 

Of course it had. 

.

.

.

"Do you require assistance, friend?" Kori asks, and Jason probably could answer her verbally, but instead he just very literally climbs her and refuses to get down until she promises to blow his fucking back out. And really, he only actually gets down at all because Roy is standing just slightly out of reach and Jason very, very desperately needs to get his mouth on him. 

Just–desperately. 

"Oh–both of us?" Roy manages, his face going bright red. 

"Both of you at once," Jason growls, and then tackles him to that damn California king. Kori is clearly delighted.

Jason is pretty damn delighted too, once he’s gotten both their knots in him. 

Dick had not been exaggerating the locker room talk. If anything, he'd undersold things. Roy was so fucking careful and thorough and Kori was so fucking confident and relentless and Jason was . . . Jason was . . . 

Actually Jason might be in love, maybe? It's possible that this is what being in love is. Like, as a thing. 

Or whatever. 

.

.

.

So Jason had spent a week getting fucked so good that even the pit hadn't had any complaints, and then it'd been back to business as usual for the next couple of months and he hadn't thought about it again outside of his personal time, and maybe once or twice when Roy or Kori had stepped in a little too close or made casual eye contact or just smiled at him like they were actual friends or something, the utter bastards. But otherwise, yeah, no. Business as usual. 

And some very vivid and imaginative new sex dreams and stupid romantic daydream fantasies not as usual. 

But again: whatever. That crap was Future Jason's problem. Current Jason is busy shoving alllll of that inconvenient emotional shit into a nice helpful repression box and just leaving it there to rot, and that’s just gonna be that. 

And no, he isn't reading romance novels again. Shut the fuck up, Roy. It’s Pride and Prejudice, not goddamn bored housewife smut. 

Admittedly, the bored housewife smut might've actually been less embarrassing than the romantic yearning, especially when Kori asks him what his new book’s about and Jason already knows that Roy knows it well enough that he'll be able to tell if he bullshits her, but whatever. 

Last time he watches that stupid A&E miniseries with the prick, no matter how damn good Colin Firth looks in a wet shirt. 

Ugh. 

.

.

.

"We need to talk," Roy says while standing in the middle of a kill floor with a trick arrow nocked and a stranger's blood all over his face. Jason wants to kiss him. Or kill him. Or maybe do both of those things at once? Maybe? But like–biohazards. "Like, about our feelings. Specifically the specific feelings that I am specifically having about the two of you and your specific feelings." 

"Oh!" Kori says with a bright smile as she lights up with both visible delight and destructive solar radiation. She is also very kiss/kill-able right now, Jason thinks, though the radiation thing could also be an issue. "Well, my specific feelings are that you and I should mate our lovely Jason at his earliest possible convenience and then consummate said mating under the stars. Repeatedly. I have refreshed my knowledge of the appropriate Earth customs, so do you think Lian would rather be the flower-bearer or the ring-girl?" 

"I'm going back to Gotham," Jason blurts in panicked self-defense. 

"Is that an invitation or an escape route?" Roy asks, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"I'm going back to Gotham right now," Jason says, which he understands is not an actual answer but is still not going to clarify any more than that. Then he flees the kill floor. He flees the kill floor very, very quickly.

Repression box time. 

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.

.

So yeah, Jason ditches them both in Prague and heads back to Gotham the long way. He doesn't answer when Roy tries calling his burner, though he does text their very small group chat a vague confirmation that he isn't dead again yet a day or three later. Kori immediately sexts him in response, but he's pretty sure that she just still thinks that's how texting works. 

Look, he hasn't corrected the misassumption. 

Fuck, she is just unfairly attractive all the time, though, isn't she. And even more so when he's desperately trying to avoid her and also his emotions. 

Roy also sexts him, and is also unfairly attractive despite being who he is as a person. Then the two of them get distracted sexting each other instead, and Jason just lets himself pretend that they can't see his "read" receipts as he follows along. 

So he hadn't been all that subtle about how much of a turn-on it'd been the handful of times that they'd gone at each other during his heat despite both being alphas, okay? Sue him. Who the fuck could've been? Not fucking Dick, that's for fucking sure. 

Jason is pretty sure that he will never again see anything as mind-meltingly, panty-soakingly hot as the sight of Roy taking Kori's big fat knot in Jason's own damn heat nest and whining for it in his alpha voice while she so-sweetly told him what a good bitch he was being for her. Just–nope. No. Definitely not. 

Jason didn't even know alpha voices could whine like that. Like, he had not been any kind of aware that was an actual thing that an actual alpha voice could actually do. 

Also they were both a lot more flexible than he'd ever really let himself think about too much before. 

And had a lot more . . . endurance. 

So that'd all been very extremely destructive to his sanity, yeah. And his higher thought processes. 

And just his . . . everything, pretty much. Pretty much his everything, yeah.

.

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.

Kori and Roy keep sexting the group chat with annoyingly helpful visual aids until Jason has to stop in a shitty motel just outside of Gotham and fuck himself stupid for a few hours, because they're the literal worst teammates in the literal entire world and he hates them both and also he wants both their stupid fucking knots in him right fucking now and Lian can be the flower-bearer and the ring-girl as far as he's concerned, he doesn't even care. 

Bastards. 

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Jason catches up with the group chat, takes a very, very cold shower, and then drives the rest of the way towards Gotham. He does not check his phone even one more time, because knowing Roy and Kori he'd probably crash his fucking bike if he did. 

He doesn't think about any fucking romance novel bullshit either. 

It's weird that he misses them already, isn't it? He doesn't usually miss people this quick. At least, not these days. He's gotten too used to being stray for that. 

He's been a stray for so fucking long, it feels like, and he just . . . 

Fuck, he can't even remember the last time he had real packscent on him. Which, well–yeah, of course he can't. That would imply having a pack, wouldn't it. 

He thinks it was Alfred's scent, the last time. 

It must've been. 

He misses Alfred, too. 

Maybe he'll swing by the manor in a few days, once he's settled back into the swing of things in the city and he's shown his face in a few key places and made sure nobody's fucked too much with his territory while he was away. Maybe Alfred's missed him a little himself. Maybe the others won't mind him taking up a little bit of space in their space for an hour or two. Maybe Bruce will . . . 

Fuck, is he high or something? What, exactly, does Jason think Bruce is going to do if he sees him, besides say something shitty to him about how he handles his territory or lives his life or just whatever else? 

Maybe he'll drag his ass back to Ethiopia again. 

Yeah, that'd be a great time. Real fun for the whole family. 

Not that they're any kind of family anymore. 

Bruce doesn't want them to be. Doesn’t want a blooded killer or Crime Alley trash for one of his pack's omegas. Doesn't want to explain Jason being alive or help him establish a cover identity that they could somehow know each other through or publically claim him or do just . . . anything like that. Red Hood has a comm link that can connect to the Bat pack's devices and conditional access to their intel as long as he hasn't either killed anyone or freaked out on pit rage too recently and nothing else. 

He isn't family. 

He isn't pack. 

Hell, even when Jason had been pack to Bruce, it'd only been the two of them and Alfred and the occasional semi-grudging visit from Dick. Nothing like it is now, with more goddamn Bats than a belfry. Now there's Tim and Cass and Steph and Damian and . . . 

Jason knows perfectly well that there isn't a place for him in that pack, much less in the manor. There isn't even a place for him in the cave, unless some absolute asshole decides to count that bullshit memorial. 

Maybe he should tell Bruce how much he fucking hates that memorial, one of these days. Not like Bruce would care, but . . . just–maybe he should. 

One of these days. 

.

.

.

Jason is distracted, he thinks. Or not thinking, maybe? 

Or just very fucking stupid, maybe. 

There's literally no other reason he would've just driven his bike up the road to goddamn Wayne Manor first thing into Bristol. Which . . . whatever, he's not in Red Hood's gear right now, that's all packed away in his go-bag, but still. He knows better than to pull this kind of shit. 

He's not welcome at the manor. He doesn't deserve to be. Not after what he's done. What he's become. What he is. 

And even if he ever were welcome, he still wouldn't belong here. 

Jason wants so, so fucking badly for that not to be true. 

But it is true, of course. It's always been true. 

Always was true. 

Jason parks his bike outside the front gate and checks the group chat. Roy and Kori are–mostly–done sexting and are talking about flowers, the fucking weirdos. Like they'd even bother having a ceremony if they actually did get mated. Who'd even care? 

Not anyone on his side of the goddamn aisle, that's for fucking sure. And what, they're gonna invite Blackfire and Green Arrow? 

Yeah, no. Definitely not. 

Jason thinks about the absolutely ludicrous idea of texting his opinion on mating ceremony flowers to the chat, but doesn't. 

He feels . . . off, kind of. Restless. Nervous. Nauseous. 

Like fucking crying his fucking eyes out until he fucking dies. 

Again. 

He really misses Alfred. It's a little late–late enough that he's definitely missed dinner, but not really late enough to interfere with anyone's patrol schedule. He could just . . . duck in for a bit. Check in. See what the old man's been up to and catch up on the pack gossip like he actually deserves to know any of it. 

Maybe Alfred would let him sneak into the cookie jar like he always pretends he isn't gonna. 

Jason still remembers every single goddamn cookie recipe Alfred ever let him help him with back in the day, but somehow not a one of them has ever tasted the same as they do when he's sneaking them out of that stupidly fancy old cookie jar or off a cooling rack on one of Alfred's immaculate kitchen counters. Not even close. 

Jason really wants one of those cookies right now. And also Alfred. And also . . . 

And also he wants to be fifteen and afraid of absolutely nothing, with Bruce's pack bite on his neck and Robin's cape around his shoulders and the certainty of having a place, of being something, being someone, being . . . 

Belonging. 

Like he thinks he has the fucking right to, or something. 

He texts the group chat. 

i am the stupidest motherfucker alive or dead, he says. 

fuck u zomboy thats my crown n i will fight u 4 it, Roy says. 

are you well, loveliest? Kori asks, and thoughtfully includes a shot of her tits, which are as irritatingly resplendent as ever. Especially because her come is currently smeared all over them, but Jason's just gonna have to process that particular image a little bit later, when he's not having a weird emotional crisis in the manor driveway over fucking cookies. 

Though he saves the pic to come back to for said "later", obviously. He's having a crisis, yeah, but he's not an idiot. 

i want a cookie, he says. 

. . . like in a sexy way or in an emotional regression way?? Roy says. 

i fucking hate your new therapist

regression it is ok!! well u gotta b in gotham by now right?? go c ur man alfie n ask him 4 the hookup

go to hell and burn there

Roy sends him a dick pic in response, probably so Kori won't wonder why they aren't being as porny as usual and start to emulate them. Jason grudgingly saves it for later too and also fucking hates him. 

we can provide you with all the emotional regression cookies you wish, loveliest, Kori says, including a very nice shot of her half-blown knot that makes Jason's traitor of a mouth water. He glazes over briefly and really hopes Babs isn't creeping on the cell phone towers yet tonight. He's almost sure that wasn't actually meant to be a come-on, but . . . we would be most appreciative of the opportunity to satisfy your desires.

Never mind. Definitely a come-on. 

. . . almost definitely. 

It is Kory. 

Jason saves the new pic, obviously, and then sighs to himself. 

if you never see me again, it was possibly tim but probably damian who did me in, he types out resignedly. in which case, either fair or fair play

k but what if it was dick tho?? Roy asks. 

then i want you to burn down this whole fucking city in my fucking name, Jason says. 

it would be our honor, loveliest, Kori says hopefully not too sincerely. 

Then again, "burned down by a sexy alien on a vengeance bender" is a lot better of an end than Gotham really deserves at this point. And anyway, Jason's not gonna tell Kori how to live her life. 

He puts his burner away and looks up at the manor. The lights are on, obviously. It's getting dark, so why wouldn't they be? 

He still really wants that stupid cookie. 

Jason sighs again, then gets off his bike. He'll just go up and knock, and if no one's too busy to answer then he'll just . . . go in for a little while. That's all. He has a key, technically, but he's never fucking used it and he's never fucking going to, outside of maybe a possible life or death or global crisis-level emergency. 

This isn't his home. Not anymore. 

So yeah. He's not gonna use the damn key. 

Jason walks up to the door. It smells like Bruce has touched it. Not especially recently–not any more recently than this morning, at least–but still. It smells like Bruce has touched it. 

Which it obviously would. It always does. Bruce is the pack alpha, after all. He scents this door all the damn time. It's always smelled like him. This stupid fucking door has smelled like it belongs to Bruce for a lot longer than Jason ever got to. 

It smells like Alfred has touched it too. And Dick, and Damian, and Duke, and . . . 

Fuck, he can even smell traces of Selina on it. 

No trace of himself, though. 

He hasn't been in Gotham, Jason reminds himself. He hasn't been in Gotham and he doesn't belong in the manor anyway and this isn't his home anymore. So it shouldn't hurt, that this stupid fucking door doesn't smell like him. It really shouldn't. 

It shouldn't, but . . . but he still feels off, kind of, and he just . . . he isn't really . . . 

He feels off. Really, really off. 

The door is really bothering him. And he really wants a cookie. And . . . and something . . . 

Something's wrong. He's forgetting something. 

Is he forgetting something? 

Jason frowns to himself and pulls out his burner again. Checks the notes app. Checks his calendar. Checks his . . . 

Wait. 

Jason stares at his apps. 

Stares at his cycle tracker, which he hasn't opened all month. 

Or all of last month. 

Stress heat, he reminds himself abruptly. Stress heats throw off people's cycles all the time. And he's never been all that regular anyway, really, especially since dying and getting dumped in the pit. 

Except he's been being an overemotional absolute fucking lunatic for weeks now and he already misses Roy and Kori after three lousy days and he came to the fucking manor without even fucking meaning to and . . . 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Jason, very calmly, unlocks the front door with the key he's never once used. Then he bolts into the manor and beelines for the second-nearest bathroom, because Bruce is always over-prepared and that's the one where they always used to keep the pads and tampons and birth control and fucking pregnancy tests. 

And still is, apparently. 

Jason finds a test. He takes the test. 

He sits down to wait for the test. 

He doesn't think a single damn thing, because it'd be pointless. He doesn't have all the information. No point in catastrophizing when he doesn't even know anything yet. 

So he doesn't think. 

.

.

.

The timer on Jason's phone flashes. He looks at the test. 

It's positive. 

And if it's accurate, then doing the math, "bred" has got to be bleeding into his scent by now. Which Roy and Kori were probably already subconsciously noticing at least a week ago, so no fucking wonder they've been talking about their fucking feelings in the middle of fucking kill floors and saying they want to fucking mate him and won't stop sexting and fussing over him. 

Shit. 

He's pregnant. He's pregnant and he probably fucking smells pregnant and he's in the fucking manor like this. 

He really is the stupidest motherfucker alive or dead. 

. . . and he's pregnant. 

.

.

.

Jason snaps the test in half and buries it in one of the hidden scent-blocked pockets at the bottom of his go-bag and just . . . thinks. Or tries to think, anyway. He's pregnant, and he was stupid enough to let himself come to the manor like he's actually a part of this pack–like he's a fucking traditionalist or a romantic coming home to present his pack with his pups and nest up with them all safe and protected until he whelps. Like this pack would even want his pups, much less want to put up with him and all his bullshit for that long. 

God, he's such an idiot. 

He should've fucking known. He should've just gone to the opposite side of the goddamn planet and denned down there and blocked Roy and Kori's numbers and deleted all the Bats' and broken his phone for good measure. He should've paid more attention to taking his birth control on time while he was on the road and not begged Roy and Kori to knot him raw for his heat no matter how good it'd felt. He should've . . . he should've . . . 

He should've . . . 

Jason paces from one end of the bathroom to the other. He paces back the other way. He thinks about panic-texting Roy and Kori for advice or sneaking out to get an abortion before anyone can find out he's bred or never telling anyone this happened ever or running away to Talia or having a fucking anxiety attack on the fucking bathroom floor. 

He thinks, very briefly, about going and presenting the pack with his pups. Like he's an absolute fucking moron or something. 

But he thinks about it, and once he's thought about it . . . once he's considered it . . . 

Jason twists his hands together. Jason paces the bathroom. Jason grits his teeth. 

Jason thinks about presenting the pack with his pups. Presenting the Wayne pack with his pups. 

Not the Bat pack. 

His hands fist against his sides. His shoulders tighten. 

His stomach does nothing except for what it's already doing, which is carry a pup or two or . . . however many. Jason was a single, he semi-reliably knows. Roy was . . . maybe a single? He's pretty sure? And he only sired Lian on Cheshire, at least as far as Cheshire ever admitted to anyone. But Kori and Komand'r and Ryand'r were a litter of three, right? Or Jason thinks they were, anyway. 

Probably asking Kori about that right now would be suspicious. Or at the very least give her and Roy the wrong idea about Jason's opinion of them all actually getting mated. 

Not that it'd actually be the wrong idea so much as . . . 

Fuck, who even knows which one of them actually knocked him up. Maybe both of them did–that happens sometimes, with omegas. Especially when the potential sires are alphas. Technically he thinks it's even possible for female betas, though that's a hell of a lot rarer and really more of a–

Just, Jesus, what in actual hell is Jason gonna do if he ends up whelping a half-alien kid in Gotham? Or if he has to explain to Lian that she's not her daddy's only pup anymore? Or if–

Jason pictures a sweet little redheaded newborn all nestled up to his chest, maybe softly glowing and floating or adorably stupid and wickedly clever or just ridiculously tiny and defenseless and all those other things all at once, and feels far, far too many feelings about the idea. His heart fucking hurts with how many feelings he feels about that fucking idea, in fact. 

Alright. Ruled out sneaking out to get an abortion, apparently. 

Dammit. 

Jason can't actually be a real mom, though. He can't protect a pup with his lifestyle, much less properly raise one. Catherine at least tried even in the worst of her addiction, but that doesn’t mean she was in any place to actually do all that good a job, and Sheila was just an absolute piece of shit as both a dam and a person, and those are his only examples so far as "mothering" behavior goes because he is just not emotionally prepared to ever count Selina–and not even because of her actually being an alpha and therefore more the "fathering" type or all the times he tried to get her arrested back in the day. So just–just how would he ever know how to be a mom for some poor stupid kid who'd probably be just as much of a mouthy, difficult brat as he'd always been? How would he know how to be a mom for a kid genetically crazy enough to jack the fucking Batmobile's tires? How?!

Maybe . . . maybe Roy would want them, though, or . . . or something. He wants Lian even though she's Cheshire's, after all. And like, Jason is also a fucking murderer, yeah, but he’s at least never done it for the fucking money. And who knows, maybe Kori would want them herself, if they were hers. Like–that might be a thing, for all he knows. She’s got worse people than him in her immediate nuclear family, for fuck’s sake. She might not care about the pup having a dam like him any more than Roy probably would. 

Jason would have to actually ask to know if either of them would actually want a pup that was half him, of course, which just sounds like some fresh fucking hell right there. Just . . . absolute and total hell, yeah. 

If they didn’t, though . . . well, he couldn't put the pup up for adoption unless he was absolutely sure they weren't Kori's, given the whole alien superpowers and horrible genetic experiments issue, obviously, but that's what DNA tests are for, right? And even if they were, he could probably– 

. . . wait, fuck, does he maybe have, like–alien royalty in his gut right now? Is that an actual concern that he has to actually be concerned about? 

Fuuuuuck, it really might be. 

Well, that'd be fun to explain to Bruce. 

. . . not that Jason is actually going to be explaining any of this to Bruce, of course. Ever. Just–fuck that, fully and completely. 

Please let Tamaran as a whole just not care about this pup, like, ever. Just–never. Please. 

Please. 

They shouldn’t, at least, because why the hell would they? Jason is slightly undead and fully murderous Crime Alley trash with no prospects and no legal identity and no pack that would ever claim him. There isn't a single planet in this or any galaxy that would be happy about hearing one of its princesses knocked up someone like him. Best-case scenario, they just cut the kid out of the line of succession completely and never ever ask them to visit. 

Maybe he should just be hoping it's Roy's pup. Or pups. Or whatever. 

Still could be Roy and Kori's pups, of course. That's still a disaster that could very easily be happening right now. 

Jason tries to imagine raising a pup that knew they were superpowered alien royalty alongside a completely human pup that knew that their sire already had another pup and just . . . does not want to deal with that particular potential parenting minefield. Ever. 

Fuck, talk about sibling rivalry. And that without even considering Komand'r being in the family tree. Or him and his whole . . . everything with Tim, basically. 

Please, please let the universe at least have the mercy to let this pup be a single, Jason prays. He just seriously can't have any more attempted fratricide or whatever in the not-technically-family.  He really can't deal with that. He's hit his lifetime limit. He's done. Finished. All wrapped up. Tapped out. 

Or he's currently carrying the second coming of Cain and Abel. Whichever. 

Fuck his life. 

Jason exhales. Inhales. Tries not to panic or catastrophize or freak the fuck out. Really, really wants an Alfred cookie. 

Really wants Alfred. Alfred could fix this. Alfred could make this better. Alfred could–could– 

Jason wants Alfred. Jason wants– 

Jason exhales. 

Inhales. 

Jason . . . 

.

.

.

Jason catches a scent. Jason . . . follows the scent. 

Yes. He follows the scent. The scent is what he wants. The scent will make things better. The scent will . . . 

Jason leaves the bathroom. Crosses the foyer. Goes down the hall. Heads into the back of the house, where everything smells like tea and coffee and sweet, sweet things. 

And like a very calm and steady and nurturing beta. 

A very specific calm and steady and nurturing beta. 

Jason walks into the kitchen. There's a couple of other packmates at the table; he ignores them. He loves them, obviously, but they're not who he's here for. 

Grandpa is standing at the counter, pouring tea. It smells nice. Soothing. Sweet. 

Not as nice as Grandpa's soft and steady pheromones, though. 

"Master Jason, what a pleasant surprise," Grandpa says, setting down the tea to smile at him in a way that makes Jason feel very, very warm and very, very overwhelmed. "I didn't even hear you knock. Would you like a cup?" 

Jason is vaguely aware that he should say something that counts as an actual response to . . . any of that, he guesses. 

He really doesn't care, though. He just drops his go-bag full of Red Hood's gear and all his useless weapons and the snapped-in-half pregnancy test on the kitchen floor and heads straight over to Grandpa and ducks his face down to bury in his neck and breath in his scent. Soft. Steady. 

Pack. 

"Master Jason, are you–" Grandpa starts, sounding alarmed, and Jason grabs his hand and puts it on his own stomach and just–

Purrs. 

Grandpa inhales. Gets Jason's scent too, Jason assumes. 

And chokes, very quietly. 

"Jason," he says, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Jason purrs again. 

"Holy crap," a packmate says disbelievingly. It's–Little Brother. Not Pup Brother or New Brother or Big Brother. Little Brother, who smells like too much coffee and not enough sleep and sounds very surprised about something, and–unsurprisingly–has a laptop set up on the table in front of him. 

"Alfred, oh my god, I have literally never heard you say a single one of our names without a ‘Miss’ or a 'Master' or anything attached, is Jason fucking dying?" the other packmate at the table demands worriedly. Loud Sister–not Quiet Sister. Loud Sister smells like less coffee than Little Brother and a rush of nervous energy and also sounds very surprised. Jason wonders why. 

Well, it's not really important, he guesses. 

"Present," he croons lowly, pressing Grandpa's hand tighter against his stomach, and Grandpa puts his other hand on the back of Jason's neck and squeezes it very, very tight. 

It feels nice. 

Jason purrs again. 

"Ohmygod," Loud Sister chokes. 

"Jason," Grandpa says again, his voice all rough and aching as his fingers splay against Jason's stomach just where the pup should be. Or . . . pups? Maybe pups, yeah. More would be better, right? Lots of pups for the pack. 

And lots of grandpups for Alpha. 

That would be nice, Jason thinks, purring louder. 

Jason nuzzles Grandpa's throat and leans down into him. Grandpa swallows. Tightens his grip on the back of Jason's neck. It still feels nice. 

Jason thinks . . . it's been a long time, he thinks, since someone held his neck like this. 

Too long. 

"Okay, so he's definitely feral right now," Little Brother says. "And not in the pit rage way." 

"Ohhhhh so very feral right now," Loud Sister agrees. Jason wonders who they're talking about, but isn't really worried about it either way. They're all in the pack den. They're all safe. So if somebody in the pack is feral right now, they can just ride it out here and they'll be fine. So it's fine. "But he came here? Like . . . I'm not being crazy, right, he's presenting his pup to us right now, isn't he? Like–really presenting it to us?" 

"Well, to Alfred," Little Brother says. "But uh . . . yeah, I think so." 

"Grandpa," Jason says contentedly, squeezing the back of Grandpa's hand again. Grandpa makes a choked noise. "Great-Grandpa." 

"Fuck, I think I kinda wanna cry," Loud Sister says. 

"Would you like to . . . nest, perhaps? Master Jason?" Grandpa asks carefully, clearing his throat. Jason considers the question. Nest means warm. Safe. Good things for the pup. Or pups? 

Whichever. 

"Nest," he agrees contentedly, nuzzling Grandpa's throat again. His scent is so nice. Jason's missed it so, so much. 

Jason missed Grandpa's scent before he ever even knew it existed, he thinks. 

"Then would you prefer your bedroom or the front living room for it? Or . . . somewhere else?" Grandpa asks even more carefully. Jason considers again. The bedroom would be easier to defend. Smaller. Harder for the pack to come visit, though. More out of the way. And if he needed backup, they'd be farther off. The front living room is right up by the foyer, though. Easy for everyone to check in when they come home or before they leave. Lots of room for them all to fit in it, too. He can't really think of a better option for that. 

"Living room," Jason decides. Grandpa makes another choked noise. 

"Of course, Master Jason," he says, his voice all tight. "Please come with me.” 

Jason purrs. 

Grandpa takes his hand and takes him to the front living room. Jason knows where it is, obviously, but it's nice being taken anyway. Grandpa wants him to nest. Grandpa wants his pups. He thinks Jason did good and he's pleased with him for doing good. 

Good, Jason thinks. 

"I'll just be a moment, Master Jason," Grandpa says thickly, then ushers him through the door and leaves him in the living room. Little Brother and Loud Sister linger in the foyer, Little Brother’s laptop tucked under his arm. Jason didn't even notice them following them. 

Well, it's helpful that they did. 

"Pillows," he tells them matter-of-factly because there aren’t really very many nesting pillows in here, and then starts fussing over the blankets draped over the couch as they both share a brief glance before heading off, hopefully in search of the requested pillows. 

The pup definitely needs pillows, Jason knows. And his nest definitely needs pillows, too. 

It won’t be big enough, if there aren’t more pillows. 

.

.

.

Jason turns the front living room upside down and most of the assorted blankets and pillows that he finds in it smell like pack, so they're good, but a couple smell more like Pup Brother's suitors, so those ones Jason tosses out into the foyer. Pup Brother's suitors are . . . fine, he guesses? But not for his nest. 

"What on earth are you doing in there, Todd?" Pup Brother himself asks, eyeing the crumpled blankets on the foyer floor. Quiet Sister is standing beside him and looks excited, leaning forward towards the doorway on her tiptoes. Jason didn't hear them coming, but he wasn't all that worried about listening for anyone either. Also, they're both very quiet when they move anyway. 

"Nest," he says. He doesn't think he's being all that subtle here, but Pup Brother didn't get a traditional pack upbringing, he knows. At least, not the kind that allowed for nesting. That's not really how the League works. 

He definitely never nested when he was with the League. 

". . . nest?" Pup Brother asks, and just a little hinted flash of curiosity crosses the back of his eyes for a moment. Does Pup Brother ever build nests, Jason wonders? He's an omega too. He should learn how, if he hasn't yet. 

"Nest," he repeats firmly, then gestures beckoningly with a blanket that smells acceptably of packscent. Nobody specifically stronger than anybody else; just an easy tangle of a whole mess of different packmates all mixed in together. Pup Brother frowns, looking confused. 

Nest! Quiet Sister signs delightedly before giving Pup Brother an encouraging push into the living room. She doesn't come in herself, though. Which–Quiet Sister is an alpha, of course, so that makes sense. Jason just wasn't sure if she'd know the etiquette, all things considered. 

Well, he isn’t sure if Pup Brother does either, really, but that’s fine. He’s the one who’s supposed to teach Pup Brother that kind of thing anyway. 

"Er," Pup Brother says doubtfully, glancing between them. "Do you require . . . assistance, Todd?" 

Jason dumps an armful of throw pillows on him, then starts demonstrating how to arrange them on the floor. Pup Brother frowns again, holding the unused pillows in his arms and observing the building process intently. Jason’s pleased by that. Pup Brother should learn this. Pup Brother should learn this, so he's showing Pup Brother this. So he's being good! Very good. A good omega. Yes! 

They're both being good. 

So that's good. 

Jason purrs some more. Quiet Sister flutters her hands happily, still waiting in the doorway. Jason wants to invite her in, but really needs to get the nest more established first. 

He'll let her in the nest itself, he already knows. Once it's done, obviously. Quiet Sister probably hasn't really been in a nest before–Pup Brother is the only other omega in the pack, after all, and she doesn't have an omega mate or any omega friends, so when would she have? 

. . . unless she's still courting that weird flirty omega from Little Brother's other pack, maybe? The sort-of-alien-sort-of-human one that makes cloud castles and almost drowned with her in a basement that one time or whatever. Whatever his name is. 

Or . . . wait, was Little Brother the one courting him? 

Hm. 

Well, maybe they both were. Jason isn't really sure, come to think. 

He'll ask later, he decides, and lays down some more throw pillows. Either way he's still inviting Quiet Sister into his nest once it's done. Quiet Sister deserves all the nests she can get. 

Jason hopes she'll like his. 

He finishes with the throw pillows and starts looking for more blankets. Grandpa is back in the doorway with a whole stack of them, which is very conveniently timed and therefore very Grandpa. 

"I was not aware that Todd could become feral without invoking the pit," Pup Brother says skeptically. 

"I suppose maternal instinct has somewhat superseded its effects for the time being," Grandpa replies with a wry, warm smile, looking a bit misty-eyed. Jason purrs at him again, then takes the stack of blankets and starts shaking them out and sorting through them for suitability. They all smell good–all smell like pack. 

"‘Maternal instinct’?" Pup Brother repeats blankly. 

"That seems to be why Master Jason is here tonight, Master Damian," Grandpa says. "He is presenting us with his pup." 

"He–oh!" Pup Brother says, his eyes widening as Quiet Sister beams. "I didn't–realize. Er. Should I be . . . in here?" 

Jason teach, Quiet Sister signs. Pup Brother looks flustered. Damian learn.

"Oh," Pup Brother says just a little weakly. "I–er. Yes. Very well." 

Jason purrs at him too, then resumes sorting the new blankets. This one smells like New Brother, and this one smells like Big Brother and his mate, and this one . . . 

Oh. 

Jason . . . pauses. The blanket in his hands is soft and heavy and dark and smells like . . . smells like . . . 

It smells like Alpha. 

"Is that one . . . acceptable, Master Jason?" Grandpa asks quietly. 

Jason rubs his thumbs across his grip on the blanket. Buries his mouth in the edge of it just long enough to taste the pheromones scenting it. Breathes it in. 

Yes. It smells like Alpha. 

Their alpha. 

Jason lays the Alpha-scented blanket over the bottom of his growing nest like a foundation, purring soft and reverent as he tucks all the corners in, and then resumes building from there. Grandpa makes a very quiet choked noise again. 

"Delivery," Little Brother says as he and Loud Sister reappear in the doorway with more nesting pillows than Jason actually realized were in the entire pack den. Good, he thinks, crooning approvingly as he nudges Pup Brother to go and fetch them. Good for his mates' pups. Lots of pillows. Lots of warm and soft. 

Just–lots. 

"Do we know who sired Todd's pup?" Pup Brother asks warily as he ferries back the nesting pillows just a little awkwardly. It’s going to take him a few trips to get them all, but Jason doesn't mind. There's no rush. 

"He hasn't said," Grandpa says. 

"Surely we should inquire, then," Pup Brother says. "It seems . . . important." 

"Damian, you and Bruce are literally the only people in this pack currently living with any kind of a blood relative," Loud Sister tells him wryly. "Except for Jason and the baby now, I guess. And also that is a super-rude kind of question to ask somebody who's in feral drop anyway." 

"Well, they could be someone dangerous," Pup Brother grumbles. "Or a civilian, in which case they would need to be retrieved as soon as possible." 

"‘Retrieved’?" Little Brother asks with a frown. "What for?” 

"They would not be safe outside the manor," Pup Brother says. "The sire of the first pups of our pack's next generation would be a valuable target for our enemies." 

". . . okay, good point there," Little Brother mutters as he and Loud Sister both wince. "Uh, Jason? Who'd you spend your last heat with?" 

"Mine," Jason replies, contentedly fluffing the new layer of pillows in his nest. It’s much more important than that question. 

". . . your what, exactly?" Loud Sister tries. 

"Mine," Jason repeats, still more absorbed in the process of nest-building than anything else. They can talk once his nest is done, he figures. If they really have to, he means. "My . . . mmmmm. My sun. And my arsenal." 

"Please don't mean a Kryptonian when you say 'sun'," Little Brother mutters under his breath. "Or an assassin when you say 'arsenal'." 

"I love them," Jason replies in satisfaction, and lays down another blanket. This one smells like Grandpa. It's so nice. 

"Oh wow, Jason just actually admitted an emotional attachment willingly and in cold blood and without triggering the pit," Loud Sister says, her eyes wide. "Yeah, okay, we reaaaaally shouldn't have asked about the sire." 

"No, Damian's right," Little Brother says, shaking his head. "This is important. They could be in danger. Or, uh, planning to attack us. Depending. Are your sun and your arsenal civilians, Jason?" 

Jason laughs. 

That's such a funny question. 

"They're gonna burn down Gotham for me," he says dreamily. 

"Not the most reassuring answer but noted," Little Brother says. "Are they going to burn it down with, I don't know, specifically heat vision?" 

Jason laughs again. 

"I'm just gonna call Kon real quick," Little Brother says, pulling out his phone. 

"Isn't he an omega?" Loud Sister asks doubtfully. 

"Yeah, but Supergirl's an alpha," Little Brother says. "And, relatedly, so is Power Girl." 

Jason takes a moment to think about Power Girl. Just, like . . . as a person and everything. And as an experience.  

He purrs.

". . . yeah, definitely call Kon," Loud Sister says, half-eyeing him for some reason. 

Little Brother calls. 

"Hey, Tim," Little Brother's phone hums as Jason's busy demonstrating how to build up the sides of the nest for Pup Brother, who's still watching the process intently. "What's up, dude?" 

Oh. It's the cloud castle omega, Jason realizes. 

"I forget which one of you's courting him," he muses distractedly as he reinforces the nest a little more. He’s pretty sure he knew, anyway. But maybe not. 

"Wait, who's getting courted?" Little Brother's phone asks, sounding puzzled. 

"Nothing! No one!" Little Brother sputters as he turns red. So maybe he's the one doing the courting, then? But also Quiet Sister is leaning in towards the phone with a very pleased expression on her face, so maybe not. 

"Kon," she says happily. 

"Oh, hey there, Batbabe," Little Brother's phone says, sounding pretty pleased too. "Nice to hear from you again." 

"Kon," Quiet Sister repeats in a low and carrying alpha-voiced rumble, which may or may not count as an actual response to her, and the phone giggles flirtatiously. Little Brother makes a face. 

"Kon, do you know if Power Girl might've heat-partnered Hood recently?" he cuts in quickly. "Or . . . ever, I guess?" 

"I don't know, Tim, do you remember how we talked about boundaries and how some people still have them even when they're wearing coordinating superhero costumes?" his phone asks dryly. 

"Yes," Little Brother very clearly lies. 

"Yeah, well, Power Girl and I definitely have them," his phone says. "Despite the super-hearing and the X-ray vision and how absolutely desperately I want her to throw me down and fucking rail me, which should tell you a lot." 

"Jason just showed up at the manor pregnant and feral with literally no warning and when we asked him who the sire was he just called them his 'sun'," Little Brother says. 

". . . alright well so much for boundaries, I guess," his phone says. "Lemme text her." 

"Thank you," Little Brother says in relief. 

"You're just lucky that you're cute and I'm easy," his phone scoffs. "Hmmm. She says 'no, does he need me to?' Lucky bitch." 

"Dammit," Little Brother says. “Alright, thanks anyway. I’ll see you this weekend.” 

“Such a romantic,” his phone teases. “Speaking of heat-partnering, you bringin’ Cass along next time?” 

Quiet Sister rumbles warmly. Little Brother’s phone laughs, then purrs back. Little Brother looks briefly sour. 

“Sure, great, thanks,” he says. “Bye, Kon.” 

“Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave,” his phone coos, and Little Brother ends the call with an exasperated expression. 

“Why is he like this,” he mutters. “Why don’t I have better taste?” 

“Because you are an idiot,” Pup Brother informs him. Little Brother eyes him dubiously. 

“Helpful as always, demon brat, thank you,” he says. “Alright, it’s not Power Girl, so small favors. I don’t know how concerned we should be at this point, honestly. It might just be, I don’t know, some random assassin’s kid or something.” 

“Ugh, I hope not, a Kryptonian’s pup would’ve been way less of a problem than an assassin’s,” Loud Sister huffs, making a face as she folds her arms. 

“. . . explain that logic, please,” Little Brother says. 

“Kryptonian babies don’t get superpowers until the sun happens to them, so they wouldn’t accidentally hurt him kicking around in-utero or anything, so we’ve got nine months ‘til shit might get complicated,” Loud Sister replies reasonably. “But assassin babies come with at least one guaranteed murderous relative and probably also-murderous rivals of said relative who are all already grown-ass murderous adults that probably don’t care about stabbing pregnant people.” 

“I hate our lives,” Little Brother mutters, putting his face in his hands. 

“Assassins will not be a concern,” Grandpa says dismissively, and Jason feels warm and safe. Anyone else, that might just be an assumption. From Grandpa, it’s a promise. 

He loves him so much. He loves all of them, obviously, but Grandpa he loves so much. He purrs happily in his direction, and Grandpa's face goes soft for a moment, and then solid as steel. 

“You’re safe here, my boy,” he says quietly. and Jason purrs again and stacks up some more nesting pillows. He knows that. Grandpa’s here, so of course he does. The pack’s here. He’s not alone this time, so he’s safe. 

And Alpha will be home soon, too. 

So yes. He’s safe. His pup is safe. 

He wouldn’t have brought them here if they wouldn’t be. 

Jason stacks up a few more nesting pillows; drapes another blanket over them and tucks in all the loose corners of it. He’s making sloping walls. He likes those the best. They’re the nicest. 

( Mama built her nests with sloping walls. real Mama. not the liar.

he always wanted his nests to be like hers. )

This blanket smells like Loud Sister. A little bit like Quiet Sister too, but mostly like her. It’s nice too. Jason checks the corners of it, then gets more pillows. 

“I was unaware this was such an involved process,” Pup Brother says, sounding perplexed. 

“Depends on both the omega and the situation, but yeah, kinda tends to be,” Loud Sister says with a shrug, then glances towards the door. “Who’s–” 

Brother, Quiet Sister signs, unconcerned. Jason perks reflexively, because there’s only two options left for that sign, and–

Ah. No, he can smell New Brother coming; not Big Brother. Well, that’s alright. Jason doesn’t know New Brother very well yet, but he should be here. Obviously he should. The whole pack should. He’s pupped now, so they’re all just going to have to hurry up and get home to meet them. Her. Him. It? 

. . . whatever. Jason doesn’t even understand most of the human genders, much less any Tamaranean ones. The pup can just tell him when they figure it out. 

“Hey, what’s everybody doing in–” New Brother starts to ask as he walks into the foyer, and then catches sight of Jason and startles in surprise. “Oh!” 

Jason hums in idle acknowledgement at him, but doesn’t look up from the nest. New Brother is a beta; he doesn’t need nesting lessons. Though he could come in, Jason supposes. 

To the room, he means. Not the nest. He doesn’t know him well enough for that yet. 

. . . maybe later, though. Mm. Yeah–later, maybe. 

But Pup Brother and Quiet Sister first. 

“Jason came home,” Little Brother says. “Came home pregnant, specifically. He’s presenting his pup to–well, he presented them to Alfred, technically, I think the rest of us were more incidental in that. But he did let Steph and I get him pillows and he’s teaching Damian how to nest. Also he's definitely feral as hell right now, so keep that in mind.” 

“Huh,” New Brother says, looking bemused. “I . . . was not under the impression that he would literally ever do any of that. Except maybe for the going feral part, though in that case I would’ve expected more blood and screaming and murder. Uh–no offense.” 

“None taken, I’m sure, Master Duke,” Grandpa says dryly. 

“I didn’t mean–I just, you know, I didn’t think he really considered the manor home anymore,” New Brother says awkwardly, and Jason . . . Jason feels a little unsettled, and thinks . . . is that . . . right, or . . . ? 

“This manor will be a home to Master Jason for as long as it stands,” Grandpa says, simple and certain, and Jason is immediately soothed. Grandpa knows, after all. So if Grandpa says so, it’s true. “To all of you. No matter what.” 

Jason loves him so much, he thinks contentedly, and layers a few more pillows. 

“We should call Bruce, actually,” Little Brother says. “Do you think we should call Bruce?” 

“No,” Grandpa says. “Master Bruce will just rile himself up on the way home if we call him and show up in an alpha snit. Best to just let him arrive as scheduled. He should be on his way by now anyway.” 

“I guess, yeah,” Little Brother says, biting his lip. “I don’t know, I just feel like we should call him.” 

“We should call Dick,” New Brother says. “Speaking of people who’re gonna get riled about this.” 

“Ooo, good point,” Loud Sister says with a wince, tapping her lip. “Where is he tonight again?” 

“Master Dick and Miss Barbara are already enroute as well,” Grandpa says, linking his hands neatly in front of himself. “I did call them. Though I will admit that I did not specify the purpose of my call, only that there was vital pack business to be attended to at the manor.” 

“Alfred, I’m pretty sure you gave them a heart attack,” Loud Sister says with a wince. “Like you definitely gave them a heart attack.” 

“I did not say that it was urgently vital,” Grandpa replies, clearly unconcerned. “Master Jason, are you hungry? Would you like something for the pup?” 

Jason pauses consideringly, mulling that over, then nods agreeably. The pup needs fed, yes. The pup definitely needs fed. Especially if there's more than one. They have to grow up strong and healthy. They need taken care of. 

“For the pup,” he confirms. And he still wants a cookie, too. 

He really wants a cookie. 

A cookie would be nice. 

“Just a moment, then, Master Jason,” Grandpa says, then heads off towards the kitchen. Jason hums contentedly to himself–because Grandpa–and then goes back to showing Pup Brother how to nest. 

“Damian is also fine with this?” New Brother mutters in an aside to Little Brother and Loud Sister. “Like, that’s a thing?” 

“Damian is, more pressingly, not deaf,” Pup Brother says dubiously. New Brother looks momentarily embarrassed, then just shrugs. 

“Look, you can’t tell me it’s not a valid question,” he says. Pup Brother glowers at him. 

“Todd is an omega who trained within the League of Assassins,” he says. “He is the most acceptable candidate to provide me with these teachings.” 

“They nest in the League?” Loud Sister asks skeptically. 

“No,” Pup Brother says, the corner of his jaw momentarily tightening. “They do not.” 

“Oh,” she says, just barely wincing. Jason purrs encouragingly at Pup Brother, then reaches out and tugs him in close enough to rub his wrists along the scent glands in his throat, scenting him with nest safe-nest-safe-nest pack-omega-protect. Pup Brother stands very, very still for it very, very stiffly. Jason purrs again, then nuzzles his hair before taking the rest of the pillows he’s holding from him and working on working them into the nest. Pup Brother stays still one moment longer, then heads back to the pillows left by the door and scoops them up to bring back. Jason purrs approvingly again, and a very faint note of . . . acknowledgment, maybe, enters Pup Brother’s scent. 

Pup Brother’s scent very rarely gives off anything but challenge or disdain, if it gives off anything at all. The only ones in the pack with more control over their pheromones are Quiet Sister and Grandpa, Jason thinks. Even Alpha can’t hold himself back as well. 

Alpha grew up different, of course, Jason remembers idly, and fluffs up a few of the pillows before placing them. 

He turns over the pillows consideringly once or twice, then fluffs them again. After a while Grandpa comes back with a small stack of folded clothes and a tray of little sandwiches and cut-up celery sticks and apple slices with peanut butter to dip them in, and Jason very vaguely remembers being twelve years old and consistently not hungry for maybe the first time he could remember and that one weird, stupid phase where he’d refused to eat anything without cheap store-brand peanut butter being involved and driven Grandpa very politely up the wall, probably, but Grandpa had found about eight million different ways to use the stuff and Alpha hadn’t complained or forced him to eat anything he didn’t want or anything like that. 

Psychologically, Jason knows it’d probably been some stupid regression thing or just because he’d never really been in a situation where he’d been able to be actually picky about food before. But at the time . . . at the time, it’d felt like proof that Grandpa and Alpha had really cared. Like, even more than getting taken in off the street to begin with had. 

It’d been . . . weird. Weird that that’d made him feel that way. 

Weirder than they’d put up with it, though. 

So seeing Grandpa bring him peanut butter now is . . . 

Jason thinks about crying, but it makes more sense to hug Grandpa and nuzzle into the scent glands in his throat, even with the high stiff collar of his shirt halfway in the way. It doesn’t matter, because Grandpa smells familiar and safe and Grandpa is familiar and safe and he brought him peanut butter like maybe he . . . remembers, maybe, that one weird stupid phase Jason’d had. Like maybe he . . . cares, still. 

There’s cookies on the tray too. Jaffa cakes. 

Jason hasn’t had a jaffa cake since before he died, he’s pretty sure. 

If he has, he knows it couldn’t possibly have compared to Grandpa’s. 

Jason purrs into Grandpa’s half-covered scent gland, then takes the tray and sets it up neatly just outside the nest, in easy reach but not in any packmates’ paths. Easy to step around. He picks out the nicest-looking jaffa cake and pushes it on Pup Brother, who looks puzzled but takes it. 

“Er,” Pup Brother says, frowning at the jaffa cake in his hand. “I have reached my necessary caloric intake for the day, Todd.” 

Jason doesn’t know why that matters, so just watches him expectantly. Pup Brother looks awkward, glancing towards the others. Jason prods insistently at the jaffa cake. 

“Master Jason seems to want you to eat as well, Master Damian,” Grandpa supplies helpfully, seeming faintly amused, and Pup Brother looks puzzled again. 

“Why?” he asks. “I am not the one with pups to feed.” 

“You are a pup to feed, Damian,” Little Brother says wryly. Pup Brother’s expression turns dubious. 

“Hardly,” he says. “The fact that I have not yet presented is irrelevant to my capacity to feed myself.” 

Jason doesn’t really know what Pup Brother’s going on about, but he needs to eat. He pokes meaningfully at the jaffa cake again, a little concerned. Is Pup Brother not feeling well? Is he sick? He doesn’t smell sick, or like he’s in pain or anything like that either. But he’s still not eating the jaffa cake, and it’s one of Grandpa’s. 

“I think if you don’t eat it you’re gonna stress him out,” New Brother says. Pup Brother scowls at him. Maybe he really doesn’t feel good, Jason thinks, and presses the back of his hand to his forehead just in case, frowning at the thought. “See?” 

“This is ridiculous,” Pup Brother mutters, but he takes a bite of his jaffa cake and Jason immediately relaxes and starts purring encouragingly at him, twisting his wrist to rub his scent glands along Pup Brother’s hair with the scent of pack-pack-BROTHER-pack. Good. Pup Brother isn’t sick.

Pup Brother . . . blinks, very slowly, and then eats the rest of his jaffa cake. Jason purrs louder and scents him a little more. He’s such a good pup. Jason wants to–

The front door slams open. Everyone jumps, but Jason isn’t worried about it, because at the same time he hears Big Brother’s voice shout, “ALFRED!”

So it’s just Big Brother, and Grandpa will take care of him. It’s fine. 

“Master Dick,” Grandpa says, turning towards the front door with a mildly disapproving expression, still holding the clothes he brought with the tray. Jason wonders what they’re for. “Please refrain from shouting in the den.” 

“You said it was vital pack business!” Big Brother’s voice protests. Jason can’t see him from here, but isn’t worried about it. Big Brother will come into view soon enough, and then Jason will let him in the living room. Not the nest, but definitely the living room. “You haven’t said that since the last time the Court of Owls was making trouble!” 

“I didn’t say it was urgent,” Grandpa says, mildly put out. 

“What happened?” Big Brother’s mate asks, and Jason hears the slight squeak of her wheels. They should oil her chair, he thinks absentmindedly. It’s safer if she can move quieter. “And why is everyone in the foyer?” 

“Everyone is not in the foyer, actually,” Loud Sister says. 

“Bruce and Selina are still on the way, aren’t they?” Big Brother’s mate asks. “My news tracker didn’t ID them as leaving the gala until pretty recently.” 

“Yeah,” Little Brother says. “She meant Jason and Damian aren’t out here, though.” 

Big Brother and his mate both pause. Jason lays out another blanket. 

“. . . ‘out here’?” Big Brother repeats. 

“We are in the living room,” Pup Brother says, sounding annoyed. “Obviously.” 

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Big Brother asks in confusion, then leans into line of sight to look into the living room past the others. Then he goes very, very still. Jason wonders why, idly, and shakes out another blanket. “. . . Jason. Are you nesting? In the living room?” 

Jason huffs, because obviously, and then drops the blanket to go over to the doorway and grab Big Brother’s wrist and yank him into the living room past the others. He’s taking too long. 

“Present,” Jason croons anyway, because the important part is that Big Brother is finally here, and he pulls Big Brother’s hand to his stomach. 

“Oh,” Big Brother chokes, his eyes widening. Jason just pushes his nose into one of the scent glands in the other’s neck and nuzzles in contentedly. Big Brother smells strong and sure and safe, like always. 

“Oh, you got the full intro,” Little Brother observes, sounding a little surprised. “Only Alfred’s gotten that so far.” 

“Jason,” Big Brother says, his voice still choked, and then Jason has to suffer through being hugged with Big Brother’s free arm, but it’s fine. Big Brother’s just like that. 

Anyway, Jason can keep his nose in his neck for a little longer this way anyway. 

“Mmm,” he hums, nuzzling Big Brother again. “Uncle. Don’t spoil ‘em.” 

“I’m gonna spoil ‘em so bad, Little Wing,” Big Brother says with a shaky little laugh, squeezing his arm around him tighter. Jason grumbles in annoyance and bites him, but not too hard. 

The bruising won’t last that long, he means. 

. . . probably. 

Big Brother probably is gonna spoil his pup, the dumbass. Jason’s gonna have to make sure he doesn’t go overboard. A little bit of spoiling is probably okay, though. Like–just giving the pup a little bit of it can’t hurt. Jason doesn’t really know if he knows how to spoil a pup himself, so . . . Big Brother’s gonna be useful for that, yeah. 

Though he’s still gonna have to make sure the idiot doesn’t go overboard, obviously. 

Big Brother squeezes him tighter again. Jason bites him harder, then shoves him off. Big Brother coos happily and Jason rolls his eyes. 

Moron. 

“Master Jason,” Grandpa says, and holds out the clothes in his arms. Jason realizes they’re probably meant for him, so he takes them. They’re soft. Nice-feeling. 

And they smell like . . . 

Jason holds the folded stack of them against his chest and breathes in the scent of Alpha, and settles into his own bones. 

“We have been unable to ascertain the identity of the sire,” Pup Brother informs Big Brother. “Todd did not provide a clear response when questioned.” 

“Oh, yeah, I don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone,” Big Brother says. “Well, does it matter?” 

“As Dames pointed out earlier, if they’re either an assassin or an easy target?” Loud Sister says. “Definitely. Like, very, very definitely.” 

“. . . point,” Big Brother says, making a face. “What did he say?” 

“He called them his sun and his arsenal,” Little Brother says, sounding bothered. “That was all he said. Power Girl said she hasn’t heat-partnered him, thought we probably should ask Supergirl too just in case, since–” 

“Tim,” Big Brother cuts him off, staring at him as his mate muffles a low snicker. Little Brother pauses, then blinks at him. 

“What?” he says. 

"Jason called them his sun," Big Brother repeats, raising an eyebrow. "And his arsenal.” 

"Yes?" Little Brother says. 

"You know, I remember your friends' names, Timmy," Big Brother says. 

"Wh–oh!" Little Brother groans, smacking a hand against the side of his head as Big Brother's mate starts laughing outright. "Starfire and Red Arrow?! Seriously?!" 

"In Jay's defense, I might've talked them both up a bit back when he was young and impressionable," Big Brother replies wryly. "Or maybe a lot. So like, good job on bagging them both at once, Little Wing, I'm impressed, never actually pulled that one off myself." 

"You and the damn redheads," Big Brother's mate snorts. Which . . . her hair is also red? So Jason's not really sure what that's about. "And how's Wally doing today, honey?" 

"I'm sure I don't know, honey," Big Brother lies primly, folding his arms. "So how was their double-team game, Little Wing? Just for totally innocent and unselfish reasons that have nothing to do with either any unsatisfied teenage curiosity or outstanding bets with Vic or my own personal spank bank." 

"They want flowers," Jason hums contentedly, finally unfolding the clothes Grandpa’s brought him. They smell so much like Alpha he must’ve slept in them last night. 

"Flowers?" Big Brother tilts his head questioningly as Jason kicks off his boots and strips off his own clothes and bare remnants of weapons and armor one-handed, letting it all drop carelessly to the floor. It’s not any more important than Red Hood’s gear, right now. 

"And stars," he says, still more contented. 

"Stars?" Big Brother wrinkles his nose. 

"Yeah," Jason says, stepping into Alpha’s soft sleep pants and pulling on his T-shirt. They fit, which is funny. Alpha used to seem like the biggest thing in the world, even face-to-face with Killer Croc or Clayface or just . . . whoever. 

Good, Jason thinks, smoothing the shirt down over his stomach carefully, even though nothing’s even showing yet. Then maybe the pup will think he’s someplace that safe too. 

Big Brother blinks at him. Blinks again. 

Blinks one more time. 

"Oh my god, are they actually mating you?!" he yelps, clapping his hands over his mouth as his eyes widen in delight. "Little Wing! My baby boy! Please let me be your man of honor, I will wear a bridesmaids' dress if I have to, I don't even care.” 

Jason is admittedly tempted by the offer, if only for the entertainment factor of watching Big Brother learn to walk in heels. Although even being a male beta Big Brother would still probably look distractingly better in the dress than any of the other bridesmaids, so maybe not . . . ? 

Also, really, Big Brother can probably already run in heels, knowing him. 

Maybe not stilettos, though. 

Hmmmmm. 

Jason does like stilettos. 

"A bridesmaids' dress?" Big Brother's mate asks wryly, raising an eyebrow. 

"Babs, baby, you don't even know what I would do to get Jason to have an actual mating ceremony that I could actually attend," Big Brother says feelingly, waving his hands in the air between them. "Wearing a bridesmaids' dress is the least of it." 

. . . Jason plucks at the collar of his borrowed shirt and wonders if Alpha would give him away, if he asked him to. If he'd . . . if he'd like to. 

Want to. 

If he'd dance with him, at the reception. That's normal, for the pack alpha to dance with the . . . with the bride. 

So maybe Alpha would, if Jason asked him to. 

Jason bites his lip, considering, and then just . . . goes back to the nest, and back to building it up. It's almost done–it doesn't need much more work. He's mostly just onto finishing touches now, really, and showing Pup Brother how to make sure everything's all comfortable and secure. 

"Are nests typically this size?" Pup Brother asks, peering over his shoulder with poorly-concealed curiosity. "It seems somewhat larger than necessary." 

"Depends how many people you want in 'em and, like, said people’s feelings about personal space," Big Brother replies with a shrug. "Seen both bigger and smaller, depending. You should see Donna's heat nests, they're amazing. Like, they're basically fortresses and we can literally fit the whole Titans roster in them at once, reserves included. Apparently it's an Amazon thing, they just pile on the sisters like crazy." 

"That seems . . . excessive," Pup Brother says with a grimace. "Although quite frankly I cannot imagine wanting to be in a nest with anyone else at all. Certainly not while–compromised." 

"I mean, maybe, but you might change your mind about that someday," Loud Sister tells him with a laugh. "I didn't ever think I'd care about nests until the first time an omega I liked invited me into one of theirs to cuddle and then, welllll . . ." 

"Or if you ever get mated, you might want to then," Little Brother adds. "Partners that nest together report healthier relationships and deeper communication, and better socialization and emotional support for their pups." 

"I do not 'cuddle'," Pup Brother sneers with utmost disdain. "And I in fact have no expectations of ever finding an alpha worthy of either my time or the gift of my womb." 

"Isn't Jon an alpha, though?" Big Brother asks curiously, tilting his head with an expression of perfect innocence. "He's like your best friend. And that Colin kid's an alpha too, right? Wouldn't consider giving either of them a little time? Or just following Jason's example and going for broke on both?" 

"I–that's–shut up and die, Grayson!" Pup Brother sputters indignantly as everyone else muffles laughter, his face bright red and own expression absolutely mortified. Big Brother grins winningly at him, all sly amusement. Pup Brother glares back darkly. "I will kill you and I will not regret the necessity of it." 

"Okay, well, too bad for you but you've conditioned me to find murder threats adorable, so check and mate, pup," Big Brother replies with a wider grin. 

"A promise is not a threat," Pup Brother retorts darkly, narrowing his eyes at him. 

"Awwwww," Big Brother coos adoringly. Pup Brother hisses at him. 

He seems grouchy, so Jason hugs him. Pup Brother bristles. Jason should probably hug him harder, he figures, and does. 

“Todd!” Pup Brother sputters. Loud Sister and Little Brother start laughing, and New Brother muffles a snicker. Jason wonders what’s so funny, but it’s more important to hug Pup Brother and scent him with safe-safe-safe. Big Brother and his mate can handle whatever the others are distracted by, he figures. Or Quiet Sister or Grandpa. Or just whoever isn’t busy, he guesses. 

He should get Pup Brother another jaffa cake, he decides, and drags him back over to the cookies. 

“Todd!” Pup Brother squawks indignantly, attempting to escape his grip. He doesn’t use any nerve strikes, though, so Jason figures he’s not that serious about it and just sits him down on the edge of the nest and pushes another jaffa cake on him. Or two. 

. . . maybe three. Three might be better. 

“Oh my god, I would kill for my camera right now,” Little Brother says, still laughing. Pup Brother growls at him. Jason nuzzles him, then grooms his hair a little as he fusses him into eating the jaffa cakes. 

“Should we call Kori and Roy?” Big Brother’s mate asks. “They can’t possibly know he’s pregnant and not either be here.” 

“I mean, you’re assuming Jason didn’t deliberately ditch them, but point,” Big Brother says, his expression turning considering. “Or that he’d have told them he was pregnant. Especially since they’re not mated yet.” 

“They’ll mate me when I let ‘em,” Jason huffs, grooming Pup Brother some more and then pushing him down into the nest to tuck him in. Pup Brother doesn’t flail, but he stiffens a little, so Jason scents him some more. safe-safe nest-safe-nest

Pup Brother doesn’t relax, exactly, but warily untenses, at least. 

“Todd, this is your nest,” he says with a frown. “Why am I in it?” 

“I want you in it,” Jason hums, rubbing his wrists along Pup Brother’s throat with more safe-safe-safe. Pup Brother wrinkles his nose, looking bewildered. 

Dumb kid. Why else? 

“That is the least convincing possible answer you could have provided me,” Pup Brother accuses. Jason rolls his eyes, then leans down to nuzzle his hair and scruffs the back of his neck lightly. Pup Brother stiffens instead of melting, but it’s Pup Brother, so Jason isn’t surprised by that fact and just nuzzles him again before looking towards Quiet Sister instead. The nest’s good enough now, he thinks. 

“You too,” he says, jerking his head towards it. Quiet Sister’s eyes widen in surprise, and then her face splits into a warm, delighted smile. 

Thank you, she signs before slipping into the living room and approaching the nest. She stops outside it to bow in a formal, unpracticed request. Jason spares a moment to hate her asshole sire, then reaches up and grabs her to pull her down into it. She lets him, which makes him feel a little better about things, and lets him settle her into the curved side of the nest. She beams at him, reaching up to brush sister-scent along his throat from her wrists, and he stops to nuzzle into them. It’s nice, so obviously he does. And it makes it easier for her to scent him, too. 

“Holy shit,” Loud Sister mutters under her breath. Jason doesn’t know why. 

He nuzzles into Quiet Sister’s wrists one last time, then turns to scoop Pup Brother into his arms and pull him down onto their sides. He cuddles them together, wrapping himself around him and leaving Quiet Sister space to spoon up behind him. Them. Whichever. Pup Brother makes an indignant noise and Jason hushes him with a humming purr and nuzzles safe-pup good-pup good-good-pup into his hair. Pup Brother makes an outraged noise this time, and Little Brother and Loud Sister both laugh. Pup Brother growls at them and reaches for a knife, and Jason hums another purr into his hair. He lets Pup Brother throw the knife at them, since they don’t need knives in the nest. Not while Grandpa and Big Brother are here, anyway. It’s safe, with both of them here. 

. . . and Alpha will be home soon too. 

Little Brother and Loud Sister dodge Pup Brother’s knife, still laughing. Jason just buries his face in his hair again and squeezes his arms around him tighter with another purr. Pup Brother hisses, but relaxes. Slightly. 

Well, doesn’t go for another knife, anyway. 

Same difference. 

“This is undignified, Todd,” Pup Brother growls. Jason doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so just ignores it to cuddle him some more, petting more good-pup safe-pup scent onto him. What’s “dignified” matter, anyway? They’re in the pack den. They don’t have to worry about things like that here. 

Even if Grandpa always does himself. But that’s just Grandpa, anyway. 

“I don’t think he cares, Dami,” Big Brother says, sounding amused. “Can everyone else come into the living room too, Little Wing, or do you want your space?” 

“Come in,” Jason hums easily. Obviously they should all come in. Why wouldn’t they? 

Grandpa gives a soft hitched sigh, and Big Brother lets out a choked little laugh. 

“Cool,” he says. “Yeah, that’s–okay. Yeah. Thanks, Jason.” 

“Just get ‘em all in here and quit fuckin’ loitering,” Jason snorts, then nuzzles Pup Brother again, who gives an aggrieved sigh but still doesn’t stab anyone. So that’s fine, Jason figures, and scents good-good-pup into his hair again. 

“Absolutely undignified,” Pup Brother mutters sullenly as the rest of the pack slips quiet and careful into the room. New Brother and Loud Sister take the couch. Little Brother tries to follow them, like an idiot, and Jason growls. 

“Not there,” he snaps irritably, baring his teeth. Stupid Little Brother. 

“Uh,” Little Brother says. “You don’t want, uh, me in here?” His scent flickers with restless self-consciousness, and Jason growls again. Idiot. 

He sits up just enough to glower his exasperation at Little Brother, then leans over and snakes out an arm to grab his ankle and yank. Little Brother goes down with a yelp, and Jason drags him over to the side of the nest and pulls him in against it. Not inside it, obviously, but against it. He snatches Little Brother’s laptop off him to make sure he stays, then unfolds it and sets it up on the edge of the nest facing out towards Little Brother. He also glowers at him again, just to make the point. 

“There,” he says, still annoyed but mostly satisfied. “Sit. Stay.” 

“Um,” Little Brother says. “Right . . . here?” 

Jason gives him a withering look, then lays back down between Pup Brother and Quiet Sister and curls up around Pup Brother, who huffs over it. Quiet Sister rumbles softly, then presses up against his back. Jason feels . . . settled, maybe. Quiet Sister won’t let anything happen either. They’re safe here. 

All of them. 

“Am I flattered that he just set up a workstation for me on the edge of his nest or insulted that he wants me on the floor?” Little Brother wonders. Loud Sister laughs and he flips her off, but settles properly into his seat anyway and adjusts the tilt of his screen. Jason growls again on principle, then spares Big Brother a suspicious glance to make sure he sits where he should. Big Brother lets out a shaky laugh of his own, but sits down cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the nest. 

Good, Jason thinks in satisfaction. 

Grandpa sits in the armchair by the doorway, unfortunately, but it's Grandpa, so Jason allows it. And Big Brother's mate wheels over and parks her chair behind Big Brother. That's fine, Jason decides, then relaxes almost as fully as he can. 

As fully as he can without Alpha around, anyway. 

Alpha should hurry up and get here. Jason needs to present his pup to him already. 

It's . . . different from the last time he was waiting on Alpha, he thinks vaguely. Then he just–doesn't think about that anymore. But it is different. 

Alpha's actually coming this time, so it's different. 

Jason tightens his grip on Pup Brother and Quiet Sister tightens her grip on him. He can smell the whole pack's scents–smell the whole pack's packscent–and he feels . . . good about that. He likes that. 

He missed them. He shouldn't have stayed gone so long. Though now there's a pup, and maybe even more than one, so he supposes it was worth it. 

And either way, he's home now. 

Grandpa said. 

“ETA on B?” Big Brother asks. 

“Eighteen minutes, if they avoided the downtown traffic,” Big Brother’s mate says. Jason hums acknowledgment, then lets himself relax just a little more. More than he even thought he could, really. 

It's nice. 

It's really nice. 

And they're all safe, too. 

“Holy crap, is he purring?” New Brother mutters under his breath. 

“He is definitely purring,” Loud Sister confirms. “Like a big grumpy motorcycle.” 

“Pretty sure I've heard quieter motorcycles,” Big Brother's mate says wryly. “It's pretty cute, though.” 

“It is so cute, oh my god,” Big Brother says in despairing delight. “This is bad enough, how are we gonna handle him being like this with an actual baby?” 

“I think that's mostly a ‘you’ problem, Dick,” Little Brother says. 

“That is definitely a ‘you’ problem,” Loud Sister agrees. 

“For sure,” New Brother says. 

“Very cute,” Quiet Sister hums, nuzzling the back of Jason’s neck and patting his shoulder. “Baby brother.” 

“Thank you, Cass,” Big Brother says with a huff, folding his arms. “This is so adorable I can’t even stand it.” 

Jason huffs, rolling his eyes, then just settles in and closes them. It’s safe to. And he has a nest to let his scent seep into and through, and “bred” pheromones to let settle into and fill up the den. He’s early enough along that it’ll probably take a little while, so it’s past time to concentrate on putting those off and scenting the room. The nest’s all made, and Pup Brother and Quiet Sister are in it, and Grandpa’s by the door and Big Brother and Little Brother are just outside the nest, and Loud Sister and New Brother and Big Brother’s mate are all here too, so . . . 

So once Alpha’s here, then everything will be perfect. 

“He’s purring again,” New Brother mutters. “I literally did not even know he was physically capable of making that sound.” 

“Capable of making it to motorcycle-shaming levels, apparently,” Loud Sister says with a laugh. “Damn, Jason.” 

Jason doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but he isn’t worried about it. If it’s important, someone will take care of it. 

Everyone’s here, so of course someone will. 

“Silence, all of you,” Pup Brother grumbles, sounding long-suffering but staying settled secure in Jason’s arms, which is good. Definitely. He should be there right now. 

Jason nuzzles him some more, for obvious reasons, and then just concentrates on letting his pheromones spread through the room. His nest already smells like the pack and so does the den, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like pup-is-coming. 

It needs to, obviously. 

Someone’s purring. It’s not Pup Brother, but Jason’s not sure who else could be. 

Well, it doesn’t matter, really. 

Some of the others talk about some things, their voices soft and quiet. Jason doesn’t worry about it. It’s just little stuff, like patrol schedules and classes and appointments. Normal little things for a pack to talk about, and easy to settle into the background as white noise while he lets his pheromones fill up the room and makes sure Pup Brother’s eaten. 

He eats some of the apple slices and peanut butter, himself. The pup needs to eat too. 

It’s the same cheap, shitty store brand that he used to insist on as a pup himself. 

.

.

.

“ETA five minutes,” Big Brother’s mate says eventually, looking at her phone. Jason’s not sure what she’s talking about, but isn’t worried about that either. If it’s important, someone will tell him. Or handle it. Or both. 

All he has to do right now is wait for Alpha to get here, and then everything will be fine. 

Everything will be perfect, actually, once Alpha gets here. 

The others talk a little more. Their voices are still soft and quiet, so Jason still doesn’t worry about it. He just stays curled up around Pup Brother and in Quiet Sister’s arms, letting his pheromones fill up the den with bred and home-safe and all the usual things that are usually part of presenting a pup to the pack. 

It’s nice. The . . . being here. It’s nice. He missed it here. 

He wonders why he missed it so bad. Has it been that long, or . . . ? 

He just missed it, he guesses. 

But now he’s here, so he doesn’t have to miss it anymore. 

Grandpa turns his head towards the door and pushes himself up out of his chair. Jason whines in distress. Is he leaving? Why’s he leaving? 

“I’ll just be a moment, my boy,” Grandpa assures him, and Jason settles, a little. If Grandpa says he’ll be just a moment, then he means it. 

Grandpa steps out into the foyer again and everyone else goes quiet all at once, and Jason realizes–oh. The front door just opened, didn’t it. He doesn’t hear footsteps, though. 

. . . does that mean . . . ? 

“Alfred?” Alpha says from the foyer, sounding just barely concerned, and something in Jason vibrates at the sound of his voice. “What’s going on?” 

“Is someone purring?” Alpha’s mate asks curiously. 

“Master Jason came home, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says. 

“. . . he what?” Alpha says, his voice sounding–strange, just a bit. Jason isn’t sure why it does, but feels . . . 

“Just–the living room, Master Bruce,” Grandpa says. “You should come and see for yourself.” 

Grandpa steps back into view of the doorway, and Jason still feels unsettled and just a little bit uncertain, and isn’t sure if–

Then Alpha steps into view too, Alpha’s mate right behind him, and Jason forgets everything else and purrs. 

Alpha’s home. Alpha came this time. Alpha came for him this time. 

That’s all he ever wanted him to do. 

Alpha stares. He looks around the room just briefly, because it’s Alpha so of course he does–but then he stares. 

“Jason?” he says, and Jason purrs louder. 

Alpha came. 

“He’s, you know–definitely feral-brained right now, obviously,” Little Brother says, gesturing sheepishly. Jason wonders who he’s talking about, idly, but isn’t really worried about it. “Kinda just showed up and let himself in, and then, uh . . . well, he’s, uh, presented to Alfred and Dick so far and was teaching Damian how to nest, so . . .” 

“He did?” Alpha’s voice sounds a little–choked, maybe. Jason wonders why. 

He’s still over in the doorway, for some reason. Jason wonders why that’s a thing too. 

Alpha should know he’s allowed in the room, after all. 

“Alpha,” he hums, loosening his grip on Pup Brother just enough to half-reach for Alpha. What’s taking him so long over there, anyway?

It’s dumb. 

“Jaylad,” Alpha says tightly, half-taking a step forward and then–stopping, for some reason, just outside the doorway. Gripping one side of it, but not coming through it. 

Dumb, Jason thinks, and furrows his brow impatiently. 

“Alpha,” he insists, smacking the side of the nest once. 

Really, really dumb. 

“He accepted clothes with your scent, so . . .” Big Brother trails off. 

“And a blanket with it, as well,” Grandpa puts in. “He used it on a foundational layer of the nest.” 

“Ah,” Alpha says roughly, tightening his grip on the doorframe. 

“Don’t hover, Father, Todd clearly expects your presence,” Pup Brother says in exasperation, which is much more useful. Jason purrs appreciatively and nuzzles him, and Pup Brother sighs in aggravation, but doesn’t try to squirm away or anything. 

Good, Jason thinks, and nuzzles him harder. 

Pup Brother rolls his eyes and sighs. 

Alpha finally steps into the room, which is a start. Jason reaches towards him again with another, deeper purr. 

Alpha . . . swallows, visibly, and then comes over to the nest; kneels down outside it beside Big Brother. 

Close enough, Jason figures lazily, and catches Alpha’s wrist to drag his hand to his own stomach. He’s not wearing body armor, but it’s fine. It’s Alpha. 

It’s . . . 

“Present, Dad,” he hums, letting his eyes close again. Alpha makes a very tight noise, and his hand presses in very, very gently against Jason’s stomach. 

And the pup, obviously. 

“Jaylad,” Alpha says, cracked and hoarse. Jason hums back contentedly, squeezing Alpha’s wrist once. 

Good. That’s everybody, then. 

Good, yeah. 

“Who’s the sire?” Alpha’s mate asks curiously from the doorway, leaning against the frame. She hasn’t come in yet. Jason should probably tell her it’s fine, but he’s a little . . . distracted, maybe. Distracted. Yeah. 

Mmm. 

“He says either Kori or Roy, so we’re not technically sure, but the suspect list is pretty short,” Big Brother says, and Alpha’s mate laughs. 

“Could be both,” she points out teasingly. “Think you could handle double grandkittens, Bruce?” 

“More concerned about the risk of having Oliver Queen for an in-law, thanks,” Alpha says dryly, letting out a rough little noise that isn’t quite a laugh and curling his fingers gently against Jason’s stomach. His eyes are kind of shiny, Jason notes when his own half-open again for a moment. It’s . . . weird, a little. 

The shiny, he means, though he’s not really sure why. 

“Jason might’ve mentioned that they both offered to mate him, so yeah, that is in fact a concern,” Big Brother confirms with a laugh of his own. “But pretty sure Kori and Roy don’t know about the pup yet. Even if he managed to slip ‘em, there’s no way I wouldn’t have heard from either of them by now if they were trying to find him while they knew he was bred.” 

Jason huffs, because what does Big Brother mean “managed” to slip them? He could absolutely lose them whenever and wherever he felt like it. And anyway, he texted them earlier. So it’s not like they don’t know where he is. 

. . . or didn’t extrapolate where he is, anyway. But whatever, same difference. 

“Ah,” Alpha says again, and swallows again too. Jason rolls his head back enough to peer up at him a little closer, not really sure what’s going on with him. Hm. 

Well. He’s here. That’s all that really matters, really. 

Except . . . 

“Alpha?” he says again, not sure if . . . Alpha hasn’t taken his hand off his stomach, but he doesn’t seem–happy, really. Or pleased. Or . . . anything like that. Jason’s not . . . sure, exactly. 

Alpha’s hand presses in a little firmer against Jason’s stomach. Not too firm–not too much. But like . . . comfortably firm. If that makes sense, or whatever. 

It feels nice, and Jason relaxes a little. Okay. That’s–better, he thinks. Right? 

Alpha’s here, so . . . it’s better, yeah. 

And it means he’s doing alright. He’s being a good omega. He brought home a good pup to present to the pack–good pups, maybe, if he’s lucky. Alpha will like that, right? If it’s more than one pup? 

Any pup would be good, he thinks. Kori and Roy are both good sires. Lian’s great, for one. And Roy and Kori are great too. Just–definitely, yes. They’re gonna be such a good pup. 

Even with–him in them, they’ll be a good pup. 

He thinks so, anyway. They’ll have . . . better things than he did. They’ll be safer. 

Won’t ever end up alone in an alley without a pack or alone on a warehouse floor with no backup coming. 

Won’t ever doubt who actually loves them. 

Alpha makes a strange, choked noise. Jason doesn’t know why, really. Someone’s purring really loud, but he doesn’t know who it is. Not Pup Brother, and there aren’t any other omegas in the pack, so . . . 

Hm. Weird, yeah. 

Well, everyone’s here, so he’s not worried about it anyway. He’s being a good omega, and he brought his pup home to present. Grandpa and Big Brother were happy about it, and everybody else is here and settled in and safe. That’s all that matters, really. 

As long as Alpha’s happy about the pup too, anyway. And Alpha’s hand is still on his stomach, and Alpha’s still next to the nest, so . . . yeah. That means he is, right? 

So it’s good. Yeah. 

The purring gets louder. Jason nuzzles Pup Brother’s hair and melts under Alpha’s hand and in Quiet Sister’s arms. 

It’s definitely good. 

Nice. 

“Jason,” Alpha says tightly, and Jason cracks an eye open to look at him again. He doesn’t really remember when he closed them, but it’s not really important or anything. 

Alpha has a hand half-over his face, and his head’s ducked down. Jason blinks sleepily, tilting his own head to peer up at him again, but can’t really see his expression. He squeezes the hand he has around Alpha’s wrist; a little bit absent, a little bit like a reflex. He missed Alpha so much. 

The purring’s gotten really loud. 

“You’re home,” Alpha says. 

Jason wonders why Alpha says it like that. Like it’s a surprise or something. 

Like he’d ever bring his pup anywhere else. 

“Yeah,” he hums anyway, because he is home, and lets himself finally, finally fully relax into the nest. Quiet Sister makes a soft, acknowledging sound and winds her arms tighter around him, and Alpha's hand stays resting on his stomach. Pup Brother grumbles some disparaging things in Arabic, but settles in his arms. 

The purring is really loud now, but Jason doesn't mind. 

“Selina, please call Harley and Ivy,” Alpha says. “I need a favor tonight.” 

“What favor?” Alpha's mate asks curiously, though Jason can already hear the little rustle of her pulling her phone out of her pocket. 

“Them answering the Batsignal if anyone hits it,” Alpha says. “Kate's out of town ‘til Friday and Gotham can handle them for one night.” 

“I really don't think it can, but alright,” Alpha's mate says, sounding amused. 

“Can survive them for one night, at least,” Alpha amends. “And if the Justice League needs anything from me in the next ten to twelve hours, well, that's their problem to solve. I’m not going out tonight.” 

Jason, idly, wonders why Alpha’s staying in, but it's nice to hear anyway. If Alpha's gonna be home for that long, well . . . 

He can sleep a lot better, if Alpha's gonna be here. 

That’s good, because the pup needs him to sleep. 

So he tunes out the pack’s quiet voices as they all keep talking, and he sleeps. 

.

.

.

Jason wakes up to pale early-morning light in a disoriented snap of sudden adrenaline and clocks: soft surface. Sleeping bodies. Someone on either side of him and other presences close by and a room that smells like– 

Fuck, did he drunk-dial the Bat pack? 

Fuck. 

Even Tim’s asleep on the edge of the nest that Jason is inexplicably in. Like, all curled up and hugging his laptop like a teddy bear, but definitely asleep. And Dick’s on the other side of the thing, and that’s Cass pressed up against his back and–is Damian hugging him? In his sleep? Without a visible knife in hand?! 

Jason might’ve fallen into an alternate reality again. Fallen very, very far into an alternate reality. 

At least hopefully, anyway, because if this is his reality, he’s gonna have to deal with whatever the fuck happened last night, and whoever even built this nest that smells like the whole damn Wayne pack and slopes like–like Catherine’s always used to, like . . . like his mom’s always . . . 

Fuck. This is his nest, isn’t it. This is exactly how he builds the damn things every time he fucks up enough to go feral. And he definitely went feral, because he doesn’t remember a thing about last night after accidentally ending up at the manor like an idiot, except–wait, no, shit, now he is remembering things about last night, and they’re all fucking mortifying. 

Fuck. 

Jason needs to get out of here. He has no idea why anybody humored him taking over the living room like he thought he–like he actually–

He needs to get out of here, because the moment somebody wakes up and tells him he needs to leave or, worse, pities him enough to not tell him he needs to leave, he’s gonna lose his entire damn mind. If he just–

Cass’s fingers flex against his chest, very briefly, and he nearly panics. 

Of fucking course he couldn’t wake up in Cass’s arms unnoticed. 

“Jason,” she says quietly, and then Jason is officially fucked, because nobody in this room is gonna sleep through someone actually speaking. 

Why the hell couldn’t she at least have signed it? Why the hell couldn’t–

And then he registers that Bruce is in the room. 

Everyone else wakes up at the sound of Cass’s voice saying his name at the exact same moment that Jason freezes at recognizing Bruce’s scent. 

Bruce’s–Bruce’s . . . sire scent. Not on him, but . . . but still here. Still in the room. 

Jason hasn’t been this close to Bruce’s sire scent since– 

He’s not going to think about that. 

He’s definitely not going to think about that. Not ever. Not for anything. Not–

( he’d scrubbed it off so ANGRILY, that last time; so angry and betrayed and– 

he’d regretted that, on the warehouse floor. he wouldn’t have been able to smell it through the scent blockers in Robin’s suit anyway, couldn’t have stripped them off while all tied-up and bleeding out, WOULDN’T have stripped them off with any chance of that fucking bastard clown coming back, but–but–

but he’d regretted– )

Jason isn’t thinking about that. 

Bruce sits up along the sloped side of his nest, just outside it. Or–almost outside it. Almost. 

Bruce has an arm extended half-into Jason’s nest, which was deliberate, obviously. Bruce never does a damn fucking thing that isn’t deliberate. Not ever. 

Not a thing, Jason thinks, remembering everything every single awful bastard in Gotham ever survived and the batarang scar on his own neck. 

But Jason can’t even hate the asshole for reaching into his nest uninvited like that; can’t even curse him out or shove him out. He can’t, because–because he’s the one with his fingers hooked into the cuff of Bruce’s rolled-up sleeve with the hand of the arm he has draped over Damian. He’s the one holding onto him. 

So it’s not Bruce who was deliberate about this. It was Jason’s own stupid, stupid feral-brained stupid self, who thought–who thinks– 

Who always thinks–

Bruce isn’t his pack alpha. Bruce isn’t his sire. 

Bruce isn’t his fucking dad.

Bruce’s arm is in his nest, laid down the sloped side of it, and he smells the most like home that anyone’s smelled to him since his mom died in a nest built just like this one.

[annwrites]

⸻ tell me i'm your national anthem. part two. ⸻

· pairing: homelander x collegestudent!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you & john have dinner together again & you finally come to understand him a bit better. at the very least, what you think he wants. and he lets you in just once, wondering if you can be trusted after all. · word count: 2,736

You sleep fitfully that night.

It takes hours before your body manages to calm enough for you to find rest after having exhausted yourself from crying, hugging a pillow to your chest for comfort—utterly terrified that he’ll come back.

Every small noise you hear makes you shoot up in bed, staring at your now-curtained balcony doors, praying to God that he’s gone. That he hadn’t meant what he said about returning. He’d been bluffing, you’re sure.

You need for him to have not been serious.

You drag the next day during your classes.

You stay fairly to yourself, not wishing to talk to anyone. But, of course, all that any of them have on their minds, and seem able to discuss as you pass them in the halls is him. Including your best friend, Emma.

It only serves to turn your stomach. The fact that she worships the ground that his corrupting boots walk upon—that she has no idea that he’s a soulless monster. That he had so easily threatened your life before proceeding to humiliate you before stealing away your first sexual experience for his own benefit.

He’d done it to be cruel, you’re sure. To disrespect you like he’d felt you’d done toward him.

As if refusing to make eye contact while hundreds of others gazed upon him with admiration was anything like what he’d done to you.

Trying to wrap your mind around the incredible difference between who he is in front of a camera versus who he had turned into in your apartment last night… He’s a psychopath, clearly. All you can manage to return to time and again was him staring at you with red eyes, threatening your life. A threat that had rolled off his tongue as easily as asking you about the weather.

You wonder how many lives he’s taken that no one knows about, or that Vought has taken diligent measures to cover up. Wondering why they do it—why they would protect him—has a simple answer: he’s indestructible…right? A man with that much power, and with no remorse—with no weaknesses—is a terrifying thought.

You really fucking hope you never see him again. That whatever he was after he managed to get out of his system last evening. After all, what’re you compared to Queen Maeve, or a model, or fellow actress, or supe?

Thankfully, it’s a slow day at work. Usually it is, in truth. Not many people seem to have much of an appreciation for buying and collecting antiques anymore. Unless it’s Christmas time…the store is almost always dead. A fact you’re quite grateful for today as you arrange a shelf of Precious Moments figurines, avoiding the section of the store dedicated to superheros at all costs.

You ring up maybe half-a-dozen customers in not quite as many hours before heading home for the day, practically dead on your feet.

You take a long shower—the pleasant feel of the hot water nearly serves to put you to sleep—repeatedly telling yourself that you’re safe here. He’s not coming back. This is your home. You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re sure he’s already forgotten about you by now, anyway.

When you emerge back into your bedroom dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweatpants—ready to just throw something in the microwave so you can go to bed straight after—you halt in your tracks when you see a silhouette with wide shoulders and a billowing cape on the other side of your closed curtains.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’re seeing things. He’s been on your mind all day and you’re exhausted on top of that, not to mention starving.

It’s not real. He’s not—

There’s a gentle knock against the glass. “I know you’re in there. I can hear your heart. So, you can either open the door, or I’ll just break a window and let myself in. But, then you’ll end up having to pay to replace the glass, and you’ll have to explain things to your landlord, and, well—”

You come over to the door then, frustrated tears stinging your eyes, and you flip the lock, heading in the direction of the kitchen without a word.

You know it’s useless to try and hide, or pretend like you’re not home.

He lets himself in, gently closing the door behind him.

“Honey, I’m home!” He says in a sing-song tune, following you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter with crossed arms and a smug look on his face.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

You open the freezer, throwing a microwavable dinner on the counter, refusing to even look at him.

And then he sighs, grabbing the meal away from you, throwing it back into the freezer.

He leans down toward you. “What? No home-cooked meal for your favorite superhero tonight? And after all that hard work I put into making a meal out of you just twenty-four hours ago.”

You grip the edges of the counter in each of your hands, dragging your nails across it. “I never asked for any of that. I begged you not to.”

He leans in closer, grabbing your hip painfully as he brings his lips to the shell of your ear. “You’re being very ungrateful right now.”

He pauses. “You’re hurting my feelings.”

Your chin wobbles and your stomach fills with lead.

“Now,” he starts again, sliding his gloved fingers into your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “You are going to be a good little girl and get to cooking. I’m not asking twice. I’ve been hard at work all day. It’s the least you can do for me after bothering to fly all the way here to keep you company.”

You bite your lower lip to try and keep your tears at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“I’ve already told you.”

You turn to the side, facing him, reluctantly looking up, meeting his empty blue eyes. “Thousands—no, millions—of women across the world would love nothing more than to throw themselves at you. To be at your beck and call. What the hell do you want with me?”

He gently caresses your chin between his fingers, smirking softly. “I’m no A-Train, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love a good chase, sweetheart.”

He smacks your rear then, causing you to squeak in surprise. “Now, feed your man.”

You raid a brow at that. Your what?

You watch as he leans down, removing the milk jug from your fridge and you cross your arms. “I’m not doing all the work while you just sit there and watch.”

He looks at you with a displeased expression from your back-talk, but you don’t back down.

You remove a loaf of bread from the bread box, tossing it on the counter in front of him. “You’re in charge of making toast.”

Quite astonishingly, he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks at you with a surprised look in his eyes and a gentle smile. “How many slices do you want?”

You have no idea that it gives him a sense of normalcy and home, even if just for a moment. Like you’re a mother instructing her child, giving them a small responsibility to see to at dinner time. You’re making him a part of the process, and he likes that. Appreciates it, even.

You’d begun giggling ridiculously from nerves in the middle of making spaghetti.

Homelander had looked at you with a raised brow and a sour look on his face, until you’d explained, with tears streaming down your own. “I’m cooking dinner with Homelander. You’re—”

You’d gasped for breath, doubling over. “You’re in my apartment! Making toast!”

And then you’d begun to actually cry—your exhaustion catching up to you all at once—hysterically, at that. He’d considered multiple courses of action. One: simply leaving. Two: threatening you to shut the hell up or he’d really give you something to cry about. He’d taken the third option with no fucking idea as to why.

He’d gathered you in his arms, ignored your tiny fists beating against his chest and your demands that he let you go, and held you until you calmed.

Once you did, and your breathing and heart-rate had both returned to normal—the smell of adrenaline no longer coming off of you in waves—he told you it was time to eat.

So, here you sit, slowly eating spaghetti and toast in silence with America’s poster boy.

He takes a long sip of milk, studying you.

“You’re very attractive,” he says, briefly pausing. “In an ordinary ‘girl-next-door’ sort of way, I suppose.”

Your eyes flit to his, swallowing your noodles. “T-thank you.”

He hums in response, a small smile on his lips, fingers splaying outward expectantly.

Your brows furrow for only a moment. “You’re…handsome.”

His smile fades at your unsure tone of empty platitudes. “Why don’t you like me?”

Oh God, not this again.

You shake your head, taking a bite of your toast. “You’re asking that after what you did to me?”

“You mean what I did for you? You seem to forget that I gave you an orgasm without so much as asking for anything in return.”

Bile rises in your throat. “You stole my first sexual experience away from me.”

“I think stolen is a nasty way to word it. I gifted it to you.”

You grip your fork tightly in your fist, having half-a-mind to drive it through the back of his hand. But you know you can’t. You don’t want to even imagine how such an action would end. Probably with your apartment becoming a bloody mess and your twenty-one-year-old life at an end before it ever got a chance to truly begin.

So you set the utensil down.

“You want me to like you?” You ask quietly, having no clue as to why your meaningless opinion of him should matter in the first place.

He shrugs lightly, brow twitching in response.

You fold your hands in your lap, leaning back, staring at him. “Tell me something, then. Something real and that no one else knows.”

He stays quiet, so you continue.

“Because the very opposite of that is why I dislike—no, scratch that—despise you: because you just look like an empty suit to me. Something manufactured by the media. A man unable to think for himself without a teleprompter in front of him instructing his every move.”

He grinds his teeth, his face twitching, his gloved hands now squeezed tightly into fists.

And you immediately fill with regret. Being exhausted typically left you one of three ways—all of which you’d experienced in one evening alone. Giggly and easily amused, emotional, or irritable.

The first two he’d tolerated. This one…you worry it ends with your landlord discovering your corpse the next time rent is due.

“You think they control me?” He asks with a sneer.

“I have yet to find a reason to think otherwise.”

“You think,” he says, leaning in toward you, his boot pressing against your foot beneath the table. “I’m just some puppet manufactured by Big Media? Hm?”

He stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor and you stand as well, your own toppling over in your panic as he backs you into a corner.

He must like doing this—intimidating. Invoking fear.

He chuckles, cupping your face in his hands. “I’ve done things… Things that would horrify you. Things that even Vought doesn’t know about.”

He shrugs. “They’re just the ones who sign my paychecks. See, they work for me. The whole fuckin’ world does. Including you, honey. I’m the real hero. My little tagline where I say otherwise? It’s bullshit. But the people eat it up. They swallow the garbage I feed them with a grateful smile. You think you’re so…different, though, don’t you?”

You brows furrow and you feel completely terrified, but quickly decide upon trying a new approach.

Aggression is getting you nowhere—it’s only begetting more on his part. And you worry how far you can push him before it ends in catastrophe.

And it’s then that you realize that he does have a weakness after all: he’s desperate for approval. Why the hell else would he be here yet again, demanding to know why he doesn’t yet have yours? Is he just that much of a narcissist, or is it something deeper?

You slowly reach up then, cupping his cheek, your other trembling hand coming to rest gently upon his chest.

Touching him in such a familiar fashion may end horribly for you, but something tells you it's well worth a try.

“What happened to you?” You ask in a whisper.

His features shift—softening—the look in his eyes that of…confusion. He even goes so far as to lean in slightly to your warm, comforting touch.

Your eyes flit between his, taken aback by his embracing your kind, physical gesture. “You haven’t always been like this, have you?”

You take a tiny step closer, bridging the gap between your bodies, since you think this attempt might just finally be getting you somewhere.

“You want me to like you? Trust you? Actually enjoy your company, and, much more, want it? Tell me something no one else knows, then. Something that will make me see past all of it.”

Your eyes trail along his suit, before meeting his own again. “Past this. I have no interest in getting to know Homelander. Because that’s not who you really are, even if you’ve forgotten it. There’s still a man in this costume. A human being.”

You watch with shock as tears gather in his eyes that continue to stare into your own, his lips pressed into a firm line as he remains silent.

You shoosh him softly. “It’s okay. It’s just the two of us. You may not want to believe it, but you can trust me. I haven’t even told anyone about you coming here last night, because I’m not the type to gossip. I have no interest in it.”

That’s not the reason whatsoever, but he can think whatever the hell he likes, so long as it gets him to calm down and give you a moment of vulnerability.

You brush a tear away as it slips down his cheek.

“You want to know what people have told me time and again since I was little? That they feel like they can trust me—even complete strangers. They’ll share things with me that they won’t even tell their closest friends and family. For the longest time I couldn’t understand why—what it was about me—and then I figured it out.”

You gently run your fingertips along his cheek. “I know what it feels like when someone betrays your trust repeatedly. When that one person in all the world you’re supposed to be able to rely and lean upon just…uses the things you tell them against you just to hurt you. Because they’re incapable of empathy. And I refuse to do that to others. Because I won’t be like her. I can’t. I just…I guess people can sense that about me. I hope so, at least. It’s the only explanation I have.”

You pause. “What I’m trying to get at is that you can, too: trust me. You’re safe here.”

He blinks, another tear slipping down his cheek, which you softly wipe away.

“John,” he whispers, finally speaking. “My name is John.”

You smile.

“John,” you repeat, and his chin wobbles at the sound of his name leaving your lips.

“Thank you for telling me. That’s all I wanted: to know something about you. Something that comes from you.”

His face shifts then, his vulnerability quickly vanishing. “If you tell anyone—”

You slip your fingers into his hair. “I won’t. I promise. You have nothing to worry about. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

His eyes flit between yours, debating, considering.

And then he nods and you release a breath of relief.

He leans down then, pressing his lips to yours—tenderly. A wholly different sensation to how he’d been with you last night.

It’d worked.

You pull back slightly.

“Y/N,” you whisper against his lips.

His own twitches. “I already knew that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Who was it? You said ‘her’.”

You swallow, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Can we talk about it tomorrow night?”

He likes that you want him back again. That you’re admitting it. That you’re planning on it.

He smirks. “Sounds like we’re finally on the same page, sweetheart.”

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.6

Charles Leclerc x famous singer! reader

Warnings : morally grey reader, toxic exes

Author’s note : There are so many x readers where the reader doesn’t do anything wrong, which I love don’t get me wrong but I wanted to write one where she’s a bit flawed. And obvs I cannot hate her cause she’s just in love and this is lossely (very loosely) based around real life events y’all so I get it! And also I love Alex 😭 I was gunna make her the villain but I literally can’t! So this is going a bit of a diff direction, in terms of ending. - Algae 🌱

•••••

INSTAGRAM

y/bff/n

liked by lewishamilton, oscarpiastri and 678,798 others

y/bff/n : talking about boys over brunch? (tagged : yourusername)

yourusername : feels like I’m 18 again

— user3 : holdup when did y/n and Charles get together?

— user4 : she was 18 and he was 19/20…

— user5 : lmao that’s why he’s got her wrapped round his finger… poor baby hasn’t known any better

— user7 : not you guys acting like Charles groomed her be so serious! they have a 1 and a half year age gap touch grass.

— user9 : you can’t argue with people like this, they’re so chronically online!

— user4 : so how did they meet?

— user19 : google is free!

— user6 : her and Lewis did a fashion campaign when she was 16, and he sort of took her under his wing, cause I think her parents were a bit... I believe she then met Charles when she came to watch a race and watched the f2 race as well.

user1 : y/n telling you about how she’s a slut?

— y/bff/n : only ever having been with 1 man equals slut?

— user1 : going after a man with a girlfriend surely does.

lewishamilton : we love to see it

— y/bff/n : we sure do 😍

— yourusername : not you guys acting like I was dead in a ditch…

— y/bff/n : you were in man purgatory, it’s basically the same thing.

user11 : does Oscar know y/bff/n?

— user12 : No why?

— user11 : cause bros lurking in the comments

— user1 : lmao you think the skank’s gunna go for him next? (user1 has been blocked)

— user13 : @oscarpiatri trust you do not know how to handle @yourusename

— user11: poor baby she’d eat him alive

user13 : oh to be a fly on the wall for the Charles convo

user14 : trust it was hours long

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo, carlossainz55 and 10,987,843 others

yourusername : boys are awful and grotesque. i had to decompress on an island to get the crazy out of my brain. it’s a good thing mics are portable. Thank you Ephraim! My concierge for finding me a keyboard so I could get you guys this song that entered my brain almost two weeks ago and refused to leave. It’s a good teaser for my album, which is out in TWO days. so without further ado hope y’all like The Weekend!! if you don’t like it I’ll cry.

lewishamilton : oh this gives context to the unhinged messages you sent me at 1 am

— yourusername : I’m an artist, it’s my creative process

— lewishamilton : well this is way more constructive than turning up in Monaco

— user5 : oop- not you clocked by Lewis Hamilton of all people

— user7 : well I’m happy that Lewis doesn’t condone the behaviour of a slag

— user8 : lmao even her friends are getting tired of her

— user9 I think y’all are forgetting that they were together for six years, it was y/n’s first relationship, he dumps her out of the blue gets a new girlfriend within months. I for one would also go a bit crazy and need to be secluded on an island! Too bad I don’t have island money lmao

lewishamilton : I’ve been listening non stop! You truly out did yourself kid 🖤

y/bff/n : thank god you are not in Canada rn

y/bff/n : i was having a heart attack!

y/bff/n : you need to tell me before you travel across the world! We cannot have a repeat of last time.

— yourusername : have I really traumatised you that badly?

——y/bff/name : yes

—— lewishamilton : yes

—— yoursiblinguser : yes

—— friend1 : yes

—— danielricciardo: yes

—— oscarpiastri : yes

——yourusername : now hang on @oscarpiatri I don’t even know you!

— — oscarpiastri : wanna change that?

——- user11 : not you going after your dad’s ex

——-user14 : about to be a messy family reunion

——-danielricciardo : check that Aussie charm 🇦🇺

user7 : okay someone please talk about the lyrics????? Right off the bat it’s unhinged?? “WHY YOU WANT ME WHEN YOUVE GOT A GIRL??!” No cause that is so true like @charles_leclerc why are you still contacting her when Alex is right there?? (Liked by yourusername)

— user8 : ‘knowing it’s selfish, knowing I’m desperate’ oh she’s DOWN BAD!!

— user7 : you get it… cause DESPERATE, you’re describing yourself as desperate?? Bad bitch down in aisle 4 I fear!

user9 : lmao no cause you’ve outdone yourself! What do you mean ‘my man is my man, is your man. Heard that’s her man too’

— user21 : no cause she really is not a serious individual 😂

— user10 : the song is a bop don’t get me wrong but am I the only one who’s thinking about Alex in all this??

— user11 : poor girl hasn’t done anything apart from like a serial monogamist…

— user12 : I mean after this release Alex just needs to count her losses and leave him (liked by alexandrasaintmleux)

— user13 : oop- not her liking… clock it! But at this point I think this is just a messy situation where everyone’s gunna lose. Especially Alex poor girl never stood a chance

user22 : I just keep him satisfied through the weekend!

— user23 : you’re like 9 to 5 I’m the weekend!!!!

— user24 : make him lose his mind every weekend!!!!

sza : please god never let me be this down bad over a man 🙏🏾

— yourusername : now I know you’re not the one talking 🤨

badgalriri : 🖤

donatella_versace : DONATELLA VERSACE 💜

user17 : release the album NOW!

user18 : I’m sorry but weren’t we just mad at her? Releasing a song doesn’t make you automatically in the right? In fact even the song paints her as a bit of a villain :( I can’t imagine poor Alex listening to it.

— user19 : right? She’s practically begging him to cheat with her

— user15 : i really don’t know how to feel about the whole situation but it’s definitely not a good feeling…

••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee @callsignwidow

[the-final-sif]

Dream's Response Summary

Dream posted a response to various accusations, covering just about everything ever because he was done with this shit. I've done my best to summarize it here, but I recommend going and watching his whole video. This is going to be extremely summarized for readability and I'm only going to cover stuff I consider serious so anything about speedrunning is getting skipped.

The tl:dr is: Dream never groomed anyone or had inappropriate contact with anyone underage, he provided proof that one accuser flat out lied, and the other ""accusation"" was from a third party who was never involved. The actual supposed victim released a statement that they were never groomed, nor a victim in any way, never was asked about someone sharing information about them, and wants everyone to shut the fuck up.

Police were never actually contacted, both twitter accounts were lying about doing so to make their claims seem real. Also the supposed snapchat video shown is a very obvious fake.

He covers Manatreed, the run down is the guy was a childhood best friend he grew up with and who was struggling with homelessness. Dream helped him, and never knew about the battery charge (Manatreed had lied to him about it). When Dream spoke to Manatreed's ex girlfriend, she was very clear she never wanted any of this publicly out there, that she was happy that Dream had been helping Manatreed and she wanted the best for him.

Dream still doesn't know exactly what happened with that situation, he has since lost contract with Manatreed, all he knows is he was trying to help a childhood friend and got lied to.

The first allegation from Oxy/Anastasia, he's extremely clear they only ever messaged in twitter dms and he disproves the claim about the texts/tik tok. He has a google voice number hooked up to his tik tok account for obvious reasons, and she was showing imessage texts. This is not possible, which means she was lying.

As part of this, Dream scrolls through his twitter dms and shows he responds to fans all the time and talks to people in his community from all over. He also shows how he's friends with and has hired people that were fans of his, including people like Foolish.

He discusses Amanda, the two of them messaged on instagram back when he was a much smaller creator. He showed/posted the transcript of the two of them talking about normal stuff. They had been messaging since 2020. He did attempt to post a complete transcript of those messages, but she had deleted some of her messages and he doesn't have a way to recover them.

Dream explains that Instagram has a "feature" where if you ever reply to someone, then you literally cannot remove their ability to message you without blocking them. Something I did not know about instagram and which is fucking wild.

Since he replied to her in 2020, that meant she could message him forever and her notifications would be constantly showing up for him. He attempted to delete her messages/her ability to message him back in 2021 and showed proof of this, but realized he couldn't. Dream also in doing so accidentally deleted the context to her messages that she was a fan and basically everything prior to 2021.

Since he didn't remember her (what with the prior messages deleted), she was dmnig him from her personal account without fan content on it and was talking about being a streamer, he assumed she was a smaller streamer he knew and was talking to her as such.

They were talking about music so he gave her his personal snapchat to talk and because he wanted to get some feedback on a new song he was working on. He wanted to send the song via snapchat so he could be reasonably sure it'd stay private.

Dream categorically denies any sexting with Amanda or sexual messaging at all, he goes through why she most likely did this (he had been ignoring her messages and made a new snapchat with only close friends). He also downloaded his own data (something Amanda refused to/failed to do), went through the snapchat logs and did see some messages, but never saw either of his supposed compliments to her.

Amanda claimed Dream deleted her dms and that's why she couldn't provide any of the evidence she claimed she had, but Dream showed those same DMs very clearly undeleted. The dms were never deleted and she lied as an excuse.

Amanda lied about going to the police. Dream had his lawyers file a bunch of requests, and track down the police station that she went to based on the photo. They filed every request possible for any information with this police station, and there was no record of Amanda visiting the station or any records relating to Dream whatsoever. So either she lied about filing anything, or she told a story such that the police filed literally no paperwork whatsoever about the situation. Not even a report.

Dream sent the police station a copy of his own drivers license and Amanda's information so they could contact him if anything did come up, and nothing ever did. Nothing was filed, nobody cared.

Dream got swatted several times as a result of online harassment, including his family, and the harassment was overwhelming and awful for him.

He addresses the gumball situation, he showed up to a birthday party for a friend, gumball's VA was there and kept getting aggressive with him. While on facetime with some friends, Cantu ended up hitting Dream to impress them. Dream was obviously put off by this, but at the end of the night people ended up ubering together and Dream ended up in an uber with Cantu. He thought it'd be fine since other people were involved.

Cantu dropped his phone out the window made the uber driver pull over to look for it and got in trouble with the police. The uber driver tried to talk to Cantu about handling the police in the future, and Cantu started calling the uber driver slurs and claiming the uber driver had "down syndrome".

Dream got involved, trying to defend the uber driver, and Cantu threatened to kill him and called him slurs. Later Cantu apologized and Dream wanted to forgive him. Only later, Cantu started spreading lies about him and calling him a pedophile, so Dream realized the apology wasn't sincere and called him out for his behavior.

The third party who had been filming all of this saw what Cantu was doing lying about Dream and trying to claim none of this happened. They reached out to Dream and gave him the actual video as proof of what happened. Cantu tried to threaten them out of sending Dream the video of what happened, but they ignored him and sent them anyways. Dream also had the uber driver in his video backing up what he said.

Finally, the Jamie Allegations

Jamie is a mutual friend of several people that Dream knew, she did not post the allegations, she was never contacted about any of this she made an explicit statement that she was never groomed or a victim in any way.

Dream and Jamie meet prior to Dream being a youtuber on bbh's minecraft server, they were both fans of Skeppy. Which is why Jamie was followed by Dream, Skeppy, Vurb and some other youtubers in their friend group.

Jamie is still active online and put out her own statement, the person in the screenshots never gave permission for any of this to be put out, and they are very clear that the messages were taken out of context and that the claims made are false. The person in the screens is clear Dream is not a groomer, they never accused him of that, and that the twitter account is lying.

The snapchat video shown is very obviously fake, because snapchat just magically opens itself, there's no finger or button use interacting with the screen.

The burner account never actually contacted the police, Dream records him calling to the department they claimed to contact, and the person answering is very clear they have no contact from this person.

The supposed recent document posted is a fake convo of someone using a fake twitter account to talk to "Jamie", Jamie did not talk to them and it's just fake.

All of this was incredibly damaging for Jamie, who had no idea what was going on, and was getting harassed/stalked/having her irls contact.

Dream has also faced waves of harassment over obviously fake allegations, people have just been taking them at face value. He also shows how easy it is to fake these things as I have done.

He's been swatted, harassed, his family has been swatted and harassed, he's been scared for his own safety several times. It's been awful for him, and all based on fake shit. He's not stepping back from minecraft, but he is stepping back from twitter and no longer engaging with people behaving this way.

Also his ping pong record was undefeated.

[love-byers]

mike's weird language when he talks about el and their relationship

part of the equation of stranger things relationships is building the relationship through emotional connection, not physical intimacy and outright saying how you feel. it's a trope in st that the couples refuse to admit their feelings for some time before getting together. "we're just friends", "she's not my girlfriend" etc etc. the denial is super endearing. and even when the couples are finally together, this doesn't change. they're literally just the same duo same friends, but they kiss sometimes. they barely even acknowledge that they're together. it's a great trope in my opinion.

so a couple years ago i was rewatching st and made a list of everytime mike said something weird. meaning, every time mike did not adhere to this formula and stood out from the rest of the couples. i made a tiktok about it too so im basically quoting that in this post. something i stressed in that video was that because we have the other couples as source material, clearly the writers are capable of not doing this. they are capable of writing a good serious relationship, but they're choosing not to with mlvn. so keep in mind, the other couples (besides maybe stancy) do not do this and mike is supposedly, according to his own words, is madly and deeply in love with her throughout all of this and knows it.

Season 3

"Romantic time with my girlfriend."

i'll cut this one some slack, it's just that if you were truly madly in love it would be more like "I'm spending time with el". but thats all he views it as, romantic time with his girlfriend. going to his girlfriends house to make out with her. romantic time with his girlfriend. not bonding with the person he loves.

"Did you think we were never gonna get girlfriends?"

mike is hyperfocused on the word girlfriend. she's not el, the person he loves, she's his girlfriend. he doesn't say "did you think we were never gonna fall in love?" and look i get he's only like 14 here but it's the fact that he later claims he was in love with her the entire time and knew it. he literally claims it was love at first sight.

get girlfriends. he got a girlfriend. he didn't fall in love.

"It's not my fault you don't like girls!"

again the hyperfixation on girls, get a girlfriend, liking girls. mike, why are you more focused on the fact that el is a girl and your girlfriend than the fact that she's el?

"You're the most important thing to me in the world."

finn's delivery of this is so.....

and the fact that el just stares at him blankly afterwards, like she did not buy that lmao

Season 4

"That's because she's my girlfriend, Will!"

it's not "that's because i love her and want to talk to her" or something like that, it's "thats because she's my girlfriend and that's what you're supposed to do when you have a girlfriend" not "because she's el and i love her". that plays into mike's whole charade in lenora, he's just doing things he thinks he's supposed to do when you have a girlfriend.

"You're a superhero!"

that has nothing to do with who el is as a person, especially at that moment because at that time, el didn't have her powers. at the time, everyone believed they were gone, she wouldn't be saving the world anymore. but mike is still saying how incredible she is because she's a superhero.

i hate dr brenner so fucking much, but he did say something i really agree with. el kept going back to the concept monsters and heros, and he says those are things of myth and fairytale. not everything is black and white. this is real life, not a made up story with clear good and evil. and ultimately that helps her accept what happened with 001. he was 100% right there.

then here comes mike talking about monsters and superheros again like WRAP IT UP YA'LL ARE TOO GROWN FOR THIS

"You're the most incredible person in the world!"

again, he says that, but doesn't say why. he just expects her to believe him. it's such a broad statement and doesn't connect to anything about el and her personality/interests/ideas.

"Maybe I should've said something, and if I would've said that thing, maybe she'd want me there with her, wherever she is."

he wishes he'd just said it so she'd be satisfied and want him there and he'd know she's okay, he doesn't wish he'd said it so el would know in her heart that he loves her. "i love you" to mike isn't a geniune confession of his feelings, it's a thing. it's a thing that you say. it's something he thinks he has to say because that's what couples do and it's what el wants. if you fell in love with someone at first sight you do not refer to an expression of your love for them as 'that thing'.

"Maybe I was worrying to much about el. . ."

i really don't know what he meant by this. if she is the most important thing to him in the whole world and is deeply in love with her, why in the mother FUCK would he be apologizing TO WILL for worrying too much about her. there wouldn't be too much worrying when you love someone that much.

"You can fly, you can move mountains I believe that."

she literally can't.

"I love you for exactly who you are. You're my superhero."

the first time i saw this i literally thought "oh thats not..."

because it's.....not. one or the other would've been....fine i guess. but the first preceding the other is just not it. i love you for exactly who you are, and that is my superhero. is that all she is to you, mike? el expresses constant worry of being a monster, a bad person. she's afraid that she's a monster with or without her powers. but dr owens said "I'm willing to bet you're one of the good ones." fucking OWENS said something more reassuring than her boyfriend and supposed love of her life, mike wheeler.

THATS NOT ROMANTIC.

[cameronspecial]

Let Me Hear That Again, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Y/N sees a trend on social media and she can't help but want to see if she can get Rafe to believe it.

A/N: Inspired by this post.

Masterlist

Y/N has no idea how the trend started, but she is completely on board with the idea. There is just something so hilarious to her about getting men to think that women actually shed their skin every month. Lucky for her, Sarah is completely in love with the idea of tricking Rafe and John B. into thinking this myth is a fact. The girls send their boyfriends out to pick up dinner at The Wreck during an at-home double date night, so they can put on the clear peel-off face masks. The boys return and this is when the plan sets into play. “Y/N/N, when you get your period, does your monthly shedding ever just get so hard to take off that you just consider letting it flake off?” Sarah questions, looking over at the girl. Rafe and John B. pause at the Cameron girl’s words. They don’t quite know what she is talking about, but they assume she is talking about the shedding of her uterus lining. That is until Y/N says what she says next. “Yes, my skin is shedding right now and look how flaky and big some of the pieces can get.” She starts to pick at the mask and peels a massive part off of her face. Rafe’s eyes widen at what is happening to his girlfriend’s skin and puts the bag on the kitchen island. He rushes to her side, “Angel, what is going on with your skin? Are you okay? Does it hurt? Should I take you to the hospital?” Sure, he has seen some skin peel, except it looks nothing like what he sees before him. 

The girls struggle to hide their giggles and Y/N straighten with a serious look on her face. “I’m fine, Rafe. This is supposed to happen. My skin sheds every month with my period,” Y/N lie. His head tilts, “Let me hear that again, Angel.” She smiles to herself. This is working. “It’s like a snake, Rafe. I shed my skin when I get my period. Like this,” she explains, pulling at the mask to demonstrate her point. He refuses to accept this word, “That’s bullshit. If this really happens every month, then how come I’ve never seen it happen?”

“Because I hide it from you silly, so you don’t freak out like you are now.” 

“How come they didn’t talk about it in health class?”

“You say that as if we actually learn anything useful in health class. If you don’t believe me, then ask Sarah.”

Rafe turns towards his sister and she nods in confirmation. “It’s true. Look. It’s happening to me too,” she says. Her hands fly to her face to start removing her ‘skin.’ Now, it is John B.’s turn to freak out. “Sarah, don’t do that,” he grimaces. She ignores his plea and gets rid of the second skin on her face. “I can’t believe this is real,” Rafe whispers to himself as his head pivots between looking at hs girlfriend and sister. This pushes the girls over the edge and they both burst into laughter. “OMG, you guys really believed us!” Sarah scream. Both boys stand and back away from their girlfriends. “What do you mean?” Rafe inquiries, staring at Y/N with narrow eyes. Y/N giggles, “Rafe, it’s not real. We just wanted to see if you would fall for it.” John B. looks at Sarah and points at her face. “Then what is going on with your faces?” Sarah holds up the face-mask tube, “It’s just a face mask, John B.” The boyfriends look at each other with a pout and turn their backs to their girlfriends as they walk to the kitchen island. The room is silent as the boys begin to eat without the girls.

Y/N sighs and wraps her arms around his shoulders, “I’m sorry I made you worry.” She presses a kiss on his cheek. “No, you aren’t I saw how hilarious you found that,” he grumbles. “Okay, maybe I’m not that sorry, but I can see how upset you are. I promise I’ll make it up to you later tonight.” Rafe grins at her words and turns to her. “You better,” he mutters against her ear. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[sl-ut]

random college!abby hcs

more!college abby

warnings: mentions of sex, drinking, drugs, and nudity, cursing, mild hint homophobia

first things first: jerry is alive and abby is his pride and joy

i'm serious... her mom died when she was a toddler and jerry hasn't had a long-term relationship since, so he's the only parental figure that she has

he took every precaution while raising her to make sure she always had everything she could ever need while also making sure that she didn't end up being an entitled brat

otherwise, she is very close with both of her father's siblings (her aunt is the only maternal relationship she has and definitely relied on her for all of her personal issues as a teenager), has a good relationship with jerry's mother and step-father

her mother was an only child, but her parents always come over for thanksgiving and even christmas sometimes

she was very supportive of her father taking in yara and lev after she moved out. she knew he was suffering from a severe case of empty nest syndrome. she def makes them feel so welcome right away like those strangers became her siblings in a matter of minutes

i'll only say it once ppl: OLD MONEY

jk i'll say it again. the andersons are a long line of surgeons and doctors so obvi they're gonna be well off

like, not "fund a research facility to get my kid into college" rich, they're more "i casually have a summer home, a ski chalet, and a ridiculously nice house to live in year round" rich.

her only real relationship was in high school (trigger warning: it was owen)

our bby had a bad case of comphet as a teenager

like fr she had not even considered the fact that she might be gay until she was two knuckles deep in some sorority girl during a party in her freshman year

after that she sort of just accepted it, she had no concern of her dad bc obviously he would be so accepting and supportive, but a few of her relatives def had an issue with it right off the bat (old money, old values)

she's been friends with manny, nora, owen, and mel since middle school, and the only one whose view of her seemed to change was owen (and mel too ig bc she stopped seeing abby as such a threat)

he drunkenly questioned her about it once, saying something super gross and along the lines of "you didn't seem gay when we were together"

to which she responded by offering him two choices; he could sit down and shut up or she would knock him tf out

he's cooled it since then but everyone knows that he still has a big fat crush on her so he still wants to believe he has a chance (even tho he was literally already talking to mel before they broke up and announced they were together only a few days after)

she's pre-med, majoring in bio and minoring in something totally different like classical lit or history or something

she's gonna end up being an orthopedic surgeon but later on in her career i can see her turning to teaching at a university or something

like doctor!abby turned prof!abby???? omg

is very health conscious

she's a gym rat, this we already know

she also takes her diet very seriously as well, but always has a secret stash of junk for when she really needs it

also careful with her alcohol/drug intake

she drinks on occasion (birthday, christmas, new years, etc, etc) but usually not very much (will almost always be sober enough to be the sober driver if need be)

she refuses to do any drugs during lacrosse season. she's so strict with her diet during the season that she won't ingest anything other than quality, nutritious food. she also needs to submit a drug test a few times per season so she doesn't wanna risk it.

in the off season, she's more willing to have a puff or two at a party or take an edible before a movie night or something (i don't see her doing any drug other than weed)

she lived with manny during her freshman and sophomore years

they had a shitty little apartment a few minutes away from campus

it was the only one that manny could afford on a student budget, and he refused abby's offer to get a nicer apartment and let her pay a larger portion of the rent than he did

they still had fun either way

manny loved having another person he could talk about girls with (he was initially gonna move in with owen but then he got ditched for mel)

every sunday morning they would get takeout for breakfast so manny could recount his night with the girl that had snuck out only a few hours earlier

she was a little hesitant to join in and share her own stories, but she finally got more comfortable in talking to him about it (RESPECTFULLY!!!!!!! she was so scared that she was gonna end up sounding like a literally disgusting pig but she keeps the details to a minimum and only says nice things unless the girl was a major bitch)

she's a lululemon/gymshark girly. her go-to style is definitely any variation of athlesiure. she wears lots of joggers, dry-fit tops, and the cleanest pair of white sneakers you'll ever see

underneath, i'm picturing her as more of a bralette type of girl. obviously she wears a sports bra to the gym, but on a regular basis, she likes wearing bralettes over bras bc she doesn't need that much support so they offer just enough without the discomfort of a bra

i'm settling the debate rn everyone, college!abby wears boxers AND panties

she finds boxers more comfortable on a day to day basis, but she likes wearing cheekies and thongs especially when she's wearing leggings

so dorky

she was definitely a sci-fi/fantasy kid

she grew up on harry potter, lord of the rings, star wars, etc etc

would love a partner who would watch them with her and actually enjoy it

unironically makes gym thirst traps on tiktok

her followers always comment supportive things like: looking good!, major gainssss, muscle mommy come destroy this pu-

still wears the iconic braid, but usually only when she's on the field. she occasionally wears her hair down, but i hc that she still likes to wear her hair pulled back in a cute little braided ponytail or a messy low bun

when she's older SHE CUTS HER HAIR OMG OMG OMG like literally i'm purring rn

like ik you've all seen that edit of her with super short hair omg she's so hot

in her junior year she decided to live on her own

manny moved in with jordan, who had been begging him for a while since the rent was more than he could handle on his own, though manny's rent would actually be cheaper than it was in his apartment with abby

they still do their traditions tho, still having sunday breakfast, still going to the campus pub on fridays for trivia, still going to the gym together on wednesdays...

they're actually besties i love them

when she's on her period, she craves salty foods

is so frustratingly confident in her emotions

will always try to diffuse the situation and pissing the other person off with her calmness

takes really good care of her skin

her favourite drink is diet cranberry gingerale

she's a dog person, but she would definitely enjoy having a cat around too

adopts a rescue dog a few weeks after finishing her residency

uses old spice fiji body wash and deodorant (SHE SMELLS SO FUCKING GOOD) and a musky vanilla body spray

likes to feel and be clean, but isn't too fussed about her body hair so long as it looks tidy. she isn't anti shaving, and will probably make an effort to shave more regularly in the early stages of a relationship until she's more confident and comfortable around the person

NSFW

down-there hair? duh

like i said, she likes to keep things tidy so she'll trim and maybe shave her bikini line if she's feeling it but that's it. she's not fussed with body hair, whether it's her or her partner's

again, she'll make an effort to keep herself looking neat and tidy for the first bit of a relationship but after a few weeks she's not afraid to go full-bush when she doesn't wanna shave

she doesn't love penetration. fingers are one thing, but she has only had not-so-great experiences with sex that involved a penis-like object. she'd wanna be the one wearing the strap for the most part, but she'd be willing to try it again with the right person

slow and passionate sex >>>>>

considers herself to be very vanilla but she's actually kinda kinkyyyyy (she gets so embarrassed and blushy when anyone calls her out for it)

she prefers scissoring to using her strap (but she LOVES her strap)

she doesn't like to choke her partners, but she will reach her hand up and just hold their throat while they're fucking

she's always so sensitive

came in like thirty seconds during her first time with another girl

she's noiiiiisssyyyyyyyy

she usually starts out with just heavy panting breaths, then they turn into deep grunts, then she begins to whine from low in her throat, and finally she begins to gasp out words of praise or curses

she squirts teehee

like i said she's always so sensitive, so if she's any ways worked up when someone's going down on her they better watch out bc they're in the splash zone

her strap is purple and sparkly

abby anderson eats ass

her nipples are super sensitive too

not really nsfw but she really loves casual nudity with her partners, changing in front of each other, hopping in the shower together, using the bathroom with the other person in the room...

she's a boob girl. doesn't matter if they're big, small, saggy, or perky, she just wants to suck them

when she's on top, she likes to pull her partner's leg over her shoulder and will just start like trailing kisses along the length of their calf

she's a literal munch

will use it to her advantage too

tells her partner she'll go down on them if they finish their assignments