#that fucks with you no matter how well you think you are when you come out the other side

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[daechwitatamic]

Cinnamon || KMG {teaser} - coming Feb. 7!

(banner by @sailorsoons)

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny for Reasons), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k teaser wc: 900

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do better going forward, quick and prosey piv smut

teaser warnings: language, angst, drunkenness

a/n: beta'd by @sailorsoons and @eoieopda smooch smooch love yall

--

Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply. 

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu responds with a growl, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once. 

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you. 

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you. 

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaegerbombs did you do? 

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed. 

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help. 

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembers saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…? 

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then, he never said it like that, and you never pushed it. 

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed. 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu won't kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protection from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better. 

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

--

Welcoming to the world the fic I have lovingly dubbed Cinnamingyu!!! Coming Friday, February 7th!!!

[defmaybe]

Pegging & Penetration: Part II

NMIXX’s Oh Haewon & Lily Jin Park Morrow x Male Reader

5.3k words

Sequel to Pegging & Penetration

The chime of the mini-mart welcomes you, giving the familiar sense of comfort you’ve been feeling every time you visit here. Its air-conditioned temperature gives you an escape from the hellish heat of the outside world. The blue light is pleasing to the eye. The smell of slowly cooking sausages wafts into your nostrils. God, it’s so good. You get goosebumps, but you’d choose this over the sun any other day. You walk past the assortment of drinks towards the frozen foods zone. Your mom told you they contain a lot of sodium, but you’re too lazy to walk another hundred meters for freshly cooked fried rice.

It’s supposed to be another normal day in college, a beaten path you’ve walked through many times—wake up, class, revision, some gaming, then bedtime, rinse and repeat. Maybe slotting in writing cheesy fanfics if you have time. It’s a routine you’ve come to appreciate as time goes by, no matter how redundant that might be.

Until something decides to break that cycle.

“Seems like you’ve left her quite a mark, bitch.” 

A venomous yet familiar voice comes from your left, making you turn to the speaker.

It’s Oh Haewon and Lily Morrow, the former holding a phone directly in front of your eyes. They’re dressed in their after-class clothes—Haewon in a white t-shirt and black wide-legged pants, and Lily in a leather jacket with shorts that are far too short, shorts that reveal a little too much of her milky thighs. On the screen of the phone, there’s a video playing—a man pleasuring himself, his cock glistening with lube as he slides his hand up and down. And much to your horror, it’s you, it’s you that’s in the video, moaning like some cheap whore.

The breakup was supposed to be for the best interests. You couldn’t give Jinsol the time she deserved. She didn’t need to be stuck with a workaholic like you. Hell, she didn’t even flinch when you broke up with her. But it seems that she has other plans—plans that involve Oh Haewon and Lily Morrow leaking your video like they did with numerous men.

Well, if you decide not to follow their instructions.

You try to sound strong, but the stutter betrays you. “What do you want?”

“Follow us to the dorm, and don’t even fucking think of escaping us.”

—

Black.

It’s all black.

Lily puts you in blindfolds before you walk into their room. The strip of cloth restricts your vision well. You can’t see a thing, aside from the weird patterns floating around that you see quite often when you close your eyes. She grips onto your little waist, tight enough to make it hurt, before half-guiding, half-pushing you into their place.

They’ve surely been keeping their room clean, not a single strand of hair you can feel on your feet, but the over-tidiness is making your skin crawl in a way you can’t quite explain, as if the walls are ready to crush you any minute. The air smells like lilac, spring lilac, though, somehow, you feel like there’s something sinister behind that lovely scent. 

But no fight, no flight, otherwise it’s the end of you.

After a few trembling steps, she pushes you to land stomach-first on something you can make up that is a bed. It’s soft, a contradiction to their thorny personalities. It’s a few seconds you feel the much-needed comfort hugging your pliant body. Your hands grip onto the bed sheets, feeling the feathery sensation on your arms, half-smiling.

“Strip,” Lily’s voice cuts through your short-lived solace.

You reluctantly sit up on the bed, as if to delay the inevitable. Your hands fumble against your clothes as you’re struggling to get rid of your clothes. Rummaging sounds can be heard, but you’re not so sure where it comes from. It’s probably them finding their torture devices. Fuck, this is going to hurt.

As your shirt and shorts come off, you’re left alone with the sounds of them digging through their assortments. You figure you should enjoy this fleeting moment before the pain. Your hands run along their bed sheets, trying to gather some comfort into your body, trying to prepare yourself for the suffering in their hands.

Suddenly, you feel hands on your lithe wrists, before they are being tied together by a soft rope into a bundle. It’s like you’re going to run away. They don’t have to do this!

Stuttering, you ask, “Is this–Is this really needed?”

“Safety first,” a voice replies, Lily’s, pulling the last of the rope, tightly tying you up on the bed. She then pushes you down onto the bed, moving on to your legs, robbing the last of any freedom you have from your body.

You hear a sound of rummaging not so far from you. It’s probably Haewon finding her torture device. Your body trembles in the fear of pain. Fuck, this is going to hurt.

You can only think to yourself how your life leads you to this point, from a pretty decent student to a meatbag for two women. God, what a trajectory.

—

“Let’s open his eyes,” Haewon says, her voice devoid of any emotion for you to read.

You can feel Lily’s soft hands undoing the knot behind your head, and within seconds, you can see again.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to readjust to the shining light. Towering over you is Haewon, staring daggers down into your eyes, beautiful teardrops hanging from her chest, brown nipples sitting on them. Below is her large plastic cock sitting on her strap. You gawk at it in shock, trying to make sense of the situation. Wait, you thought they were going to torture you and make you cry in agony. What the fuck is this?

“What the fuck is this?”

Haewon only answers with a wicked smile, one that sends shivers down your spine before running her cock along your pouty lips, swaying her hips, making you shudder in response by the sheer size of it.

“We’re fucking your holes, bitch boy,” Lily says from your behind, spreading your cheeks with her hands and placing the tip of her silicone length at your asshole. The coldness of the lube smearing your ass is making you shriek.

“Ha–ah!”

“Yeah, moan like that, whore,” Lily says, gripping onto the globes of your ass, before landing a spank on them. That fucking hurts, but there’s somehow a glint of pleasure in it? You make no deflections to their words, still, fearing the power they’re holding. If the clip goes out, it’s over for you. At the same time, Haewon’s cock is running along your lips, threatening to intrude, limiting you to soft moans and whimpers.

Lily presses her cock onto the rim of your asshole with one hand, applying the pressure on your skin. The barrage on your cheeks persists with the other hand, slaps after slaps. Your body turns rigid with each hit, pain and unwanted pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Take it, you pretty slut!” Lily sneers. There’s a small of her chuckle leaking out along with the last words. She’s enjoying this.

Haewon spreads the taste of her plastic cock along your pouty lips, drawing a soft, whorish whine out of your mouth. You feel so pliant, like a mere plaything for them, like a fucktoy, like a bitch. “Suck my cock,” she commands, lightly pushing her phallus into your mouth with her nifty hand. Your teeth are still gritting, but with a slight thrust into your mouth by Haewon, you can do nothing but welcome her length.

You don’t see any point in sucking a strap, really, but if Haewon orders, you’re going to comply. You slowly part more of your lips, making way for her pretend dick to enter your mouth. Haewon’s cock finds its place inside you, inch by inch, starting from the tip. The plastic taste of it is almost making you gag—so synthetic, so foreign, but you won’t spit it out, you can’t.

Helpless, you give in to giving it a suck, hard enough that the sound comes out from where your lips and her cock meet. Your eyes bore into hers as you do so. Her eyes darken with desire. Haewon pushes further into your mouth, an inch more inside you, then an inch more, then an inch more. Her cock invades your mouth roughly, as you make gagging sounds as her cock reaches the back of your throat.

At the back, Lily begins to push her length into your clenching asshole, stretching you wide with her cock. You moan into Haewon’s phallus as she begins her wrecking of your unused, tight cavern with the silicone shaft. Your entire body turns rigid as Lily’s cock split you open.

“Holy shit, so–fucking–tight. This ass is virgin, isn’t it?” Lily asks, mockery seeping into her voice. “Honored to be your first, pretty boy!”

You’re not denying the fact. This is your first time getting pegged, and enjoyable is not the word you’d use to describe this.

With the help of lube, Lily splits your snug hole open. You feel so full of her cock. And after a few inches, the tip of it presses against your prostate, sending a harsh jolt through your tied-up body and eliciting a whine out of shock onto Haewon’s length.

“Mmm, taking a virgin boycunt, what a fucking day!” Lily shouts, punctuating her words with another smack. You yelp in pain at the contact.

Lily then drags her cock out slightly, giving you the short-lived room for breathing, before slamming her hips back into your ass once more. The tip of her length jabs your prostate, and you can do nothing but moan.

“How the fuck you can call your self a man if you’ve never been fucked in the ass like this, huh? Fucking–virgin–anal–slut!” Lily barks, her nails digging into your cheeks and spreading your asshole open.

At the front, Haewon grabs onto your hair harshly, drawing a whimper of agony out of your lips onto her suffocating length. Though, the stolen sense of control strangely spurs you on, making you lightly push your mouth onto her cock more and more. Your spit lathers the veins and ridges of her artificial length. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you take in more and more of her cock. It reaches the back of your throat. This is fucking overwhelming for you.

Haewon’s head falls backwards as her shaft is at the hilt, letting out a long grunt, fully burying herself into your gaped mouth. You’re struggling for air, making retching sounds through your constricted throat.

“Oh–my–fucking–god,” Haewon groans. You watch her throwing her head back through your fluttering lashes as her eyes roll upwards. Her grip on your hair tightens, so strong it’s threatening to pull it away from your aching scalp. She gyrates her hips against your mouth, further suffocating you with her toned body. Your nose is pressed against her pubic bone. You can only make unintelligible sounds through the small spaces between your lips and her cock, hands and ankles struggle against the confines of their ropes. Your entire body shakes as it’s being used. The urge to just spit her out and run away from the scene is at its boiling point, but with you being tied up into their bitch like this, you just can’t.

“You’re making a goddamn perfect cocksleeve for me,” Haewon sneers, capping the sentence with a low grunt. Your air is her musky scent as your face is pressed into her cunt, and you’re not going to lie, combined with her half-compliment, it’s a little hypnotizing.

She then takes you off of her spit-lathered cock, and you desperately gasp for air. Your body is trembling with shock, and the fact that Lily Morrow is pounding you from behind. A copious amount of saliva drips down your chin onto the floor, wetting the spot in front of Haewon.

You try to gather air into your empty lungs—inhale and exhale to gain some semblance of control back. Your vision is so blurry with the tears. “You’re–You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

Haewon shoots a wink down to you, hands on her hips, smirking as she holds her shaft in front of your mouth. “Just be a petite, obedient slut and take daddies’ cocks, pretty please?” she asks, and there’s a certain jeer in her voice. You grit your teeth, frustrated that your humanity is being walked over like this. How dare they do this to you! Still, you have a reputation to uphold. You can’t risk the clip going out, so you open your little mouth, welcoming Haewon’s cock with reluctance.

“There we go. What an acquiescent mouthpiece!” Haewon says, gaping your mouth to open wider with her fingers, jerking your head around like a worthless piece of flesh, as if to look out for where she can ruin your face more. “Goddamn, I fucking love that word.”

Haewon then grabs the base of her cock, readying her destruction of your mouth, and thrust her hips into the back of your throat. Your scream goes unheard, as Haewon’s hips buck into your mouth, making your face meet her pelvis, completely silencing you with her body.

“Just say stop if you can’t take it anymore,” Lily teases, but you can barely make any sound. You try to call for a timeout, but your mouth is too full of Haewon’s cock for you to say any word. Your eyes flutter as the tip hits the back of your throat.

You hear Lily laugh maniacally from the back, before scoffing at your struggle, “Can’t hear you, babe,” and there’s nothing but mockery in her voice, as your air is filled with the alluring scent of Haewon’s cunt.

“Come on, say something!” Haewon jeers, pressing you hard onto her pelvis. The act just puts your ability to speak to no use. You can only make choking sounds on her cock, as your eyes flutter helplessly.

“Guess he wants our dicks so bad, doesn’t he?” Haewon playfully asks, yanking your hair in a circular motion, grinding your mouth on her punishing length.

“He’s practically begging for it, Haewon,” Lily muses, spreading your cheeks apart roughly with her hands, before letting them go to jiggle freely around her cock. “God, what a cute, bubbly ass!”

Haewon laughs along, sinking your face into her strap harshly, grinding her hips to coax more spit out of you. Saliva is running down your chin like a waterfall onto the floor. Your limbs shake in the complete loss of agency over your body. Tears run down from your eyes from the hard length silencing your mouth. Lily hammering your ass from behind doesn’t help, making Haewon’s dildo hitting the back of your throat every time she tries to hit your prostate.

However, something starts to boil up within your body, something you’ve been trying so hard to suppress during your time with these two women. Maybe you’re not hating this after all, being treated like some cheap slut. You’re starting to love this.

Their pace quickens, using your tied-up body like a plaything. Your holes are completely rutted by their works. Lily’s cock finds your prostate at every other jab, sending electric sensations coursing through your pliant body. Haewon’s cock is making you gag uncontrollably. Your eyes are fluttering. Globs of spit fall onto the floor right at the edge of their bed. She grips onto your hair tightly, pushing you deep onto her huge cock over and over again, robbing the last of your movements away from you.

“Such a good little cock whore for daddy,” Haewon half-compliments, her movements rough on your mouth. Your eyes roll back with the harsh ravaging on your slutty throat. You make unintelligible sounds into her phallus—struggling, suffocated. Though, that initial reluctance is gone, replaced by the unyielding submission to their brutalities on your tight little holes. Maybe you’re not so resentful of their cocks after all.

A soft smile escapes your abused lips as Haewon thrusts into you with wild abandon. You’re starting to enjoy this rough fucking into your oblivion. Haewon looks down to see your lips curl up slightly, and she smirks at it, clearly revelling in the way her fucktoy begins to accept her shaft with glee.

“You’re starting to enjoy this? I like that,” Haewon sneers, her cock still doing a thorough exploration of your mouth with an unmatched roughness. “Can’t have my hole crying like a bitch. It’s pathetic.”

Lily’s hands are raking on your back, leaving (perhaps) visible red marks of her ownership on the smooth expanse of your backside. She bends down on your tied-up body, hands locking your body in place by the sides, and that’s when you know that her upper body is bare. Her soft tits press against your back as her hips jerk into your tight ass with wild abandon. “Aww, you’re loving this, don’t you, boy-toy? Being used like this, huh?”

Lily finds your stiff cock at the space between your lithe body and the bed. She knows that you’re hard. She knows that you’re loving this. Her thumb swipes the head of your cock to find the precum on your slit—a signal of your rejoice. Your frame shudders at her touch, moaning into Haewon’s cock.

“Leaking already?” Lily taunts, swiping her wet thumb on your stretched right cheek, smearing it with a thin layer of your essence. You feel the coldness on your skin. “What a nasty little cockslut.”

Haewon laughs menacingly as Lily paints your face with your own nectar. She’s still determined in shattering you into pieces, pumping into your mouth vigorously, one hand raking on the smoothness of your back, probably leaving red marks by the time this ends, the other hand yanking your head back and forth to keep a consistent tempo on her length.

“Look at you, both holes being fucked like this and still enjoying it. Might just brand you the college whore if you keep this up,” Lily says.

A small smile escapes your abused lips. The thought excites you. Being a college whore isn’t a bad idea, being used by numerous women like this. Your holes get to be fucked roughly. Your body gets to be used and abused. Damn, you really are loving this.

Suddenly, Haewon takes a handful of your hair, pulling it tight and away from your scalp, a string of spit connecting your lips to her length. You’re struggling to breathe from the sheer intensity of her face-fucking. Your eyes flutter wildly like a slot machine. 

“Say it,” she orders, her voice laced with venom.

Lily is pounding you from behind with abandon, ravaging your ass without any relent, making your cock swing helplessly. You just can’t think straight anymore, brain so mushy with these women’s cocks. All that’s in your filthy mind are how these two women are stretching your holes so fucking well, and how you’re utterly under their spells and relentless domination. 

Using the last of your inhibitions, you take a deep breath, before giving Haewon a cock-drunk smile as you exhale, giggling softly. Spit falls from your chin onto the floor.

“I’m–I’m a little cockslut,” you huff.

A sharp smack lands on your cheek. The pain stings on your face, but your cock is twitching hard, and the smile persists. You’re revelling in this. You’re revelling in the way Lily violates your rear. You’re revelling in the way Haewon reduces you into some cheap whore.

“Incorrect, bitch. Say it properly, who do you belong to?” Haewon shoots you another command. You really are under their domination.

“Answer carefully, boy-toy, or we might just leave you ruined right–fucking–here,” Lily snarls, reaching forward to grab your throat. She’s pressing all the right spots, leaving enough room for you to breathe, yet tight enough for your cock to twitch violently as a result of her grip.

Choked, you swallow hard, before shouting, “I’m daddy’s little cockslut. I’m daddy’s little cockslut!”

"Open your mouth," Haewon commands and she knows you'll do just that. You loosen your jaw and she bears down upon you, her lips pursed and then she shifts them side to side. They part and it falls. Her saliva trails from her glossy lips and drips into your mouth. It settles onto your tongue, invading you with its foreign taste, which if you actually had any semblance of control would make you recoil.

She seals it in there with a kiss. It's characteristically rough—with Lily rutting your ass and all—and it gives you no choice to do anything other than what you deep down desire regardless. You savor her taste, before swallowing it hard into your sore throat.

"Good fucking boy," Haewon growls against your lips.

“Just–Just for you, daddy,” you shoot back a reply.

Haewon lets out a small, wicked giggle, before breaking off from the torrid kiss. A string of your saliva connects your lips as she pulls herself back—an obscene display for both of you.

Haewon pushes down on the back of your head onto her cock firmly, as the sound of sloshing rings in your ears. All you can see is Haewon’s pelvis ramming into your debased mouth, so full of your spit. More tears fall from your fluttering eyes. Lily remains reckless with her thrusts, rearranging your abused guts without any sense of precision. Her grip on your throat remains firm. Your body is being violated, but the urge to just run away is not there anymore. It’s replaced by the complete submission you have for them. It’s replaced by the need to satisfy these women. It’s replaced by the urge to be the cock whore they want you to be.

“Holy fuck,” Haewon drawls, keeping her rhythm on your head rough and consistent. “You’re the best hole I’ve ever fucked.”

It’s a little impressive, you think, to be the best bitch she has ever fucked. You’re making a good set of holes, and you’re starting to accept that moniker. You make unintelligible sounds into her cock as you’re senselessly fucked in the mouth–some gagging, some from your vocal cords. Haewon is grinning darkly, relishing in the way you’re struggling, and partly enjoying against her length.

“You look exquisite, pretty boy, like a fucking Renaissance tragedy, you know that?” Haewon asks, looking down into your eyes. And even with how dehumanizing the question is, maybe it’s the eye contact, maybe it’s the half-tugging, half-shuffling she makes with your hair, you can feel the sincerity in her voice.

Muffled, you answer, “Thanks, daddy”

Haewon shoots you back a smile at the corner of her lips, still confident with her thrusts into an abused hole that is your mouth. Her hands grip onto your hair tightly, forcing your lips around her cock.

You can feel confidence rising within your muscles. The momentum starts to come back to you now. You figure you should move along with Haewon’s hand gripping your hair, and much to your surprise, Haewon’s grip loosens, slowly letting go of your head. You start to move on your own onto her cock with ease.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that!” Haewon cheers, her hands retreat to resting on her hips as your lips work on her cock. 

You suck her plastic length eagerly, trying to win your daddy’s acceptance. You give her shaft a hard suck, hollowing your cheeks as you slide your mouth up and down her cock. Hell, you even choke on it from time to time, and Haewon smiles, clearly enjoying how you’re embracing the role of a slut.

“Goodness fucking gracious, wish I had known you’re a natural cocksucker like this!” Haewon encourages. You’ve never known that you have this in you either. “Those lips are so goddamn perfect for a dick sucking.”

“That’s our college man-slut!” Lily chimes in. Her attack on your fragile prostate feels less like a punishment as you become their willing fuckdoll. Her nails dig into your ass firmly, spreading your cheeks apart for her cock’s easier access. It’s attacking your prostate without any sense of accuracy, frustratingly delaying the climax you’ve been yearning for.

It starts to build up in you, the need to release. You have to cum. You just can’t be used and abused by these women forever, even if you love it, even if being their tight little fuckhole is making you so damn happy. You need to cum.

Suddenly, you drag yourself off of Haewon’s glistening length, making Haewon staring daggers at you.

“What the fuck?” she snarls, taking your chin in a harsh grip.

Lily seems to be lost in fucking your tight little ass. Her soft moans can be heard from the back.

Haewon barks, “A few compliments and you start disobeying us, huh?”

“I–I need to cum, please,” you beg, voice all hoarse from your abused throat. Haewon’s eyes narrow into a slit, as if to process the bold request. “Please, daddy.”

“Isn’t my cock enough, huh? Is this boypussy not satisfied?” Lily chimes in, smacking your asscheeks, still putting up the barrage on your ass, though inaccurately. It’s fucking frustrating.

Stuttered, exhausted, you reply, “It’s–It’s not hitting the right spot–cough–daddy.”

Haewon examines you for a while, trying to gauge something out of your debauched, messy face as Lily hammers you from behind. Your body shakes along with the creaking bed, shrieking whenever the tip of her shaft hits that sensitive bundle of nerves, or whenever her hand lands on your ass.

“You’ve been a splendid fucktoy for us,” and she pauses, letting the air thicken with anticipation. Your prostate is still being violated over and over again at an annoying tempo—hard enough to arouse, yet too slow to make your cock spurts semen out. “What do you say, Lily?”

Lily chuckles, halting her movement inside your ass, hilting her cock against your prostate. You groan as pleasure washes over you. “Well, you’ve been a nice little cumdump. I’ll allow it.”

Haewon smirks, lining up her phallus against your mouth again. “Aim for his prostate, Lily.”

“Alright,” Lily replies, dragging her cock back slightly, before pistoning herself into your mushy, soft prostate. A slutty whine escapes your lips.

“Guess you hit it,” Haewon says, forcing your jaw open again with her fingers, free hand gripping your hair tightly. She pushes her shaft back into your mouth, and it fits perfectly. Your mouth really is made to take her cock. “Such a perfect cocksleeve for daddy.”

The violation on your pliant body resumes. You’re face-fucked by Oh Haewon’s cock. She’s making you gag on her length uncontrollably. Her hands grip onto the back of your head oh-so-tightly. You choke and sputter. Spit drips down your chin like a goddamn waterfall. Tears run down your cheeks as your mouth is forced open by Haewon’s big, fat, veiny cock. You’re making retching sounds against her length. From behind, Lily Morrow is ravaging your ass with renewed vigor, aiming for your prostate so goddamn accurately it hurts, yet it’s so pleasant. Her nails dig into your waist, and it’s probably going to leave red crescent marks by the time this ends.

Wet, obscene squelching sounds echo through Haewon and Lily’s bedroom. It’s ugly. It’s debased. The room reeks of sweat and sex. You’re so lost in these women’s cocks—sucking Haewon’s fake dick, taking Lily’s hardness up your virgin ass—and you cannot be happier than you are right now.

If you were told this morning that you’re going to love having your cheeks, on both ends, being spread by two women, you wouldn’t believe it. But here you are, having your holes used and abused like this, and you cannot be happier than you are right fucking now.

The feeling builds up inside your stomach. It washes over your loins as Lily’s cock jabs your prostate with an unmatched accuracy. Your body can’t take it anymore. You’re going to cum!

Haewon and Lily’s strokes remain unyielding, attacking the sensitive spots inside you with accuracy. Your vision becomes blurry as you get closer and closer to paradise. This is it—the moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re going to cum with two cocks inside your body.

Haewon and Lily spew out a series of insults you can’t quite catch anymore—a mixture of words. Each word sends you into a higher plane of arousal.

“Dumb slut.”

“Cock whore.”

“Set of holes.”

“Freaky bitch.”

“Fucking boy-toy.”

“Obedient little fuckdoll.”

“What a tight boypussy you have.”

“Such a perfect cocksleeve for us.”

And you break.

Your entire body writhes in pleasure as you experience the best orgasm you’ve ever had—Lily’s cock fucking your prostate away, Haewon’s dick abusing your mouth. Loud, obscene moans leave your mouth. You shoot a seemingly endless amount of cum out of your cock onto their bed. Your eyes flutter in ecstasy. Your hands and legs struggle against the confines of their ropes as you cum uncontrollably. You whine and whimper into Haewon’s cock, almost silenced.

“Yes, yes, yes, fucking cum! Whore,” Lily snarls wickedly, fucking your ass through the orgasm into oblivion. Her length rams into your soft, mushy prostate, wrecking, shattering. Her nails dig into your slutty waist. It hurts, and it fucking spurs you on.

“Nasty little slut,” Haewon sneers, not letting up her pressure on your face. Your mouth chokes and sputters on her cock. Globs of spit fall onto the floor between you and Haewon. Your cock twitches in the confined space between you and the bed. Fuck, this really is heaven.

You tremble between their bodies, taking in the taste of their shafts. You come down from your orgasm. Successive spurts from your hardness grow softer and softer. Lily slows herself down, giving space for you to breathe, as Haewon drags her cock out of your mouth. A copious amount of saliva drips down your chin.

Lily gives your abused hole one last stroke before pulling out. You moan feebly as she does so. You can feel that your snug hole is now gaping, missing its filling.

You lie there, limp, exhausted, utterly used. Haewon and Lily smile as they watch the mess they’ve made out of your body. They’re sure happy with their fucktoy today.

“We need to get him on speed dial,” Lily says, giving your ass one last slap. Your body shudders a little.

“He has to be on an emergency call. He’s too good of a slut to be true,” Haewon muses, bending over your pliant body and undoing the ropes. “Don’t forget to untie his legs.”

“Oh yeah.”

The two women work on getting you out of their restraints, throwing a few jokes at you which you can only weakly laugh at. Finally, you’re out and about again, but you just lie there, drenched in your own cum, letting the events earlier reel in your head—Haewon’s cock invading your mouth, Lily’s shaft ravaging your ass, them calling you names that arouse you. It is heavenly.

“I’ll take a shower first,” Lily says, before walking into the bathroom, the strap still hanging from her hips.

Haewon takes a seat beside you on the bed, examining how you’re feeling. You give her a weak smile, letting her hand run through your hair gently.

“You did well, pretty boy,” Haewon says, smirking. She swings her legs lightly. It’s calm. It’s serene. It’s a reprieve you’ve been waiting for.

“Thanks, daddy.”

Haewon chuckles softly. “And as a reward, you can be sure that the clip won’t go out.”

“I was a pretty good slut for you guys, wasn’t I?” you joke.

Haewon laughs once more, patting your head gently. “I kind of want to do this again, if you don’t mind.”

You join along with her laugh. Yeah, you’d love to do this again. “Well, definitely, maybe.”

—

[girl-lostconnection]

Babes, I just need another dad joke from Ghost please 🥺 I'm a slut for them.

I can give you a few actually. One of these I used previously in Unsweetened lemonade, but I love it too much.

1.

“What came first — chicken or egg?”, Simon drops a question on you out of a sudden, when your fork is halfway up to your mouth. You hum in question, your brows furrowing. What’s up with philosophical moods out of nowhere? Since when he like these kinds of questions.

But Simon looks at you, practically vibrating with anticipation and you jerk your chin up in question and watch how his eyes crinkle with the force of his grin.

Oh, this can’t be good.

“The rooster did”, he announces, actually cackling when you smack his shoulder, blush creeping up your face. Fucking insufferable this man and his jokes are.

2.

The mission is taking longer than expected, rain pouring down like it wants to fucking drown you but the steady stream of information from Ghost in your comms makes it somehow tolerable.

Not the worst conditions you worked in, at least you found some semi-dry part of the roof to hole into while you wait with a sniper rifle, eye pressed to a scope.

“How do you call a medieval spy?”, Ghost suddenly asks and you can’t help the twitch to the corners of your lips. Fucking hell, here it comes.

“How?”, you murmur quietly, laying in the shadows and rubble, not moving an inch of your body while you wait for a target to arrive at the place.

“Sir Veillance”, he shares like it’s a good joke and now you never can tell him that it’s not because your shoulders visible shake with silent laughter as you press your eye harder to the scope. Can’t get distracted on the job no matter how fucking ridiculous it gets.

“Have one for you too, L.T.”, you say and you know he can hear that your voice is a little breathy after laughter. When he speaks again you can feel the force of his smirk, the smug bastard enjoys making you laugh a little too much.

“Give it to me, sergeant”

“Why Sir Veillance would wear only leather?”, you prompt and fall silent for a few moments, giving Simon time to think about the question. He hums after a beat, eyes still monitoring the surroundings

“Why?”, he finally asks you and maybe you understand why he has all these cheesy dad jokes. Gives a right little kick.

“Because it’s made of hide”, you announce and your voice is shaking with laughter, breaking into practically a whisper as you force it down. There is a silence over the comms and then a small hoarse crack — barely half a chuckle.

“Not bad”, Ghost finally says and you can hear smile in his voice, your own grin widening. “Now eyes on the spot, we have our target arriving at the place”

“Roger that, sir”, you murmur, pressing yourself lower and curling a finger around the trigger.

Soap will tell you later not to indulge lieutenant Riley and his one dry sense of humour but you come to find out that maybe, just maybe, it does work on you a little too well

[xechu]

cw: nsfw, fem!reader, 18+ mdni, sexual content

notes: from the same au as my one shot: "Warm on a Cold Night" // check out part 1 HC here & part 2 HC here

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who has an insatiable sex drive, especially when it comes to you. It still boggles his mind that you're the perfect combination of sexy and cute.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - would prefer it if you didn’t use toys (except for butt plugs). Why use it when you have him? That doesn't stop you from owning them though, you like it when he gets a bit riled up.

"What is this useless junk?" He scowled.

"I couldn't wait, Ryo," you admitted.

"Tsk, so impatient. Well then, show me how you played with yourself, and then I'll show you how I can top that," he smirked.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - may not be the most patient man to walk this green earth, but when the two of you are getting down and dirty, he will make sure each time you are coming undone, screaming his name, and clawing his back - no matter how long it took. If the two of you happened to be experimenting that day, he'll make sure that you are enjoying yourself, and if it doesn't work out, then he'll immediately switch back to something he knows will get you cumming.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - loves grabbing your hips and thighs, not just during sex but even outside of the bedroom.

"So, what are we thinking here? Have you decided?" He snuck up behind you and placed his hands around your hips.

"Hm, I'm not so sure, Ryo," you let out a small sigh as you contemplated on which dress to buy for your upcoming vacation to Greece.

"Why not get both then?" He says nonchalantly.

"I don’t know…it’s quite expensive."

"What am I? Chopped liver? I’m paying for them, why should you care?" He was genuinely offended.

Or, when you're at home watching Netflix (usually he goes with whatever you want to watch, he's not much of a TV/shows guy):

"I can't believe it! He actually did it," you turned to Sukuna, as the crime documentary you were watching was coming to an end.

"It's so fucking obvious he did it, I could tell immediately that he's batshit crazy," he rolled his eyes, taking in another swig of beer. His hand was on your thigh, as he mindlessly rubbed circles with his thumb.

"Okay, next one!" You said all giddy, reaching for the remote, but Sukuna stops you.

"Hey, it's my turn to have some fun," he murmurs, as he trails kisses down your neck.

Needless to say, he (and you) had a fair share of fun for the rest of the night.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who would almost always fuck you in the back of his car whenever you came to visit him for lunch. He would tell Jin and the other workers that he's taking you out for lunch, and while he does treat you to a nice lunch (by the way, he loved it when you ate well), you also become his afternoon dessert.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - loves to push you to your limits in the bedroom. The more you say you can't take it anymore, the more it spurs him on.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - has an overstimulation and exhibitionism kink. On one of your travels, he brought you to a fancy hotel with a floor to ceiling window, where he had your naked body pressed against the window while he savagely fucked you from behind.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - isn't super talkative during sex. He would grunt, swear, and praise you once in a while - that's about it.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - usually prefers to top, as someone who has a tendency to dominate and be in control. But if you request to be on top he will gladly oblige. Highkey revels in it when you caught a mood that day and use his dick to blow off some steam.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - given how badly he lusts for you, one would expect that he has some obscene photo of you on his lock screen, but surprisingly it's very tamed. It's a photo of you smiling by the ocean when the two of you visited Paros (Greece). He also has that same picture of you in a photo print, put in a very expensive silver frame, and proudly displayed in his workstation. If you couldn't tell already, that's his favorite photo of you. You were always so goddamn beautiful when you smiled.

"Shit, Ryo - that your girl?" one of his regular customers asked.

"Mhm, that's my woman," he responded casually, but inside he was brimming with pride.

"Does she have any single friends that y'know - kinda has the same vibe as her?"

"Like what you see, huh?" It was more of a challenge than a genuine question.

"Eep."

(Even during your one year separation, he still had the photo on his workstation, and on his lock screen - but he will never tell you that)

ex/boyfriend!sukuna- speaking of pictures, he has this one polaroid picture of you that absolutely brings him to his knees (you secretly slipped it in his back pocket for Valentine's Day). It is carefully tucked between his ID and cards in the window slot of his wallet.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna- said polaroid picture is of you in black lingerie, splayed out on his bed, with crotchless panties and a jeweled butt plug. Needless to say, that night you both had your fill of wild, steamy, debauched sex.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - on the topic of that R rated polaroid, he would get all on edge when someone touches his wallet, but ironically, he couldn't give two shits about his phone (even though there are also some obscene pictures of you two in there too. His FBI can see it for all he cares). That polaroid though, was for his eyes only. He had a nightmare one time where he got pulled over and instead of giving his ID to the cop, he accidentally gave the photo. In the nightmare the cop says to him "Hm, interesting. I'll confiscate this and you can be on your merry way, buddy." He thought he was going to have to go to jail a second time. After that, he begrudgingly put the polaroid in his safe.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who noticed the way your eyes slightly darkened when Choso (his apprentice) accidentally mentioned in front of you that he had a frenum piercing. He is now seriously contemplating on getting one himself.

a/n: The polaroid and Choso incident was something that happened after the events of 'Warm on a Cold Night'. Do we all want our big strong Kuna to get the piercing or nah? ;)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hello!! I hope you're doing well! Do you have any recs for books about twisted/problematic relationships but with woc? Obviously there's our queen octavia butler but unfortunately for me i've finished reading all her books so i'm desperately craving for books that scratch this itch. Thank you for this blog btw i really love reading all your thoughts & reviews ♥️

goddd okay this list is not going to be nearly as long as I wish it was but it is extreeeeemely varied, so at least we have that going for us lmao. and hopefully you find something interesting in here:

right out of the gate if you're chasing that Octavia high, Rivers Solomon's novel Sorrowland feels very very in that vein. it starts with a teenage girl escaping from a Black separatist fundie cult while heavily pregnant with the cult leader's twins, deciding to give birth to the babies in the woods and raise them there. and boy, does it get crazier from there! there are some eventual transformative body horror sci-fi elements that I shan't spoil, but it's a time. the relationships are pretty secondary and genuinely not the most fucked up thing here, but our main girlie Vern is very much into girls and trying to figure that out on top of all the other horrors.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is the first book in a fantasy trilogy by specfic queen NK Jemisin, and the first book in particular is really like. problematic relationship city. the protagonist is called to be an heir to a dying emperor and IMMEDIATELY gets embroiled in a love triangle with two of the gods that her family enslaves for power??? crazy shit.

I just kicked off this year reading a book called Darknesses by Lachelle Seville, which ALSO features a young Black woman fresh out of a cult (this one loves self harm and anorexia). and then she meets another Black girl who casually drops that she's Dracula, and oh boy do things get weirder from there. this book is like kind of Not Good but it is very entertaining; at a certain point you just have to turn off your brain and go with the vibes. it's sweeter than a lot of examples but listen, obsession and bloodlust are obsession and bloodust no matter how much your gf Dracula respects consent. there's a lot of murder!

this one doesn't have any supernatural bullshit afoot and is instead just regular degular #problematic, but Raven Leilani's Luster was one of my favorite books last year and follows an absolute shitshow of a young Black woman's extremely loaded and weird relationship with her older white boyfriend and his insane wife, as well as their adopted Black daughter.

anther no magic entry: I really love Oyinkan Braithwaite's My Sister, The Serial Killer, which is about exactly what you think it's about! the narrator is a put-upon Nigerian woman whose beautiful, beloved sister has murdered her last several boyfriends and has come crying to her dutiful sister to help her clean it up each time; the plot kicks in when the murdery sister sets her sights on the narrator's boss, a doctor to whom the narrator is also attracted. I know it's a sibling relationship instead of a romantic one but you didn't specify so! I am counting it!

this one is like very very very niceys compared to everything else I'm going to put on this list but it's also pretty hot so I have to mention it: Little Rabbit by Alyssa Songsiridej is about a young, bisexual Asian-American woman struggling to get a writing career off the ground falling in love with a Notably Older and wealthier white man and figuring out how to navigate the subsequent problems both within their own interpersonal dynamic and in how their relationship is received by others.

honorary mentions: books about fucked up white women that are written by women of color who Know!!

Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng is a Victorian alternate history in which the English discovered the fairy realm and promptly did what the English did, ie, sending missionaries to teach the fairies about Jesus. the novel follows a woman traveling to the fairy kingdom to look for her missing missionary brother and promptly going insane as fairies gaslight gatekeep girlboss from all sides, complete with a side of everyone's favorite gothic horror trope: repressed sibling incest!

My Nemesis by Charmaine Craig is another very lowkey and grounded example, comparatively, but I thought it was neat and worth a mention! it's told from the POV of truly insufferable white woman writer whose emotional affair with a philosopher gets thrown for a fucking loop by the philosopher's wife, an enigmatic Chinese woman whose motivation the MC cannot guess literally at all. it's not the most exciting read in the world but the reveals hit hard and the reveals at the end made me YELL.

also for short story collections by WOC that can bring the #yikes factor in big ways I heartily endorse Roxane Gay's Difficult Women and Carmen Maria Machado's Her Body and Other Parties.

I wish I had more to throw you here; please if anyone has something to add to this list I am LISTENING

[lumiambrose]

~ ✰ UNSPOKEN ACCIDENTS ⋆｡°✩

featuring: reo x gn!reader (should pass as gn!, sorry in advance if it's not!)

summary: after months of unspoken feelings and an extremely tough match, he finally lets his deepest emotions slip...

request for nonnie xx

wc: 1.1k

tags: smut, little bit angsty i guess, friends with benefits, cumming inside, fluffy ending too i guess :)

Your fingers trace absentminded circles on Reo’s bare chest, his skin still damp from sweat, the air thick with his scent. The bed beneath you feels warmer than usual, but maybe that’s just him. Or maybe it’s you, pretending this means more than it does.

Reo is silently staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight. You know this isn’t about you—not entirely. His team lost today—he lost today. A stupid mistake in the last five minutes cost him the game, and Reo Mikage does not take losing lightly.

Still, you hope… well, you’re not sure what you hope for. Maybe some sign that you’re more than a stress reliever, that you’re not just a warm body for him to sink into at a whim. But expecting anything is unfair of you. I mean, it goes without saying: no feelings, no expectations, just pleasure and the occasional bite of comfort when the world outside becomes too loud.

“Reo…” you start hesitantly, your fingers pausing over his heartbeat. He tenses under your touch, eyes snapping to yours. You’re not quite sure what’s going through his mind right now, but either way, you’re not sure whether you want to know.

“What?” his voice is sharper than anticipated, irritation bleeding through.

You bite your lip. “I just… you played well today.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Yeah, clearly. That’s why we lost, right?”

You sit up, pulling the sheet around yourself. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t get it.”

“I do, actually.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice rises. The frustration clear in his tone as he sits up abruptly, raking a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand how much this fucking means to me. How much I—” He exhales harshly, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your heart twists nonetheless at the rawness in his voice. “Reo, I—”

“I don’t need your pity,” he snaps.

That hurts. More than it should. You clench your fists, doing your absolute best to ignore the feelings surging up your body. “I’m not pitying you.”

He scoffs, running both hands through his hair. He looks wrecked—tired, angry, vulnerable in a way he probably hates. But you don’t judge him. You don’t think you even can. Knowing the weight of expectations he carries, the way he punishes himself for not being perfect.

So you do the only thing that crosses your mind. You reach for him.

At first, he resists, but when you pull him closer, his body sags against yours. His head resting against your shoulder, and his breath is warm against your skin, uneven.

“I hate losing,” he mutters, voice muffled.

“I know.” You run your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. While it does take a while, you finally notice the tension in his body begins to melt.

And then, as if seeking something else—something more, his lips find yours.

It starts slow, but you both know where this is heading. His hands find your waist, your nails dig into his shoulders, and the weight of every unspoken thought between the both of you comes crashing down.

His kisses are tired and sloppy, a reflection of his current state, but the way he holds you makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters right now. The way his palms roam from your waist to rubbing the small of your back and eventually making their way to the globes of your ass, you almost feel special.

It’s not long until he’s removing his boxers, freeing his cock before taking your lips to his once again. Placing you on top of him, his hands continue to roam once again, and once you can’t take it anymore, you take your own initiative. Aligning your heat with his cock before slowly sinking down on him, a breathy moan escaping your lips, only to be muffled by Reo.

You start slow—painfully slow. Adjusting yourself to his size as you slowly shift back and forth on his lap. Reo reciprocates, grinding up into your aching core. It’s slow but surprisingly sensual, extremely sensual.

His lips are latched to your neck, planting wet kisses and marks throughout your skin as he holds onto the soft flesh on your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually believe he wanted you. Though that’s not relevant, not while your body aches in pleasure as every thrust sends jolts through your body.

Reo can feel it too. He guides your movements, helping you bounce on his lap as he thrusts up to meet you, slowly increasing in pace. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans and grunts. And before you know it, you’re reaching that all-familiar high. The high only Reo can give you.

“Reo,” your voice strained. “I’m so close.” Your words come out slurred between a mix on moans and gasps, but he understands. He lifts you up slightly, allowing him a better angle as he continues to thrust inside of you, chasing both of your releases.

“Yeah? Go on, make a mess for me.” Even his own voice is strained, but that doesn’t change a thing as you find yourself trembling on top of him. Your high crashing over you as you moan out his name.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he’s getting desperate too. “Gonna fill you up, ok?” Though he doesn’t give you time to reply as he reaches his own high. Hot seed spraying your insides as he finally slows down his movements, gently grinding his cum inside you as the two of you pant against each other's skin.

The air is thick—too thick, almost as if something is up. Maybe you’re just delusional, actually believing the impossible will happen. But as you rest against Reo’s chest, you hear the strangest words.

“I love you.”

Your body stills, your heart stopping mid-beat.

His eyes are wide, as if he himself can’t believe what he just said. But there’s no taking it back. His hands tighten around you, grounding you in this moment.

“You…” Your throat feels tight. “You love me?”

You look up, finally facing him as you try to comprehend his words. You’re not imagining things, are you?

“I do.” Short and simple, but everything you wanted to hear. The months of what you considered one-sided yearning, all to be reciprocated, and it feels like a massive weight has just been lifted off your chest.

The grin that spreads across your face is impossible to hide, even when you try and turn away; he pulls you back to him, reciprocating with a smile of his own.

And then, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers, he kisses you again—like he just won his greatest victory.

Taglist: @sky-casino, @bbladie, @thetwinkims, @inu1gf (join my taglist here)

©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . EASILY CONVINCED.

₊˚⊹ ♡ . RED K!CLARK X READER

₊˚⊹ ♡ . you want to leave him, but there's one thing keeping you there

₊˚⊹ ♡ . MDNI 18+ | word count — 2.8k | warnings — established toxic relationship, Clark does not care about your feelings at any point at all, manipulation, crying, oral (m. recieving), finger sucking, unprotected p in v, name-calling, hair-pulling

When Clark strolled into your shared Metropolis apartment, it was already after dark. The moonlight streaming in through the window glinted off the smooth marble countertop and illuminated you, already waiting in the shared kitchen for him to arrive home. Your arms were folded over your chest, eyebrows furrowed lightly. You were finally going to have the conversation you’d been needing to have with him for the past few months.

You thought if you came to Metropolis with him, stayed by his side rather than letting him run off on his own, things would get better. That isolation wouldn’t be good for him, and your presence would sway him to take off the ring and return to Smallville. It hadn’t. Sometimes it seemed like it worsened with the passing days—the going out and staying out for hours, sometimes overnight, being mouthy and rude, or just downright insulting. And you saw the way he looked at women passing on the street sometimes. It felt like being stabbed, though you’d given up on reprimanding him a while back. Now, though?

You’d come to the long overdue conclusion that this simply wasn’t the same Clark anymore, wasn’t your Clark. He wasn’t the guy that insisted on fixing your car when it made him late for school that day, or the guy that practically ran to your parents’ house to fix their fence when it broke, or the guy that kissed you like your face was something precious between his hands and fucked you like you actually meant something to him.

As Clark closed the front door behind him, your eyes caught on the obnoxiously large crimson ring still nestled on his giant hand. That old Clark was gone. Maybe one day he’d come back on his own, but for now? You wanted to go home. You wanted your life back.

You cleared your throat, and Clark raised his eyebrows as he regarded you standing there, waiting for him. “It’s late.”

He gives a halfway nod, lips quirking up into a smile, “It gets busier the later it gets. I should’ve stayed, really.”

By it he means that stupid club on the corner downtown. All pulsing blue lights and girls in the tiniest skirts you’ve ever seen. You’ve always tried to push its very existence out of your brain, and an involuntary shiver wracks your arms as you’re afflicted by thoughts of what he gets up to there.

“Well, I ate already.” Your arms tightened around you, silently cursing yourself for always fumbling when it came to things like this.

Clark hums in response, barely paying attention as he tugs his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the chair. His keys clatter against the counter with a metallic clang, and he’s visibly already thinking about something else entirely.

You take a deep breath, “I wanna talk to you.”

“Y'are talking to me. Right now.” He flashes his pearly teeth, the little points peeking over his perfect bottom lip.

You shake your head, your eyes flicking away from him and instead focusing on the wall, or maybe the fridge. That was always how he got you—it was the same smile, the same twinkle in those blue eyes. It took all your willpower to stay grounded and remind yourself that no matter how bad you wished he was, he wasn’t your Clark. Your resolve trembled every time you looked at him.

“No, I mean talk to you about us.”

He rolls his eyes, “Not this again.” There he was. Dismissive and careless, which was all he’d been the last few months when he wasn’t just being blatantly mean.

“Listen! Yes, this again, you never let me finish!”

“I let you finish plenty. Wasn’t it…three times, last weekend?” He wanders over to the fridge, tugging the door open placidly. He looks over to you for a few moments, only long enough to see the way your jaw tightens as your face warms despite yourself.

“That’s not—I was trying to—” You huff, throwing your hands half-heartedly in the air as you struggle to articulate yourself. Like you always did, which Clark knew. “You know what I meant.”

Just as the last word left your lips, he slammed the fridge door. So hard the wall behind it rattled. "Can't this wait til' after I get somethin' to eat? 'M starved after tonight." He huffed out a laugh cause he knew what he was doing, leaving your imagination to run wild about what he'd got up to.

Though your bottom lip quivered a little bit, you shook your head. "No, you're a selfish dick. If I waited for you to want to talk to me, I'd be waiting forever."

Clark was across the kitchen and in your personal space in less than half a second, making you gasp. You tried to back up as he towered over you, but you bumped into the corner—he had you caged up against it. You avoided his eyes, though you couldn't escape his smell with how close he was. Delicious despite his bad behavior—oak barrels and gentle shampoo and sunlight. Your head swam as you took it in, you couldn't fight it when he grabbed your face, forcing it upwards. He craned your neck back to look at him, and his gaze was amused, lips tilted slightly upwards.

"My dick is a lot of things. Selfish is not one. You'd know, huh? There's only one greedy bitch here."

You were shaking like a leaf, and the squeak you let out was pathetic. "You know how I feel about the b-word."

Clark laughed loudly. "How you feel, and how you feel," his tone of voice lilted suggestively as his hand dipped down to the front of your shorts. "Are two very different things."

He paused for a half second, so you'd have time to say no, but it was mocking—he knew you wouldn't stop him. That made the seconds that stretched between you taunting, a total mockery of what you'd been trying to do, the corpse of your dead resolve practically half-buried already as you stood with baited breath, waiting for him to slip his hand where you wanted it.

As his hand went between your thighs, he grinned. “You’re real predictable, y’know that?” His fingers slid through your folds easily from how drenched they were. When he pulled his fingers from your panties, a glistening strand of your arousal clung onto them, and he shoved it in your face. Raising his eyebrows, “and you keep trying to act like you want me to be different. Liar.”

Your lip quivered from the misconstrued truth in his words, the way he could always use that against you. It wasn’t your fucking fault your boyfriend’s voice got you all hot, he was literally the most perfect man in the world, even when he was like this—that didn’t mean you wanted him to stay this way. The late-night whispers between the two of you as you laid on his barn couch back in Smallville, about a house and a family, were more important to you than the sex you seemingly couldn’t stop having. But why couldn’t you stop having it?

Clark shoved his fingers in your mouth, making you clean your own wetness off of them, and he intentionally shoved them back far enough to make you gag lightly. You hated the disappointment that bloomed in your belly when you realized he wasn’t going to relieve you further with his hand, he was just making a point. Your eyes burned.

"You owe me! I was ready to have a perfectly nice night an' settle in—you're the one who had to start somethin'." He rolled his eyes. "You're always doing this, y'know. Not very fair to me, is it?"

Your eyes watered and, though you were fighting furiously to keep it in, a little sniffle escaped you. The sound made Clark's eyes snap to you, just in time to watch the first tear slip down your cheek. The grin that spread across his face was sickening.

"C'mon. On your knees."

You hesitated for a moment, just long enough to make him punctate it with, "now."

The last of your resolve was officially gone and buried as you sunk to your knees, which met the cold tile underneath you, and looked up at him. Clark raised his eyebrows, prompting you with a nod, and your fingers found his belt and began undoing it. You fumbled with it a little, hands shaky through your crying.

When you raised a hand to wipe the tears from your face, Clark swatted it away. “Makes it extra wet, y’know that.” He reasoned with a charming smile.

You ignored him and finally got his belt undone, and his cock sprung out of the confines of his boxers already stiff. That only rubbed it in more—every insult and mockery he threw your way only made him harder, and your tears were just the nail in the coffin.

No matter how upset you were, it was muscle memory to take him as far back into your throat as you could, though you struggled. You gagged around it, saliva bubbling from the corners of your mouth. He was right, and the longer you went, your tears from both Clark’s mocking and how harshly you were gagging mixed with your spit and left his cock slick, your mouth sliding around it too easily. Your hand wrapped around the base so you could cover more of it, and his head fell back a little as you twisted your fist around his shaft at the same time your tongue swirled over his tip. The sigh he let out was contented, and he ran his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck.

For a half second, you pretended it was Clark—your Clark. The guy who had held your hair back for you and rubbed your scalp soothingly when you had his dick in your mouth, doing his best to reward you for every good feeling you ‘gifted’ him, which was how he saw it.

The illusion was shattered when the fingers in your hair tightened sharply, making you yelp at the sudden pain. Clark groaned as your pained sounds vibrated around his cock, and he held your head in place as he started sliding in and out quicker, fucking your face at a more demanding pace than you’d been able to handle yourself. You gagged every time his tip hit the back of your throat, and Clark was letting the grunts and moans fall from his lips freely as you gagged, whined, and swallowed desperately around him.

“I like your mouth so much better when I do this. Not all that other shit.” He groaned. “Ah, fuck, ‘m gonna—”

Before he could finish his sentence, or cum down your throat, Clark was yanking you off of him by your hair. You let out a surprised yelp, but he was already snatching you up and tossing you over his shoulder like you were weightless. His shiny, throbbing cock still hung out of his blue jeans as he carried you to the back of the apartment and to your shared bedroom. He bumped your head on the doorframe as he brought you inside and ignored the noise you made, before tossing you down on the bed.

You sat there numbly, defeated, face streaked with tears and drool and precum, as Clark shrugged off his clothes and bared his inhumanly defined body to you. The moonlight coming in through the massive bedroom window—which wasn’t covered by the curtains, so you were sure some news helicopter would get a real eyeful of the habit Clark had developed to avoid a break-up—hit his chest in a way that made his tanned skin glow. Your mouth watered a little at the sight of him, something you’d truly never get used to, as if you needed more spit on your fucking face.

Clark wordlessly snapped his fingers at you as he knelt on the bed, and you moved obediently to hook your fingers in the waistband of your shorts and tug them and your panties down in one motion. Clark finished the job when he got impatient and made quick work of your thin sleep shirt, leaving it in two pieces by the foot of the bed.

He moved you like a doll, on all fours in front of him, fingers digging into your skin as he positioned you the way he wanted. The scream you let out when he sheathed inside you in one smooth motion—too big to fully bottom out, instead abusing your cervix immediately and giving you zero time to adjust—was muffled by his giant hand shoving your face into his pillow. That scent invaded your nose again, familiar and musky and clean, and you focused on it to distract yourself from the sting, gritting your teeth as you waited to adjust. Whines and yelps fell from your lips and were swallowed by the plush cotton, Clark still palming the back of your head to keep it there.

His pace was selfish and unforgiving, and though he was sliding in and out of you with no rhythm and no regard for how you felt, that didn’t stop the way your body began going limp, your pained squeaks turning into desperate moans and whimpers. “Nghh—ah, ah,” and you were sure Clark could hear it, no matter how drowned out it was by the wet, explicit skin-on-skin noises that filled the room.

He let your face up for a minute, and you gasped for breath.

“Feelin’ better now that you’re all full? Y’know—you’re always goin’ on and on—y’say you’re ‘not happy’” he did a high-pitched voice, mocking you, and you keened in response as he kept pumping inside of you, “I think what you mean to say is empty. Cause you’re all smiles when you're like this—real happy, right?”

Your only response was a low whine, and he smacked your ass hard. You jolted and yelped from the pain, but couldn’t move away from the second loud slap he landed against your cheek. He was holding you too tightly in place.

“Answer me.” Clark prompted, though his amused tone concealed an underlying threat as his hand still hovered over the globe of your ass, which was already blooming with red.

“Nngh—yes.” You cried out, but he clucked his tongue at you, ramming into you particularly hard to punctuate it. Your eyes rolled back.

“Yes what?”

“H-happy—‘m happy, thank you.” Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks from the way he was punishing your cunt.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “there ya go!” Though, of course, nothing nice. He never fucking said anything nice. Said you hadn’t earned it, no matter what you did.

“Aah, shit—” His hips stuttered a little bit, and he let out a breath through gritted teeth. You clenched around him harshly and he groaned in response, your own release was creeping up on you.

“I dunno if you—argh—deserve my cum. Not today. Y’just cause problems.”

The pleading whine you let out was high-pitched and pathetic, the pillow wet with your still-flowing tears and the idea of him pulling out right now was torturous to you. He could’ve threatened to kill you and it would’ve been a less horrific idea.

“Please… please, Clark, please.” You babbled like a broken record, borderline incoherent through the snot and tears and broken moans. He was drilling your pussy, which was still squeezing him like a vice, and he laughed at your begging.

“One day I’ll stop bein' so nice, y’know?” Was the last thing Clark said before he came inside of you with a low, delicious groan, hips slamming into yours harshly as he fucked you through his orgasm. Your whole body shook with the force of it, limp and spasming, though he held you up easily. Your own release washed over you, and you finally let out a desperate, ecstatic cry as you were rewarded with the white-hot pleasure. The two of you were one, actually together for a few moments as you both reveled in the pleasure, something you didn't get from him anymore. Something you desperately missed, and your face screwed up at the familiar feeling.

It was over as quickly as it happened.

After Clark pulled out, he had the decency to arrange your limbs into some semblance of a laying position for you, since you were far too gone to do it. Your whole body felt like syrup. He laid your head on your own pillow, which made you miss the familiar smell of his, and tugged the covers over you. You didn't think you could speak if you wanted to, or remember your own name—or think of anything but him.

Clark rolled back over, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He was perfectly composed, though your chest still heaved as you tried to catch your breath. Shakily, you took a few slow, deep ones. There was a fuzzy warmth tugging at the edges of your brain and your chest. Like there always was after he was done with you.

“I love you.” You mumbled as your eyes drifted shut.

Clark’s answer was matter-of-fact, so close to being neutral if it wasn’t for the smugness that crept in.

“I know.”

[biancadoes1]

If this is how Luke treats his girlfriend, they why do we want him for Nic? Our queen deserves better!

We saw the love and respect that they have for each other, but her 'just' friend interview followed by the Boss event debacle seems very strange, not on his grid and nothing from her?

He said in one of the BTS 'Im an actor, that's what I do', well if he is more interested in having countless holidays, parading arm candy, and seeking modelling rather than acting jobs, then Nic is doing the right thing by being a friend and 'just' that. Narrow escape if you ask me.

Let me rip you a new asshole, anon.

First off, grown woman Nicola Coughlan is going to decide what’s best for her and what she deserves. She’s her own person. We can want things for her, sure, but ultimately it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme.

Also, what does the just friend interview and the Boss event do to make you question or even link their mutual love and respect they have for each other? No matter what you believe is happening here, the love and respect we had the opportunity to see between them hasn’t changed. This tells me you think Luke is picking at her or some shit which is stupid af.

And thank you for showing your hurt feelings by reducing Luke to a vapid asshole frat boy that he’s been characterized as heavily since June. I thought it had lightened up a bit after his People SMA spread and interview but here we fucking go again.

Answer me this:

1. How many holidays equals countless? Because we saw maybe two or three trips after he worked and traveled and did press for six months? And if he took more, how do we know that wasn’t for work? You don’t.

2. Parading arm candy? When have you seen arm candy paraded? Antonia at GQ? Work event. Rory’s bday? A friend trip. Is she on his IG stories? Is she on his grid? Seems like he’s never planned to post her. I don’t call that parading either when he’s unknowingly part of a picture posted by friends.

3. Modeling jobs? People SMA is always a photo shoot. Are you referring to that or those pap pictures (that I believe were planned)? Are you forgetting he was filming a movie in Rome around Christmas time? So wtf are you talking about no acting jobs???

You sound like a hurt bitch. I can’t stand hurt bitches too because they like to come up and start saying shit like this when their own insecurities feel like they’re taking a hit.

And because you’re a hurt bitch all the sudden Nicola has made a ‘narrow escape’. Meanwhile your ass was probably up in the notes rooting him on when he was quiet everywhere.

Stop projecting yourself on to this woman. It’s not cute and you look weird.

[deathofacupid]

you can't remember your last kiss with nanami kento. no matter how much you try, you just can't.

was it this morning? when he woke you up, newborn daughter in-hand? no, that couldn't have been it. because, after, he kissed you again, chaste, as he moved past you to get to the dishwasher.

and then again, when he set your breakfast on the table. another time after, too. when he settled on the couch with you and his baby girl.

but was that the last one? or, was there more after?

you can't remember. in your defense, you didn't have a reason to keep track. there shouldn't have been. the second you told him you were pregnant, he dropped the world of jujutsu. it was over, or it should have been.

speaking of, your pregnancy, it wasn't ever anything you really wanted. it was something he did. kids. it was his dream, you're pretty sure, the whole white-picket-fence fantasy.

and you? you didn't care, not much. as long as you had nanami, you were okay with anything. besides, he'd been so happy when you broke the news. it's not like you guys had been actively trying, which is why you were surprised to see his reaction.

but again, for him, you'd do anything. what did it matter, anyways? it was just a kid, right? and he'd be there every step of the way, right?

wrong.

it was another sunday, the three of you had been snuggled up in bed, just when he got the call.

"they want me to come in," he explained, softly.

"what?" you knew the answer.

"i won't go if you don't want me to. but, darling, i doubt they'd have called me in, if it hadn't been urgent."

you inhaled, watching him gently rock his daughter in his arms. "does- does that mean it's bad, then?"

"well, i'm sure it's nothing i can't handle," he informed you, paired with a soft smile.

"i don't know, na'mi. you said you weren't gonna go back." there was hesitance in your voice, one that trembled.

"honey, that's why i said it's up to you, okay?" nanami pressed his lips to your forehead.

if people really needed him, who were you to not let him go? what were you supposed to do? say no, let those people die? after all, you had a guilty conscience. slowly, you nodded, looking up to meet his gaze.

so, as you stood there at the door, watching him kiss his baby what should've been a temporary goodbye.

you can't remember if he kissed you goodbye, too. he probably did, but you can't remember.

"promise you'll come back to me?" you'd buried your face into the crook of his neck.

"of course, baby. i promise."

fucking liar.

oh, god, and when they told you there wasn't even a body to recover?

too much. all too much.

you think that you would've followed him, had there not have been his baby stopping you.

kiss, kiss, kiss; why can't you remember? why?

the cries of his baby, the baby that yearns for her father, they are etched into your head. you can't get her to stop. you don't blame her. you can't stop, either.

you aren't her mother. she isn't your daughter.

she's nanami's, but he's gone.

the only thing he left you with is a child you never wanted, a living, breathing reminder of his absence, of his broken promise, of the kiss you can't remember - the kiss that might as well have never happened.

[breadvidence]

Why each Jean Valjean can't fuck. And yet...

The Brick: The first time you come on to the man, he smiles. The next time, he gives you money (hey, you're not too proud). Then? He ghosts you. So much for physical prowess; the two of you never made it to first base. Whether out of choice, trauma, or authorial fetish, the man's a committed virgin. And yet... you have to admit, the sweet memories of how those muscles looked during the whole cart debacle have done more for your alone-time than some in-person performances.

'34: The strength, the money, the air of dignity—he's got the same appeal as the original, and if he embodies his sadness with the aesthetic of a melting candle, well, that's a phallic-adjacent image, ain't it? Awful shame he's just as caught up in his penance and his duty, too. With a sorrowful (if somewhat aggrieved) shrug, he's off to the sewers, and that's not any kind of euphemism. And yet... you've seen how he can balance a guy on his back and not bat an eyelash. A person has got to wonder about natural talent.

'35: You think you can get between him and that young woman he raised, do you? And yet... if you did, that's a lot of built-up frustration, isn't it? And he's mediocre handsome; maybe it's all a matter of how lonely the night is.

'48: You hear he's into this identity play, right? Well, you appreciate a man who can play a role. From all you've heard, it'll be as explosive as an inexplicable outbreak of violence in a foundry. He takes out a cane—hell, yeah. Then a pair of sunglasses—well, maybe—no—is he pretending to be blind?—is this ableist—?—you're pretty sure—good grief, this hasn't gone in a direction you expected. And yet... you know he got another guy to enter a hole despite there being zero sense to the thing; maybe the same will happen to you.

'52: There are men who could fuck if they could learn to appreciate what they've got, and this one can't; multiple boyfriends in the wings and what's he got eyes on? That young woman he raised. And yet... something makes Robert come home every night, doesn't it?

'58: What's he look like? what's he say, or do? You can't quite remember. You keep forgetting to add him to your body count. And yet... you can't actually say he can't fuck, with the memory so vague.

'67: This fuckin' party time rolls down the tracks until it drinks too heavy and falls right off. You can't even call it bad so much as absurd, but you can only go so far off-script before it's certainly not good. And yet... how many friends have you told about it, eh?

'72: Fucking a glacier would be a less chilly experience. And yet... he'll give you the silent disappointed daddy look the whole time, if that's your kind of thing.

'78: This fella's wearing a promise ring for someone else. Or, a sacred vow ring? In any case, he's pretty sure all that sweating and grimacing would be bad for his skin. And yet... there's a clueless virgin trope in a certain kind of fiction for a reason, right?

'98: His belief in worker ownership of the means of production and strong ACAB stance might get you in the mood, but this Valjean hasn't gotten to the point in his politics where he's unpacked the impact of heterosexism on his ability to express vulnerability, by which I mean he's absolutely not going down on you. And yet... he survives the story and still has time to learn and grow, and it's hard to beat a sugar daddy who hands out company shares.

'00: No. And yet... no.

'07: The impediment of being a cartoon aside, makes it real hard to be skilled when his mustache mostly stands in for his mouth. And yet... the potential of cartoon physics, am I right?

'12: With that little fluid in his body the only flag this babe's raising is at low tide in a dry-dock. And yet... your nostalgia does a lot to shine a positive light on the performance he can muster.

'18: I've seen what it looks like when he roars into a mattress and can tell you not to bother; nobody's that frustrated who's been having a good time, and he'll pass the energy along. And yet... maybe I would have a different opinion if I'd been viewing him from behind?

[bwat5-blog]

Continuing The Cycle

**Spoilers For Arcane**

Let me say to begin with, that nothing in this post is to downplay or brush off Piltover's oppression of Zaun. There will be some who read that and still scream at me, that's okay. I just want to be clear.

Many people on here more insightful and intelligent than I have spoken on this already, but it has been sticking with me lately so I wanted to get my thoughts out.

I have been quite free with dismantling some of the inane attempts at criticism of Arcane in this space. But, I promise I do actually understand everyone is entitled to their opinion. After all, how we connect with and understand art on an individual level is one of the things that make it so special. I have never, and will never come for someone who is simply stating their honest opinion based on the actual content in a respectful manner.

Where my issues come in, have to do with these wide-spread critiques/takes/stances that so directly undermine the meaning of the narrative they are best ignorant and at worst malicious. And more often than not rely on omission of details that negates their stance, or fabrication of details to support them. To that end, what I am discussing today is the black and white thinking that has permeated the fandom, poisoning understanding and appreciation of all corners of that narrative.

LET'S JUST GET IT OUT OF THE WAY:

*Before we get into the Arcane content, we need to discuss where a lot of this is coming from. I am just gonna get this out here right now, and there are some people who are gonna keel over reading it but if you are one of those folks I might as well not waste your time*

Arcane is not the Israeli–Palestinian conflict.

It could not be more clear that this is where a lot of this is coming from. Let me be explicitly clear, this is NOT a deep-dive or analysis of this conflict. This thing is immensely complicated . If you comment here with a "IT IS NOT COMPLICATED ITS" sort of comment I'm sorry to tell you but you are wrong. The modern phase of this has origins as far back as the late nineteenth century and there is more going back even further. I don't care if its a straight fucking line. Something going back that far has more to it than the average nerd like me is qualified to speak on. Now, that being said, I do understand to a degree why this is happening. Not like this conflict has ever really been settled but in the last few years especially things have really been active and generating a degree of media content I don't remember seeing this level of in my short 32 years. So in a world where everyone (myself included) is so plugged in and enveloped by social media, a lot of us are getting a more direct look at this than we really ever have. And we analyze and connect with art through the lens of the world around us to a point. But we CANNOT do so exclusively. Trying to force a narrative into a one-to-one comparison robs it of a tremendous amount of meaning. Because no matter how complex and intricate this story actually can be. IT IS NOT REALITY. I'm not getting into it here, that would be pages and pages of writing and I'm here to talk about Arcane. But I'm going to say this because it applies to real life and the show both and will take us into my actual point today.

The idea that anyone on one side must always be good and justified simply because they are the oppressed, while the other must always be evil, is juvenile, naïve, and fails to grasp even a fraction of the complexity of human nature

Some of you are going to have an absolute seizure reading me say that that statement applies to real life as well. I don't care. It takes time, maturity, and meeting people from all walks of life to understand things are not so simple.

BACK TO ARCANE:

But, that being said time to get back to business. How does this all apply to Arcane?

"The show should have ended with a civil war between Zaun and Piltover!"

"When Zaun arrived during the last battle Jinx should have unloaded on the Enforcers and the Noxians both!"

"They ruined Jinx's character! WTF do you mean she apologized for killing Caitlyn's mother? Her mom was part of the oppressive system that ruined Jinx's life and brought it on herself!"

"Silco did bad things but it was all to gain power to protect Zaun!"

"Poor little rich girl lost her mom and acts like it's a reason to punish an entire city with warcrimes. The people of Zaun have been suffering worse for their entire history"

"Rebel Vi I miss you! How dare they make you care about people in Piltover!"

"The coward show runners made Zaunites into boot-lickers fighting for Piltover wearing Enforcer armor at the end!"

You get the idea. I have seen variations of these and many more time and time again. Zaun should have let Piltover fall or even attacked themselves. Caitlyn deserved everything done to her because she's of the Piltovan elite. Every terrible thing Jinx or Silco did was totally and completely justified because of Piltovan oppression.

Now there are many angles I could come at this from. My usual one is simply addressing the astounding lack of logic in most of these sorts of arguments. For example, I can rope all of the people saying Zaun should have let Piltover fall into one category. People who forgot about this guy:

Like he was just gonna "evolve" Piltover than call it a day and zoot off into space with his new buddies. Obviously not and the idea that he wouldn't immediately take Zaun as well then keep moving is completely laughable. But this sort of thing isn't my issue today. My issue is that those so zealously insisting the the show should have continued on a path of hate, death and destruction are completely missing the point.

I titled this continuing the cycle for a reason. So much of this show, revolves around this concept of the cycle of violence. Those who keep it going, those who suffer from it, and those who break it. And the issue I'm finding is that a tremendous amount of people have seemingly decided that anything people from Zaun do is justified, and anything people from Piltover do is not. When in fact, where they are born is irrelevant in this context. Because each and everyone of them has the choice to further the cycle, or to walk away.

Silco & Vander:

Vander continued the cycle when instead of forgiving Silco for his part (whatever it may have been, we never really get the whole story) in Felicia's death he tried to kill him. And Silco did the same when he took his revenge instead of walking away ending not only the life of the man who wronged him, but causing the deaths of two teenage boys, trying to have Vi killed and causing her imprisonment altering her life forever, and taking Powder as his own after obliterating her second family altering her life and the lives of all those she would hurt through her actions as well.

Caitlyn:

In Caitlyn we see all three. She was an admittedly naïve but well-meaning young woman who was victimized terribly by cycle of violence around all for thinking she could help. We then watch her heart-breaking transformation into being a part of it allowing her hate and pain to warp her into someone dark and vengeful. Then finally we see her laying down the hate for her mothers killer in favor of her love for the woman who means everything to her. Stepping outside of it and turning her back on that violence.

There are of course other examples. Jinx walking away, Ambessa choosing to continue the bloodshed even with her last child begging her to stop. the list goes on. My point in discussing this is that it doesn't matter where they come from. Characters from all over this story play a part both good and bad in the events that occur. And to properly appreciate and understand this tale and what it is saying we MUST recognize that.

Yes Silco was a Zaunite. No Silco was not justified in unleashing Shimmer on his own people. He was a revolutionary once, but he lost his way. In the end he died a violent drug lord who exploited his people for his own gain. He was not a hero.

Yes Jinx is a Zaunite. No, Jinx attacking the council was not a noble strike for her people against oppression. She was a terrified, mentally ill, grieving and angry young woman who lashed out in a moment of awful pain. And in doing guaranteed Piltovan oppression against her people. .

Yes, Heimerdinger was the father of Piltover and his neglect caused terrible problems for everyone. He also gave his life for a Zaunite rebel commander to help get him home. (I understand in the lore he's probably alive but we haven't seen that yet and they have for sure diverged so it isn't a guarantee)

Yes, Caitlyn Kiramman is the daughter of one of the high houses of Piltover, and played a part of the people of Zaun suffering under Ambessa's manipulations and cruelty. She also gave the leader of the Firelights the gemstone she was so determined to return, stood side-by-side with Vi and told the council to their faces they failed Zaun, and put her own body on the line to make things right against Ambessa.

And that isn't to say that any of those characters were all good or all bad. It's to say that they all are capable of both. Just like every character. To slap a Zaun sticker on Silco and a Piltover (or cop as so many of you are fond of) sticker on Caitlyn and give them a pass or not for everything they do based on that is simplistic and ignorant. These characters have so much to them that to reduce them to these easily digestible bite-sized pieces is to deprive yourself of that true weight of this story.

All that said, lets take another look at a few items from that list from earlier:

"The show should have ended with a civil war between Zaun and Piltover!"// At the moment where all of humanity was at stake, people came together and fought side by side to quite literally save the world

"They ruined Jinx's character! WTF do you mean she apologized for killing Caitlyn's mother? Her mom was part of the oppressive system that ruined Jinx's life and brought it on herself!"// In a moment of pain and clarity Jinx found herself speaking to someone she realized she horribly wronged. Someone who had been twisted into something dark and violent by pain and grief, a feeling Jinx knew all too well. So she said the most she could, it isn't a direct apology. But her remorse is clear. "

"When Zaun arrived during the last battle Jinx should have unloaded on the Enforcers and the Noxians both!"// Jinx went from someone hated and feared, who felt like she had nothing to offer anyone, who felt like she had failed or killed everyone who loved her, to riding into battle leading her people and bearing symbols of her loved ones into the war for all mankind. And although I and most agree she's alive, the last act we know she for sure that she took was to save the life of the older sister who loved her so much in her most dire moment. If she did die, Jinx died a hero.

CLOSING WORDS:

Arcane is many things. But it's humanity is its heart. I've said it many times and many ways, but good stories... in this case great stories matter. They stick with us. Because long after the giant battles, the wolf monsters, and shiny blue magic rocks have faded, its the humanity you remember. The sisters fighting desperately to hold on to each-other in a world determined to rip them apart. The lovers from different worlds finding hope in each-others arms. Brothers betraying one another, a daughter having to take her mothers life, the list goes on. But when we rob these characters and this story of all of that, when the flash is gone, what's left?

I haven't done a long one in a bit and I feel like this is a bit rambling so I apologize. To those who take time out of their day to read anything I have to say I appreciate you more than you know. Feel free to share your thoughts! I love discussing this show. And in closing will leave you with one of my favorite quotes.

“It's like the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad has happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer. I know now folks in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something. That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for"

- JRR Tolkien

[hitlikehammers]

astral cartography✨💫

“And I did always say, right, that tattoos are a map of what you love.” Steve kisses Eddie firm, not least in appreciation for shutting Dustin’s harebrained bullshit down. But that doesn’t solve his original mystery.  “These aren’t a map, though,” Steve taps one of the new spots, smaller but still at the neck. No rhyme or reason to it.  “They’re the start of one.”💖

rating: t ♥️ cw: post-S4, extensive tattoo/birthmark/scar appreciation, established relationship, romantic gestures, a soupçon of angst surrounding some necessary work on self talk/body positivity re: extensive canonical scarring (it’s hurt/comfort in full service of fluff, so), little ✨sprinkling (lol) of humor, softness ♥️ tags: boys being tactile as shit, steve harrington being the canonical reason anyone ever called them ‘beauty marks’, eddie munson’s philosophy of tattooing, falling deeper in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: "if there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'll love your face no matter what it looks like. because it's yours.” —Stephen King, 11/22/63

For all the attention he has wilfully, consciously, and very intentionally given certain elements of his appearance, Steve’s never though anything really about the fact that he’s got enough moles to dress up for Halloween as a fucking chocolate chip cookie.

Like, they don’t bother him at all or anything, but he’s never really understood how a handful of people he’s been with have just…zeroed in on them. Got a little crazy about them. Tracing them. Licking them. Nipping at them so they look more red than brown for a day or two. Whatever, Steve’s always figured. Everyone’s got their thing, and this one costs steve absolutely nothing to indulge, and if there’s one thing Steve prides himself on that doesn’t rhyme with ‘hair’? It’s making sure his partners leave satisfied.

But then there was Eddie.

And Eddie has a…well, a umm…

If you looked up the word ‘fixation’ in the dictionary, Eddie definitely has that.

Probably looking up the word ‘fetish’ might not be too far off, either.

What it means that Steve gets a little hot under the collar of his polo when he so much as thinks about either of those facts is a word he doesn’t know and isn’t going to bother looking up because why the hell would he, when he can just turn to Eddie, and…

Eddie’s fetish-fixations aren’t idle things, guy’s a man of action. Steve’s not gonna pick a book over what he gets out of the bargain like…for anything.

Plus, better stated—now there is Eddie. And Eddie…isn’t going anywhere, ever, if Steve has anything to say about it.

And it doesn’t cost Steve anything to lie there under his boyfriend’s unwavering, devoted attention. Kind of actually the sort of thing Steve never had before this, before him, and got addicted to quick—and that shone hasn’t worn off one bit. Isn’t actually showing any indication of everwearing off.

And when attention grows more heated, grows more more, well, then…fuck.

Ha, ha, that’s: fuck. Literally.

Point is, Steve doesn’t even really notice all the little dots on his skin, but hell if he’s not reaping the benefits.

——

It’s also not really fair to even consider judging Eddie for his fixation with Steve’s collection of birthmarks. Because Steve’s got his own not-quite-but-close-enough-the-distinction-doesn’t-matter obsession with Eddie’s skin.

Notably, but not exclusively, with his tattoos.

And more than that? With his scars.

Which is something that kinda comes about…tumultuously. Steve can acknowledge that.

“It’s too fucking hot, dude,” he’d frowned, rolling over and plucking at Eddie’s soaked-through shirt; “and you’re sweating buckets here.”

Seriously. The mattress was gonna get ruined at this rate.

“Jeez,” Eddie had snapped, straight off the bat; “sosorry we don’t all have central goddamn air.”

Which: the government hadn’t sprung for that, no. But:

“Don’t try and pull that shit on me,” Steve bit back, plain and simple, and it cowed Eddie the way it sure as hell should: he knew better. He knew Stevebetter, by now. They’d been fucking for months, since Eddie got the medical okay. They rarely spent more than a work-shift’s length out of each other’s sight. They were both—for the first time Steve’s ever got to feel it, both of them, together—clear-eyed on the way to bonafide bone-deep love; saying it out loud for keeps, and soon. They slept together every goddamn night.

So yeah. Eddie knew better.

He curled farther from Steve, into himself, but Steve just followed, even if doing so kinda exacerbated his complaint about the heat as a matter of course. He molded himself around Eddie and pulled him into his chest so he could murmur into the wet curls plastered at his ear:

“I get if you don’t want anyone else to see,” because wearing a shirt in this fucking heatwave really only made sense for one reason; “I get if you’re not ready yet, or if you’re never ready,” and Steve meant that: if Eddie was never ready to show off the worst of his scars? Steve would stand by him every day for the rest of his days.

That was basically the rule for…most things, now. With Eddie.

“But I already saw all of it, babe,” Steve tried to reason, because it wasn’t even that Steve was uncomfortable, mostly-nude in the bed himself; it was that Eddie’s misery hurt in his chest and he just…maybe it was selfish, to want to cast it out, but he just didn’t want Eddie to suffer. Ever.

“I cleaned them at their worst, y’know? I changed the bandages, I saw—”

“How much they look like Frankenstein’s fucking monster?” Eddie’d halfway snarled it, and Jesus fuck, no.

No.

“How much they almost make me fucking start crying,” Steve was willing to admit it, out loud, for this specific purpose alone, which said a whole fuck of a lot—

“Because they’re goddamn hideous—” Eddie tried to derail him but that wasn’t happening. Steve was on a mission, here. And Steve didn’t commit if he wasn’t gonna see something through past the finish line, and in first.

“Because they’re so alive,” Steve pulled Eddie in tighter, pressed his lips into Eddie’s neck.

“You have them, and you’re warm here next to me, I get to hold you in my arms like this and your fucking heart’s still beating, when I was so goddamn scared it would stop because of how torn up all this was,” and Steve laid just his palm blind to the deepest cratering of flesh that’s concave to the bone a little, knew where it was by muscle memory alone and he could feel Eddie’s pulse hammering for the fear and the shame and what had sounded too much like self-loathing, that Steve hadn’t realized was still so strong: but now he knew it. Now he knew, and he’ll wasn’t going anywhere, so he was gonna be right there, watching and helping and coaxing a way through it however he could.

“But it’s fucking beautiful, and it’s not red and torn open and bleeding out to take you from me anymore,” and Steve didn’t even think to feel ashamed of it when his voice cracked around how he didn’t realize that sore spot was still so close to the surface in himself.

“But now it’s pink and healthy and it stretches when you breathe in, because you’re here and you’re alive,” and there came the crack again in Steve’s voice but he expected it that time, and smashed his lips to Eddie’s neck again as he moaned a little:

“With me.”

And he breathed there as long as it took for Eddie’s breathing under his hand at the scars in his side to even out, and he just…appreciated them. Because they’d done the unthinkable; doctors and surgeons and modern medicine, sure, yeah, them too, but Eddie’s own body—the very skin under Steve’s hands—had decided to say fuck the reaper and knitted itself together the best it could, and the best it could had led them both here, had led Steve in Eddie’s bed, and Eddie in Steve’s heart, so.

Steve thought every single one of those scars was goddamn magnificent. He’d praise each of them in gratitude, separately and painstakingly every goddamn day, if he thought it’d convey how thankful he was for the textured artwork of Eddie’s left ribs, the way his whole side stood like a permanent installation in celebration of what it meant to demand to survive.

“They’re so,” Eddie eventually whispered, and it sounded already like he was gonna say something kinda like the opposite of everything Steve saw, so—they’d deal with those mean thoughts later.

For the moment though:

“You know how you said you’d never seen the ocean?” Steve had said, knowing it would sound like it came out of nowhere, but it wasn’t. “And I promised I’d take you?”

Eddie’d just turned, stared at him like he was losing it which…was fair. But Steve had a point to it, promise.

“I’ve seen it though,” Steve had closed his eyes and the memories are hazy because they’re so old but the feeling of it: s’not something you ever forget all the way. “Couple times, just because my parents had to be somewhere and I was too young to leave alone when the babysitter cancelled last minute,” and he’d reached out slow, opened his eyes to watch Eddie every millimeter his hand moved closer to the collage of divots and skin grafting and stitched-together planes that pulled too far to lie even when the staples came out. Eddie tensed, held his breath—it wasn’t that Steve hadn’t touched him here, far from it, but so intentionally, so eyes-open—but he didn’t flinch. And he didn’t stop Steve’s hand from pressing down.

His breath did catch, but so did Steve’s, just for clearly different reasons as Steve delicately traced the scalloped edgings and whispered, didn’t even try to hide how it made him feel kinda-sorta awed:

“It reminds me of the tides.”

“The sand goes smooth under the waves,” Eddie shot back, but without heat, more just…defeated as he muttered on; “even I’ve seen fuckin’ movies.”

“But the foam, like, of the waves coming up,” Steve pushed back; “it’s so pretty, that’s the part I want your to see most because it was so long ago, and that’s what I still remember,” and he’d sighed a little, going back to that place in his head:

“It’s like layers, and all the motion of it lapping up the coastline feels like like you could just lose yourself in the rhythm forever and never climb out,” and he’d let his eyes open slow, and he’d caught Eddie’s own and let himself do the same inside that gaze until Eddie got the fucking hint:

He was just ad beautiful, as impossible, as incredible as those tides.

“One wave after the next, in turns, crashing so strong but it’s not, like, violent,” Steve had let his thumb trace the raised lines under his touch back and forth; “it’s magic.”

Like Eddie. Who tucked a little further into himself before he turned, jostled Steve’s hand then burrowed into Steve instead:

“It’s not even smooth,” he protested all muffled; “you can’t even—”

“My nan loved photos.”

Again, Steve was pretty sure he sounded insane. But again, he was building to a point.

“Not even ones she took, most came from magazines. She couldn’t travel like she wanted to, my Gramp was building businesses but my Nan wanted like, adventures and the sights. So she made scrapbooks of wishes, she called them,” Steve had smiled at the memory, until the next one washed it away:

“My dad thought she was a silly old woman. We didn’t see her too much, in the end.”

Steve missed her.

“But the most beautiful thing she showed me once was this one tiny island somewhere way far in the north, where the beaches were made of stones.”

Eddie’s turned a little, frowned. It gave Steve access to his side again, though, and that’s all he needed, but his hand right back on that tangled-perfect marvel of scar tissue and indomitable life.

“Not pebbles, but big stones,” and Steve had outlined the larger waves in the flesh like examples with his hands as he spoke. “No rhyme or reason. It was special, the place itself, like it had some historic significance or whatever, but,” and Steve had let himself work around one knot of tissue he knew caused pulling sometimes, just in case it could use a little loosening, a little extra love, and he’d fought a full grin when Eddie’d grunted and caved under the attention, eager for the relief.

“The picture she had was of the waves crashing over the ricks and,” Steve had worked more at the knot as he searched for the right words;

“It was like the could have been at odds, like fighting each other, but instead they were this marvel that people came from across the world to just,” and he didn’t still his hands at all, but he did lean in to kiss behind Eddie’s ear; “just to have the privilege to see.”

And Eddie had shuddered, and his breath had caught hard, and Steve had turned him in his arms and slipped his hands under that sweat-soaked shirt and held held, held him, held him.

“Nothing smooth about it, really,” Steve had mouthed against Eddie’s jawbone then; “think that was most of the point.”

And Eddie’d slept without a shirt the rest of the unbearable second summer, chest-to-chest so Steve could feel the scars straight to his own skin, and from there on, it was understood.

Maybe not for everyone, but definitely for Steve: they were maybe not quite welcome—yet—but definitely allowed to be worshipped for the proof of life, the gift of love that they fucking were.

——

The tattoos aren’t quite the same. Steve thinks that’s because they were something Eddie chose; the scars interfered, deformed—weren’t the marks in themselves.

But after getting the memo about how complicated the scars are, and knowing these marks are no longer unentangled with those ones?

Steve may be oblivious sometimes, but. Once he learns a thing—especially when it’s tied up with loving—he tends to remember.

“Do you mind, when I,” Steve pulls his head up to meet Eddie’s eyes from where he’d already been basically sucking the ghoul head thingy above Eddie’s pec into a purple shade for like fifteen whole minutes, like a free color-job. Steve does like to think Eddie could have stopped him—and definitely wouldn’t be so hard between where they’re pressed together—if he had had a problem, but.

Steve…likes to be careful. When there’s loving.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Eddie fucking purrs, and Steve grins cheshire-sharp for it, pleased with himself. Hr actually kinda loves this particular tattoo especially; the scars that cut into it make it look like Mr. Zombie-face got into a nasty fight with Wolverine from X-Men—which yes, thank you Henderson, he already knew about before starting to screw your DM—but anyway.

“I just,” Steve traces one long scar of the three as he talks, tries not to grin too much when Eddie shivers, when his nipple proves it’s not too scarred-up to pebble under the attention fucking beautifully; “since you don’t want to get any more, and—”

“No, I don’t,” Eddie says simply, if a little breathy as he arches into how Steve does the same up what looks like the second claw mark, just a fingertip alone the line; “least not right now. But they’re still a map of the things with love, yeah? Present tense, past tense, it’s all a story.”

And that is…Eddie. That answer is so fucking Eddie.

And he’s worked so hard—both of them have—to say that kind of thing from a place where they could believe it, and damn if it doesn’t come out now like its said like a man who’s made his peace, and feels solid standing in it.

“And, like, maybe these are just ink from a really shitty apprentice artist,” Eddie taps at the weave of scars lower, the worst of them: his rocky beach on the waves, and fuck, if he’s willing to try even a kinda shitty joke about it all, in the privacy of their bed where there’s no need to fake it, or force it to make nice?

They really have made progress.

“Hmm,” Steve doesn’t take his hand from that second pseudo-claw mark but he does crawl down a little to get a better look at Eddie’s biggest set of scarring—not that he needs to, but if he’s gonna play alone he’s not gonna half-ass it, so he tuts a little and shakes his head regretfully:

“Honestly, I just don’t think the Upside Down has a real established scene to expect high standards,” Steve laments, shaking his head; “they can’t even keep the lights on down there, man, plus teeth for needles? Can’t be the best practice,” he sighs wearily. “Health code violations fucking everywhere, Robin would pass the fuck out—“

And maybe Eddie’s tackling him them, shaking with cackles as he takes the lead to pin Steve to the bed, sucks between the moles on his neck—perfect vampire bites, baby, marked just for me—and Steve maybe giggles for it, the impatience, the enthusiasm, the joy in the tussle. It’s basically perfect.

So yeah. Eddie’s as marked up as he’s probably gonna get, at least any time soon. Steve won’t let another round of violence touch him ever again, over his dead fucking body, and tats…maybe they’re gonna just stick with the story they’ve got on Eddie’s skin, close that chapter where it naturally turned a page.

To start this new thing, together. Where Steve leave the marks, and proudly, and touches them up as often as need be. With pleasure.

And if Eddie’s as happy about that as he currently looks, flushed and panting and far beyond ready to get on with more than sucking at skin?

Maybe that actually works out perfectly.

——

So, the point is, the love each others marks, the things that trace their skin to make them them, but blemishes but serial numbers: just more undeniable proof to celebrate the person they like most in the whole world.

Love most, as is becoming abundantly clear.

Which means they notice right away when so much as a bruise pops up from knocking into the kitchen table—but Steve’s not looking at a bruise.

He squints—this isn’t really a task he’d lean on his classes for but…so weird and also, odd fucking place underneath Eddie’s chin—

“Did your sharpie break?”

Because that would make sense. Eddie purrs on basically anything that can pass for a writing implement, if he gnawed to much, maybe he was lucky and the ink dribbled rather than sprayed.

“No,” but honestly, Steve is not convinced. It’s not a convincing denial, first off, but then on top of that, there’s more incriminating evidence:

“You’ve got marks, like, all over,” dark little speckles, like an egg at Easter before you dunk it in the bright vinegar water. It’s not sunny enough for his freckles to be coming out yet, is it?

“I do,” Eddie agrees, but kinda distant, like his head’s elsewhere. Steve looks up from where he’d become sprawled out over Eddie’s chest on the couch: he’s working on campaign notes and: oh look. Not a sharpie.

One of those Mr. Sketch monstrosities that smell like ‘fruit’ and everyone’s gotten high off of at some point, which 100% belonged to the school at some point, and 100% now has Steve’s boyfriend’s dental imprints on the end.

Steve just rolls his eyes and, which the colour still isn’t exactly—the speckles on Eddie’s skin really are a more chocolate brown—he’s gonna let this one go.

Maybe get up and make dinner or something, so he’s no stuck with that suffocating alcohol-licorice smell the black marker gives off.

——

“Are you sure you were using sharpie last week?”

Steve also means today. Or yesterday. Or right now. There are more…speckles.

He knows there are more of them.

“I didn’t use any sharpies last week,” Eddie shrugs, not looking up from his book but gesturing broad with his forkful of mac and cheese. “All mine are dried out and I keep forgetting to pick up new ones.”

Okay, well. That does track. He leans in closer, runs a finger over the first spot he noticed: same color, maybe a little less bold; the other ones look a little red around the edges, like when Steve’s moles get sucked at and—

“Look familiar?”

Steve turns, looks at Eddie who appears to have very quickly given up pretending not to care about the conversation. Steve blinks, looks a little closer, and…

That’s ink, alright. But it’s under the skin.

“I didn’t think you were gonna get any more,” Steve says, doesn’t expect his voice to be so soft. He doesn’t understand what they are, what they’re building up to be a part of but it looks like a big sort of project, and definitely in clearly visible places, so it feels worth some respect for the weight of the decision, what it means for Eddie who smiles small and nods; agrees simply:

“Me neither.”

“But, y’see, Henderson—”

“Ugh,” Steve groans because Dustin is, in fact, currently on his shit list. See previous ‘you only know that because you’re fucking my DM’ transgressions. Kid’s on thin fucking ice.

“No, no, it’s to a point,” Eddie soothes him, and it works, cause Eddie is always in his corner before anyone else’s, he killed Dustin’s character weeks ago and Steve still isn’t sure if Dustin’s stilll just watching when they get together, waiting to somehow find a narrative launch-point back into the action: “but he wants ink, which I told him, too fucking young,” and Eddie looks up to soak in the approval he knows is waiting for him in Steve’s eyes—he’s not wrong at all, and preens a little for it, too.

“But he was eyeing my bats, and he tried to say, well, what does it matter, they only meant something after,” and he gestures toward the bigger wound, the more unforgiving mark of bats opposite the still-fairly clean cookie-cutter type fliers on his arm.

“And that was just the dumbest attempt at an argument in his favor, because it not at all fucking true.”

For Steve’s part, it’s the one piece he’s never asked after. Too close to home. But he just figure…cool. Metal. Maybe about Ozzy.

“My mom used to read me nursery rhymes,” Eddie’s face goes so soft as his voice gets all fond, like it always does whenever Elizabeth Munson comes up. “Like, the old ones. And she did it way longer than probably most people, like, I was way too old for it but,” Eddie chews his lip and looks up at Steve like he’s confessing a secret:

“I just really loved it.”

Steve pushes and pulls Eddie a little until there’s the barest sliver of space at the back of the sofa for Steve to lie down in, wholly boxed in by Eddie’s weight, specially when Eddie rolls the priest bit into him to pin him close.

“My favorite one was about bats,” he whispers. “About hiding them from people who didn’t understand how nice they were, and how all they wanted as to do their thing, even if it wasn’t what everyone else liked, and be good for everybody by helping eat bad bugs or whatever,” he hums what Steve imagines is the rhyme; “so you put them under your hat, and give them bacon, and if they’re as good and as poorly treated for no good reason as you suspect is the case, you’ll bake them a cake. Because they deserve it.”

He doesn’t really have to say more for the connection to kinda stick out like a sore goddamn thumb.

“Couldn’t put it under my hat, but,” he ruffles his curls ruefully. “And I did always say, right, that tattoos are a map of what you love.”

Steve kisses Eddie firm, not least in appreciation for shutting Dustin’s harebrained bullshit down. But that doesn’t solve his original mystery.

“These aren’t a map, though,” Steve taps one of the new spots, smaller but still at the neck. No rhyme or reason to it.

“They’re the start of one.”

Steve frowns, so fucking confused, pulling back a little to try and see if he can read any answers from Eddie’s face.

But Eddie’s just smiling at him softer than he’d even been smiling before, thinking of nursery rhymes and the few good memories that came from the days before living with Wayne. He’s looking at Steve right now mostly like he hanged the moon itself.

“I’m gonna ask again,” Eddie breathes low, and grabs Steve’s cheek:

“Look familiar?”

And Steve, when it falls into place, doesn’t actually thing he should face any blame for not seeing it at first, or second, or even tenth glance. Because he’s never paid attention. Other people did.

But Eddie finally turns his neck and: vampire bites.

Marked just for me.

And then Steve starts touching each dot, and trying to find the sublest hint of a raise in the skin in the same place on himself. Every time, he finds it, some quicker with other slower, some needing him to look at the glass of the china cabinet behind the couch that’s never made sense there, but is reflective enough for the task and…they’re all there.

The marks aren’t…sharpie tips. They’re Steve’s, they, they’re all of Steve’s—-

“I love you something fucking fierce Steve Harrington,” Eddie bites out with what Steve gets the feeling is only a sampling of the very ferocity he’s speaking of; “and tolerating another second where I didn’t have you etched into my skin, the most important, most adored,” and Steve’s heart flips to hear it said so earnest, so felt full from Eddie’s heart:

“You not being on here was just fucking unacceptable.”

And goddamnit, Steve’s eyes are stinging. He, he’s…Eddie is…

“It’s like a star map,” Eddie murmurs, tracing the originals the way he often does, like connect-the-dots but reverent, always; “like how sailors navigated,” then he looks away, doesn’t move his hand but makes sure Steve meets his eyes:

“You’re my way home, because you are home.”

And yeah. No one could ever have expected him to hear those words and not let the waiting tears fall, okay? That’d be fucking insane.

His chest is so tight with so much right now, holy shit.

“All of it’s constellations made of you,” and he says that, too, has made up whole legends for the stars on Steve’s back; “so when I look at them, my heart’s always just that extra bit reminded where it’s meant to be, the direction it’s always gonna be headed, for forever.”

Steve’s breath catches loud and gaspy around a sob, and he’s not even speaking. What the fuck.

“Fuckin’ sap,” he says like it’s the highest honor he could give, and maybe here and now it is; “fuck, but love you,” and he draws Eddie in for a salty kiss that’s sloppy and heady and more heartfelt than Steve might just know how to stand.

When they finally part just for breath, Steve’s thumb is on one of the spots—on of the stars of the map.

“How,” he starts, because why, did he take a photo?

But Eddie just scoffs:

“Think I don’t know every inch of you by heart?”

And yes, of course that earns him Steve trying to suck his tongue from his mouth for the explicit purpose of his soul coming out easier for the way he kisses him deep as he knows how. And they do that, for a long fucking time because…

Steve’s kind of reeling. Steve’s never loved more in his life but then, but then—

No one has ever loved Steve even a fraction of this. Steve’s never had this, never known this. Steve…

Steve thought loving that big was his fucked up burden to bear, but now—

He’s not alone in how deep it rubs. How far he’ll go, and gladly.

What. The. Fuck.

Is this what a cheat is supposed to feel like, is this how normal people who love normal amount so that they get loved back the same got to feel all along?

Steve…almost doesn’t think so. Steve thinks this is what it feels like to love extravagantly and with more than your full self as a rule to the point of insanity for anyone on the outside looking it, and to fucking finally find your match for it.

And to know, then, that it was never crazy. It was only ever exactly right.

“Two more sessions, just for time,” Eddie nips at Steve’s lower lip, slick for spit and tears in equal measure.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve gales, grinning wide enough it hurts.

“Hey now,” Eddie nips a little harder, narrowing his brow playfully; “I got the little one under your balls and the sprinkle set on your taint this last time,” and Steve can’t help himself.

He bursts out laughing so hard his sides ache.

“Even I needed a breather, sitting on that to drive home!” Eddie protests as Steve straddles him fully, properly, and…

Gets ready to read some fucking maps.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here

[evervigilantnightshade]

The Line - Part 15

Reader and John have always straddled the line between playful flirting and taking things further. However when they are forced into a safe house and a secret comes out will they be able to save what they were heading for or is all lost.

Reader x John Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Original characters.

MDNI

Warnings: Violence, harm to reader, angst

MASTERLIST

The room was in chaos. Simon was scanning computers talking with Kate, getting frustrated with their lack of information. Kyle was looking at maps with Emma as they were analyzing flight paths and gas mileage for both big and small planes. Charlie was pacing while biting her nails. The small room was loud and yet all John could hear was the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears and he took a deep breath, attempting to calm the anxiety that was licking up his spine.

Ava walked in and called out to Simon. 

“He’s awake.” She nodded “I told him to stay put but.” 

Behind her Johnny pushed past her gently and staggered into the room. 

“What happened?” He asked, looking at the men. 

“They took Y/N.” Gaz told him and Johnny’s face fell. 

“How lang hae I bin out?” 

“Ten hours.” Simon snapped. 

“Ten hours?” Soap whispered and his knees started to give out but Charlie grabbed him and directed him to a chair. 

“Tell us what happened. Step by Step. Second by Second.” Simon demanded

“We wer, ah… we wer in ta forest. There wer two blokes and Y/N took em down.” Soap reached up and ran his hands over his face. 

“Come on Johnny, get it together.” Simon snapped

“I’m tryin. Fuck. Mae heads aye fuzzy. ”  

“Simon.” Ava said softly but firmly. 

“Sorry.” He ran his hands over his face and softened. “Sorry Johnny, continue.” 

“Thare was someone thare. We couldnae see them on thermals and Watcher couldn’t see them either. They were quiet, moved quickly. We dinnae see em coming. Then I was oott.”

“Konig?” Simon called out 

It was the first call Simon had made when they got back, despite protests from everyone. He knew that Kortac had been the ones to attack but no matter how much they didn’t think they could trust him Simon knew he loved Y/N and wouldn’t let anything happen to her. 

“Ja I know. Viper. She’s vast, stays in zee shadows, drugs her targets.” 

“Any way to get our hands on her?” John asked snapping out of his thoughts

“Leave zat to me and Keegan. We’ll get her.” 

As soon as Konig heard what was going on he dropped everything to help them find Y/N. Regardless that it was Kortac that had her, she was all that mattered. He called on Keegan to help knowing he would feel the same.  

“Boys, we ah… we have a video message that just came through. From Bako.” Kate’s sullen voice came from the computer. 

“Ava, Charlie, Ems out.” Simon said softly.

Ava and Emma headed to the door but Charlie stayed where she stood. 

“Charlie, you can’t.” Simon said gently. 

“Why not. She’s my sister. She’s my other half. Why the hell can’t I stay?” 

“You know why Charlie.” 

Tears filled her eyes and she stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

Simon and the others crowded around the screen watching intently. 

“Ok Kate.” John’s voice just over a whisper. 

The screen filled with Bako’s face. 

“Boys, nice to see you again. You’ve been such a pain in my ass for so long. Making me deviate from well established plans, losing me money, killing my men. Did you really think I would let you get away with that? I told you I knew your weaknesses, and as it turns out you all have the same one.” 

The camera turned to show Y/N strung up with chains in a dark room, a spotlight shining on her. Her clothes had been removed leaving her in her underwear and bra, showing the fresh cuts, bruises and blood that now covered her body. Her head was hanging and John felt his heart stop as he stared at the screen intently, looking for a sign of life.

Johnny’s legs gave out and he fell into the chair behind him. Kyle had to face away from the screen, not able to see the damage. Simon though was staring just as intently as John was except his hands were gripping the table so tightly his hands were white.

Bako walked up to her and grabbed her by her hair, lifting her head up to show a battered face. Her lip split, her nose bloody and both her eyes swollen. 

“Say hi to your friends love.” 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and she looked into the camera. She’s alive. The thought made a strangled gasp leave John’s throat.

“Fuck you.” She wheezed out and he punched her in the stomach. 

John wanted to crawl through the screen and beat the man to death. 

“What did I tell you about manners bitch? Here I am doing something nice for you, letting you say goodbye and this is how you repay me?” 

Another punch to the stomach made Y/N’s head fall forward again. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head up again.

“Now I’m giving you one last chance to say goodbye. Are you going to take it?” 

Y/N looked up at the ceiling and a tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to keep her resolve and not give Bako the satisfaction but if this was her last chance to say something to her family, both found and blood she wanted to take it. She thought of John and a small sob escaped her throat. 

“It was perfect. All of it.” She whispered.

Bako let go of her hair and her head fell forward. 

“Awe isn't that just so sweet. Well I have a lot of work to do now. So I’ll end it there but know boys if I ever see you again I will do this to each and every member of your families. This one can’t be saved but the others can.” 

The screen went black and John’s knees gave out and he gripped the table to stop himself from falling. Bako was going to kill her. Hell she may already be dead. Everyone was quiet, not saying a word, sitting in shock. It was Momma Lynn’s voice that broke the silence.

“Simon.” She said, her voice shaking. 

He looked up and wiped a tear from his eye. 

“Mom, you shouldn’t be in here.” 

“I’m going to do something now I’d hoped I would never have to do.” 

She walked into the room and placed a small box on the table. She opened it to find a small book and a burner phone. 

“Your dad, he was always prepared, even after he left us.” 

She took the book out of the box and thumbed through it until she landed on the page she was looking for. She grabbed the phone and put in a number placing it back down on the table on speaker phone letting it ring. 

“Pizza By George. Best pizza around. How can we help?” A cheery woman's voice filled the room. 

“Hi…” Momma Lynn cleared her throat. “Hi I’d like to order a number 12 with extra olives.” 

There was silence on the other end for a moment and they heard a computer keyboard typing. 

“Sorry about that, it seems we may be out of olives. Can I check and call you back on this number?” 

“Yes, that would be fine.” 

The call disconnected and Momma Lynn took a deep breath. 

“Never thought I would have to do this. Always thought your dad was just being paranoid.” 

“Mom, who did you call?” Simon asked, rubbing his hand up and down her back. 

“Help. I called for help.” 

The phone rang on the table with an unknown caller and Momma Lynn answered. 

“Hello?”

“Lynn?” A deep voice answered 

“Charles.” Momma Lynn breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What’s happened?” 

“It’s Y/N. Someone took her. He’s going to kill her”

“Ok calm down, is Simon there?” 

“He’s here.” she looked at Simon and motioned her head to the phone. 

“Hello. Who am I speaking to?” Simon asked 

“Hello Simon my name is Charles. I was a friend of your dads, we served together. He spoke very highly of you and was very proud of you son. I know that you most likely have everything under control, however, before he died he put in place a system that Lynn could activate if something happened to one of you and if she has activated it that means you need a bit of help. Now I need details and I need to know who you have working on this. We aren’t here to take over, just assist where needed.” 

Simon looked at the guys on his team, all of them looking broken and he even had to admit to himself that he wasn’t exactly thinking properly. He felt relieved for the help.  

“So what now?” He asked tiredly, looking at the phone

“Now you put me in touch with your watcher and we will get the details. In the meantime you and your team get some kip. You’re no good to this if you’re drained.” 

Simon wanted to argue but Charles was right. They hadn’t slept since the attack and it was taking a toll. 

“Kate?” Simon called out 

“I heard, Charles, I'll give you a number to call and we can debrief.” 

“Perfect, thank you watcher.” 

“Konig?” Simon asked 

“Ja, on it, ve’ll contact when ve have Viper.” 

With that the room went silent and Simon looked at Momma Lynn. 

“You’re sure we can trust them?” 

“Your dad did. I do. Hell, I named one of my kids after him. He is a trusted family friend, Simon. He will find Y/N, or he’ll die trying.” 

“Ok.” 

“Simon, go sleep. We’ll watch the room and let you know if someone tries to contact you.”

Ava walked in and grabbed Simon’s hand leading him to the door as Charlie and Emma went to Johnny and Gaz. John was the last one left and he just stared blankly at the table. 

“John hun, you too.” 

“I don’t think I can sleep right now.” 

“Follow me.”

Momma Lynn led him out of the room to the end of the hall where the last door was. No one had shown John that door yet and he was curious what was behind it. She put in a number on the keypad and the door opened to reveal an office. It had dark oak furniture with a large desk and large bookcases. 

“This was my husband's office. There’s a couch and if you don’t tell anyone else I’ll let you smoke your cigars in here. Ashtray 2is on the table by the couch. The girls won’t come in here anymore, Y/N’s the only one that would… so you won’t be disturbed. Get some rest John, There’s a lot of work ahead of us. And Y/N would be mad as hell at you if she knew how badly you were beating yourself up.” 

She left then and closed the door 

John sat down on the couch and closed his eyes but opened them immediately at the sight of Y/N broken and bloodied. He was overwhelmed with grief, fear and guilt. His heart started racing and he couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he was dying and he stood up and started pacing around the office. Suddenly he let out a scream, so loud he was sure the whole house could hear him. How was this happening? How is he losing the one good thing in his life just after he got here? It wasn’t fair. He continued to scream as he fell to the floor and then the tears came suddenly and hard.

[yukimiyum]

ALL ROADS LEAD BACK TO YOU PT. 2 | 1,778 words (~13 minutes reading time). afab!reader, toxic!oliver, boyfriend!yukimiya, abandonment, complicated relationships, oliver pov & reader pov, penetrative sex, nipple play, fingering, creampies, praise, pet names (darling, my love, darling)

author's notes: you already know how enraged oliver would be over someone like yukimiya being with u...especially bc he knows better. i'm in tears btw. [ao3 link]

-> taglist: @qichun @unriding @mitsuwuyaa @suyacho @rhyzoma -> join the taglist!

it's so late, again.

oliver barely makes it back to his room before slamming his fists against the closed door. once again, they lost. they fucking lost, and there was nothing they could do. the hole in his chest is aching, roaring at him at how much of a failure he is, watching those quick feet sidestep him as if there was nothing he could've done.

there was nothing you could've done better.

sendou's voice echoes in his head. he knows he's right—sendou tends to be right whenever it comes to this stuff. he's smarter, he's dealt with failure far more than oliver ever has. being in his position, it naturally causes him to feel more. to deal with more. and he does, letting it slip off of him like water off of a turtle's shell.

so, he calls the one person he knows will pick up. it's been a good six months...maybe even longer. time seems to fail him these days, and while you haven't seen each other nearly as much as you normally do, it's...he misses you.

he fucking misses you so much, it hurts.

he's seen the vacancy in your eyes, too, whenever you're beneath him. that last time...it broke something inside you, he thinks. one time too many. one abandonment too many. he'd hurt you too many times, but he can't get enough of the way you come when called anyway. as if he's too good to let go. it gives him a sense of pride, of knowing no matter how much he hurts you, you'll still come back.

he's a fucking monster, and he's enjoying it.

that is, until your phone goes to voicemail.

he texts. the message goes through, a read receipt appears, but no dots appear of you typing. he texts again. no read receipt this time. he calls again. no answer. voicemail.

he's starting to get desperate. the overwhelming feeling that you're gone, that you've finally had enough; it frightens him. it terrifies him so much, seeing the shadows on the walls of his hotel room looking so much bigger and scarier than they have before as he calls again.

this time, finally, finally, someone picks up—

"hello? who is this?"

oliver's blood freezes in his veins.

because it's not your raspy, tired voice, full of exasperation and thinly concealed want. it's not a voice that he's familiar with hearing over the phone, but it's one he knows so, so well. well enough that he almost hears his phone crack in his hand.

because it's yukimiya's voice.

oliver can't bear to say anything. he's completely frozen, locked in place, his heart slamming in his ears as he watches his vision blur with tears. he's going to fucking cry, isn't he? he's going to fucking break down because this is confirmation that you're finally gone. you're finally done. it's over.

it's over it's over it's over—

yukimiya's voice hums on the other end, but there's no whisper or acknowledgement that you're even on the other end. you're being smart, he knows it—keeping silent while yukimiya chuckles, as if he knows it's oliver on the other end. but he can't know, you never saved his number, hence why he's asking who it is.

or he's being a dick. could be both.

the line goes dead after yukimiya whispers down the line, chills fluttering over oliver's back as the three beeps sound in his head. the three beeps of death, knowing you're not coming back.

hot, disgusting tears fall down his cheeks and into his short beard that he's grown, without you tutting at him and brushing your knuckles against his usual clean-shaven cheeks. his entire body feels freezing cold and like he's been dipped in flames at the same time.

his phone ends up cracked, shattered even, a dent in the wall as he stomps into the bathroom. he needs a cold shower. anything to forget that you're not coming back this time.

and it's his fault.

"yukki? who was that?" you whisper sleepily as your boyfriend reaches over to pick up your buzzing phone. he doesn't let you so much as look at the screen as he answers for you, before humming and hanging up, shrugging.

"must've been a spam caller," he says back to you, before moving back to what he was doing before your phone buzzed.

your stomach drops, because you know he's wrong. he doesn't know he's wrong, but you know—it had to have been oliver. yukimiya had come over immediately after their loss, wanting to feel your warmth just as he does after wins. he makes quick work of your clothes, but never fails to just lay with you and enjoy you—not like oliver, who only wanted aggression. to take things out on you. to use you for his own ends.

yukimiya's different. yukimiya feels safe.

yukimiya doesn't leave in the morning without a word to you.

yukimiya doesn't abandon you like you mean nothing to him.

yukimiya doesn't—

"my love, what has you so lost in thought?"

his voice is so soothing for you as you look down at him. his chin is perched on your bare chest, lean fingers cupping your breast, gently squeezing every now and then. his glasses have disappeared, somewhere on your bedside table, so his big eyes are only settled on you. there's concern in them, but mostly just love.

love. something you've always been looking for, but no one has ever wanted to give you.

"nothing." it's a lie, and yukimiya's much smarter than he lets on as his brows furrow for just a moment before shrugging it off. "i believe you," he says, moving up to nuzzle into your neck, "but i'm here to talk about it when you're ready." so patient.

his lips press against your soft flesh there, breathing your scent into his nostrils. "let me make you forget about it for now," he says in a low voice, his eyes precise as he looks up at you, moving downwards to capture one of your bare nipples in his mouth. his tongue rolls across it, flicking and sucking so gently that you can't help but keen, your thighs pressing together, feeling his lean hand become trapped between the fat.

his fingers gently push your underwear to the side, your thighs involuntarily shuddering as he drifts his fingers through your lips. his touch is so much softer than oliver's is, and even after a loss, yukimiya never fails to make sure you know he's not mad at you. he could never be mad at you, really—you know that. why would he, anyway? it's his loss.

this is his way of taking it out on you.

instead of oliver's commanding, angry demeanor, yukimiya takes a very sweet view on sex. it's the closest to making love you've ever gotten to.

because yukimiya treats this as his therapy, really. if he can make you cum, if he can make you squirt all over his thick cock and his pretty hands, then he's still good. he's still good enough, he's still worthy of something. of someone.

so much different than oliver. so much better than oliver.

yukimiya has you creaming all over him not long after that. his fingers make quick work of you, especially when he looks at you like that. so gently, as if you brought him into the world to serve you and there's nothing better for him out there. it's intoxicating how much he loves you—the past six months have proven that to you time and time again.

especially when he whispers against your neck how good you feel wrapped around him as he gently pushes into you, your walls accommodating his size slowly as he works you open. "god, you feel amazing every time," he groans out, thrusting into you, his hands on either side of your face, looking down at you with the sweetest smile as he watches you come undone beneath him.

his movements are like the ocean; consistent, moving in and out, reveling in how you squelch around him, so agonizingly slowly that you're getting frustrated. redness blotches across your cheeks as you whine, wriggling underneath him. his lips upturn in a smirk.

because yukimiya has his own drawbacks. obsessive ones, ones that you enjoy without realizing how much you like it.

"need something, love?"

"yukki," you whine, "need more, need more of you, please—"

this was the main one. he constantly teases you to tell him what you want. considering it a drawback isn't really accurate...it's more of a qualm. a passing annoyance that only leads to a harder climax for you—and that's why you enjoy it so much. secretly.

"oh, i'll give you more," he says, suddenly slamming into you so hard that stars erupt in your vision as your jaw falls open, a cry of ecstacy ripping form your throat, "i'll give you all of me if you only ask. all you have to do is say please, darling."

"y-yukki, yukki, yukki—"

"yeah? are you going to come for me again, sweet thing?" his voice is so patronizing, but there's no aggression behind it. only a sense of control, something yukimiya surprises you consistently with. for being such a pacifist, he really enjoys inflicting pain on you—painful yearning for him to make you come in the only way he knows how.

his hand sneaks down to where you two are joined, his wet thumb flicking against your clit as he rails you into the bed. the bedframe slams into the wall behind you, but you don't care. you never did. all you can feel is warmth pooling down below, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you hear yukimiya laugh above you. "yeah, that's it, that's a good girl. you look so pretty squirting all over me, darling. i am so fucking lucky, my god—"

you can feel him filling you up as you ascend, your very skin feeling like it's on fire as yukimiya comes inside. but he doesn't stop, he never does as he fucks the come right back into you, not wanting to waste a single drop. he rides out your climaxes together, dropping his face into the crook of your neck as his hips finally sputter out and he collapses on top of you—a sweaty, welcoming warmth as you both catch your breath, a wet kiss pressed to your cheek as your eyes finally flutter back open.

and you forget all about the missed phone call when yukimiya's face swims into your vision, his smile so gentle as he presses another kiss to your lips, and then to your forehead.

"my beautiful girl."

divider credit: @/adornedwithlight networks: @pixelcafe-network

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© yukimiyum 2025

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dreams of Love - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: Made it a Hughie and Annie baby. Named it Joel because I’m hilarious and Annie would sooner eat glass than name her son Billy.

Chapter Title from She’s Got A Way by Billy Joel

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary/Warnings: Request from my love @deansbbyx ! You and Ben have to babysit. Takes place ten months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, Dad Ben, pre-established relationship, so much horniness (would we expect anything less?)

“Where the hell did Annie get a baby from.”

You sigh, giving Ben a flat look. “Her vagina, Benjamin. That’s where most of them pop out, you know.” 

Ben scowls, shooting you a glare that really only makes your whole body warm and soft. “Shut the fuck up, brat, you know what I meant-“

“I don’t think I did, Pretty Boy. I think you need to start explaining where you think babies come from-“

You’re cut off as Ben pulls you right to his chest, dropping his brow to yours with a smirk.

“You know damn well that I know where babies come from, Sunshine.” He drawls, and he’s really warm, and he smells so good, and his muscles are flexing around you, and his keeping his mouth just far enough away that you can’t kiss him but God you want to-

Ben-

You need something, darling? Need me to fuck you dumb right here, fill you up with my cock and remind you how fucking good we are at baby making? 

You swallow, unable to tear your gaze away from his darkened, lust-blown eyes. He’s starving for you, and you can feel it everywhere—you can’t even tell where your own thirst for him begins and his hunger for you ends—but you cannot have sex right now. There just isn’t the time, and it’s not like Ben’s going anywhere, but fuck, he’s so handsome and he’ll taste like strawberries and maple syrup from breakfast, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against your thigh-

“MM’s going to be here soon,” you whisper, fidgeting with the collar of Ben’s shirt to give your fingers something to do that isn’t wrapping around Ben’s dick. “And Ryan needs to go to school. I can drive him if you-“

Ben rolls his eyes, pressing a quick kiss to your brow before rising back up to his full height. “You’re not fucking driving. I’ll take Ryan, you get the Campbell baby.”

“But-“

He drawls your name, raising his brows. “You really fucking think MM is going to leave a fucking baby with me.”

“Yeah, I do.” You raise your chin slightly, holding Ben’s vaguely amused gaze. “He doesn’t hate you anymore-“

“Doesn’t matter if he still wanted to cut my fucking dick off or not, you’re the only one he’s leaving it with.”

 “It had a name, Ben.” You say, wrapping your arms around his torso and leaning your chin on his chest. “And I’m sure MM would leave Joel with you if I ask him to.”

“But you’re not going to ask,” Ben says your name with a shrug, half picking you off the floor and cradling your head with one hand. “I’m bringing Ryan to school, you’re taking the baby. That’s it.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What if I promise you a blowjob to trade?”

He snorts, the radiance in his body bursting along your ribs. I’d get that blowjob anyway. 

What if I promise breeding kink sex?

His eyes narrow. You think you’re real fucking smart.

I do. You smile at him, playing with the hair on his beard as you sway slightly in his arms. You say I am all the time. You call me clever, and beautiful, and perfect. And if you like me now, imagine how amazing I’d be when you fucked me good enough for to put a baby-

You win. Ben’s hand tightens on your waist, his eyes flash, his hunger almost explodes through his body, and it’s all the warning you get before his mouth is crashing down to yours. Your silent words are cut off with a deep growl from Ben’s chest as he walks you backwards to the kitchen counter, his hand tugging at your hair to deepen the kiss. Your lips part with a moan that Ben swallows, and you’re scratching at his back as he shoves a knee between your legs, and fuck, he’s so good-

Such a needy fucking brat. He mutters in your head, and you can only grind against him. You are fucking perfect, you’re a goddamn miracle, but that smart fucking mouth, Ben hums against your lips, starting to kiss a wet, sloppy line down your neck. It’s a fucking marvel, Sunshine. Going to fucking kill me, how goddamn beautiful you are, all fucking dumb and pretty when I touch you-

Fuck- You whine when he starts to suck on that one spot near your throat, and he chuckles against your skin. God, Ben-

Words, darling, use that smart mouth to beg-

Please, Benjamin, you ass-

You squeak as his hand pins you against his knee, and he draws back, scanning over your open, desperate expression with a wide smirk. 

“Hi, Sunshine.” He drawls, tipping your chin back with a careful hand, and you might be drooling. 

He’s so fucking handsome. It’s really not fair. This life looks painfully good on him, where all his love is still hot and bloody and focused in your body, but the resolve to hold you is just to hold you. There are no threats that you’d need protection from, but Ben’s still shielding you just a little all the time because that’s what he does. He loves and cares about you so violently you’d be worried he offers you too much, but all he’s ever asked for in return is this. Is you, already a little dazed from his hand dragging circles on the skin of your hips, your mouth hanging open as you take in his messy hair and relaxed expression. Everything in him glows when he presses his thumb on your lower lip and you moan, and when he leaves a small, almost chaste kiss on the space between your eyes the fire under your skin starts to push up, and you’re smoking, and he’s just grinning at you like a dick-

“You’re so fucking perfect, beautiful.” He mutters, and you don’t know why he’s not just fucking you. “When I get you alone again, you’re going to cum on my hands, then my face, then my cock when I fill you up. You’re going to feel me for fucking days, darling, and everyone will know that I always fuck you properly when you sit down at a meeting and fucking whine like a goddamn brat.”

You have a small, breathless speech in your head that’s mostly a plea of you are alone, right now, and it’s not possible for Ben to make you feel it for days, but God, you’d like to see him try, but you don’t get the chance to say it. You stare at Ben’s smug grin for a long second, taking steady breaths to try and regain just a little bit of control over your brain—which right now seems to only remember how to say Benjamin, please—and Ryan walks into the kitchen with his backpack and nervous, quick words.

“Ben, I lost my notebook-“ Ryan’s eyes widen at the scene before him—Ben still holding you on his knee, your whole body slack under his touch and very obvious, slightly glowing smoke rising from your skin—and he freezes in the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I’ll just go wait in the car-“

“Stay here, kid.” Ben helps you down, pressing one last, gentle kiss to your brow before turning his attention to Ryan. “Car’s not started yet, and your notebook’s under the couch.”

Ryan frowns. “How did it-“

“Shoved it there last night.” Ben grunts. His voice is really deep. His arm is still around you. He smells like pine and coffee and that earthy, salty thing that’s just Ben-

“Oh.” Ryan nods slowly. “Was it- I’m-“

“Don’t fucking apologize. It wasn’t in the way, I just had to do all the damn baby proofing-“

That snaps you out of it.

“You were baby proofing?”

Ben frowns down at you, something slightly sore wrapping over his skin. “Of course I was fucking baby proofing, I’m not going to let the damn thing just fuck around the house and die-“

You let just a little bit of your own, raw and infinite love leak into Ben’s body, rising up to press a kiss right over his beard and humming against his skin. Thank you, Benjamin. That was sweet.

I am not fucking sweet-

Of course not, Pretty Boy. What was I thinking. Your smile is wide and unrestrained as you lean back, holding Ben’s face between your hands. I love you.

I love you too, Sunshine. He rolls his eyes, dragging one of your hands to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I’ll get your notebook, Ryan. Go put on your shoes.”

“Okay.” Ryan bounces on his feet, looking between you and Ben with an open, anxious expression. “Is- Are Hughie and Annie bringing Joey here?”

“They’re on their honeymoon,” you explain, Ben scowls, and you shoot him a flat look. “Which someone is being a grumpy asshole about.”

“It’s fucking bullshit.” Ben grumbles, guiding you out of the kitchen. “We’ve been married for ten goddamn month and haven’t gone on our honeymoon. Why the hell do those pussies get to go first.”

“They’re not going first, Ben, they just actually planned their wedding instead of doing it spontaneously in a field-“

Ben rolls his eyes. “If we do that proper wedding shit, will you finally take some time off so I can fuck you on a beach?”

You flush, whacking Ben’s chest as Ryan looks around absent-mindedly, pretending not to hear. Benjamin-

The kid is used to it, Sunshine-

He shouldn’t be- 

He’s fine. I think he’s got bigger fucking problems than me loving you like you deserve-

But-

“Ryan.” Ben grunts, tucking you a little further into his side and ignoring your death glare. He’s lucky you can’t burn his face off anymore. “You got an issue with me telling her I’m going to fuck her?”

“I, um- no?” Ryan shrugs, frowning at the air. “I guess I tune it out now, just because you do it kind of a lot and I- I dunno, I just expect it. Sorry-“

“Don’t say sorry, kid. You did good.” Ben shoots you a smug look, bright, hot pride inflating in his chest. You’re going to strangle him, then make out with his stupid, handsome, cocky face. “Shoes.”

Ryan nods and wanders to the door, and Ben looks so fucking proud of himself.

Benjamin William- 

You barely get out your shared last name before Ben’s squeezing your hips, pulling you up into a long, open-mouth kiss that makes you moan loud and soft, your body molding right into his. Never should’ve told you my middle name, brat. 

Could be worse. You mumble, smiling against his lips. I could tell Butcher. 

He pulls back with narrowed eyes. You won’t.

Test me, Benjamin-

You tell Butcher, I’ll… Ben trails off between your heads, and you can feel a wired spike in his heart when he realizes he doesn’t have any believable threats anymore. 

You’ll what? You raise your brows, giving him an overly sweet pout. Fuck me dumb? Make me beg? Throw me around until I’m a whiny, horny mess for your cock-

He slams back into you, hauling your body into his arms without even a stuttered breath and carrying you to the couch. 

Christ on a fucking cross, Ben mutters your name between your heads, lowering himself to his knees before you as he kisses you back into the cushions. You’re so fucking perfect.

His tone is entirely reverent, so sincere it might kill you, and the pure devotion and fervor of his love in your body is enough to drive you mad.

Ben- His hand trails up your thigh, and you’d be embarrassed by your loud moan if it didn’t make Ben groan into your mouth, everything in him sparking and flaring. Fuck-

Later, Sunshine. He tips your chin back slightly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth right before he pulls away. “Stay here until I get home.”

You hum, taking his hand from your cheek and twisting his wedding ring around his finger with a small smile. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He chuckles, leaning into one last, soft kiss before rising to his feet. “Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, darling. Tell me when MM drops off the kid.”

Tell you on the what, Benjamin?

I’m not fucking saying it.

Please?

You give him your sweetest smile, squeezing your hand on his knee and leaning into his touch, and he groans.

Smart fucking brat. He mutters, moving his hand back to tangle in your hair and tugging slightly, just enough to make your head tip back. Tell me on the Ben’o’phone, and I’ll fuck your mouth and cunt real good when I get home.

Deal. Thank you.

Don’t. He grumbles between your heads, but even as his hand leaves yours you can feel the power of his love, the rough affection that’s settled deeply and comfortably into his chest. “You think we’ve got all the shit-“

“MM’s going to bring most of it. And,” you nod to the floor, and Ben turns with a frown. “I bought a play pen. We can keep it after. For later. When I get that promised fucking.”

You see Ben’s hands curl into fists, he stands a little taller, and fuck, you’re right at eye level with his bulge but Ryan really does need to go to school-

“I can’t believe Annie and Hughie got a fucking baby before we did.” He mutters, glaring at the play pen. “It’s a goddamn travesty-“

“Travesty.” You hum, looking up at him with a wide, teasing smile. “Big word, Pretty Boy-“

“Shut up.” 

Ben turns back to you, taking your face between big, warm hands and scanning over your features with a narrowed gaze. You can feel something wound tightly in his chest—slightly molding and almost painful—so you grab his wrists to keep him against you, and give him your widest, realest smile. The smile that’s for Ben, and Ben only.

It’s always really just Ben.

You know I fucking adore you. He says between your heads, his voice low and rough. Love you more than the goddamn universe, Sunshine, you’re my whole goddamn life. You know that.

I think you’ve mentioned it. You hum, leaning into his touch. And I love you too, you massive cunt, so say what the fuck you mean.

Ben lets out a dry snort as you drop your voice into a mocking impression of him on those last words, shaking his head slightly. Christ, darling. You’re fucking-

Perfect, I’m aware. Please, Ben-

You don’t need to ever do anything you fucking hate with me. He grunts, his body suddenly made only of fervorish, protective stone. I got you and Ryan, and that can be my world for the rest of my goddamn life, and I’d be good. If that caped fucking pussy knocked the idea of a baby out of your head forever, I’m not going to-

Ben. You cut him off with soft but firm words, holding his gaze. We don’t lie to each other.

Of course we fucking don’t-

So when I say that one day soon, I want to do this, you nod to the play pen. With you, believe me. Please.

His jaw twitches, and the wrathful care in his body doesn’t vanish, but it never does. It only moves back peacefully into your bones as Ben slowly nods. You’re sure.

Positive. Go bring Ryan to school before I do.

Ben rolls his eyes, leans down to kiss the top of your head, and half-stomps out the door.

He’ll be back soon. And—though he’ll never get you to say it aloud—you’ll wait right here until he does. Where everything still smells like pine, and you’re molded into the couch right where Ben put you, and you can smile at the play pen like a dumbass until the doorbell rings. 

You know it MM before you open it, because Ben just walks in wherever he wants—including into offices he definitely should not be walking into and meetings you’re supposed to be focusing on—and everyone in the neighborhood seems to know that’s Soldier Boy and the Anomaly’s house, so after the Homeowners Association incident, nobody really bothers you that much. 

It would be lonely if you didn’t already have a Ben, a Ryan, a Butcher—friend was too generous for the asshole, but he was unfortunately an indisputable part of your life—and friends.

Because when you open the door, it is MM on the other side, and he looks tire and pissed but still happy to see you. You can feel it—during your brief, tight hug—that there’s a heavy exhaustion under his skin and over his muscles, but there’s nothing but relieved affection for you to be here. 

“This kid,” MM mutters as you pull apart. “Has fucking lungs.”

You smile, following him out to the still-running car. “I know, I’ve heard them. Annie told me to buy Ryan earplugs.”

“Smart.” MM leans into the car door, pulling out the car seat and probably saying more things, but you don’t really hear them because that’s a baby. A baby baby. A barely popped, wispy haired baby that looks so much like a shrunken down version of Hughie it’s a little disturbing.

And you’ve met him before. You were there when Annie had her pre-mature birth, doing what Ben had called more work than the damn nurses and stopping Annie’s bleeding with a press of your hand to her legs a brief rush of pain between your thighs. 

MM had told you Ben had doubled over with a roar in the lobby, and you’d seen the evidence of it when you’d rejoined him and there was a large hole in the wall. But Annie had been okay, Hughie had given you a tight hug that could’ve left a bruise if that was something your body could do, and the baby had been healthy. 

You hadn’t wanted to hold him, nerves building in your throat about what feeling the emotions of a baby could even do. Annie had told you that it would be fine, and half-shoved Joey into your arms.

And now—just like then—you can feel nothing but soft, humming peace from tiny Joel Campbell in your arms. There’s no bloodied pain or freezing fear, nothing rotten in his chest or throat or head. He’s just a little fuzzy because you’re not Annie, but it’s a brief distress that fades when you start to hum and the whole world grows perfectly warm.

They’re here. Your words are soft down your connection to Ben, and he flares slightly in your chest.

Good. Ryan’s off, I’ll be back soon. Don’t fucking move.

You smile to yourself, and MM must realize that you’ve moved yourself into a trance, because he doesn’t try to talk to you until you’re settled back inside with Joey carefully in your arms, and all of Annie’s baby supplies are piled near the door.

“You think your old motherfucker is ready for this?”

You snort. Ben’s so ready you’re probably going to spend the next month after this trying to pry him off of you. “He is. He baby-proofed the house.”

MM grunts, scanning around the living room. “I’m guessing the asshole wants one?”

You might be smiling like an idiot. “You have no idea.”

“I think I can live with that.” MM mutters, giving you an odd look. “And- If I’m out of line tell me to shut it and I will, but can you even do that?”

You sigh, trailing one finger softly over Joey’s cheek. There’s something in that silent, happy hum you feel from him that really seems like Annie.

You wonder if your baby would look like Ben and feel like you, or look like you and feel like Ben. 

“I can if I want.” You say, shaking your head at MM’s look of confusion. “Don’t ask.”

He raises his hands in agreement, nodding to Joey in your arms. “Do you? Want one?”

“I do.” You whisper. “I always did, before, and then Home-“ You swallow. You still don’t like saying his name. He doesn’t deserve for his name to be said, not where Joey can hear it. “Then he, he did everything, and it didn’t seem like a thing I could ever do. But now...”

You trail off, and MM nods.

“What changed?”

You look up with a soft smile. “Do you really want me to say it?”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “That old asshole must have a fucking genie who owes him one or something.”

You only hum, because it’s not really useful to explain that Ben doesn’t need a genie. He’s just Ben, and he’s everything, and you love him. “Maybe. I think he’s going to be amazing at this.”

“Of course you do.” MM mutters. “Where the hell is he?”

“Dropping Ryan at school.” You say, lowering your voice to whisper to Joey. “He’s bringing us back chocolate.”

“How the hell do you know-“

“He always brings me back something. And he’s that way,” you wave a vague hand over your shoulder, where you can sense Ben moving around miles away. “So he’s getting chocolate.”

When you look up, MM’s gaping slightly. “He always brings you something?”

“Of course he does. He thinks it’s an apology for leaving me.”

“Leaving- Motherfucker.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing you two idiots can’t die without each other. You’re already so goddamn annoying.”

You can’t disagree with that. Not when—a few hours after MM leaves—Ben pushes through the door with a box of those fancy fucking chocolates you love, Sunshine, and lowers to his knees before you, staring at Joey in your arms.

“Hughie makes a tiny fucking baby.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Don’t bully the infant, Ben-“

“I’m not bullying him, I’m bullying his father. Hughie’s a fucking adult, he’ll live.” Ben rises up to kiss your brow. “You look real damn good with a baby in your arms, darling.”

You smile at him, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. Keep it in your pants, old man.

For the damn baby I will, but I promised you a proper fucking, Ben drawls your name between your heads, shooting you a wink. Going to have you begging for my cum in your mouth, on your tits, in that pretty fucking pussy-

Benjamin. You give him a stern look, even as the deep sound of his voice in your mind, the sight of him grinning at you, and the hunger in his body settle deep in your stomach. Not when I’m actively holding the child.

He rolls his eyes, but drops at your side on the couch and kisses your temple. Fine.

Thank you. You lean your head on Ben’s shoulder, letting him tuck you against his side, his hand tracing slow patterns on your arm as you start to hum, soothing Joey fully to sleep.

And you could’ve stayed like this for a lifetime. Ben’s content—you can feel it, feel how deeply and easily settled he is at your side—this is so simply peaceful, and you have no desire to disturb the static, colorful feeling you get from Joey, so you could’ve died here.

But Joey shits his pants, because that’s what babies do.

And You really don’t want to move. 

MM left some things by the door, can you please-

You don’t need to finish the sentence before Ben’s moving, marching to the hall to grab the diapers and pushing the coffee table to your knees when he returns. You change Joey there—it’s a flat surface, you cleaned it that morning, and Ben had laid out a towel—before settling back onto the couch, and that’s most of the day. Joey’s hungry, Ben grabs the bottle and you feed him. Joey’s never cold—you and Ben are walking furnaces—but he seems a little uncomfortable, so Ben grabs a blanket Annie left and you swaddle. Joey shits himself again, and Ben marches upstairs to run a sink bath.

He hangs over your shoulder every second. And there are no grumbled suggestions or thoughts about Joey, only normal conversations about work and TV and Ryan and dinner. Nothing feels different, and the solid, pious care and love you feel from Ben is no stronger than normal. It’s aimed right at your heart and golden and warm in your body, but that’s just Ben. That’s how he loves you. 

The only change is something softer—lining over his head and lungs—that glows when you catch him glancing at Joey in your arms. When you settle back on the couch with a sleepy, clean baby, and Ben pulls you half into his lap, resting his chin on the top of your head. You waste the afternoon like this. Watching TV with Ben everywhere around you, Joey asleep in your arms and nothing really that worrying in the world.

When your phone rings, you almost don’t want to answer it. But it’s Butcher, and if you ignore him he’ll come to your house, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“Butcher,” you whisper, and Ben’s arms tighten around your body. “Please tell me this is important.”

“You wound me.” Butcher’s voice is filled with mock offense through the speaker as he says your name. “I ain’t ever bothered you for no reason-“

“One time you called me to say Ben lost his pen.”

“And he was tearin’ up the bloody office, so I needed you to work your fuckin’ sex magic on the Gov before he hurt ‘imself. Always got a reason, love, you should well fuckin’ know that.”

I can’t hurt myself. Ben grumbles in your ear, obviously eavesdropping. Only person who can hurt me is you-

Romantic, my love. Shut up. “Butcher, if this is a work thing you have to call MM, Ben and I both have the day off-“

“‘Fraid MM ain’t able to help with this one, love. I got Secretary Campbell ‘ere, and he ain’t leavin’ until he speaks to Mr. and Mrs. American Dream.”

“Stop calling us that, it doesn’t even make sense.” You sigh, glancing at Joey in your arms. “What does he want?”

Apparently, Singer’s Defense Secretary is trying to get you and Ben to donate some DNA again. And you’d send Ben to deal with him, but you’re pretty sure that would end with a dead Campbell and another year half on the lam for you. So you sigh, tell Butcher you’ll be there soon, and hang up.

Ben mutters your name, keeping you steady in his lap. “I can fucking handle this-“

“No, Ben, it’s okay.” You lean back on his shoulder, giving him a soft smile. “You watch Joey, and I’ll pick up Ryan on my way back.”

“You shouldn’t fucking drive-“

“I’ll go slow. And be careful-“

Ben scoffs. “You’re never fucking careful-“

“Yes, I am. I will be. Just take Joey-“

“No, I’ll fucking deal with Singer’s lapdog, and you’ll keep the baby-“

“Benjamin.” You snap, and he shuts his mouth with a glower. There’s something sore over his whole body, but it’s rooted in his hands. Itching and heavy and tense, tight around his throat-

You frown, tilting your head at him, and softening your voice between your heads.

Are you okay?

I-

And remember I can feel you, Ben. You raise your brows, shifting in his lap to fully face him. Are you worried about the baby?

I’m not fucking worried, he grunts your name, hands tightening on your body. I don’t want to you leave, Sunshine, is that a goddamn crime-

No. You kiss him, quick and sweet, and rise from his hold. But I do have to go. I’ll put Joey in the travel crib, and you can Ben’o’phone me if you need help.

Or you could fucking stay-

You’ll be fine, my love. I’ll be back soon.

——————

Ben wasn’t watching TV. It was on, in the background, but he couldn’t goddamn focus on it. 

There was a fucking baby in the room. It wasn’t bigger than his forearm, it kept making small baby sounds, and if Ben looked away from the crib for one goddamn second he was pretty fucking certain something would go wrong. The ceiling would fall and Ben wouldn’t be quick enough to throw his body over it. He would be quick enough, but he wouldn’t be careful and he’d crush the baby. The baby would shit, and he’d have to change the diaper. It would start throwing lightning bolts like its mother, and Ben would have to figure out what the fuck to do. It would be hungry, and Ben didn’t have tits. 

The ceiling would not fall. This whole house had been supe-proofed, because all of them still had nightmares that set off their powers, when Ryan and Ben it could—according to Her—cause permanent structural damage, and Ben needed to be able to fuck Her however he pleased without worrying about everything breaking around them.

Ben would not crush the baby. He wasn’t some weak fucking pussy who couldn’t control his strength after damn near 80 years.

If the baby took another shit, Ben could change a diaper. He wouldn’t fucking like it, but it was just shit and piss. He’d been covered in guts and blood and brains, shit and piss was nothing. Even if that thing took some of the biggest shits Ben had seen in his very long life.

According to Her and Frenchie, mainstreamed V wasn’t hereditary. It didn’t fundamentally change the users DNA or some shit, so Annie and Hughie’s baby would always just be a normal person. Ben wasn’t really sure, because somewhere in the conversation someone had said what if they had a baby and pointed to Her and Ben, and he’d gotten distracted. 

If it got hungry, She’d shown Ben how formula worked, and he’d figure it out. He’d do whatever the hell he needed to in order to prove to Her that they could have a baby. If they had a baby, Ben would fucking kill it.

Not the baby. He’d kill taking care of a baby. He’d feed and change and tend to it—just like he did with Her and Ryan—and it would be fucking disgusting and boring as shit, but he’d goddamn do it if he could have a baby. 

And he didn’t know exactly what the hell had changed in forty years that men were expected to change diapers, but he’d change a million diapers for Her. He’d throw himself into the Sun and bury himself alive for Her. He’d watch something called How to Train You Dragon for Her. He’d fucking cook for Her—she sure as hell couldn’t do it herself, and Ben would be damned if he let his wife starve—and he’d read a fucking book just to make Her smile. 

Changing a diaper—if that made Her happy as well—was fucking nothing.

So when Joey started wailing—about twenty minutes after She’d left—Ben was fucking ready. He’d been studying all the shit She’d been doing, and this kid wasn’t going to know what the fuck hit him. Annie and Hughie would get him back in better condition, and Ben would be a goddamn hero.

But the baby didn’t want food. And its diaper was clean. 

The only thing that seemed to make it stop was when Ben held it. Cradled it in his arms and rocked it back and forth, sitting back on the couch because every time he tried to put the little fucker down, it would start screaming again. 

Ben didn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to a real baby. He’d seen this one in the hospital after Annie popped it, and a few times after, but he’d never really held it. Annie had offered once, and he’d taken it, but it hadn’t been like this. Where Joey was curled into Ben’s chest and Annie wasn’t bouncing on her feet to take it back. 

This was peaceful. Quiet. The TV humming in the background and Ben just fucking holding a baby. A baby that was happy to be in his arms, and didn’t fit perfectly because it wasn’t Ben’s baby, but was still a damn baby.

Happy. With him holding it.

Something became clear in his head. It had never been fogged or covered, but it was sharp now. Right in reach and touchable, more than just a fantasy or daydream. 

Ben fucking wanted this. And he could really fucking have it. He’d seen Her look at Joey, and She’d sworn she’d want this as well. She’d said She’d want it with Ben.

And he could see it. Ben could almost physically fucking see a baby that had Her eyes and hair and whole perfect face, and would grab Ben’s nose and fucking break it. Any kid She and Ben had would be a supe—as far as Ben understood it—and they would be the strongest one yet. Ryan would help them learn to control the strength, and he’d never fucking worry about being loved less, because as far as the baby would know, Ryan would be their damn brother.

It would be smart like Her and Ryan. The kid would be talking in three months—or something, Ben didn’t know when babies usually started talking—and do all the fucking school shit, then chose to do good things because they would be Her kid, and everything She did and touched became fucking good.

And She’d be the best goddamn mother. She already was, with Ryan, and this would just be more. More annoying parents for Her to threaten, another person for Her to teach shit to, and another piece of evidence for Her to have that Ben couldn’t love Her more if he tried. Another way for Ben to show Her that She, Ryan, and now the baby were the only things in the whole damn universe that mattered.

He could see it. Her padding around the house in Ben’s shirt, holding their baby in one arm and a phone in the other. Hissing incredibly graphic threats at a congressman while smiling at the baby, sometimes dropping Her voice to coo to the kid when She was between calls.

“You know.” She said, swaying slightly in place as she mumbled to the child. Their child. That was Ben’s fucking child. “If that asshole doesn’t listen to Mommy, she’s going to let Daddy yell at them. And Daddy can be scary.”

Ben frowned, but he couldn’t quite move or speak, She didn’t see him there, and when She kept talking any protests of him being ‘scary’ vanished into the air.

“I know that crazy to you, because Daddy isn’t scary.” She set Her phone down on the counter, devoting Her entire attention to the infant in her arms. “He’s just big and grumpy. Like an ancient teddy bear.”

The kid made a soft, babbling sound, and Ben really wanted to hear it again. Especially as a tiny fist shot up, wrapped around Her finger, and she smiled as it babbled again.

“You’re right, he can be a bit of an asshole. Isn’t that right, my love?” 

Ben could suddenly move, and he was walking forwards. Moving to Her side and pressing a kiss to Her brow. “Smart fucking mouth, brat.”

“You love it.” She hummed, leaning into him as She kept speaking to the baby. “He loves it.”

Ben did love it. He loved how fucking happy She was, how easy this felt, and how—when Ryan called from upstairs for homework help—She passed the baby into Ben’s arms without a thought and walked away. 

And that was their fucking kid. And it had sharp eyes that were scanning over Ben’s face a little hazily, realizing that Ben wasn’t Her, and then almost squealing as it realized that he was Ben.

It reached up for him, and fucking Christ, the thing was happy to see him. It was making cute fucking sounds and squeezing his finger, and not a single fucking pussy would ever be allowed to hurt it. Ben would do whatever the hell it took to keep the kid this peaceful, to make it always this happy to see him, to make it so that She and Ryan would have the family they deserved, and Ben could just fucking love them for the rest of goddamn time-

“Ben. Wake up.” A gentle, perfect hand trailed over his face, and he’d fallen asleep. 

He blinked his eyes open to find Her standing between his knees above him, and soft smile playing on Her lips.

“Good dream?”

Ben caught Her hand in his own, pressing a kiss to Her knuckles as he blinked away a little more sleep. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

She hummed, glancing at Joey, still in his arms. “I think he likes you.”

“He likes that I’m warm-“

“The blanket was warm.” She shrugs. “He likes you.”

Ben grunted. He wouldn’t win this argument, and he knew better than to try. “Where’s Ryan?”

“In his room.” She said, dropping at Ben’s side and smiling at Joey. “We’ve been home for a few hours.”

“A few- You’ve been home hours-“

“Voice down, Benjamin.” She mumbled, leaning Her head against his arm. “And you both looked peaceful. I liked it.”

Ben smirked. Were you watching me sleep, Sunshine-

Yes, I was. And you watch me sleep all the fucking time, Pretty Boy, so shut it.

He chuckled, kissing the side of Her head, and they stayed there until Ryan shuffled down the stairs, stopping behind the couch and staring at Joey in Ben’s arms.

“He’s really small.” Ryan whispered, and Ben coughed to cover his laugh.

“He’s a baby, Ry.” She said, kicking Ben’s shin as She smiled up at Ryan. “We were all that small once.”

“I was never this small.” Ben muttered. “I was a big fucking baby, and you probably were as well, kid.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, and She scoffed.

“How big were you, Benjamin.” She narrowed Her eyes. And don’t say you’re still big now.

Don’t need to say it, Sunshine, you know better than damn anyone that I’m big. Ben winked at Her, smirking at her pretty flush as he continued.  “I don’t fucking remember exactly, brat, it was a hundred goddamn years ago-“

She snorted. “So you might have been this tiny-“

“I fucking wasn’t-“

“You could’ve been.” She stuck Her tongue out at him, light dancing in Her eyes. “We’ll never know.”

Ben rolled his eyes, brat, and pulled Her into a long, slow kiss with his free hand, going until She was sighing into his mouth and slumping over his body-

She pushed off Ben’s chest, and something was radiant and zealous in his chest when She leaned back to look at Ryan, and there was an almost drunken smile on Her face.

“Do you need help with more homework-“

“No,” Ryan shook his head, glancing back to Joey. “I- I’m just hungry, but if you’re busy-“

Ben’s brow furrowed. “We look fucking busy, kid?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then it’s dinner.” Ben grunted Her name. “You want ravioli.”

She gave him a wide, toothy smile, Her voice oddly soft. “Yes, please.”

“Ryan-“

“That sounds good.” Ryan nodded slowly, taking a nervous step back. “I- I’ll go wait in my room- And-“

Ben frowned. “You finished your homework?”

Ryan nodded again, and Ben moved to his feet with Joey still carefully in his arms. 

“Stay in here, kid. It’ll be easier to get you.”

“No- I- It’s okay-“

“Ryan?” She twisted fully in Her seat, a gentle frown on Her face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I just- I don’t-“ Ryan swallowed, bowing his head slightly. “Joey looks really fragile. I don’t- What if I break him?”

She tensed at Ben’s side, and Ben could fucking feel Her aching distress. Feel the presence of Her around his head tightening and spinning, see the sadness all over Her pretty face—almost perfectly matching Ryan’s—and Ben needed to fucking fix this.

“Hold the baby.” 

Ben walked around the couch to put Joey into Ryan’s arms, and the kid just fucking gaped at him.

“But- But I could-“

“You won’t.” Ben snapped, and Ryan shook his head.

“He’s so small, Ben.” He whispered. “And I- I could hurt him.”

“When was the last time you broke something.”

Ryan blinked at him. “What?”

“The last thing you broke on accident, kid.” Ben raised his brows. “When did you break it.”

“I-“ Ryan glanced at Her, but she was just leaning over the back of the couch, tapping Her fingers on the pillows as she watched. “I don’t remember-“

“November.” Ben grunted. “You freaked out during a team dinner and snapped Butcher’s table in half. You’ve had a fuck ton of freak-outs since then, holding shit a lot more delicate than a table, and not a single damn thing has broken. Hold the baby.”

Ryan still didn’t move, only staring between Ben and Joey, and Ben let out a long breath.

“Ryan, do you really fucking think I’d hand you a damn baby if I thought you’d hurt it.”

“N- No-“

“You trust me, kid?”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Of course I do-“

“Take the fucking baby.”

Ryan finally got it, and took Joey from Ben’s arms with slow, careful hands.

Nothing exploded. The sky didn’t fall. 

And Ryan smiled, his voice filled with awe. “He looks like Hughie.”

Ben smirked. “He really fucking does. Poor kid.”

She frowned from the couch. “Benjamin-“

“Sunshine.” Ben mocked Her tone as he bent down, picking Her up with a grin and laughing when she squeaked. “You’re hungry, beautiful.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, whacking his chest. “Don’t fucking do that, you asshole-“

I didn’t do a fucking thing. Ben drawled Her name between their heads, his eyes never leaving Her’s as he moved them out of the room. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us, kid.”

“Okay!” Ryan called after them. “I’ll stay with Joey!”

All the mock anger in Her eyes dissolved in a second, Ben leaned down to kiss Her—long and sloppy and heavy—as he set Her on the counter, and when he pulled away, Her smile was fucking perfect.

She was hanging off of Ben’s arm the entire time he made dinner, smiling at Ben like he’d handed Her the fucking moon when it was only damn pasta.

What-

I love you, Benjamin. She whispered between their minds. So much.

Ben kissed Her brow, tracing his thumb over Her cheekbone. Love you too, Sunshine.

You’re really good at this. With Ryan and Joey.

He shrugged. I’ll be even fucking better with Ryan and our kid.

And that was the damn truth. Because Ben could finish dinner and help Her serve, and he could eat around the table with Her and Ryan, but when the baby cried it wasn’t his baby. And there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Joey—he was adorable, seemed alright for a baby, and Ben would never fucking tell Her, but while She’d been gone Joey had been chewing toothlessly on Ben’s finger and it had been the cutest thing he’d seen in his fucking life—but Ben wanted the kid to be theirs. 

He wanted to set up the TV while She and Ryan cleared the plates, let Ryan chose what they were watching for family movie, and have Her sitting on Ben’s lap with their kid in Her arms. Ben wanted to lean over Her shoulder and see sharp eyes blinking up at him, to hear the baby make a bubbly little noise and for it to sound like Her voice.

He wanted Ryan to help put his sibling to bed before shuffling off to his own room, and he wanted to be standing here with Her over the crib—wrapping his arms around Her stomach and swaying back and forth in the dark—as they looked at their baby.

Joey looked so fucking peaceful in there, and Ben could see it again. A future where She’d be just like this, and the baby was really fucking theirs. It’s in a sturdier, bomb-proof crib built by Frenchie, and reaching for Her—because who fucking wouldn’t—and when it made a noise, Ben’s whole fucking world would get a little bigger.

I want one. Ben muttered between their heads, pressing a kiss to the side of Her head, and She hummed.

I know, my love. She smiled up at him, and Ben was going to fucking explode. In the dim light—with sleepy eyes and raw fucking love written all over Her perfect features—She’s was always the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. I’m sure I can find one for you.

End Note: Finally gave Ben a middle name. I don’t care what kripke and any future spinoffs say. That’s his middle name now, because it’s the funniest possible option.

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