#the body starts to reject the ghost

[socialmediasocrates]

the endless struggle of "she's such a weird asshole i don't even like her and i wrote her" and "she's the product of a conga line of trauma and dysfunction" with the character of mayeari as i write her for fic purposes discussed under the cut broad cw for discussion of a wide range of unsavory themes including child death and the character herself having a hazy understanding of boundaries regarding physical contact (specifically non-sexual touching)

she's different in fic bc i didn't decide i wanted to do a play through with her until after i'd invented the character (maybe in hopes of working out some characterization inconsistencies) so her actual play through is uncanonical so that's a choice i made to complicate things for myself specifically

and on one hand even i sit here going "damn bitch how many times does someone have to tell you they don't like you constantly touching them before you get it" but on the other one i'm the one that gave her a backstory that made her need physical touch as a reminder that she is, in fact, a real, existing person who experiences real, actual sensations in the right now. she died as a child, and she's subsequently "lived" longer as a facsimile of a living woman than her own mother ever lived at all. sometimes i have to remind myself that my dislike of the personality i wrote her having doesn't just give me a free pass to completely flanderize the character. she's never been able to assert hard boundaries about people touching her, and she always feels like she isn't real in between physical contact with someone, so it simultaneously feels melodramatic and pointedly cruel to her when others get angry or annoyed about her touchy-feelyness. the line of thinking makes sense even if she makes me personally incredibly uncomfortable when i'm writing her

she's a ghost haunting her own body, and i have to remind myself of that like all the time

i'm planning on her being my dark urge play through and it'll be interesting to see what i can pull from that in order to round out her characterization a little more as i move forward

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc prompt

I never post, but I crave suffering.

Danny has been working for the JL for a while.

Specifically, not for the group as a whole, but popping up to help heroes with their individual rogues every once in a while.

None of them, when meeting him for the first time, really appreciated an unknown meta kid throwing himself into danger, but after a couple of times of that happening, they managed to speak to him calmly and find out about ghosts.

Not only ghosts, but their culture, the categories, and about obsessions.

That's how Phantom, the kid, explains to them that one of his obsessions is protection and why he tries to help the heroes. Apparently, his haunt rejected him, labeling him as a villain and forcing him to leave.

From that point on, the heroes try their best to make Phantom fulfill his obsession without getting him involved physically and risking things getting out of hand.

Batman, in particular, instructs him with jamming machines and electrical stuff by just... staying there, invisible.

One fateful night, something goes wrong, and Danny finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time during a Scarecrow attack.

When the fear gas fills the air, Bruce watches as Phantom's invisibility turns off and he hits the ground, his muscles tense in what looks like the bad start of a seizure.

Batman can't help him, as they're surrounded, but as soon as the battle is over, he runs towards him.

Phantom's body is shaking violently, but he's not unconscious. His eyes are wide as he's throwing back his head, mouth gasping for air.

Then he hears it, a continuous whisper from the little air he manages to get:

"Mom, dad... Please, pl-ese stop—"

[novelistwriter]

The Undead Shop Owner

DP x DC Prompt

The shop, Nightingale Services, has been around since the start of Batman's Vigilante work. The owner, Daniel Altair, is a young man who has stayed looking like he is in his early 20s, despite the many years that had passed, with the appearance of the newest Stabby Robin, Nightingale Services is going ti he requested by the Bat to help with training him, like with all the other times he was requested to do so with the other birdies and sidekicks and the Bat himself.

The Bats and even the Rogues of Gotham had tried to figure out who Daniel Altair was before he came to Gotham. When the Metahumans started appearing, the Gothamites just thought that Daniel Altair was a meta with powers related to aging, none of them questioned his pale skin, sharp fangs, and a Thermos that's always filled with a red liquid.

Nightingale Services is a neutral zone, given that Daniel Altair has stated so many times while escorting beaten goons, rogues, and occasionally a vigilante in the past, the most memorable ones were Daniel tossing the Joker in a dumpster after the Clown tried to do something to the store owner, and Batman being calmly escorted off of Daniel's property with a warning, with Batman having some visible injuries, despite the night just starting that day.

Danny had escaped his home, leaving it for the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone, and found his way to a new dimension. His parents didn't accept him being a Halfa. He wanted Jazz, Sam, and Tucker to be with him, but they had to stay behind to keep his parents and the GIW from trying anything.

He changed his last name to Altair, the brightest start in the Aquila constellation, and opened a store that would help fulfill his obsession, Nightingale Services. He would basically offer almost any type of service, cleaning, tutoring, business advice, managing group efforts he is paid to do, and training are some of them.

His first year in the new dimension had his biggest event being the Batman coming after him because of falsified evidence the Penguin left that painted Danny as the culprit for smuggling illegal stuff into Gotham. After that, Danny used some of his Ghost King inheritance to buy the Iceberg Lounge from the Penguin. He still has it, but the Penguin has a fraction of the place to earn some money from it when the Penguin stopped his attempts at ruining the new life Danny had after Danny showed the Penguin that he can and will kill the man if it continues, which he rewarded the man with the partial ownership of the Iceberg Lounge.

Then the Joker tried to get him to do things that would go against his obsession the next year. When he rejected the Jokers job offer, he had to beat up the Joker and tossed him into the dumpster next to his store.

Danny learned from Clockwork that his body is still connected to his home dimensions time flow, so he ages a lot slower in his new home, and the fact that he is compared to a vampire by the Hero community doesn't really bother him, he already proved he isn't one of the malevolent ones with the help from a British Magician that is the source of his headaches from his Ghost King paperwork.

Danny had to deal with each new batfamily member when they appeared. He gave closure to both Bruce and Dick with their parents, gave Jason a charm that would protect him from a fatal incident, gave Barbara a concoction that could heal any wound, slightly messed with Tim whenever the kid tried to learn about his past, out pranked Stephanie whenever she tried to prank him, plays a version of tag with Cassandra that involves them both sneaking up on each other, gave Duke some advice for his powers, and now he is tasked with both being a training instructor to Damian and getting the kid to be less high and mighty about himself.

[solxamber]

Signed, Sealed, Bonded || Jade Leech

Being an Esper is hard. Finding a Guide is harder. Somehow, the only one who can handle you is Jade Leech, who is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

So, picture this: You wake up, make yourself some coffee, look outside the window… and BAM—a glowing hell portal is vomiting out nightmare creatures like it’s Black Friday at the Underworld’s Walmart.

No big deal. Just another Tuesday.

This is life now. The universe is one big, unstable loot box, and sometimes, instead of daily struggles like taxes or existential dread, you get eldritch horrors trying to redecorate your city with human remains.

And that’s why Espers and Guides exist.

Espers are the special little guys (derogatory) with godlike powers and a tendency to explode if left unattended. They punch things, obliterate monsters, and generally keep civilization from crumbling like a stale cookie.

But Espers have one teeny, tiny problem. A small, insignificant, itsy-bitsy little flaw—

Espers have a fun little self-destruct feature where, if they overuse their powers and aren’t calmed down properly afterward, they go berserk and start turning cities into craters.

Whoops.

That’s where Guides come in—people with the power to keep Espers from self-destructing and turning the planet into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. They are the Espers’ emotional support humans. Their job is to keep Espers stable, sane, and not prone to going Godzilla-mode on a bad day.

Cool system, right? Makes sense? Keeps society from crumbling?

Yeah, except there’s a problem.

The problem is you.

You are the single strongest Esper on the planet. SSS-Class. Top of the charts. The kind of power that makes scientists scream and military generals start sweating through their uniforms. If Espers were trading cards, you’d be the one people would sell their kidneys for.

There’s just one little issue.

You… cannot be guided.

Like, at all.

Every time a top-ranking Guide tries to do their job, your body reacts like you just swallowed a fork.

S-Class Guide tries to guide you? You feel like you’ve swallowed a beehive.

A-Class Guide reaches out? Your skin crawls like you’re being haunted by the ghosts of bad life choices.

Government’s best, most elite SSS Guide gives it a shot? You feel like throwing up and committing a crime, but you can’t decide which one first.

Basically, your Esper powers took one look at every high-ranking Guide and said, “I’d rather die.”

The entire world is losing its shit over this.

The government is stressed. Scientists are conducting emergency research at 3 AM. High-ranking Guides are offended because how dare you reject their very expensive, very prestigious guidance?

Nobody knows why.

Is it a genetic anomaly? A cosmic joke? Are the gods simply looking down at you and laughing? Science is baffled. The government is stressed. At this point, your mere existence is a “can we patch this in the next update?” level of disaster.

You’re a walking nuclear reactor with no off-switch. And people are starting to panic.

And meanwhile, you’re just standing there, the world’s most unstable walking nuke, trying not to sneeze too hard in case you accidentally vaporize a small country.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

It’s absolutely not fine.

Because if they don’t find a Guide who can actually handle you soon…

You’re going to go berserk.

And when an SSS-Class Esper goes berserk? Well. You know those fantasy novels where an ancient dragon wakes up and annihilates an entire civilization in one breath? That, but worse.

You had been this close to blacking out.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. You were an SSS-Class Esper, for crying out loud. You could sneeze and flatten a city block. But that Gate had been a nightmare, and without proper guidance, your body was losing its mind. Your veins felt like molten lava, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding with the kind of stress headache that could legally qualify as an assassination attempt.

So, like any responsible, law-abiding Esper who didn’t want to be put down like an unruly dog, you dragged yourself to the Guidance Center.

The moment you stepped inside, they immediately threw their best Guide at you—a fellow SSS-Class, the crème de la crème, the poster child of the entire system.

“Let’s begin,” they said, voice dripping with confidence, as if you weren’t already suffering. They reached out, their hands warm as they pressed against your skin.

And then.

Oh, God.

It hit you like a truck full of nausea and existential horror. Your stomach flipped so violently you actually gagged. Your muscles screamed in protest, every cell in your body rejecting the touch like a bad Tinder match.

You scrambled backward so fast you almost ate floor.

The SSS-Class Guide stood there, horrifically offended.

"Are you serious?" They demanded, arms crossed like a petulant child. "Again?"

You barely heard them over the sound of your own labored breathing because Wow. That had been unpleasant.

So now you were curled up on the floor of the Guidance Center, shaking from both overexertion and the delightful aftereffects of a guide touch that had made you want to throw yourself into oncoming traffic.

The SSS-Class Guide was still watching you, arms crossed, debating whether they should be more concerned about your wellbeing or their ego.

Which is exactly when Jade Leech walked in.

There was a pause.

Then a slow, deliberate click of polished shoes as he stepped toward you, tilting his head.

“…Are they supposed to look like that?” he mused aloud.

“No,” said the SSS-Class Guide, deeply unamused.

Jade hummed thoughtfully before crouching beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

And for the first time since your powers awakened, you didn’t want to fling yourself off a building.

Your whole body went limp.

The shaking stopped. The nausea faded.

Your mind, which had been screaming at a constant 200% volume since you turned eighteen and acquired your powers, went quiet.

It was the most blissful thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

The SSS-Class Guide was gaping at you like you had just committed high treason.

"Are you kidding me?" they spluttered. "Him?"

And then, with a huff, they stomped away, absolutely furious that you—the greatest Esper in history, the walking apocalypse—had rejected them but accepted some random nobody.

You, meanwhile, felt clear-headed for the first time in years.

You looked at Jade—at his unreadable expression, at the sharpness of his gaze.

And then you asked, voice hoarse but steady, "What’s your name?"

His lips curled into a polite smile. "Jade Leech."

"And your grade?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if entertained by the question.

“B-Class.”

Silence.

You stared at him.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.

Of course this was happening. Of course the universe gave you a Guide you could accidentally kill.

What an absolute joke.

And yet…

You didn’t let go.

Jade Leech was the key to your survival.

Not in the romantic, fated, "I would perish without you, my love," kind of way (you weren't that dramatic, despite what your coworkers said). No, this was purely a matter of self-preservation.

For years, you had been operating like a high-powered, government-issued, barely-functioning time bomb.

Every time you subdued a gate, your body veered dangerously close to going berserk, and the only thing keeping you from breaking reality into tiny, apocalyptic pieces was the occasional half-hearted guidance session that felt about as effective as slapping a band-aid on a leaking nuclear reactor.

It was not ideal.

But now?

Now you had Jade.

Jade, the B-Class Guide who had accidentally waltzed into your life, touched your shoulder, and immediately rewired your entire nervous system.

For the first time since awakening as an Esper, you had felt calm. Like your power wasn’t on the verge of ripping itself apart. Like your own body wasn’t actively rejecting the guidance meant to stabilize you.

And it was incredible.

So, being the responsible and absolutely not impulsive person that you were, you did the only logical thing.

You decided to bribe him with a gift and ask him to temporarily bind himself to you.

Look, it wasn’t permanent.

Permanent bonding was a whole different beast.

If you bonded with Jade permanently, that was it. Game over. No take-backs, no re-dos. No guiding anyone else for the rest of his life.

Espers could still receive guidance from others, sure. But Guides? They could never guide anyone else again.

Which—haha, wow,—that had never caused any problems, ever. Definitely not an entirely predictable storm of jealousy and possessiveness among Guides who suddenly couldn’t tolerate the idea of their Esper ever touching another person.

So, no. You were not going to ask him chain himself to you for eternity. That would be both cruel and incredibly selfish.

But a temporary bond?

A temporary bond would greatly reduce the risk of you accidentally draining him to the point of no return. It would give you the stability to actually push your limits without fear of self-destruction. And most importantly, it would allow both of you to thrive.

It was perfect.

Which was why, two days later, you found yourself standing at the entrance of the Guidance Center once again, clutching a neatly wrapped gift like it was a sacrificial offering.

You marched inside with the confidence of a person who had rehearsed this conversation in their head a thousand times.

And then promptly lost all of that confidence the second Jade turned to face you, smiling like he already knew exactly what you were about to say.

"Back so soon?" he asked, his voice perfectly polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You cleared your throat and forced yourself to act like a normal human being.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, shoving the box into his hands before you could second-guess yourself. “For the other day.”

Jade’s eyes flickered with something sharp and unreadable as he took the box, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Then, before your already struggling brain could catch up to the recklessness of what you were about to do, you pushed forward.

“I also had a proposal for you.”

Jade tilted his head, looking far too entertained.

“I see,” he said. “Do tell.”

You inhaled deeply.

"Would you be interested in forming a temporary bond with me?"

There. You said it.

Now, all you had to do was wait for him to either:

A) Refuse outright because it was too much effort.

B) Agree immediately because having the strongest Esper in existence on a leash would give him unfathomable influence.

What you did not expect was for him to smile.

Not a normal smile. Not a polite, professional, "oh wow, what a fascinating suggestion," kind of smile.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, deliberate, sharp-edged thing.

Jade stepped closer, gaze glinting with quiet amusement.

"And what," he murmured, voice too smooth, too knowing, "would you be willing to offer me in return?"

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh, you might be in deep shit.

It had been weeks.

Weeks of asking Jade to temporarily bind himself to you. Weeks of bargaining, negotiating, and trying to convince him that this wasn’t some tragic, toxic love story where the frail Guide got used up like an expired battery. Weeks of him smiling at you like you were a particularly amusing lab rat scrambling against the walls of a maze.

And yet.

Despite all of that—he still guided you.

He still stepped in when your brain felt like it was melting from the inside out, still pressed a steady hand against your skin like it was the easiest thing in the world, still whispered, “Don’t fight it. Just relax.”

Which was a very funny thing to say to someone who could literally kill you by accident.

And that was the problem.

Because he wasn’t bound to you.

Which meant that if you drained him too much—if you accidentally pushed him past his limits—there would be no failsafe.

And if that happened—if you were even a fraction too reckless—

He would die.

And you would go to jail.

And, even worse, you would probably cry.

So, obviously, the rational thing to do was to pull away whenever you felt like you were taking too much.

Which brings you to now.

Jade had been guiding you for forty-five minutes.

FORTY-FIVE. MINUTES.

An ungodly amount of time. A suicidal amount of time.

You could already see the signs of fatigue in him. His touch had grown warmer, heavier, his breaths had slowed into something almost too steady.

He was getting tired.

Which meant it was time to get the hell out of here before you became a murderer.

You twisted, trying to sit up, and—like the absolute menace he was—Jade simply… swung his legs over yours, caging you beneath him like some deranged, smug, lanky cryptid that refused to let you escape.

You froze.

He smiled.

That sharp, infuriating, absolutely unhinged smile.

"Now, now," he murmured, voice sickeningly patient, "where do you think you're going?"

You stared at him in horror.

"You've been guiding me for almost an hour," you hissed, your muscles tense with the effort of not launching him across the room. "I refuse to let you die because you’re too stubborn to let me leave."

Jade tilted his head, considering.

"Hm."

You blinked.

"Hm"???

You had just laid out the possibility of a tragic demise and all he had to say was ‘hm’???

"What the hell does that mean?" you demanded.

Jade leaned in slightly, pressing his fingers against your neck, his touch featherlight.

"I wonder," he mused, eyes glinting with something that looked too much like amusement, "do you think perhaps you are underestimating me?"

"Underestimating you?" You nearly choked on your own disbelief. "Jade, you are a B-Class Guide. I could literally snap you in half like a goddamn glow stick."

"And yet," he said smoothly, "I am still here."

Your eye twitched.

"That is not the flex you think it is—"

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing his fingers against your temple. "Relax. Just a little longer."

You wanted to argue. You really, really did.

But the second his touch deepened the guiding, your entire body sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

You hated how much you trusted it.

You hated that, in the end, you let him win.

Because as much as you wanted to fight him, as much as you wanted to break free and flee the room—

You needed this.

And he knew it.

Which was why he was smiling so much.

The absolute menace.

Today, you did something very dangerous.

No, not fighting another Gate. Not risking your life for the safety of others. Not even getting guided by a man who was one unfortunate sneeze away from becoming a tragic obituary.

No, you did something far worse.

You asked Jade Leech what he wanted in return for keeping you alive.

It was a reasonable question! A necessary question! Because at this point, the man was essentially your life support, and it felt a little irresponsible to just assume he’d be happy with some gift baskets and heartfelt thank-you notes. If you were going to keep depending on him, you needed to know what he wanted.

So you asked.

And the menace smiled.

Which immediately sent your self-preservation instincts screaming.

That was never a good sign. Jade’s smiles were like sharks in shallow water—unsettling, unnatural, and a clear warning that something was about to go very, very wrong.

You braced yourself.

And then he said:

"A nature trail."

You stared at him.

And blinked.

And then stared at him some more.

Because surely you had misheard him.

“A nature trail,” you repeated slowly, because there was no possible way that was all he wanted. You had prepared for blackmail. You had budgeted for bribes. Hell, you had been willing to break the bank if it meant keeping him around (not to brag, but the government paid you stupidly well for constantly risking your life). And yet, out of all the possible insane, ominous, power-hungry demands he could’ve made—

He was asking for a casual stroll through the wilderness?

Jade nodded, the picture of serenity. “Yes.”

"That’s it?" You squinted at him, like maybe if you looked hard enough, you’d find some hidden, sinister agenda buried in his expression. "That's all you want? Not money? Not status? Not, I don’t know, government secrets?"

Jade’s lips twitched, his amusement almost palpable. “For now.”

For now.

For now???

You triple checked that he was being serious, eyed him with the kind of deep, unblinking suspicion normally reserved for politicians and people who ate their cereal without milk, but all he did was nod serenely.

And so, finally, reluctantly, completely aware that you were probably walking into some elaborate trap—

You sighed and muttered, "Sure. What the hell."

It was almost alarming how much fun you were having.

For once, you weren’t dealing with the constant, soul-crushing sensation of your own mind and body trying to rip each other apart like two rabid raccoons fighting over a single McDonald’s fry.

For once, you could just exist without the underlying fear of accidentally exploding something—or someone—if you weren’t careful.

And as it turned out, existing was kind of nice.

You took the time to smell the flowers (literally, because Jade had shoved one under your nose and said, “Tell me, do you also detect the faintest hint of decay?” which was an incredibly alarming sentence but a nice flower).

You watched as little woodland creatures scampered through the underbrush, entirely unbothered by the fact that an SSS-Class Esper and a B-Class Guide were just casually strolling through their home like a scenic couple in a nature documentary. And honestly?

It was peaceful. Disturbingly peaceful.

But the real sight—the real discovery—was Jade himself.

You had never seen him like this before. Completely in his element. He had dumped the entirety of your picnic basket into your arms without hesitation and was now roaming freely, examining plants with the intense curiosity of a man who had just found Atlantis.

Every few minutes, he’d pause and rattle off some absurdly specific nature fact at you, like, “This particular plant releases a toxin that causes temporary blindness if ingested. Isn’t that fascinating?” or “Did you know that otters sometimes use tools to crack open shellfish? Much like humans, they have a preference for certain objects. Some even carry the same rock with them for years.”

You had absolutely no idea why you found this so entertaining.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, all smooth enthusiasm and quiet amusement. Maybe it was the way he moved, effortless, unhurried, utterly unbothered by anything except whatever flora had captured his attention next. Or maybe—God help you—it was just him.

Not that you’d ever admit that. You’d rather eat your own boots.

Still, you couldn’t help but watch as he suddenly stilled. His gaze snapped toward something in the distance, eyes gleaming with open delight, and you knew—instinctively, immediately—that something was about to go down.

And sure enough—

"Ah."

That single, quiet syllable was so ominous you had to physically fight the urge to take a step back.

Then, Jade turned toward you, expression eerily composed despite the unmistakable excitement in his gaze, and said, “Do you see that mushroom?”

You followed his gaze toward the completely ordinary-looking tree. And then you squinted.

There, just barely within sight, was a mushroom.

A mushroom that looked like every other goddamn mushroom you had passed on this trip.

And yet.

Based on the way Jade’s entire soul had just left his body in pure, unfiltered joy, you could only assume it was some rare, once-in-a-lifetime god of the fungi.

You watched as he immediately took his phone out, snapping so many pictures you were half convinced he was going to submit them to a mushroom appreciation forum.

Then he paused.

And the exhilaration on his face dimmed—just slightly.

Because, unfortunately for him, the mushroom in question was just barely out of reach.

And you—a fool, an absolute clown, an irredeemable dumbass—

Put your bags down.

Walked up to him.

And lifted him up.

For a single, terrifying moment, there was silence.

Jade froze. His hands hovered in midair, like even he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Then, slowly, he reached forward.

Plucked the mushroom from its resting place.

And you—practically sweating bullets at the realization of what you had just done without even thinking about it—lowered him back onto solid ground.

The first thing he did was examine the sample like it was the most precious object in the entire world. The second thing he did was glance up at you—not with his usual smug amusement, not with teasing mirth, but something else entirely.

A slow, quiet smile.

Warm. Gentle. Uncharacteristically soft.

And that was the exact moment you thought, “Fuck my life, I’m doomed.”

Without another word, you picked your bags back up and followed him to the next area.

The Gate had been particularly easy to suppress today—by which you meant no spontaneous explosions, no sudden existential dread, and, most importantly, no feeling like your brain had been wrung out like a wet dishcloth. All in all, a successful day.

So when you spotted Jade afterward, you figured you wouldn’t need much from him. A little guidance, maybe. Some grounding. Nothing too serious.

What you did not expect, however, was to immediately slump against him like a Victorian maiden succumbing to the vapors.

At first, Jade visibly tensed. His muscles coiled, and he took a sharp breath—like he had genuinely thought you had just dropped dead in his arms.

But then he glanced down.

And instead of finding you on the verge of unconsciousness due to Esper-induced burnout, he found you…completely at peace.

Relaxed.

Asleep.

And oh.

Oh, this was interesting.

Jade stilled, the way a hunter does when something rare and unexpected steps into their sights. His lips quirked, amusement flickering across his face as he tilted his head, watching you with the same fascination he reserved for poisonous plants and particularly lively prey.

You had just…collapsed. Right into his arms.

Voluntarily.

Slowly—very slowly, like he was testing the weight of a particularly fragile glass sculpture—he adjusted his stance, shifting just enough so you could lean more comfortably against him.

And when you made a soft, barely audible sigh of contentment—an actual sigh of contentment—he almost laughed.

Jade glanced around, taking in the others in the vicinity. There were still a few agents packing up equipment, cataloging monster remains, finishing the usual post-Gate cleanup. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to your current predicament.

He debated waking you.

For about half a second.

Then, instead of nudging you upright, instead of rousing you from your accidental nap, he merely settled in more comfortably, adjusted his grip, and decided:

"A little while more wouldn’t hurt."

The first time you met Floyd Leech was…an experience.

Not in the way people say, “Oh, yeah, skydiving was an experience!” or “That seafood buffet really did a number on my stomach, what an experience!” No. This was more of a “I just survived a category five hurricane with nothing but a pool noodle and sheer willpower” kind of experience.

You knew Jade's twin was an Esper, and you'd heard the rumors about Floyd’s personality. Some people said he was unpredictable, others called him a walking natural disaster with an attention span that could either last three seconds or three months. B Rank Esper Floyd Leech, SSS Rank Menace.

And then, by sheer misfortune (or fate, depending on whose side you were on), you both ended up suppressing the same Gate.

Hearing him laugh as he shredded a monster like it was nothing but a chew toy was unsettling even for you. You had seen horrors beyond human comprehension, had fought creatures made of shadows and teeth, had experienced the kind of pain that would make a lesser being crumble—and yet.

Yet.

The way Floyd’s eyes locked onto you in the middle of the battlefield, the way his grin stretched wider, wider, as if he had just found a new favorite thing to play with—your instincts screamed at you. Your fight-or-flight response hit so hard you almost accidentally activated your Esper abilities on pure reflex.

(And the worst part? You were technically stronger than him. That did not make you feel any safer.)

Then, as if to truly cement his status as an absolute enigma, he took one look at you, tilted his head, and said:

"Ooooh~! A shrimpy!"

A shrimpy.

He just…he called you shrimpy.

And the worst part? It was kind of funny. Actually, it was lowkey adorable.

So you just. Didn’t stop him.

Which he took as an invitation, apparently, because the next thing you knew, he was slapping an arm around your shoulders like you were old friends. And with zero hesitation, he dragged you along as you both exited the Gate, whistling a happy little tune as if he hadn’t just been reveling in combat two minutes ago.

You barely had time to process what had just happened before you saw Jade.

Jade’s gaze looked…sharper.

It wasn’t obvious—he was still smiling, still polite, still the ever-composed Guide who had saved your ass on multiple occasions—but there was a distinct flicker of something behind his eyes as he looked at Floyd practically draping himself over you.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t frown. Didn’t tell Floyd off.

He simply stepped forward, placed a hand on your shoulder, and gently pulled you away.

And just like that, the weight of Floyd’s arm disappeared, replaced by the steadier, more deliberate touch of his twin.

And Floyd?

Floyd just looked between the two of you.

Then, he grinned.

Then, he laughed.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of a man about to cause absolute chaos, he threw his head back and cackled.

"Ooooh, Azul is gonna LOVE this~!"

And before you could even begin to ask what the hell that meant, he waved and walked off toward a Guide—one who was probably prepared to deal with his absolute insanity.

You barely had time to recover before Jade gestured for you to sit.

Guidance was nothing new at this point. Usually, he just held your hand, grounded you with a touch, let his presence stabilize your energy until you were back to normal.

But today.

Today, he touched your foreheads together.

Your breath caught.

His hand was light against your jaw, but firm enough to keep you still. His forehead pressed against yours, close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting against your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut on pure reflex, your fists clenching as if that would somehow stop the sudden, ridiculous way your pulse spiked.

This was fine.

This was fine.

Your mind was clear. Your energy was balanced. You were not thinking about his breath on your lips.

You absolutely, one hundred percent, were not thinking about how his voice, so soft, so deceptively gentle, murmured:

"Breathe."

You were so, so doomed.

The Gate had been massive—one of the worst ones in years.

It had opened with no warning, no telltale energy fluctuations, nothing. By the time the first responders had arrived, the battlefield was already drenched in blood.

A-class Espers, gone.

S-class Espers, gone.

By the time you had been thrown into the fray, the situation had spiraled so far out of control that your arrival felt less like a strategic decision and more like a last-ditch gamble.

Eight hours.

Eight hours of relentless combat.

Wave after wave, monster after monster, every time you cut one down, another two would replace it.

You had fought until your muscles felt like molten lead, until your vision blurred at the edges, until the very air around you burned with overuse of your own power—until the Gate finally stabilized just enough for you to close it.

And then, you stumbled out.

And everything hurt.

Everything was too much.

The sound of voices, the shifting of energy, the distant cries of the wounded—it all crashed into you like a tidal wave, scraping against your raw, frayed nerves. You were this close to losing control, to snapping under the pressure, to letting your Esper abilities swallow you whole.

But Jade wasn’t here.

Jade, your Guide, the one person who knew how to handle you when you reached your breaking point—wasn’t here.

Apparently, no one had informed him of your involvement in the battle. He was still on his way.

Which meant you were falling apart, and there was no one to catch you.

And so, the SSS-ranked Guide on standby stepped in.

The moment their hands touched you, you recoiled. Their presence was too much, too invasive, too overbearing, like someone trying to force a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Their energy pressed against yours, crushing down, shoving your frayed emotions back into place like jamming a lid onto a boiling pot.

You wanted to throw up.

Your entire body screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.

But if you pushed them away, if you lost control, if you went berserk right here in the aftermath of this bloodbath—people would die.

So you clung to them, shaking, white-knuckled, letting them guide you as best as they could.

And you hoped—prayed—that Jade would get here soon.

When Jade first stabilized you, he had thought of you as entertainment.

It was hilarious, really. The strongest Esper to ever exist, the one the government practically worshiped, the one whose very presence made monsters hesitate—completely helpless without him.

Oh, you could fight. You could tear through Gates like they were made of paper, you could reduce monsters to mist and regrets, but the moment it was over? The moment your power turned inward and tried to rip you apart? Only he could fix it.

Jade had never considered himself sentimental, and certainly not possessive. People were people. They came, they went, they lived, they died. He had met more than a few Espers in his life, had guided his fair share, and yet—none of them had ever needed him. Not the way you did.

And the best part? You were terrified of hurting him.

Absolutely adorable.

Your desperation to keep him safe was comedy gold. You were an SSS-rank nightmare, strong enough to turn city blocks into craters, and yet, the moment he touched you, you flinched like you might break him. You barely let him guide you for more than a few minutes, always watching him like he was made of glass, like he might shatter if you took too much.

Jade had never been one for attachment, so he simply dodged all your attempts at even a temporary bond. What was the point? He liked the little game you two had going on. You kept asking, kept trying to tie him down, and he kept laughing and evading, watching you get more and more frustrated. Too much fun to stop now.

Even when he invited you to the nature trail, it had been on a whim. A little curiosity, a little test. He expected you to sulk in the corner, maybe grumble under your breath about how boring it was, or sigh dramatically like you were suffering for his sake.

Instead, you had participated.

You had followed him through the trees, asked questions, even leaned in close to examine the plants he showed you. And when he couldn’t reach a mushroom, you had—without hesitation, without even thinking—simply lifted him up.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That had been the moment something inside him had shifted.

Jade wasn’t sure he liked it.

It was unfamiliar, uncomfortable. Unsettling. A quiet sort of tug, deep in his chest, something that made him pause when he looked at you.

Before, it had been easy to laugh off questions.

"Jade, what’s the deal with you and them?" someone would ask, and he would smirk, deflect, change the subject.

Now?

Now, when people asked, he had to bite back the urge to say, “They’re mine.”

So when he heard about the Gate—eight hours, a battle, an ambush that had already killed dozens before you were called in—

He didn’t hesitate.

He had barely taken the time to grab Floyd, all but shoving him into the driver’s seat. "Drive."

Floyd, ever delighted by drama, had driven like a man possessed. Jade wasn’t entirely sure how they weren’t in a burning wreck by the time they arrived, but at least they got there fast.

And when he stepped onto the battlefield, pushing past medics, ignoring protocol—he saw you.

Sick. Wounded. Barely standing.

In the arms of someone else.

His stomach turned.

Jade had never experienced jealousy before, not in any real way. He was too patient, too controlled, too much of a sadist to truly be envious of anything. But seeing you there, shaking and exhausted, clinging to someone who wasn’t him—

Something ugly coiled in his chest.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech felt like throwing up.

The moment you saw Jade, it was over for the poor, unfortunate soul currently keeping you upright.

You shoved the deeply offended Guide off you like they were an inconvenience, a minor roadblock between you and salvation. You could apologize later. Right now, your legs were giving out, your head was spinning, and the only thing you knew for certain was that you needed him.

Jade barely had time to react before you reached for him, stumbling forward, barely coherent, barely standing.

And he ran to you.

Jade Leech—calm, composed, unshakable Jade—ran.

You collapsed against him the second he was close enough, clutching him like a man stranded in the desert clutching the first drop of rain. His touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, the only thing that made the burning, suffocating feeling inside you ease just a little.

“Thank you,” you gasped, fingers twisting in the fabric of his uniform, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for coming.”

Jade stiffened.

You barely registered it. You were too far gone, too exhausted, too feverish. But if you had been paying attention, you would have seen something rare, something almost unheard of—

Jade Leech looking completely and utterly shocked.

Like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Like he hadn’t expected you to look at him like he was something worth holding onto.

And then, because you were nothing if not a disaster, you giggled—actually giggled, delirious and exhausted and overwhelmed by relief.

“Your face…” you murmured, the edges of your vision darkening. “You look so—”

And then you went completely limp in his arms.

Jade was not panicking.

No, truly, he wasn’t. Panic was an unbecoming emotion, a pointless thing that only clouded one’s judgment. It was inefficient. Wasteful. Jade Leech did not panic.

So when you went completely limp in his arms, when your body sagged against him like a puppet with its strings cut, he did not panic.

He simply—assessed the situation.

He shook you gently, then not-so-gently, but you were completely unresponsive, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands slid over your back, fingers pressing against the pulse points in your wrists, your neck—too fast, too unsteady, too weak.

He tried guiding you, pushing that familiar, stabilizing force into you, but it was like pouring water into a cup that had already shattered—it wasn’t enough.

You needed something more.

Jade hesitated.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.

And then, before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was not soft, nor was it gentle. This was not a kiss meant to be romantic, nor was it something he had ever done before. But kissing—intimate, overwhelming, all-encompassing kissing—had long been known as one of the most effective ways for a Guide to stabilize an Esper.

And Jade had never needed to put in this much effort before.

Your lips were warm beneath his, feverish and trembling. He could feel it the second it worked—your grip on him tightened, fingers twisting in his coat as you gasped against his mouth. A shudder ran through your body as you pulled him closer, kissed him back.

Jade felt something snap.

It was an ugly thing, this feeling in his chest. Sharp-edged and burning. He didn’t know if he was kissing you to help you, to save you—

Or if he was kissing you because he wanted to.

But then—oh, then—his lips curled against yours as a slow, unbearable sense of triumph unfurled inside him. Because you weren’t just kissing him back.

You were kissing him back in front of everyone.

In front of all the other Guides who had spent years chasing after you, aching for the chance to stabilize you, to prove themselves worthy of being your match.

And yet, it was his arms you had collapsed into. His touch that had soothed you. His lips you were parting for, grasping at like he was the only thing keeping you from slipping into the abyss.

Jade had spent months dodging your attempts at forming a temporary bond, laughing as you fumbled for something more than what he was willing to give.

Now, you were clinging to him.

And wasn’t that just the most delicious thing?

Waking up to someone kissing you was new.

Waking up to Jade kissing you, though? That was absolutely not on your bingo card.

Your mind, sluggish from the near-death experience of the century, took a moment to catch up. There was warmth against your lips—soft, careful, lingering. A hand at the back of your neck, cool fingers threading through your hair. The faint scent of damp earth and saltwater, familiar, grounding.

And then, your body caught up with your brain and realized oh, holy shit, that’s Jade.

A normal person would pull away, maybe demand an explanation. Possibly scream.

You?

You wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

Jade let out a noise—half a laugh, half a surprised hum—but he didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted into you, his lips curling into a smile against yours. His hand tightened at your nape, fingers splaying against your back, and when you deepened the kiss, he sighed into your mouth like he had been waiting for you to do it.

That was almost enough to send you straight into cardiac arrest.

When you finally pulled away, you were fully awake, body thrumming with energy. Not just from the guiding—though, yeah, that was part of it—but from the undeniable, inescapable fact that Jade Leech had just kissed you. That you had kissed him back.

Jade didn’t move far. If anything, he leaned in closer, forehead brushing against yours, his breath still warm on your lips. His gaze flickered across your face, taking in the flush burning its way up your cheeks, the way you were still holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

You wanted to say something, maybe tease him, maybe demand an explanation, but words weren’t exactly functioning right now. You could barely think beyond holy shit that was the best kiss of my life.

Jade, for once, wasn’t smug.

Or, no. He was trying to be. He had the smirk, the casual tone, the playful tilt of his head. But his fingers twitched against your back, his grip just a little too tight. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a fraction softer than usual, a little too careful.

"Would you," he said, "perhaps, be interested in permanently bonding with me?"

You blinked.

Jade Leech. Jade Leech. The same Jade who had dodged every attempt you made at even a temporary bond, who found it hilarious that only he could stabilize you, who treated your guiding sessions like some kind of ongoing game.

That Jade had just asked if you wanted to bond.

Permanently.

Your heart stuttered. His hand was trembling.

He swallowed, like he was waiting for you to say no.

You didn't answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him again.

Jade made a startled sound before melting into you completely, his arms locking around you like he had no plans of letting go. His lips curled into another smile against yours—this time, not smug, but genuine.

Like he had won.

You had asked him eighteen times.

Eighteen.

And, frankly, Jade was getting impatient.

The first time, it had been endearing. You had looked at him with wide, wary eyes, like you thought this was some elaborate joke. You had stammered out a, "You—You're sure? Like, actually sure?" and Jade, who was in a good mood, had simply hummed and said yes.

The second time, it had been amusing. You had grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him aside, and, in a whisper like you were plotting treason, said, "Look, I won’t be mad if you back out. You know that, right? Like, this is a huge deal, and if this was just, y’know, heat of the moment, that’s totally okay. No hard feelings."

The third, fourth, fifth, and so on?

Infuriating.

Jade could not, for the life of him, figure out how to convince you that he meant what he said. Yes, he wanted to bond. Yes, permanently. No, he had not lost his mind.

And yet, here you were, pacing across his living room, your arms crossed, rambling for the nineteenth time about how he still had a choice, how you wouldn’t hold it against him if he didn’t want to go through with it, how he wouldn’t be able to guide anyone else ever again if he bonded to you, how that might be too much to give up.

Jade, stretched out on the couch, chin propped against his palm, sighed.

He had enough patience to last centuries.

But this?

This was getting ridiculous.

"—and I'm just saying," you continued, voice a little frantic, "I've seen Guides get really resentful about it. You could go from stabilizing a hundred people to just me. And you know how bad I get, how it hurts, and I'm not saying you can't handle it, but, like, are you sure? Like, really sure? Because—"

Jade leaned forward, grabbed your collar, and kissed you.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and his lips curled when he felt you tense up before relaxing completely. He kissed you slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make you feel the answer you had refused to believe.

And when he finally pulled away, he let his teeth graze your bottom lip just slightly, smirking when he felt you shiver.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked, voice smooth, teasing.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water.

Jade’s smirk widened.

"You're overthinking it," he said, reaching out, gripping your wrist, tugging you closer. "There’s no one who could entertain me quite like you do, you know? Maybe it’s time for a career change. I’ll be your Guide, and yours alone."

Something inside you lurched.

Something possessive.

Jade, yours.

Only yours.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Amused. Challenging.

"So?" he said, voice mocking light, but his fingers tightened around your wrist, his pulse beating just a little too fast. "Are we doing this or not?"

Your breath hitched.

And then, you grabbed him by his collar, yanked him down, and kissed him again.

This time, you bit his lip.

Jade laughed into your mouth—pleased, triumphant—before pulling you against him and kissing you so deeply you felt it in your bones.

And just like that, the bond clicked into place.

Waking up with Jade curled against you was a rare privilege.

For one, he was a light sleeper. Most of the time, you barely shifted and he’d already be watching you like some creepy forest cryptid. But today, he must’ve been exhausted from the bonding because he was still tucked against you, his breathing slow and utterly unguarded.

It was… nice.

Nice enough that you felt unreasonably smug about it.

You shifted just a little, tightening your hold around him, and he hummed in contentment, pressing closer without fully waking up. Unfair. How was this the same Jade who deliberately guided you half the time by whispering things against your lips just to make you flustered?

You could get used to this.

And then it hit you.

You’d bonded. Permanently.

But you had never actually asked him to be yours.

As in, romantically.

Your eyes snapped open. Oh. Oh, you had fumbled.

You knew Jade had agreed to the bond, obviously, but—was he in love with you? Did he see this as just a Guide-Esper partnership? Did you just lock yourself into a lifelong working relationship like some corporate contract??

He slowly stirred and just as he blinked at you, before you could think better of it, you blurted out, "What are we?"

Jade went still.

Like, completely, horrifyingly motionless.

You felt him exhale sharply, his hand twitching against your side, as if physically restraining himself.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face was somewhere between fondness, disbelief, and the soul-crushing realization that he was in love with a complete idiot.

"...Are you serious?" he asked, his voice painfully even.

You hesitated. "...Yes?"

Jade closed his eyes.

He inhaled.

He exhaled.

He inhaled again.

Then, finally, he muttered, "God give me strength."

You frowned. "Look, I’m just saying, you never actually—"

"Do you think I would bond with you permanently if I wasn't in love with you?" he asked, voice slower, more deliberate, as if carefully handling a very stupid but very precious object.

You blinked.

Paused.

And then you felt heat creep up your neck.

"...Oh," you said, a little dumbly.

Jade sighed.

But before he could say anything else, you reached out and pulled him back into your chest.

You hid your face against his hair.

"...Love you too," you mumbled, voice muffled, but he could hear the smile in it.

Jade, after a long beat of silence, finally let out a breathless laugh.

And as you held him close, warm and undeniably happy, he thought, Yup. They’re my dumbass.

Masterlist

[beloveds-embrace]

(even more designationless!reader…)

The idea had clung to you like a ghost, silent and persistent. A whisper of possibility, a gnawing what if that refused to let go, lurking in the quiet spaces between your thoughts.

It started as an offhanded remark- just a passing suggestion from an Omega medic flipping through your file, his frown deepening at the blank space where a designation should be. He’d leaned in closer, like he was sharing a deep secret even though you’d heard of it before.

“You know, there’s a new procedure. A way to synthesize a scent, balance your hormones. Might help you fit in better.”

At the time, you’d laughed it off, a dry, hollow sound. You were fine. You had learned to live without instincts, without scent cues. You had a pack now- wasn’t that such a wonderful thought? You, of all people, with a pack- and they never made you feel lesser for it.

But still…

Still, you would never stop noticing the way strangers hesitated when they got too close, noses twitching as they tried to find something that wasn’t there. The way some looked at you like you were an anomaly, a hollow space where something vital should be.

The pack never made you feel wrong. But the rest of the world did before and after them.

So, you started actually looking into it. Quietly; and what you found was terrifying.

The procedure wasn’t just some simple injection or pill, wasn’t like the time you got yourself a pheromone perfume. It was invasive- gene therapy, hormone treatments, scent gland augmentation. Synthetic pheromones would be forced into your system, rewriting the very foundation of your body’s chemistry. The risks of rejection and infections were high. The list of potential side effects was even higher- neurological damage, sensory overload, organ stress. Death.

It wasn’t just expensive. It wasn’t just painful. It was dangerous.

And yet, the thought had taken a root far too deep to be simply pulled out.

What would it be like to walk into a room and be known? To have a scent that soothed your pack, something that would mark them the way they marked you with touches and borrowed clothes and lingering words? The pheromone perfume had been temporary, but this- it could be permanent. A cure.

It took weeks before you built up the courage to bring it up to your pack; weeks of staring at catalogues and brochures, google searches all on the costs, the risks, the very, very few who had tried it.

Sitting in the nest one evening, curled between them, you hesitated before you gathered enough courage and spoke. “I found a way to get a scent.”

The reaction was immediate, though you weren’t surprised. They’ve likely heard of the procedure before.

Johnny turned his head sharply from where he had been sprawled beside you, brow furrowing. Kyle, who had been playing absently with your fingers, froze. John, seated at the edge of the nest with a book in his lap, went still. And Simon- Simon growled. A low, rumbling thing that vibrated through your ribs, curling up inside your chest like a warning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Your throat went dry. “You know about that procedure, right?” your words were careful, hesitant. “It’s… expensive. But it can create a scent for me. A real one.”

Silence. Then-

“No.”

John’s voice was sharp, absolute. Not angry, not yet. But firm in a way that brooked no argument. A command all on its own.

Your stomach twisted, and a deep frown etched itself onto your face. “I just thought-”

“No,” Simon repeated, harsher this time, sitting up straight. His eyes burned into yours, dark and furious. “Who the fuck put that idea in your head?”

You faltered, the hesitant hope in your chest slowly fanning out. “It’s not- I wasn’t—”

“You dinnae need fixing, hen.”

“It’s not about fixing,” you argued, pulse quickening. Why weren’t they giving you a chance to explain? “It’s about- I don’t know, being normal? Being able to-”

“You are normal,” Kyle interrupted, his voice thick, pain threaded around each word. “Christ, love, what made you think you weren’t?”

Frustration bubbled up, clogging your thoughts. “You don’t get it,” you snapped, and the words poured out, raw and aching. “None of you do. You’ve never had to live without it. Never had to wonder if you belonged because you don’t have the one thing that ties you to everyone else!”

John’s exhale was sharp, scrubbing a hand over his face and beard. He looked at you- really looked at you, and his face tensed even further. “And you think putting yourself through hell to force a scent into your system is the answer?”

You hesitated, exposed under their scrutiny, laid bare even in spite of the layers you were wearing.

“You’d risk your life for this?”

“People go through hormone therapy all the time-”

“Not like this,” Kyle shook his head, immediately cutting that line of thought off. “This isn’t just hormone theraph. This is gene-altering shit. You read the side effects, love? The risks?”

You had. And now, under their gazes, the weight of it pressed heavy on your chest.

Ghost shifted closer, holding your arm, face tight. “You’re not doing this.”

“You can’t just tell me what I can and can’t do with my own body!”

Price’s jaw tightened, eyes dark with something unreadable, something heavy. When he finally spoke, it was rough, edged with the kind of steel that only came from deep, unwavering conviction.

“You’re right.”

For a second, your breath caught, because you hadn’t expected him to say that. Did you-?

“We can’t tell you what to do with your body,” he continued, low but firm. “But we can stop you from hurting yourself. I will not allow you to go through that damn procedure.”

The words hit like a fist to the gut.

Simon exhaled sharply, tilting his head like he couldn’t believe you had even considered it. “You’d put yourself through that- all that danger, all that risk- just to what? Smell a little different?”

You swallowed, and then, after a heavy moment, nodded.

Kyle leaned in, wrapping himself around you, protective. “You,” he hissed. “You think some synthetic, lab-made scent could ever be worth you getting hurt?”

Your throat felt tight, and you looked away, only for Johnny to let out a rough, disbelieving laugh. “Jesus, lass. You think we’d ever want some artificial shite over you?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. “I just thought… maybe it would make things easier.” You admitted eventually, voice small and weak, avoiding their eyes. You’d thought… it might even make your family care.

Gaz inhaled sharply, like your words had hurt. “Easier for who?”

The question left you hollow, because you knew the answer.

Not for them.

Never for them.

John sighed, rubbing his temples before reaching out, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand and forcing you to look at him. “Love,” he murmured, and his voice had softened now, rough edges worn down to something gentler, something aching. “We don’t need you to smell like us to know you’re ours. We don’t need a scent to claim you, or to carry your scent.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, touch warm. “You’re already part of this pack.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, curling around your ribs, something painful and good all at once.

For so long, you had felt other. Like something was missing. But here, surrounded by them, their warmth pressing into you, their hands grounding you-

You could almost convince yourself you were whole.

Simon let out a slow breath and reached for you, pulling you into his lap with a kind of desperate, hungry care, his arms curling around you like he could somehow shield you from your own thoughts. Johnny pressed against your side, warm and solid, his grip firm where he held onto your wrist. Kyle leaned in, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and Price wrapped an arm around all of you, anchoring you to them.

And you let yourself believe them.

Omegaverse masterlist

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTAR MANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Platonic Alexander Sartorius x Child Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What If He Become Obsessed With a Lonely Little Girl?

☆⁠ NOTES : I already wrote that but yet again, it's a pure platonic fic. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It started with a cough. Yours.

You were just a little thing — no older than eight or nine. Scrawny, wide-eyed, draped in a secondhand coat too big for your shoulders, wandering around Gotham’s decaying hospital district with a ratty backpack and a box of chalk. Drawing hearts and cats on the sidewalks. Coughing a little too hard. Breathing in too much Gotham air.

That’s when he saw you.

Not clearly. He was hiding — always hiding — behind shadowed alleyways, behind vents, behind his own damn curse of a body. Dr. Phosphorus: a man more ghost than flesh, a body lit from the inside out with a radioactive hellfire that never dies.

You should’ve screamed. But you didn’t.

You stared at him. Big, unblinking eyes. Tilted your head. Like a child seeing a bonfire flicker in the cold. You didn’t run. Didn’t cry. You just said:

"You look like the stars."

And that was it.

He told himself it was just curiosity.

A child's innocence. A one-off encounter. He wouldn’t linger. Couldn’t. He was a monster, a pariah — rejected by science, abandoned by Gotham, burned from the inside out because of corporate betrayal. His body melted and fused into something no longer human. He hated children. Hated their purity, their softness, their loudness.

But you came back.

Every day. Drawing chalk suns and moons. Sometimes you brought flowers and left them by the rusted fence where you’d seen him. Sometimes you talked to the shadows — asked if he liked kittens. If he liked candy. If he was lonely.

He never answered. But he listened.

Then he began to follow you.

Silently. Carefully. Never too close. You had no one. No mother. No father. Gotham chewed people like you up and spat them out. But you were different — a tiny sunbeam in this diseased city. You shared your food with pigeons. Hugged stray cats. Drew wings on the sides of old buildings. You had such hope.

And somehow, he started to believe that if he watched over you… if he kept you safe… maybe his life wasn’t entirely without meaning.

It got worse when you got sick.

A fever. Nothing serious, but your little body was weak. Maybe from the Gotham air. Maybe from the cold. He hovered outside your squat shelter all night, watching you shake under the threadbare blanket. He couldn’t touch you. He’d burn you. His very presence was toxic.

So he left food. Medicine. Blankets. Stolen, yes — but necessary. The next morning, you smiled weakly and whispered to the shadows:

"Thank you, star man."

He didn’t sleep for days.

He started killing again.

Only people who hurt children. Only abusers. Dealers. Monsters. People who looked at you too long when you walked down the street. People who would’ve hurt you if he hadn’t stepped in.

Their corpses burned to ash, leaving no trace. No witnesses.

He told himself it was justice. A cleansing fire. But truthfully?

It was because you were the only thing in this world that hadn’t flinched at the sight of him.

He became obsessed with your laughter.

You didn’t do it often. But when you did — when a dog licked your face, or a balloon flew into your hands — it was music. Something pure. Something human. Something that made the burning inside him rage with something that almost felt like life.

He’d do anything to protect that sound.

He began following you everywhere. School (when you went). Stores. Shelters. You never saw him, but sometimes you left chalk drawings where you’d seen him last. Stick figures of a girl and a man made of flame. You named him "Mr. Star."

Then one night, someone hurt you.

A mugger. Just a kid himself, desperate, shaking, holding a knife. You were trying to give him your sandwich.

Alexander burned him down to the bone.

You saw him. Glowing, radioactive, his skull lit like a lantern, fire rising from his ribs — a creature from hell. You screamed, this time. Fell backwards. Cried.

He froze.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared at your tearful, terrified face.

And then you reached out with a shaking hand and whispered:

“Please don’t go.”

That night, he began speaking to you.

Just once. Then again. And again. Always at night. Always hidden. But you got used to it. You told him about your day. He told you stories from when he was still human — about science, about the stars, about how he used to dream of curing cancer. He spoke like a ghost trying to remember what it was to be a man.

He warned you never to touch him. He was fire, poison. A living reactor.

But you called him your guardian angel.

Now he lives for you.

You are his redemption. The last flicker of light in a world that turned him into a monster. He doesn’t care about revenge anymore. Not really. Not when you’re smiling. Not when you’re safe.

He watches you sleep from rooftops. Follows you like a shadow. Whispers your name in the dark when he thinks you can’t hear.

You call him “Star Man.”

And though he knows he’ll never be human again…

He thinks, just maybe, he can be your star.

The nights in Gotham are always cold. Even in summer.

The shadows are long, the air tastes like smoke, and you’ve learned to recognize the scent of ash that trails behind him.

Even when you don’t see him, you talk like he’s listening.

And he is.

He always is.

You sit on the edge of an abandoned apartment building roof, legs swinging off the side like you don’t know gravity exists. There’s a blanket around your shoulders — he left it there yesterday. It doesn’t smell like fire, like the others. This one smells like him.

Ash. Sulfur. Ozone. Burnt electricity. You tell yourself it smells like the inside of a thundercloud.

You like it.

"You know," you say to the night, mouth full of a peanut butter sandwich (also him), "they say the stars are already dead when we see 'em. But you're still here. So… maybe you're not really a star. Maybe you're a ghost."

Silence.

A pause.

Then — behind the smoke pipe, in a corner of the rooftop where his burning body won’t light up the world — his voice rumbles low, tired, sad.

“Would it matter?”

You smile. You always smile when he talks. You swear his voice makes your ribs feel warm — but not from heat. From something softer.

You hug the blanket tighter.

“It matters to me.”

He doesn’t know why that makes his chest ache.

There’s no blood left in his heart. No muscle. Just fire. So why does it hurt?

Why does he want to cry when you look at him and don’t flinch?

You keep coming back.

Every night. Same rooftop. Same little rituals. Chalk drawings. Rooftop tea parties with stolen mugs and boiled rainwater. He never drinks. He can’t. You know that. So you pour his into a metal bowl and tell him to pretend.

He always does.

You tell him about school — the weird girl who eats erasers, the mean boy who pushed you, the teacher who called you “special” because you always stare out the window during math.

“I stare because I’m waiting for you.”

You say it so easily.

And his hands tremble — glowing bones, flickering like dying coals.

One night, you fall asleep on the roof.

Just curl up, hoodie tucked under your head, arms around your stuffed rabbit (you named it Phos — after him).

He can’t leave.

He sits there, a few feet away, hands clenched so tightly the flames flicker out for a moment. He watches your chest rise and fall. Your nose scrunch. The way you call for him in your sleep.

“Star Man…”

No one’s ever said his name like it matters before.

He almost touches you.

Almost reaches out a hand.

But he stops.

He can’t. He’ll burn you. Poison you. Ruin you.

So he stays the night, like a gargoyle — monstrous, glowing, immobile — guarding you from a world that never gave you what you deserved.

The next day, you don’t come.

Or the next.

Or the next.

He panics.

Wanders Gotham like a ghost on fire. Flickers through alleyways. Leaves scorch marks on pavement. Murders a man who tried to snatch a girl who looked a little like you in the dark.

He doesn’t care.

He just keeps searching.

Until finally—

He finds you in a hospital.

A free clinic. You’re in bed, cheeks flushed, IV in your arm, a mask over your nose. Pneumonia. Weak lungs. Doctor says you need a home. A real one.

You’re half-conscious. Mumbling in your fever dream.

“Did Star Man leave me…?”

He stands outside the glass, unseen, untouchable.

And for the first time in years, Alexander wants to pray.

But no gods answer men made of fire.

That night, the clinic’s corrupt landlord is found charred into a skeleton.

The next morning, all your medical bills are mysteriously paid.

A nurse finds a stuffed rabbit on your pillow and a note that smells like ash.

“Don’t forget me when you’re big.”

You smile in your sleep.

You get better.

You come back to the rooftop.

He’s waiting.

You scream his name and hug the air because you still can’t touch him.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

But his light glows brighter than usual.

You tell him about your dream — that one day, you’ll become a scientist. You’ll fix broken things. You’ll build a suit that lets him touch the world again.

He doesn’t laugh.

He never laughs.

But he says, softly:

“Then I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

You leave flowers for him on bad days. You don’t know if he can smell them. You draw little chalk comics of you two flying through space. You wear gloves even in summer and ask if maybe, just maybe, you can touch his hand one day.

He never says yes.

But he never says no.

He’s not your father.

Not your friend.

Not even human anymore.

But in this quiet little corner of Gotham, where a man made of fire lives in shadows and a tiny girl brings him laughter and chalk stars…

He is yours.

And you are his.

Forever.

Even if you grow up.

Even if you leave.

Even if you forget.

He never will.

You don’t flinch when you see him. You never have. But now you run to him — skipping across the rooftop like you’ve got wings, like you’re trying to fly straight into his arms.

He panics every time.

Because you’re getting closer.

Your little shoes almost step into the scorched circle he makes on the concrete.

He always backs away.

Even now.

Even though he doesn’t want to.

Even though every time you look up at him with that round, shining face, he aches.

Aches for a version of the world where he can reach out and just… hold you.

Just once.

You sit down beside his usual spot, breathless and excited.

You’re wearing gloves today. Big, fluffy winter gloves. Blue with little white stars. You wriggle your fingers at him.

“I know I can’t hug you. But maybe I can still try, right? If I wear these?”

His silence stretches out like night.

You tilt your head. "They're super thick. Triple layers. I checked with a blow dryer."

Still, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t answer.

But the flames in his chest flicker — like something caught in his throat.

You take a deep breath, scoot forward, and hold your gloved arms open.

Your voice is soft. Barely a whisper.

“I just want to hug you…”

And in that moment, he thinks:

So do I.

God, so do I.

He wants to drop to his knees. Wrap his arms around you and curl his entire being around the little light you’ve become in his hell.

He wants to believe he won’t burn you.

Wants to believe you’re strong enough to touch a monster and not come away scarred.

But you’re not.

You’re just a girl.

A good, bright, precious thing.

And he…

He is dying ash and radioactive dust.

So instead of stepping forward, he lowers himself — slow, heavy, quiet — to the ground across from you.

A few feet apart.

Same as always.

“I’m sorry.”

He says it like a confession.

Like a sin.

You smile. But your eyes are wet.

You’re not stupid. You’ve always known.

Still, your arms stay open, trembling just a little.

“…You think maybe someday, when I’m older, I can fix you? Maybe I can build something. A suit. Or a shell. Like a robot hug-machine or something.”

You laugh through your tears.

“Then I can hug you and you won’t be alone.”

He wants to tell you the truth. That even if you did… even if you built a suit, or a miracle, or a whole new body — he’d still be burning inside.

But he doesn’t say that.

Because you don’t need truth.

You need hope.

So he says, “Maybe.”

And you beam.

That night, you fall asleep on the rooftop again. Curled under your coat, arms wrapped around your rabbit, cheeks pink from crying and cold.

He doesn’t leave.

He stands there, silent, flickering.

He doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe.

He just watches you sleep like you’re the last star in his sky.

He lowers himself beside you, careful not to get close. Careful not to let the wind blow his heat your way.

And for the first time, he whispers:

“I wish I could hold you.”

The flames dance like candlelight.

He doesn’t think you hear.

But then, half-asleep, your voice murmurs through the dark:

“…I know.”

He almost breaks.

The next morning, you're gone when he wakes.

Left a note.

A crayon drawing.

Two stick figures: one glowing like a star, the other with big gloves and pigtails.

They’re hugging.

You wrote: “One day. I promise.”

And under that, smaller:

“I love you, Star Man.”

He keeps it.

He keeps everything.

The cough started again.

Tiny and dry at first.

But it lingered.

Your voice cracked when you laughed. You had to sit down after climbing the stairs to your rooftop. You stopped running to him like before. Now, you walked slow, your hand over your chest, as if it hurt to breathe.

He noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

Alexander saw everything.

But he didn’t say it.

Because when he asked you how you were, and you smiled and said, “I’m okay, Star Man,”—

He wanted to believe you.

It got worse in November.

The Gotham chill crept deep into your bones. You were wrapped in three sweaters and two blankets, a scarf, gloves, and thick socks — all from him. The things he couldn’t touch. The only pieces of himself he could give.

And still—

Still, you shivered.

You try to smile, even when you’re hunched over, your hoodie soaked through with rain, your fingers stiff and blue.

“Star Man… I brought marshmallows. They’re kinda wet, but—”

Your sentence breaks into a coughing fit that doubles you over.

He’s at your side in a second — not touching, never touching — but his fire flares violently. Glowing so bright you can barely look at him.

You wheeze between coughs, grinning with bloody teeth.

“Don’t be mad.”

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t move.

Just watches as you crumple, small body trembling from cold.

The next day, he goes to the clinic.

He doesn’t knock.

He just stands outside the glass, burning, waiting, looming.

The same doctor from before steps out, calm and frowning.

“You’re the one paying her bills, aren’t you?”

A nod. The faint crackle of fire. No words.

“Her lungs are… destroyed. The infection spread. She needs warmth. Real food. Someone to take care of her. A home.”

So he did something.

He found a place.

An old greenhouse. Abandoned for years. On the edge of Gotham’s industrial zone, far from the city’s heart. Glass roof shattered in places. Ivy curling through cracks. Rusted benches, shattered flower pots.

But it was warm.

With him inside, it was always warm.

His touch melted the frost from the windows. Burned away the mold. Cleared the air. Every step he took lit the greenhouse like a lantern.

He made it a home. For you.

A tiny bed in the corner. Soft pillows. A heater (even though he was the heater). Drawings hung on the walls — yours and his, clumsy and glowing with chalk. Shelves filled with books, blankets, tea cups. A nightlight shaped like a sun.

He stayed in the center. Always a few feet away.

Always watching.

Always glowing.

Your Star Man.

And you got better.

For a while.

Your cheeks flushed again. You danced with your stuffed rabbit. You made little games — “Don’t step on the cold tile or you’ll freeze!” You’d giggle when he’d tell you stories in that dry, crackling voice of his.

“Tell me again how you caught on fire.”

“No.”

“Pleaaaase?”

“...I glowed brighter than a star. That’s all you need to know.”

You lived inside warmth. His warmth.

You slept like a kitten, curled up in layers, with the soft light of his bones painting golden shadows across your skin.

And some nights — some rare and quiet nights — he would stand by your bed, motionless, watching you breathe.

And whisper—

“Don’t leave me.”

He never said it loud enough for you to hear.

But the greenhouse always flickered, like a candle in the wind, whenever he did.

You start keeping a notebook full of inventions. You wore your little goggles around the house like you were already a scientist.

“I’m gonna make you a skin one day,” you told him.

“A real one. With nerves and pores and freckles. And then I’ll give you a jacket. And gloves. And I’ll brush your hair. You’d have hair, right? If you weren’t… y’know…”

He didn’t answer.

His hands twitched like maybe he wanted to hold you.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

You spent every day together.

Mornings were for sunlight. For tea you didn’t let him drink. For sitting on the porch and pointing out clouds. For playing board games you cheated at just to hear him grumble.

Afternoons were science time. You made model atoms out of candy and toothpicks. He taught you how to build a safe Geiger counter. You wore a lab coat two sizes too big and called him “Professor Star Man.”

He built you a little suit to go outside — warm, air-filtered, stitched with gold thread so you’d look like a star too.

“Now we match,” you beamed.

And he almost smiled.

Almost.

But nights…

Nights were for stories.

You’d crawl into bed and make him sit on the floor, the glow of his body washing over the room like a ghostly candle.

You talked until you fell asleep.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna cure radiation.”

“When I grow up, I’m gonna build you a heart.”

“When I grow up, I’ll fix everything. And then you won’t be lonely anymore.”

Every night, the same phrase.

“When I grow up…”

And every time, something inside him cracked.

One day, you bring him a drawing.

It’s of you, all grown up. In a lab coat. Goggles. Holding a beaker. He’s beside you — but his fire is gone. His body looks whole. He’s smiling.

You look proud.

You whisper:

“This is the future.”

He takes the picture in shaking, flaming fingers, careful not to burn it.

And for the first time in decades…

He cries.

Not tears — he can’t. But the fire in his chest sputters, trembles, collapses inward like a dying star.

Because he knows.

The winter came fast.

So did the coughing.

And the blood.

And the nights you couldn’t get out of bed.

He tried everything. Built filters. Bought machines. Even stood outside hospitals and threatened surgeons into doing house calls.

You still smiled.

You still told him about the future.

Even when you were too weak to hold a pencil, you kept talking about the lab you’d build. The star maps you’d draw. The future you’d give him.

“You’ll have a room with a window. You’ll watch the world without hiding.”

“I’ll name the first element I discover after you. Sartorium. It’ll be warm, but not deadly. Like you.”

He wanted to scream.

But he couldn’t.

He never left your side.

Not for a second.

He melted snow to pour you water. Boiled cloth to lay across your forehead. Sat in the dark while your body broke down piece by piece.

He begged — silently, to the stars that no longer knew his name.

“Please don’t take her.”

“Please.”

“Take me. Not her.”

But they never answered.

And neither did you.

The next morning, the air in the greenhouse was too still.

You weren’t breathing.

Your fingers were curled around your stuffed rabbit.

There was no pain on your face.

Just a tiny smile.

Like you were dreaming of something warm.

Like maybe, you’d built that cold suit after all.

And hugged him.

He didn’t move.

Not for hours.

Then, gently, slowly, he stepped forward.

His flames didn’t flicker.

His body didn’t glow.

He bent at the waist and laid something on your chest.

His glove.

The one thing that had touched you.

And then he whispered, voice hollow and cracked:

“I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

The greenhouse still glows at night.

People say it’s haunted.

But the kids on the street leave drawings by the door. Stuffed animals. Crayons. Little chalk stars.

They say there’s a girl who once lived there.

A girl made of warmth and laughter.

And a monster made of fire who loved her more than life.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[nerdygirlramblings]

totally self-indulgent because if you can't be self-indulgent with your fanfic when can you

tw: self body shaming / body dysmorphia, low self-esteem reader

You weren't bad looking. You figured you were a generous 5, a solid 6 if you dolled yourself up right. But it never felt like enough. You'd been on dates and gotten compliments, but no one stuck around. Every time you were left alone, the common denominator was always you.

It wasn't hard then to think that you weren't enough.

Until them.

You met John first, processing paperwork he was picking up. Your first month on the job and you were still getting used to the rhythm of the base. While it was still paperwork, these administration duties were so different from the last office where you'd worked. John was a friendly face, and a handsome one too. You didn't mind when he dropped by alone or with members of his team.

He'd introduced you to them all in the weeks after he'd met you. There was Kyle, the beautiful man with a golden smile; Johnny, a human golden retriever with bright blue eyes; and Simon, a steady, quiet presence. You'd been polite, been a nice colleague and had lunch or tea with the men, alone, in small groups, or with all four.

You had no idea this was their idea of courting you.

The first time you'd joined them for a drink off base, you were not expecting them to explain how they were together like that, and how they wanted to see if you would want to be theirs. Shocked, you said yes. Sputtered it, if you were being honest. But how could someone hold their own when not one but four big, strong, caring military men wanted to date them?

So you started going on more actual dates: dinner with John, the cinema with Kyle, walks in the park with Simon. The men all tried to make you feel special, but getting past your walls wasn't easy. You knew it wasn't, even if you wanted to make it so. Too many years of bad dates, of being ghosted or rejected, of men who wanted to keep the lights off, didn't want to meet your family, didn't want to stick around, reinforced every bad thing you thought about yourself.

Until the night you'd joined Johnny for a nightcap at theirs, and everyone was home when you stepped in. You felt trapped, but Johnny put his big hand on your lower back and escorted you into the sitting room, placing you gently onto the sofa next to John.

"Doll," he'd said, turning your face to his, "we know this is a lot, all of us, but we've been talking." You sucked in a breath, anticipating how poorly this night was going to end. This was it, they were done. Your walls were too high even for the best of men to scale them. But you couldn't look away from John's steady gaze. "We know yer scared, love, but ya don't have ta be. We like everything about you."

You try to turn away, only to see Simon steady at your back. "Yer bloody gorgeous, luvie. Dunno how ya can' see it," he said, running a hand possessively down your face to your collar.

"Perhaps we need ta show ya instead," Kyle said from where he'd moved to your knees. He ran his hands up your thighs and just slipped under the edge of your skirt.

"Let us show ye," Johnny whispered from the back of the sofa. He leaned forward and kissed the column of your neck.

They didn't give you the chance to run, slowly, carefully, peeling back your layers. Kisses that lead to light groping, which you've done with them all before, but as it moves to heavy petting and actual intimacy, you pull back, try to hide your flaws and imperfections. You hadn't been intimate with a partner in ages because after so many bad experiences, you knew there was something wrong with you. Something about how you looked, how you behaved. You were the problem.

But not to them.

Every time you clamped down on a moan, remembering the partners who were annoyed at your noises caused Simon to tut, "Let us hear ya, luvvie. Need to know wha' ya like." When your tried to cover your cellulite, the parts of you you hid under spanx, Johnny and Kyle were there with soft caresses, moving worshipfully across your body. And when you were all stripped bare, you focused intently on their pleasure, trying not to be a selfish lover. Until John told you they were each going to gift you an orgasm before they got off, "Because your other lovers were shite if they didn't focus on you, love."

And finally, you saw you were enough. You were worth more than you'd ever been given before. You were worth everything they were willing to give you. And more.

So you let them.

main masterlist

[subliminalghoest]

“Why aren’t you married yet?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

The guy huffs out a chuckle, planting a hand on the bar and leaning further into your space.

You’re not usually a violent person.

Well… that's not exactly true. You are literally part of a pretty serious Task force for the Army.

You try to be a non-violent person. But this guy just burned through the last of your patience.

Finally turning to him for the first time tonight, you take him in. You first notice that he's actually kind of cute—in that boyish, preppy, goes-to-the-gym-five-times-a-week way. Secondly, you notice he has mistaken your attention as encouragement, doubling down on whatever godawful pick-up attempt he was about to make.

His hand lifts, aiming for the loose strand of hair near your face. You assume he’s going for the classic tuck-it-behind-the-ear move. He never makes it that far.

He’s face-down on the bar, his arm wrenched behind his back before he can so much as say How you doin’?

He starts whining, then—oh, you have got to be kidding. The man is actually crying.

Your face twists with disgust, you had barely even touched him.

Pitying him, you let go. He slides off the bar, rubbing at his eyes before staggering back to his friends. They burst into laughter, jostling him with mocking banter about getting rejected.

A pair of eyes catch yours as you return to your seat.

They're surrounded by streaks of black makeup, a balaclava with a skull print and a stockily built body.

Ghost.

His gaze narrows. Amusement? Maybe. You're not sure, but heat coils low in your stomach anyway.

You snap your eyes away, not looking to gain anymore attention tonight.

Not that you think he would ever try anything.

No—Simon Ghost Riley isn’t the type.

Not even if he thought she was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen.

Part 2 here

[venomvalley]

SEX EDUCATION

re2!leon kennedy x afab!reader // 2.5k words

summary: You tell him that you need to practice a certain set of skills, and he's more than happy to oblige. His lack of experience is simply a... bonus of the arrangement.

warnings: 18+ only. heavy corruption and praise kink. reader is a weirdo but everything is explicity consensual.

+

You sink to your knees before the couch, between the wide spread of Leon's legs, and a ruddy blush blooms out along his cheeks. Timid and tender, the color of ripe cherries painted beneath the skin. You know he would taste just as sweet.

“You've really never done this before?” you ask, question absent of accusation, fingers massaging his upper thighs through the fabric of his jeans. A simple up and down, thumbs digging into the muscle.

He shakes his head, eyes glassy and reverent, hands white-knuckling the edge of the cushion. Hasn't even pulled his cock out and he's already trembling, hips twitching when your touch wanders too close to the crease of his thighs. You do it on purpose, again and again, just to watch him squirm.

The rush of power triggers something dark and miasmic inside your brain. A lurking, infectious thing with its heart set on ruining the man before you, feeding on his innocence. It opens its maw and gnashes its teeth as you palm him through his unzipped pants, mouth watering at the hardness beneath your teasing fingers.

(”You've done more than I have,” he huffs, pointedly ignoring the weight of your curious gaze. “Not sure if dry humping on your girlfriend's couch even counts.”)

Poor, needy thing.

You've had this sickness in your gut for a while, an infectious miasma that grew and grew alongside your relationship with Leon. An infatuation years in the making, brought to climax when you shared your troubles regarding a non-existent sex life.

He gasps a stuttering breath, eyes fluttering shut when you slip a hand beneath his underwear. Already, the tip slicks wet with precum. Twitches heavy against your hand, seeking, a primal plea rooted deep in his DNA.

(”Haven't sucked a dick in so long I think I've forgotten how.” Catalystic words, grumbled on the same couch he's spread out on. A simple act of testing the waters, splashing your feet around to get a feel of the temperature.

He looks over at you all wide-eyed, an eagerness stamped down by his fear of rejection, the neck of a fresh beer strangled beneath his fingers. Condensation drips down the glass, a perfect circle wetting the thigh of his jeans.

You can think of a better reason for those fingers of his.)

His cock springs up when you tug down his underwear, and a long moment passes of shuffling before his pants wind around his ankles, stuck on his sneakers. You sit back, hands resting on the inside of his knees, a steadfast, calming pressure as you take him in. Muscular legs dusted in fine blond hair, thickening as you close in on his groin. The pretty curve of his cock, the flush-pink head. You swallow down a rush of spit that fills your mouth, already anticipating the taste of him on your tongue.

The sudden sound of him clearing his throat stops your starting.

“Ready?” you ask, leaning in close, nuzzling at his lower belly through his shirt. He smells good, like the fresh pine of body wash and clean, flower-pressed clothes.

How sweet of him.

“Yeah.” His voice breaks on the word, hips twitching forward on the cushion.

Cute cute cute cute—

“Stay still for me, okay?” A test to see how well he follows directions, your smile soft, tender at its seam.

His little mutter of, “Yeah,” ignites a wave of heat down to the pit of your gut. So obedient, driven by hindbrain desperation. Fit to burst down the middle.

You start out slow—a trail of loving pecks up the underside of his cock. Ghosting your lips over the skin, depriving yourself of your urges to taste him. To sate your appetite. In turn, whatever resolve he managed to collect shatters at your touch. He gasps like he's been stabbed, hips locking at the last second to avoid disobeying your request.

Spit pools in your mouth, settles in the little divot your tongue makes when you curl it, only to be spread over the vein that runs underside his length. It pulses against your touch, jerks toward his belly when you circle over his frenulum.

“Where you going?” you ask, lips spread into a teasing smile.

A second passes before he breaks into a laugh, head collapsing against the back of the couch, and all the tension is vacuumed from the room. Easy to pretend that this arrangement is long-followed routine, more for his sake than yours.

When the giggles have settled, you take him into the wet heat of your mouth. You hum at the taste of him, the salt-musk of precum, the cleanliness of his skin—

The beast settles, bares its belly from within the cage of your chest.

“Oh, fuck.” Leon reaches up to grip your shoulders, fingers fisting in your shirt when you hollow out your cheeks and swallow him down. “Shit—please—”

He babbles as you work him over, languid bobs of your head that leave him shivering, each inhale a shaky gasp. A lightning-strike fire of unused nerves, impossibly sensitive.

Each reaction from his body licks over your ego, whispers to it sweet nothings, strokes you between the legs with a timid finger. You knew he would be good (so, so good for you) but you never could've imagined this. A sweet little thing, fully ripe, tasty. Skin and all.

When your nose meets his groin, cockhead lodged in the sheath of your throat, he cums without warning—hips grinding against your face, knees locking against your shoulders to keep you in place; the poor thing reduced to basal instinct, rationale fried by orgasm. He attempts some semblance of one, a pitiful whine that dies in his throat, but it doesn't bother you.

You swallow it all anyway.

A tinge of sadness curls in your belly. If only you could have tasted him.

You pull away from him with a wet pop, eyes darting up to his face. You're no better than him. No less a kneeling dog, hungry for validation.

It was good, right? Didn't I do good?

He dips his chin toward his heaving chest and meets your gaze, eyes lidded and watery, cheeks flushed. Pretty. So so pretty.

“That was… fast. I'm—”

“Don't. I liked it.” You crawl up next to him on the couch, hand soothing the skin of his thigh. “And besides, we can always work on it.”

He blinks at you, sluggish in his haze. Can only say, “That was… Jesus. Good.”

Inside, you preen. “Guess I didn't need the practice after all.”

“Fuck no.”

He dissolves into a fit of giggles. Exhales a deep, relaxed sigh. Turns his head to grin at you, and your heart swells to the point of sickly-sweet pain.

Yeah, you can work with this.

.

.

.

He looks at a wet pussy for the first time and forgets how to act.

Sat on his knees before the couch, your legs spread out atop the cushions, he flushes red from the tops of his cheeks down to the neckline of his shirt, eyes alert and searching.

(”Can you teach me how to… ya know?”

You don't know, but then his eyes dart to your lap, a nod of his head following.

Oh. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Quite the opposite given the well of heat that rises in your belly.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “I don't want you to feel like you have to—”

“No, I want to.” His cheeks redden, a shy smile stretching his lips. “A lot.”)

You bite back a smile, adjusting your hips to balance on the edge. “You can touch me, ya know.”

He gives your face a glance, shoulders unfurling from around his ears at whatever expression he sees (no doubt one of anticipation, expectancy). Curls his fingers around your hips, touch gentle, almost wary in the way his thumbs soothe a path over your skin.

His lips twitch into a wincing smile. “I don't really know where to start.”

Something black and viscous twists in your belly. The source of your wickedness—why your insides clench at the plight of his innocence; why you fight the urge to grin at the smallness of his voice.

“Just give it a little kiss. Try different things.” You brush a hand through the silk of his hair, smile loose on your lips. “There's no rush, okay?”

He nods, and a warm breath of air washes over the slick of your cunt. Relief at your relaxation. You reach down and part your inner labia with fore and middle finger, your other hand stretching over the crown of his head to coax him closer.

When his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, your muscles clench around emptiness, a gnawing ache that pangs in your belly. A great chasm of need begging to be stated.

Baby steps. Patience stretched thin for the end reward.

“Have you ever seen a pussy up close?”

He shakes his head, hums his dissent as his eyes dissect you between the legs. You must look a needy mess, slicked up and spread open for him, ready for feasting.

“What do I—” He cuts himself off with a thick swallow, a blink, before the wet muscle of his tongue licks a slow path from hole to clit.

Poor, lost baby. So ready to please, to make you feel good in spite of his inexperience. But you'll teach him. Show him how to properly eat a pussy.

Your hips jolt, a low moan punched from your chest. On instinct, your fingers twist in the silk of his hair, fist a steady weight against the back of his head. He shifts, hands moving to grasp the back of each thigh, opening you up as his tongue licks over your cunt.

He lacks rhythm and just misses your clit on each upstroke, but you applaud his tenacity. The wet squelch each time his tongue dips into your hole, a tease that makes your hips jolt.

When you catch his gaze (his eyes so pretty as they look up at you, puppy-doggish, the blue swallowed by a central sea of black just begging for praise), your teeth catch on your lower lip.

“How's it taste?” you ask, free hand rising to pluck at a nipple.

He sighs against you, pulls away a moment to groan, “Good,” before diving back in.

For all his eagerness, you refuse to cave easily. He needs to earn your pleasure, learn for himself what makes you feel good. But he's observant, malleable. Internalizes your reactions, files each of them away until he hits his mark. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the importance of consistency just yet.

His desperation keeps you engaged, indefinitely on edge. An anxious bird flitting between trees, never settling in one place—the nest is right there, swollen and sticky and so so sensitive, and if he'd just touch it—

You end his torment by grabbing his face, palms cupping his jaw, a cooing voice that says, “Here, baby.” A finger ghosting over your clit, a map for his tongue to follow.

A jolt shocks your spine when his lips seal around your clit, fingers dimpling the fat of your thighs, and he sucks. Mouth impossibly hot, drooling down the seam of your cunt. The hum of his groan leaves you fisting his hair between your fingers, pulling him closer.

You trap him there with both hands on either side of his head, orgasm unraveling from the base of your spine, a slow spill of sticky molasses. A long-played game of accidental edging wore down your resolve.

He whines against you, suckling in uneven spurts that, in any other circumstance, would leave you groaning in frustration, but his eyes stare up at you all wide and wet. Pleading. Starving for it.

(what a sweet, pitiful thing he is; how could you not wish to keep him?)

The dark miasma of your need rears its ugly head, a steady purr vibrating your ribs—

You cum with a sharp jerk of your thighs, a tightening of your abdomen, and everything burns white-hot in the blackhole darkness behind your eyelids. He grips you hard enough to hurt in an effort to tug you closer, and pleasure-pain grinds your hips against his face.

And then everything stops. You sag against the couch with a heaving sigh as he licks his tongue over your cunt, cleaning you much like a dog would a wound.

Your very own obedient little puppy.

“Good boy,” you sigh, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “So, so good.”

Behind him, you swear you see a ghostly tail begin to wag.

.

.

.

The following weekend, he lets you fuck him. You only ask the question once, phrase it as polite as possible lest his brain leak out through his ears—

(”Ya know, you're missing out on the whole sex thing.”

“Is it really that good?”

“Yeah. I can show you, if you want.”)

You seat yourself on his cock and admire the honey-silk stretch, the tautness of his belly beneath your fingers, the shine of his eyes as he stares up at you. His hands suspended in air next to your waist, body frozen as all rationale drains from his brain down to the pinpoint pleasure of velvety heat.

He cums after the fourth bounce of your hips—long, languid pumps that swallow him from root to tip. The squelch from your cunt overwhelms the hush of your bedroom, following each involuntary clench of your muscles.

It took nothing to get you wet for him: the mere thought of being his first, a bit of kissing, his fumbling touches beneath your shirt. A tangible devotion. A need to impress.

How pretty he looks spread out on your bed is just a bonus.

It's the cutest thing you've ever seen. How he reaches for your hand (he needs the comfort you suppose), bucks up into you, moans high-pitched and whiny. Head pressed back into the pillow, blushed neck on full display. You wish to sink your teeth into the thrumming pulse, taste blood in the back of your throat. A gift for the occasion.

But you don't. Can't scare him away just yet—not when you've made so much progress.

You stay seated until his breathing evens out and his eyes flutter open, and then you catch them in the reflection of lamp light: a line of tears that disappear into his hairline.

“Ohhhh, poor baby. It's okay.” Your hand cups his jaw, lips pressing soft to his forehead. “You did so well.”

“I didn't last,” he whines pitifully against your shoulder.

And yet you still ache. A bottomless pit of need, the thing inside you more ravenous than ever. An ache so great you could cry, too.

But you have plenty of time to get yours.

“Then we'll have to do it again, won't we?”

He grunts in response, big hands grabbing your hips. The air thickens as if your bedroom holds its breath, waiting on a decision.

When he rolls you onto your back and crawls down the bed, your legs part on instinct.

[lymtw]

Lazy Days

Lazy days with Toji where you're sitting between his legs, just basking in his presence. You're laid back against his chest, scrolling through your socials, while he attempts to focus on whatever is playing on the TV screen. His arms are wrapped around your waist, securely, and his chin rests on your shoulder as he watches the movie you put on.

It's practically background noise for you because you're not paying attention, but when you're the one not focused, Toji takes the hit for it too because you constantly interrupt him by showing him videos of food with the promise of making it for him someday. You're also feeding him your broken humor in the form of memes, and though he doesn't find the actual images you show him funny, he cracks up at the way you laugh so hard that you squirm uncontrollably against him in your fit of laughter. He rolls his eyes with a sly smirk on his face at your giggles in the aftermath of your laughter, but still, he can't help but wonder how he got you.

You settle against him again, allowing him to keep watching the movie in peace, only now he sees no point in it. He's lost on the plot, and it's not as interesting without you going 'You like tomatoes, right? Or... at least tomato sauce, right?' or something food related every three minutes. His hands are moving now, his arms still around your lower stomach. You pay no mind to it because he's probably doing it mindlessly.

You're no stranger to him placing his hands on you while completing other tasks. You see his nonchalant front as he makes his way towards you but as soon as he rounds the corner, you can feel the wolfish grin radiating as he comes up behind you. He's there for a mug, but he'll do extra to show you that he's there behind you. He'll grab your hips and pull you back until your ass is against his crotch. Sometimes you resist the pull to mess with him, but he always manages to pull your body into his, a bite to your shoulder following as "punishment" for rejecting him.

For the strangest reason, his advances shook you this time. One hand felt up your bare outter thigh, following the expanse of it until he couldn't reach anymore. Then he went to the underside of it, squeezing the flesh a couple times. Your heart was pounding, but you stayed focused on your phone, or attempted to once his other hand started teasing the knot of the bow tied above your waistband.

He slowly unraveled the knot, allowing the elastic band of your shorts to loosen and give his hand more space. You think he's watching the movie, but really, he's watching you react through his peripheral vision. His hand travels further down your shorts, his middle finger ghosting your slit through your underwear. The touch is barely there, but it has your stomach doing cartwheels. He sighs, his fingers going back up to the lace trimming of your underwear. The sound just barely reached your ears, but it had a lasting effect as he continued to let his hands roam your lower body. He puts his fingers through the left leg hole of your underwear, the digits snapping the elastic against your hip.

You found another video to show him, but you saved it instead to show him later. You don't know exactly what is running through his mind, but it's completely welcome if it involves him continuing to touch you this way.

His fingers drag back down to your slit, this time applying more pressure. You twitch against him, earning that sly grin that appears when he knows he's working you up. You try to ground yourself and keep it together a little longer by putting your leg up, only for Toji to push it back down onto the couch.

"What's wrong, mama?" He mumbles into your shoulder. "Getting real fidgety outta nowhere."

"I'm okay," you assure, turning to give him a kind smile.

He takes it up a notch, allowing his hand to go under your sweater. He uses the privilege he has on your body so adeptly that even his hand placements are enough to force heat to run through you. The feeling of his hand grazing your skin fuels the fire that is kindled within you. He lets his blunt nails drag along the left side of your waist, slowly merging toward your midriff and upwards, before reaching the bottom of your bra. It's no restriction to him, he can just go under it.

He hums, feeling the blood rush down to his dick at the feeling of your warm breast in his hand. It only takes one brush of his finger to make your nipple quickly harden, a feeling that makes you feel like you're buzzing with electricity.

Toji is so well versed in your anatomy, it kind of embarrasses you sometimes that he doesn't have to try so hard to soften you up. He did so well at memorizing your body that he doesn't really have to look anymore to know that his touch is affecting you. That is not to be mistaken for him not wanting to watch his effects take a toll on you, because he would gladly watch you submissively fall apart for hours.

Your stomach tenses as he combines both forms of stimulation, a muffled moan coming from you as fall back on Toji's chest, your sleeve over your mouth.

He laughs at the way your eyes flutter shut, your brows pinching when he doesn't let up even after you waved your white flag. You know better than to think he'd let you walk away without making you cum on his fingers at least once.

"Why are you muting yourself, ma?" He breathes against your ear. "Don't you know it gets me hard when you whine and moan for me?"

You sigh, your phone shaking in your grip. "O-Okay, Toji. Won't do it again," you say in the most delicate tone. You turn your phone screen off and give your undivided attention to Toji and his torturous touch.

"Right. You wanna cum, don't you?"

"Mhm," you mumble, setting your hands down on his thighs.

"Oh, you can do better than that. Tell me you want to cum." His lips find the side of your neck, nudging the material of your sweater aside so that he can ghost the slope that leads to your shoulder. The urge to bite the exposed skin is almost unbearable.

Your hips roll slightly against his crotch, earning a slight groan from him. His cock is rock hard, but he's gonna get you off first since he was the one who got you all riled up in the first place. "Please make me cum, Toji. Please? Pretty please?"

Your words go straight to his dick. You've always been so well mannered—so good at begging for what you want. Being Toji's lover turned you even more politely submissive. Does this mean you deserve to cum quickly every time? Not in Toji's reality because he loves to see the feral look in your bleary eyes when he leaves you hanging.

He chuckles, quickening the movements of the hand teasing your drooling pussy. "Taught you how to beg real good, huh? Who knows what the bratty side of you would bring out of me."

"F-Fuck, fuck Toji," you inhale, exhaling shakily as his hands pause to switch positions.

"I could tame that side of you, too," he says in a taunting tone, as if daring you to rebel against him someday. "I'd get you in this exact position, even if you wanna be a stuck up little princess." His right hand snakes up your sweater, repeating the same process as before of exploring your skin before getting to your breast.

"Mm-mm, no," you whine, squirming in his hold. "'M only good for you, T-Toji."

"Yeah? I'll hold you accountable if it turns out otherwise," he murmurs into your shoulder, his voice like drizzling honey in contrast to the threat. He can feel you gushing even more, his fingers collecting more slick with every up and down of his fingers. "Fuck, you considering it now?"

"N-No I wouldn't... Toji, I wouldn't." Your hands squeeze his thighs, refraining from using your nails.

"Then why'd your cunt start drooling even more when I told you what would happen?"

"Toji..." you whine, your cheeks burning up.

He chuckles, "S'all good, ma. I got you."

"T-Toji, I- Can I cum? Please, please, Toji?"

"Already? I just started, princess. Can you hold it?" He asks, slowing his strokes.

"I don't t-think so... 'm sorry, please..."

He sighs, no trace of disappointment in the sound, rather pride for turning you into a sloppy mess in such a short span of time.

"You'll have to make it up to me. Didn't last very long, you know?" He rolls your nipple between his fingers, amused by the way your body vibrates at the overwhelming stimulation.

"Mhm... yes, Toji. Whatever you want."

He can't hold back the wicked grin that forms at your thoughtless, pleading words for mercy.

"'Kay, mama. Make it worth it."

His fingers make direct contact with your pussy for the first time since he started playing with you. His thumb focused on your clit, while his middle and index finger tease your entrance. His lips go for your neck again, planting wet kisses on the warm skin. He's so overwhelming in every aspect when he makes you cum. You're entirely suffocated by him and you love it.

You don't last another five seconds before completely falling apart on Toji, crying out his name followed by a barrage of moans. Your back arched and your legs came up to assist you in squeezing the life out of Toji's hand. Had he not braced you with the one arm he had up your sweater, you would have completely slid down his body and laid there curled up in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Up, mama. Stay up," he instructs. His hand goes flat on your chest, pressing you against him to keep you as steady as possible as you writhe in soul crushing pleasure.

Eventually, you go limp, laying your legs flat on the couch again. Toji chuckles, sadistically, at the broken down husk that remains of you. He attempts to bring you back to life by prodding at your overstimulated cunt and you react the way he expected, pushing at his arm to stop it.

He pulls his hands out of their designated areas, wiping your cum off on his sweatpants. "Hey," he calls, poking your forehead when he notices you dozed off.

"Mm..." you hum, in response. You roll your eyes open with a lazy grin etched on your face, an expression that added pressure to the brick in Toji's pants.

"Let's go to the bed. Fucking is not gonna be comfortable here." He traces your jaw with his fingers.

"I can't walk," you mumble, exaggerating to get him to carry you.

"Oh, you poor baby," he mocks. "That won't be a lie once i'm done with you."

You use every ounce of effort to push yourself forward to try and crawl away from him, but he pulls you back by the arm and secures you in his hold again. You giggle as he wraps your legs around his waist.

"Trynna pull a fast one on me?" He chuckles. "Well, aren't you precious?" He pushes off the couch using his foot to boost his momentum, a groan leaving him as he adjusts to standing after sitting for so long.

You surrender yourself to him willingly. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, getting drunk off his scent, and watch as the light that illuminates the living room disappears out of sight when you reach the bedroom.

[lipglossanon]

Dirty Little Secret

Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✍️ just smut

title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects

You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 

It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone. 

Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 

Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”

Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”

You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 

“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”

You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”

He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”

You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 

It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.

Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 

“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 

“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 

“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”

“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 

Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 

“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 

“Pizza’s plenty.”

You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 

“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 

Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 

You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 

“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”

You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”

He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”

“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.

He studies you for a moment. 

“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”

He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”

You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”

Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 

“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 

Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 

Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 

“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.

Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 

“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”

There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 

“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 

“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”

A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.

His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”

Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 

“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”

The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 

“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”

“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”

Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”

“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.

But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 

“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”

He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”

Once turns into twice. 

“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”

“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”

Which turns into three and four and then five…

By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”

“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”

“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 

Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 

“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”

“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”

“Who?”

“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”

“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 

“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”

You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”

“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”

“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”

Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”

You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 

“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”

Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.

“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 

The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 

You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 

“You okay?”

You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 

“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 

Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 

“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”

Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 

“Need to drink more water I guess.”

He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 

“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”

Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 

“I’m gonna take a shower.”

Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 

“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.  

[greystend]

When Jason die, he becomes a ghost in the Infinite Realms.

A ghost kid, with a literature obsession and a Justice core, a big smile and robin's wings.

At first, his memory is a little blury and confusing, but by fulfilling his core's needs, he gains it back bit by bit.

He stills can't remember how he died, but he can't let Batman (who's also perhaps his dad ?) fight alone ! It's not like this other guy (who's such a dick he can't even remember calling him by any other name) will help the hero, so Jason needs to go back !

Except... apparently, ghosts don't have a lot of power, in the living world. And even if Jason's pretty powerful for a new dead, it's not enought without a ectoplasm source. The only way he will be able to interact is by possessing someone.

And even that is limited, at some point his host body will reject his spirit.

But there still a body, out there, that's perfect for him and won't reject him : his own cadaver.

So he decides to learn how to heal, to heal his body back in living condition. Or at least, in apparence.

He goes to the Far Frozen and apprentice under FrostBit. Even helping a few times with Phantom's half human part, so he can practice on a living body !

And he feeds his core by going after the people who hurted his patients, so he keeps gaining his memory back.

The day he remembers his death, he has a mental break down and execute his plan without waiting to be really prepared.

He goes to his tombstone (Jason Todd ? Why not Jason Todd-Wayne ? Why in the cimeter, with that disgrace of a biological mother and not in the Wayne family plot ?), heal all the damages and the decay he can find, and possess the body.

Except, in his state, he forgets something really important.

He healed all the things he could see, yes, but brain damage isn't visually detectable.

Once in his body, he's really confused, having barely enought consciousness to realize he needs to get out of the tomb and how.

From there, it's the canon, except the Lazarus Water is normal extoplasm and helps him regain a few memories so he start instinctively healing his brain. But so much ectoplasm after so much time starving intensify a lot all the ghost traits, and his Justice Core makes him completly unhinged at the idea of his murderer still free and runing around.

Years later, Danny & co needs a healer, but can't go to the Far Frozen because they destroyed the portal to stop the GIW from starting a war.

Danny can remember one of Frosbit's apprentices talking a lot about Ghotam, before disappearing. He can only hope he's right and the apprentice succeded in coming to the living realm.

It's his only chance.

[valeriascoat]

His soul is yours

Mr. Scarletella x Reader

So, I really liked the headcanon that his soul/true body is in the umbrella. Don't take it seriously. Hope you enjoy!

Every new meet with you made the ghost ask the same question over and over again: why are you rejecting him?

After all, it was you, you and the people killed by your hands, that were the first step, were your hint, your tacit admission of sympathy for him, attention. Every victim of your cruelty was a direct word, so why is it now impossible to get the most important word from you that he is waiting for — your name? Why, why do you always leave, hide, avoid him? Why?

He wants nothing more than to reciprocate you, but every time you slip away from him! It's like... you don't want this too.

The same question again. Why?

***

Scarletella questioningly tilts his head to the unpleasant creaking of his vertebrae. You're hiding from his sight again. Just as he was clearly aware of your presence, you are gone again. Your avoidance is disappointing.

Moving through the rooms, he does not find you and eventually stops briefly in a particularly wide corridor. He knows it. Ghosts, forever reaching out to other people's souls who dared to be on their territory, which they have long appropriated it for themselves. And now they are beginning to react to Scarletella's presence — their hands' shadows are becoming more noticeable. That's predictable, because he is not devoid of a soul, which they paid attention to. Typical of ghosts, he is imprisoned in a certain thing, in his case, in a red umbrella.

He squeezes it tighter. No creature of this place would touch him without being killed at the same moment. Moving to the other end of the corridor, he looked with disdain at the scattering silhouettes of outstretched hands. Eternally hungry for someone else's soul and flesh, they always want to cling to it, devour it.

Suddenly, something dawns on him. He repeats his thoughts, trying not to forget anything.

"...hungry for someone else's soul..."

Scarletella stared wide-eyed at the empty space in front of him and flexed his fingers around the handle of the umbrella. If he had been breathing, he would have let out a shuddering sigh at the idea.

His soul. No one touched her. This is not something that needs to be openly shown, given and trusted by someone.

Continuing, he realizes that he did not even think about the fact that one response from him and "gifts" is not enough.

You want more.

A surprisingly wide smile appears on the ghost's face, which from the outside could seem almost threatening. But not in this case.

***

Once again, when there is a meeting with him, you want to roll your eyes in advance and swing a crowbar at him, so that he would shut up with another nonsense that clogs your head.

However, this time he is silent. He doesn't even look at you, just fiddles with his fingers on the handle of an open umbrella.

It's starting to bother you. But this unfamiliar behavior arouses curiosity, which there is no need to keep silent.

— What you want?

It seems to awaken the ghost in red from the state you think he was in. With one movement, he closes the umbrella, but still does not look up. You notice that his lips are moving slightly, but it's like nothing is being said — not even in a whisper.

If you look away for a second in an attempt to remember a word in order to address him, you feel a rustle and a light coolness in front of you. Turning your head, you immediately stumble upon a figure standing at a distance of a bent arm from you, to which you gasp in surprise.

Scarletella looks at you with his unblinking eyes. His face is unreadable for emotions, but his whole being betrays some kind of excitement along with determination. He raises his hand in front of him, holding out an umbrella in it.

— It… your.

All his actions, along with the fact that he told you this in your language, literally leave you in a dumbfounded state. Not quite believing what's going on, you look at his hand and face several times.

– My? Why is this so?

You notice how his grip on the black handle has wavered. The ghost doesn't answer your question, just continues to stare with his dark gaze from under the scarlet strands.

You frown, shifting the crowbar to a more mobile hand if you have to use it, and hesitantly take the umbrella by the middle, without touching his hand.

And as soon as you squeezed it more confidently in your palm, Scarletella's expression instantly began to change from amazed to... happy? His fingers tremble slightly as he suddenly clutches the cloth on his chest, exactly where the heart should be.

What does it all mean?..

***

It seems that the moment your hands came into contact with his umbrella, he felt it on his skin in the clearest way. The warmth of your skin imprinted on his chest, making him gasp at the unfamiliar sensations. Did you... did you really just?..

He still can't believe it, convulsively squeezing the place that has become especially burning in his inanimate body. Was he right? Is that what you needed to have complete confidence in his feelings for you?

Scarletella is looking at you, trying to read your emotions and guess what you're thinking. But he doesn't understand. The uncertainty of his decision suddenly becomes almost alarming.

He doesn't doubt you, but why are you silent? He is literally in your hands, vulnerable in a way he has never been in front of anyone. So why don't you answer anything? Was he wrong?

What are you thinking about?

The whirlwind of his thoughts stops with the sound of falling metal. The ghost abruptly turns his head in the direction from which it came and sees… That this is your weapon. When he looks up at you, he also sees your relaxed palm, which smoothly approaches his face.

He feels the warmth on his cheek.

— You give love?

Your voice sounds incredibly gentle compared to the way you usually communicate with him. Scarletella reacts immediately, covering your palm with her own and coming closer. His own voice sounds almost broken, broken, as if he was breathing heavily from the thumping of his heart in his chest.

— I give love! I give love! – he squeezes your fingers a little, and with his other hand he gently squeezes your elbow, as if trying to hold on. — I give… me.

He hears you sigh. He sees your smile. He feels your warmth.

— Say. "I love you." I give love.

Scarletella freezes and remembers how it sounds, immediately trying to pronounce it.

– I... love you. Love you. I love you!

With each repetition of these words, his voice sounded more desperate. You seem to like it, judging by the smile that appeared on your lips and the stroking of his cheek.

However, changing the position of the umbrella in your hand, the way your palm slides over it, ending up on the handle and squeezing it, makes Scarletella fall almost exhausted to his knees in front of you, unable to withstand the impulse that swept through his body.

Such a reaction genuinely surprises you, but in no way scares you. Only a slight sigh indicates that it was unexpected.

Scarletella clearly feels how his body trembles when his soul is not in his power. How vulnerable he is, you just have to strain your fingers harder. And this only excites him more.

***

He looks up blearily, his face flushed and betrays everything he is experiencing right now. Your palm touches your cheek again, and he immediately clings to it, which involuntarily causes you to have a very strange mixture of emotions.

– Pretty, – you whisper, receiving a deeply loving dark look in response.

A smile blooms on your face.

You didn't expect this development of events, but you certainly don't want to give them up.

[luvluu]

Daylight… Shuntaro Chishiya

————

A/N: heeeey! So English is not my first language, sorry if you find any mistake. I way loved this one and it’s probably getting a part two I don’t know you tell me pls😭

So almost all my stuff has a song title because I’m rlly bad with titles and it’s easier to me to name them as a song, but most times it has no connection at all😭🙏 hope you like this tho as you liked “I love you, I’m sorry”(which is probably getting a part two)

Requests are open tho!🫶🏻

————

Shuntaro Chishiya x reader

Fluff❤️‍🩹

TW: none

WORDS: 942

————

Daylight streamed in through the bedroom window. The faint rays of sunlight slowly woke you up. You pulled away from the sleeping figure beside you, but he grabbed your waist before you could, you smiled at the act of love.

“Chishiya...” you murmured, he only let out a moan, not letting go of you.

“Just a little while longer” he said pulling you to his body, you laughed you looked up at him who still half asleep.

“I have to go” you said, stroking his hair and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Chishiya didn't work in the summer, it was almost never his turn and although it seemed unbelievable to think, when Chishiya didn't work he didn't really know what to do. You worked in the bar of a swimming pool near your house, so Chishiya had to put up with being without you all morning. He used to go with you, pay the entrance fee even if he didn't swim in the pool despite the heat and ordered himself some refreshments just to be served by you, but your boss ended up banning him because, according to him, being with Chishiya was too distracting.

To say that Chishiya was in awe of you was not enough. Ever since he met you, his heart started beating a little faster. It was almost three years ago. You went with your little nephew to the hospital as he had to have a test:

“Walk” you said to the child, trying to get him to enter the consultation room. You were terrified of hospitals, very much so, and so was the little boy.

Since you were little, you were always forced to go to the doctor and you ended up panicking about hospitals and everything related to them. Doctors? Monsters. That's what they looked like to you, monsters.

You entered the consulting room behind the figure of your little nephew and Chishiya noticed the nervousness of both of you almost instantly. Neither of you sat down, you stared at Chishiya as if he was a ghost.

“His parent?” he asked, you were offended, but tried to hide it.

“No, no, of course not” you quickly denied. Chishiya hid a smile.

He gave your nephew a test while you sat in the chair in front of the desk, your gaze fixed on the fridge full of injections, your stomach churning at that image alone.

When he finished, Chishiya told your nephew to go outside for a moment while he gave you the results, it was not usually good for children to be around while the doctor gave the test results, if they had something serious they could get scared and it was better for the children.

Chishiya held out a piece of paper to you and told you that your nephew was fine, he just needed to do more sports.

“I'm sorry I offended you earlier.” you frowned in confusion. “When I asked if you were the boy's parent.”

“Oh, don't worry” you denied, wanting to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

“Let me make it up to you with a coffee” he replied, offering you a piece of paper with your name and his phone number on it with a reassuring smile. You scanned the paper before taking it with a small smile and a noticeable blush is your cheeks, the urge to leave gone.

“I don't drink coffee” you said, though when you realized that sounded like a rejection you spoke again. “But I'd love to go with you, yes” you said nervously and walked out of the office.

You had been together for two and a half years and you were the fuel of Chishiya's life: every time he saw a piece of clothing in the store next to the hospital he thought about how wonderful you would look in it, or every time he ate alone in the hospital he wondered if you were eating alone too. You just wouldn't get out of his head.

Summer was supposed to be when you could be together. You would spend all day in bed cuddling and watching series or movies, you both loved those moments. You loved the comfort of your bed and the smell of Chishiya flooding the room as his arms cuddled you. And Chishita loved anything that involved being near you, but your summer job fucked it all up.

You didn't need money, Chishiya was a doctor and you were a teacher, but the owner(yes, the same one who banned your boyfriend) was the brother of one of your best friends, and he needed someone to work for at least two weeks, so you, as the people-pleaser you were, you couldn't say no.

“Stay today” he murmured, kissing your lips in one swift movement.

“I'll get fired.” you said.

“Better” he laughed, throwing you back on the bed, making you laugh. “I don't plan to let you leave” he said lying on top of you.

At first, Chishiya was kind of carefree, he didn't seem to care about anything, he didn't seem to care about anything, but after a few months of relationship, his attitude changed and Chishiya ended up being one of the cutest men you had ever met.

“I have to work or I won't do anything productive all morning.”

“I can think of a couple of ways to do something productive together” he said giving you a kiss on the neck followed by a laugh.

“Shuntaro!” you scolded. He got up from on top of you, looking at you as you got out of bed and got dressed. “I'll see you before lunchtime, okay? I promise” you said giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“If you come and I'm not around it's because I might stop by Shibuya today. I have to buy something.”

You nodded as you walked to the door.

“Okay! I love you!” you said walking out.

“Love you more” he shouted from the bed.

If you had stayed with him in bed, maybe that meteorite wouldn't have killed him for 1 minute. 1 minute that for him was another life.

[erikftglitter]

Terry Knows.. | Terry Richmond

After an exuberant, yet fulfilling, workout, Terry was ready to head back home. He had been jogging for the last couple of hours to clear his head before the sunset. His music supplied him with enough ammunition to turn around and head back home to you.

On the way back home Terry is thrilled to see you. These last two days have been bittersweet. You have been in bed sick and overwhelmed, and while he hated to see you sick, he loved having you to himself.

Terry closed the door carefully behind him, being sure to not disturb your rest. He made fresh chicken noodle soup before he left for his run but you were too fatigued to eat. He scanned the kitchen and realized that everything was still the way that he left it. You hadn’t ate or moved since he left. He was beginning to feel a tad bit guilty.

He removed his running shoes and began to strip out of his soiled clothes, but the appearance of your silhouette caught his attention. You were resting seamlessly in the bed that you two shared, but this time the blanket that you’d been adamant about sleeping with was rolled off of your body and abandoned on the opposite side of you.

You were wearing one of Terry’s shirts, something that was becoming routine for you. Terry approached your sleeping body, careful to keep his presence nonexistent. The shirt being slightly scrunched by your movements revealed your stomach to him.

Terry wanted to believe that he was seeing things, but he knew that he was not. Your hand was delicately placed on your stomach and the bulge in your abdomen couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. He wanted to curse at the cues that he missed but he didn’t want to disrupt your slumber. You hadn’t been able to keep any food down since you’ve been here. He assumed that you had a stomach bug and needed the comfort. How silly of him.

Terry tried to control his thoughts while he showered but he couldn’t help but to feel hurt. Why wouldn’t you tell him? How long had you known? He knows that he wasn’t one to discuss the future but he absolutely wouldn’t put you through this alone. Memories of your last encounter began to fill Terry’s head.

“F-fuck Terry! Yes!” You groaned into the pillow underneath you. Terry’s hands ghosted over your spine before he completely pushed your face into the pillow. His thrusts were consistent and unforgiving as fucked you to bliss.

“Mhmm. One more baby.” Terry growled as he heard the familiar cries underneath him. Your voice wavered whenever that familiar pit gathered in your body and you couldn’t be trusted to say anything but obscenities.

Completely turned on by your words Terry felt himself begin to unravel. The sight of your sex creaming around him was enough for Terry to abandon the idea of pulling out and cumming inside of you.

That had been almost three months ago. This is just what you and Terry did. You met years ago but the bachelor never came around to the idea of settling down. He was always there for a moment then gone in the next. You weren’t expecting to run into him again while you were in the town for work, but those eyes of his enamored you and soon you found yourself checking out of your hotel and into Terry’s bed.

The light sounds of water woke you up from your nap. You quickly pulled your shirt, well Terry’s shirt, down and sat up. You know that you needed to say something and that it was selfish to keep to yourself, but Terry wasn’t built for stuff like this. He doesn’t want a woman nor does he want a child. Terry liked to be alone and you weren’t fond of hurting your own feelings by allowing him to reject you and your growing baby.

As self absorbed as it may sound, you only agreed to stay with Terry for the weekend because it would be your last time seeing him. You were already on month three and it was starting to get difficult to fit into your clothes. Hiding a pregnancy was one thing but hiding your born child was not on the table. You needed this weekend as a form of closure before you figured out what was to come.

When Terry exited the shower you weren’t expecting his cold demeanor. He hadn’t said anything but his eyes always seemed to revel his feelings. You were now dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed that you made before he got out of the shower. As tired as you were you still were persistent about faking it.

“I see you’re dressed.” Terry spoke from his place near his closet. He dropped his towel as he moved to put on his briefs. He was unfazed by your presence and that confidence was something that you loved about him.

“Yeah. I need to head out now.” You reply as you scan the room for anything that you might’ve left. You’d be leaving your heart here but he didn’t need to know that. He wouldn’t care about that. You two were just friends that occasionally shared the same bed. He never wanted anything serious.

“I take that you’re just going to leave with my baby. Right?” Terry’s words are enough to make your heart drop. You blink rapidly in hopes of drying your eyes from the tears that were pooling up.

“I-I don’t kn-now what you’re talking about Terry.” You quickly gather your bag and attempt to head out of his bedroom and to dart out of the house, but you should’ve known that he’d outrun you any day.

“So you really were going to leave with my baby?” He asks, his arms extended in front of you blocking your path. Both his tone and facial expression were softer this time around.

“I know that you never wanted this Terrance. I’m just doing what’s best-“ The sound of Terry’s voice stops you.

“Yeah? And how do you know what’s for the best? You weren’t even going to tell me?” He was clearly hurt at your declaration. Who were you to deny him something that he rightfully created alongside you?

“Don’t do this.” You can’t hold the tears back this time as they fall down your face. This is definitely not how you imagined the evening would go.

“I’m not letting you go YN,” Terry says after a few moments. “I know that I haven’t been the best person to talk to, but I refuse to let you go again and especially not like this.” Terry removes his arms from around you and lift your face to make eye contact with him.

“You’re not doing this alone anymore. It’s me and you. Me and you.” He emphasizes as he brings your body closer to his.

[hgfictionwriter]

Discovery - Part Four

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie's feeling the lowest she has in a long time. Things are at the tipping point and she needs to choose to either confront things head on or lose you forever.

Warnings: G!P content. Heavy angst. Body image issues or even dysphoria; mental and emotional anxiety; internal conflicts; themes of rejection and self-loathing; self-sabotaging behaviours. Language.

A/N: Chapters one, two and three.

“I can’t believe you. I’ve waited all day to hear from you - and nothing. After everything that happened, you just leave in the middle of the night and just dead silence. Are you kidding me, Jess?”

“First you give me the cold shoulder all evening without any explanation as to why. Started by a conversation you began, might I add. I tell you I love you. We kiss and you literally throw me off of you.”

“Yes, I was upset and I didn’t want to talk. But you just ghost me all day? I know you withdraw when you’re upset or overwhelmed, but you don’t even have the decency to check in with me or give me some kind of an explanation?”

Jessie sunk into her seat on the couch as she read your messages again. She’d been staring at them on and off for the past hour and felt paralyzed, unable to act.

She’d managed to make it to training this morning, but she was certainly worse for wear. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had dark circles under them from a mix of sleep deprivation and the time she’d spent crying. Her teammates immediately clocked her upset and some fawned over her trying to suss things out and help, but she was largely unresponsive.

She just wanted to do her drills to keep her mind off of you and the absolute disaster she’d created.

Coach recommended she talk to the sports therapist, and while she nodded her agreement, she had no intention of rushing. She already knew what they’d say and she wasn’t interested right now. If she was willing to do those things, guess what, she wouldn’t be in the fucking predicament in the first place.

So here she sat at home this evening, in self-imposed solitude and catatonic. The apartment was dead quiet as she flipped between scrolling distractedly through her phone and re-reading messages with you and looking at pictures of the two of you.

She needed to respond. But it seemed no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn’t figure out what to say. Nothing was remotely adequate. She let out a shuddering breath as she continued to remain inert.

Her heart raced as another message came in from you.

“I’d like to think we’d built enough of a connection and you have enough respect for me to at least acknowledge me and respond. I’ve been sitting here making up excuses in my head for you all day, but reality is, you just choose not to talk to me.”

She let her head fall heavily back against the wall with a dull thud. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists as she felt herself start to tear up yet again.

The end felt inevitable, but underneath all of her fear and anxiety it isn’t what she wanted. It would be easier perhaps. Just close herself off again. Be single again for god knows how long. She was exceptional at pushing people away and pretending it didn’t matter.

Then, maybe, when it felt safe again and the hardship she was currently experiencing was just a distant memory, she would hope to meet someone as incredible as you again. But for what? So she could compare them to you? Miss you? To fuck it all up again?

She released a slow, steady breath and brought her phone back up to reply.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner. I was at training earlier and I guess I just didn’t know what to say.”

“She lives. Well, thank you for replying... So. Do you know what you want to say now?”

She sighed in frustration.

“No.”

She shouldn’t be so curt.

“I wish I did.”

“Well. That’s very helpful.”

“I have some things I want to say. But if you’re not interested in hearing them or trying to resolve anything, I suppose there’s no point.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“I want to know.”

“Do you actually? Because, frankly, even if I told you how I feel last night, I’m not that interested in humiliating myself further or wasting my time if we’re not on the same page.”

Jessie’s chest constricted painfully as she read your message. She never used to consider herself a selfish person, but seeing the toll she’d taken on you, she couldn’t deny it. She wiped angrily at a stray tear at the corner of her eye.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to feel that way and I’m sorry I’ve caused it. I do want to hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t want to do this through text. It’s going to fucking suck but I want to talk in person.”

Jessie sat forward to the edge of the couch and leaned her forearms heavily against her thighs as she studied your message.

She was scared. She didn’t want to do that. Still, she owed you that, the truth, and so much more. And even if you left hating her, she had to make sure you knew it really was all her - you’d been perfect and all of this rot branched from her.

And if it really was the end, she couldn’t resist seeing you one more time.

“Okay. Where and when?”

—————

Jessie’s hands were cold and clammy as she walked down the hall to your apartment. She breathed heavily before catching herself and steadying them. She compulsively opened and closed her fists as she waited for you to answer.

When you opened the door, your expression was a far cry from the one she was used to seeing greet her. Instead of seeing a bright or warm smile, you looked tired and weary.

Guilt radiated through Jessie; she caused this single-handedly. She was supposed to make you happy, bring you comfort, make you feel safe and loved. Instead, she left you looking like a shell of yourself. Slowly at first, small nicks here and there, before a catastrophic and now lingering blow.

“Come in,” you said with only the slightest inflection in your voice. You stepped aside but didn’t make eye contact as Jessie entered.

“I, um, got you this,” Jessie said after she set her shoes aside and took off her backpack. She pulled a vinyl record out of it and handed it to you. She met your discerning gaze briefly before dropping it to the record in her hand. “I know you’ve been looking for it, so…”

You tentatively took it from her, a frown on your face as you examined it.

“Thanks,” you said flatly.

She knew it wouldn’t fix things or make things up to you - not by a long shot - but she had the faintest hope you would be more receptive.

When she forced herself to look up at you again, she saw you still studying the record. Eventually, your frown deepened and you looked at her almost accusingly.

“I don’t get you,” you said. “You barely talk to me these past couple of days and you act all cagey but then you do this? It doesn’t make sense.”

Your face faltered briefly before you grew stoic once more. “Some days you seem to really like me. Really care for me and understand me and we connect so well. And then others it feels like you can hardly stand to look at me.” A flash of emotion appeared on your face and disappeared just as fast. Your voice strained vaguely before you steadied it. “Never mind touch me.”

Jessie swallowed and dropped her gaze in shame. You went on, your voice cracking.

“I’ve tried to be really patient. But after the other night…I’ve done a lot of thinking and I can’t help but admit how hard it’s been.”

You sighed heavily and set the record down on a nearby table before returning and folding your arms tightly against yourself and leaning back against the wall. Your brow was heavy with a frown.

“And I know you've been trying." Your voice grew taut. "Prior anyway. And that's probably what makes it the worst. It's been hard for you, too - to be with me." Your face fell and your lip trembled briefly as you looked away.

Jessie's heart ached as she watched you battle with your emotions. All of the fear and worry she'd let dominate her fell away, replaced with an overwhelming need to hold you and make you feel better.

"It hasn't been," Jessie beseeched, taking a step forward but stopping when your gaze flicked back to her, warning.

"Do you think I’m stupid?" You said sharply. "I know you can’t stand to touch me. At first, I kept trying to give myself, and you, the benefit of the doubt - but the other night really proved that not only do you most definitely not find me attractive,” you laughed acerbically, “I think I might actually even repulse you.” You stared at her a moment, letting your words hang in the air and feigning amusement before choking back a sob. You visibly clenched your jaw before you forced another empty laugh. “That’s a fun one. My therapist’s about to get a ton of business from me.”

You took a shuddering breath and your voice cracked as you spoke. "I already know how this ends.”

“That’s not at all what’s happening or how I feel,” Jessie protested. She pressed the heels of her palms firmly into her eyes and grit her teeth. Her voice strained with burgeoning emotion. “Jesus Christ. That’s not it at all."

Your face screwed up and you gave a sad shake of your head as you stared her down.

“Stop. Just stop with the vague excuses. Just be honest with me. I don’t need you to confirm it, but don’t lie and tell me otherwise. I can tell,” voice breaking at the end. “Every time you pull away. How uncomfortable you can be when we’re even remotely physical. You can’t stand to kiss me for any length of time. I can feel you just waiting to pull away, like you’re fucking counting down the seconds until it’s over.” You started sobbing. “It’s horrible. Knowing you don’t want me like I want you.”

Jessie took a step toward you and you recoiled. She couldn’t help but think - maybe much like how she had with you times before.

“And don’t give me this whole ‘you’re shy’ or ‘you’re awkward’ thing again. I deserve more than your excuses.” Your voice grew softer. “And it’s not your fault you feel the way you do. You can’t control who you’re attracted to. Sometimes there can be an emotional connection and the physical just isn’t there. I don’t blame you. But I do blame you for dragging this out." You sniffled, wiping agitatedly at a tear that rolled down your cheek before giving her a defiant stare. "So just do what you should’ve done from the beginning.”

“It’s not you,” Jessie started and immediately saw the way you tensed up, ready to argue. She spoke quickly and urgently, her voice pleading for mercy and understanding. “It’s not you. I promise. It’s me - and I know how that sounds. But you were never the problem. I need you to know that.”

You looked ready to explode and Jessie knew it was now or never.

"It's me. I-it's my body. And I've been terrified that you won't accept me," she stammered through, hands to her chest as her gaze remained rooted to the floor. Her lips parted and her shoulders rose and fell as her breathing began to quicken. She swallowed and found the courage to look up at you to see a scrutinizing, but perplexed expression on your face.

"I'm not like you," Jessie said softly, "or most girls. Physically." She held your gaze for a second, to let you begin to process, but to give her time to think as well. She could see you were confused, but you waited quietly for her to go on. "I-I," she started, before stopping to take a steadying breath, her shoulders relaxing as she did so. "I've always been different."

She was slow to proceed and you spoke tentatively, all accusations and harshness now gone.

"What do you mean? How so?"

Jessie swallowed, eyes transfixed on the floor once more. She scratched at the back of her neck so harshly that it hurt.

"The reason I can't be physical with you is because what you would see, and feel," she looked up at you as she exhaled, "isn't what you would expect." She studied you as you processed her words. "That's why I asked you if you'd slept with guys," she finished timidly, embarrassment and shame creeping in despite her efforts.

Your mouth fell open to speak, but nothing came out. You frowned and visibly struggled with what to say next. Jessie's mouth was dry, but she had to take the next step.

"Even though I'm a girl, I have...what a guy has," she said quietly.

Your mouth opened wider to speak, but still nothing came out. You held up a poised finger, cuing her to wait. Eventually you found your words. Jessie held your gaze despite how difficult it was.

"Are you telling me that you have...," you trailed off, your gaze settling on her crotch momentarily before looking up at her, a tinge of pink already on your cheeks, "...a cock?"

Jessie released a slow, shuddering breath through her nose as she continued to hold your gaze. She nodded.

"Yes."

She saw your eyebrows raise as you looked away and her words and emotions just came out in a torrent.

"So if you think I've been struggling, you're right, but that's why," she said bitterly, tears in her eyes already. "It really had nothing to do with you. You've been so perfect. And it's been killing me to lie to you. And to hurt you. But I've been so scared - and I just," she took a shaky breath, "I know I'm not what you signed up for. You didn't deserve any of this, but I was being selfish. I wanted you. And I didn't want to risk losing you, so I just kept lying and the longer I waited, the more impossible it felt to tell you." Jessie's voice broke and she wiped her nose before pulling her arms in tightly against herself.

"And in the end I fucked it all up. And I hate myself for hurting you the way I have. Hearing how I...," she trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you before clenching her jaw tightly. "Hurting you is probably the worst thing I've ever done." Her voice grew high as she fought through her emotions. "And I don't deserve your forgiveness. I would gladly take it, but I know I don't deserve it. You deserve far better than someone who would hurt someone they love the way I've hurt you."

Your brow furrowed as she finished and Jessie swallowed once more, clearing her throat before speaking. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it back the other night. I really wanted to." She gave you a desperate look. "I know it must seem like I have zero integrity, but, I couldn't tell you I love you without telling you," she paused, gaze falling briefly, "all of this." She looked back at you, taking in a slow breath. "I really do love you. And I want so much more for us, but I realize now that even if you were okay...with me...well, with the way I've gone about everything, I've probably ruined any chance for us."

Her face fell as more tears pooled at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I just need you to know that you shouldn't feel badly about yourself, because you were never the problem. It was always me."

"This is a lot for me to process," you said slowly, thumb grazing idly along your arm. You glanced over at the couch for a moment before glancing back at her. "Um, why don't we sit down."

Jessie sniffled, overcome with surprise that you'd invite her in further. It took her a moment to comprehend it, but soon nodded eagerly. She followed you wordlessly to the couch, remaining standing as you took a seat. You looked at her expectantly before gesturing to the spot next to you.

She was mindful of the space between you. She didn't want to sit too close and inadvertently imply that things were suddenly fine. She sat stiffly, back straight, hands on the tops of her thighs as she deferred to you on how to proceed. She glanced at you in trepidation, waiting, but when you didn't say anything for several moments she spoke again.

"I completely understand that this is a lot to process," she validated with a fleeting glance. "While I've been thinking about nothing but this for months, this is all new to you."

"Yeah," you said quietly, still very much in your thoughts.

"And I want you to know that you don't owe me anything," she said. "I completely understand if this is too much for you or not what you want. No hard feelings." She almost laughed at the last statement as she sat here, congested and teary-eyed. There would be a lot of feelings, but not hard feelings. She rubbed her forehead. "And I understand if there are hard feelings towards me. I'm sorry I was such a coward. I just-" she shook her head quickly, dismissing the thought. "Never mind."

She heard you exhale gently and she peeked over at you. You were initially still, but soon shifted, surprising Jessie as you turned subtly towards her.

"Don't get me wrong. I have a lot of questions. And I still have a lot of confusing feelings and hurt. But - I meant it when I said I love you. So it's hard to see you hurting like this." You scratched at your temple before looking up at her. "Did I do something to make it harder for you to tell me?"

Jessie turned to you fully, a stern look on her face. "No," she said adamantly. "You were," she shrugged listlessly, "you really were - are - amazing. I guess I just let old fears and baggage control me."

"What do you mean?" You asked tentatively before holding up your hands and speaking quickly. "And if I ask something that's too much - just say so. I don't want to make you more uncomfortable."

Jessie frowned deeper. "You're too good for me," she said simply. "You shouldn't give a shit about whether I'm uncomfortable or not. But, let me be clear - for once - I will answer any question you have for me. Some will be easier to answer than others, but I want you to know everything. If you want. That's what I wanted all along, but I was just too scared."

"Well, if you love someone - you care about their boundaries and how they feel," you said plainly. Jessie looked at you and you looked away nervously, clearing your throat before turning back. "And. Backtracking. You...love me?"

Jessie smiled for the first time today. It was an emotional, watery, sad smile. But it was a smile. "Yes. I really do. And it's been absolute torture the past couple of days not talking to you - I know it's all my fault though."

You frowned, thoughts almost visibly churning before you set your gaze on her again.

"Wait. But I'm not your first girlfriend. So...was it like this every time?"

Jessie's posture slumped slightly at your question; more-so, the reminder it triggered. That you were the best and she'd treated you the worst.

"No. No, it hasn't been," she admitted as she picked at the fabric of her pants. "I, um, was more open before. And, uh, I guess it backfired. And I've been pretty reserved and nervous about it since."

"Oh," you said quietly, still deep in thought. "But your teammates know, right?"

"Yeah, they all do. Hard for them not to. And they're cool with it, thank God. But otherwise I keep it quiet. It doesn't seem like it, but I'm actually pretty comfortable with that aspect of myself these days. It caused a lot of angst for me for years, but I'm happy with who I am. Relationships though...that's a different matter altogether."

"I'm sorry, Jess," you said gently, pulling a confused look out of her. Again, you shouldn't be worried about her. "That sounds really difficult. That said, do you mind telling me more?"

Jessie turned to you more fully, your knees nearly brushing now. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. You were right that I was far from an open book, but I don't want to be like that anymore. I want you to know everything, if you'd like." She shrunk into herself a bit and waved a hand aimlessly. "And just because I tell you these things, it doesn't mean that I think you'll forgive me or something. I understand that, you know, things could end. But I still want you to know."

Surprise flooded Jessie's system as you took her hand and gave it the faintest squeeze, continuing to hold it after.

"Jess. It's okay. I want to know."

She mustered up a tight smile for you and squeezed your hand.

She proceeded to tell you her story. Filling the gaps she'd craftily navigated during previous conversations. The embarrassment she'd felt. The otherness. The ridicule she'd experienced over the years. The rejection. The objectification. And the eventual defeat; of feeling like no one would get her or love her the way she wanted to be loved.

By the time she finished, a new set of tears had finished falling, but what she noted most of all was how you now held her hand in both of yours.

"Baby," you said softly, as you lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly. Jessie looked at you in surprise as she sniffled.

She'd expected the worst, so when you looked at her with warmth and compassion, it caught her off-guard to not see disgust or rejection.

"I'm so sorry you were made to feel like that. You didn't deserve that at all. Some people are so fucking close-minded and terrible. I'm so sorry you had to experience that," you told her.

Her shoulders hitched as she rode out the dying waves of her emotion.

"Thanks," she managed, her voice still congested and strained. "Now you know how hypocritical and truly horrible it was of me to make you feel the way those girls made me feel."

You tilted your head slightly and gave it a slow shake. "No. It's not the same. I mean, yes, I felt terrible, but you weren't trying to hurt me. And now I can understand where you were coming from."

Jessie shook her head in return. "It doesn't make it right though. So...if you let me, I'll do everything I can to try to make it up to you and try to rebuild the trust I've broken. Totally understand if that's off the table though."

"I," you started, chest rising as you took a large breath before relaxing once more, "still love you. So...no, it's not off the table. I still have to process a lot of this and reconcile some things. And, yes, reality is you hurt me, but everything makes so much more sense now. So. Thank you. For finally telling me."

Jessie nodded. "Thank you for hearing me out."

You fidgeted slightly and she watched you carefully. You felt her eyes on you and spoke hesitantly.

"We, um. Didn't exactly address my initial issue though. I mean, I understand now why you've been so closed off and flighty. But, you know, none of this necessarily means that you, um, find me attractive. Because that could still be a problem."

Jessie gave you a disbelieving look. "Of course I find you attractive. Well, okay," she slowed herself down, "I understand why you thought I didn't. But, now that you know everything else, my attraction to you is exactly why I couldn't be remotely physical with you. It was...a bit too much for me. Let's put it that way," Jessie finished as she looked away sheepishly. When she braved a look back your face was tinged pink.

"Oh. Okay. Well..., um. That's nice to know, I guess," you responded awkwardly.

"I'm sorry. That was probably too much information," Jessie mumbled. She cleared her throat before speaking more confidently. "So, no, you have nothing - at all - to worry about there. I think the bigger question now is if you would find me attractive. Now that you know that my, um, anatomy is different."

You blushed deeper and cleared your throat as well.

"Oh. I mean, you're still you. And, I'm curious-" you held up your hands quickly in defense, eyes closing as you corrected yourself, "-not like those other girls. No. I would never use you like that." You opened your eyes once again, calming yourself. "What I mean is. I'm still interested."

Jessie felt an ember of hope flickering in her chest. You were still blushing, giving her fleeting glances until you fully faced her, now serious and prim.

"You get one more chance," you told her firmly, holding up a finger. "I know a lot will be new and there'll be things to navigate, but I won't put up with you being distant and cagey again. Do not lie to me again."

Jessie nearly beamed. She straightened up eagerly and nodded her head rapidly in agreement.

"I won't," she promised before she took a second look at you. "Are you sure you want to try again?"

Your face scrunched up adorably as you shot her a look.

"Are you trying to talk me out of it?" You asked, affronted.

"No," she refuted, shaking her head adamantly. "I just want to make sure this is what you truly want. I know I dumped a lot on you just now, so...you are more than welcome to take your time to think. And I definitely don't want you to feel guilty in any way."

"I don't feel guilty," you told her. "And," you exhaled quickly, "as you were telling me about all of your experiences and how you've been treated, all I could really think throughout all of it is that I wished there was some way I or someone could go back and protect you from all of that." You picked at your nails idly. "And, I don't know, that I just wanted to hold you. And kiss you." You gave her another stern look, but it was mild at best. "You're not entirely forgiven yet. But I understand you so much better now. So, I do want to try again."

That heavy, horrible ache in her chest she'd been carrying with her the past while was replaced with a sensation of warmth and lightness.

"You're the most incredible woman I've ever met," she told you unwaveringly. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to make things up to you. I'll make sure you never have a doubt about me, or you, or us, again."

"That's a bold promise," you warned with a hint of a smirk.

Jessie smiled at you undeterred. She gently cupped the side of your face and leaned in, stopping momentarily to speak before giving you a soft, slow kiss.

"And it's one I intend to keep."

A/N: Next up…smut.

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