#why clean room is required

[violentviolette]

worst thing ever is when my room is messy so its giving me anxiety and i cant get anything done but also i cant clean the room because im so anxious and cant get anything done. so i just sit in moderate discomfort and distress for 2+ weeks trying to fight the sisyphean task of tidying up my desk

[punkshort]

Anywhere you go, I'll follow

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.

Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad

WC: 5.9K

---

He knew something was wrong before he even landed.

Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.

It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.

When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.

And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.

He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.

You.

He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.

You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?

No, you were safer with your father.

Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.

Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.

So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.

Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.

He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.

You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.

His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.

He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.

Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.

He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.

He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.

When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.

Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.

"Din."

He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.

You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.

He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.

"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."

You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.

He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.

"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.

He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.

His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.

---

"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"

Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.

"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.

Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.

"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.

"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.

"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"

Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.

"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"

You choke on your words and he stiffens.

"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."

Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.

"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."

Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.

He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"

You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.

"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."

"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.

"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"

He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.

"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.

You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."

Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.

"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."

"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."

He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.

Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.

"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"

"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.

"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"

"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.

"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.

The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.

"You said you've never left your planet."

His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.

"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."

Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.

"O-okay," you reply shakily.

Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."

Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."

He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.

"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.

"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.

With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."

Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.

"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."

"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.

"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.

"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."

You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."

"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.

"I won't look," you promise.

He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.

He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.

"Can I turn around now?"

A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.

"Yes," he says, voice rough.

You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.

You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.

"W-what do all these do?"

He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.

He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.

You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.

"What about this?"

His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.

"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.

"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.

"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"

He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.

His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.

His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—

The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.

His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.

Din murmurs your name and you still.

"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."

He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.

Then, your shoulders drop.

Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.

"Am I that transparent?"

He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.

"Din—"

He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.

He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.

Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.

"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.

He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.

"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.

You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.

"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.

When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.

"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.

"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.

"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.

"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.

"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.

But, he can't.

So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.

"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.

"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."

That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.

He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.

In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...

His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—

"Keep your eyes closed."

You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.

A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.

He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.

He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.

"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."

Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.

His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.

"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."

He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.

"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."

You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.

"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.

"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"

"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.

"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.

"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."

Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.

"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"

His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.

You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.

"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.

Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.

His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.

You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.

He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.

"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.

"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.

"Can't."

"Please?"

His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.

"No, it's — too risky."

"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"

You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.

"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.

"I'm not —"

Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.

"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.

"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.

"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.

"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.

You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."

He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.

"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.

And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.

And you refuse to squander it.

[aureatelys]

red wine leather

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!reader w.c.: 4k a/n: inspired by what i affectionately call The Dom Chair™️ from 11x9, formally requested by @mggslover and @solardrop, and ty @minswriting for enabling me <3

c.w. 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, softdom!hotch, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, thigh riding, p in v riding, unprotected sex, degradation, dirty talk, some brat taming

summary: Aaron notices your special interest in the new chair in his office.

read below or on ao3 here <3

When you first spot the leather wingback chair in Aaron’s office, you think nothing of it.

Tucked in the corner of his at-home office, because Aaron still hasn’t decided where he wanted to place it, the sleek wine-red leather had caught your eye when you had come home right after it was delivered. It was fancy, elegant even, as if it belonged in an old timey library or law office and required a cup of coffee to fully enjoy.

“Just in case I have any impromptu meetings at home,” Aaron had said when you asked about it. “It’s more elaborate than I usually go for but it’s about time we decorated around here, right?”

You were too busy swooning at Aaron calling your newly shared apartment a home to research into the fact that the chair cost nearly your entire paycheck. When you had finally confronted him about it, he successfully distracted you by easily picking you up with an arm around your waist and taking three steps down the hallway to christen your new bedroom.

It’s a fancy chair, we deserve a fancy chair, is what you told yourself every time you walked past the office, the red leather glinting from the golden light of Aaron’s desk lamp while he worked late into the night.

So you’re not exactly sure why your brain short circuits, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, when you step into his office to drop off a glass of water and spot him sitting in the aforementioned swanky leather chair, clearly having had moved it from where it was beginning to gather dust in the corner of the room to behind his desk.

He’s still wearing his suit, having had come home only minutes before and hurriedly kissing your cheek before muttering something about an online meeting he was running late for. Your heart had sung when he said that, even with the office door clicking shut behind him, because he could have easily sat through the meeting in his actual office, but he knew how important it was to you to be home by 7.

Aaron has always looked handsome in his suits, almost unfairly so. Nearly six days out of the week he’s learned to be prepared for you to nearly jump him as soon as he walks through the door as you mumbled something against his pulse point about how hot he looks but you need him to not be wearing it right now.

His tie is loosened, hair a little tousled from running his hands through them after his meeting, leaning back against that goddamn leather chair with that near constant furrow in his brow, and you want nothing more than to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless.

Crawling on the carpet on all fours until you’re kneeling in between his legs doesn’t sound so bad either.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” The familiar low timbre of Aaron’s voice breaks you out of your perverted thoughts, though it does nothing to quell the sudden fire burning in your chest that seemed to melt down between your legs.

You finally budge from where you had stood frozen in the doorway, leaning over his desk to place the glass of water in a clear spot between all the files and papers scattered about. You try not to think about the way Aaron had knocked all those reports and pens off in one clean sweep of his arm to bend you over the week prior.  “No problem. Meeting go okay?”

“It was fine.” Based off of the crease in between his eyebrows, you knew that it was definitely the opposite of fine, but you also knew about the unspoken promise to not talk about work as soon as you both stepped through the front door. “Ready for dinner? I can help.”

Aaron crosses his legs then, your eyes immediately drawn in to the way his slacks tighten over his thick thighs, or how his button-up shirt stretches over his chest the more he leans back into the chair, the white fabric complementing the red leather

“Yeah, sure,” you croak, throat suddenly feeling dry.

You watch as he pauses, the leftover frustration from his meeting melting into something else—curious and a little bit darker.

“Or are you in the mood for something else?”

You laugh uneasily, a nervous tic of yours. “What?”

The weight of his stare as he rakes over you is heavy, taking in the way the hem of your pajama shorts brush against the soft expanse of your thighs and the way an old shirt of his clings to you. And because Aaron is Aaron, he can surely tell that your breathing has deepened and the imperceptible shifting of your weight.

You can tell he’s thinking, thoughts running over themselves as he comes to the same conclusion that you have suddenly found yourself thrown into. He straightens up and clasps his hands to rest in his lap, something smug tugging at the corner of his lips as he meets your gaze.

“Come here.”

Your breath gets caught in your chest at the low tone, usually reserved for nights where he patiently and meticulously takes you apart until you’re a babbling, shivering mess. As if you couldn’t help it, heat immediately pools in the pit of your stomach, a steadily growing ache between your thighs making itself known.

Your feet move of their own accord, your head suddenly feeling foggy as you step closer and closer into Aaron’s office, the faint comforting hint of his cologne gnawing away at the worry running through your brain on how you’re going to explain that you’re getting aroused just from him sitting in a chair.

Aaron pushes the chair back so you could stand in front of him, the dull edge of his desk digging into the back of your thighs. Despite him having to crane his neck to look at you, your knees buckle at the steadfast way he’s meeting your eyes.

It hits you then. The expensive fabric of his suit, tailored perfectly to his body, and the way the high backing of the chair made him appear taller, bigger, as if announcing and bragging about his presence. It all made Aaron seem more commanding to you, imposing and self-assured in a way that not even witnessing him lead the room during a high-strung case could demonstrate. The rich woodsy smell of the leather is stronger up close, mixing in with his cologne and making you feel faint.  

The room is quiet besides the hum of the air conditioner, doing absolutely nothing to help the way your body temperature has increased at least ten degrees.

And then he’s looking down at his lap and then back up at you, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head in a silent question that makes your face heat up impossibly more, something akin to embarrassment tingling at the back of your neck.

You have no choice but to climb into his lap, your knees coming up to rest against his hips as you straddle his thighs. The squeak of the leather, obviously still not having been broken in, was almost obnoxiously loud, yet paled in comparison to your heart thrumming in your ears.

Your arms instinctively come to wrap around Aaron’s broad shoulders as his hands rest on your hips, a finger dipping underneath the hem of your shirt to rub at the small of your back and causing a shiver to run up your spine.

“I know you like watching me work at my desk but I’m assuming that can’t be the only reason why you’re like this.”

You shake your head, words stuck in your throat.

He hums, mock-sympathetic, as his hand moves underneath your shirt, smoothing his palm up your side and thumb barely tracing the underside of your breast. The callouses on his fingers and the nearly unbearable heat of his palm has you squirming in his lap, causing your shorts to ride up even further until they’re bunching around you. You watch as Aaron’s eyes narrow, just like you knew they would.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

You knew Aaron loved you, constantly showering you with affection and checking in with you at any chance he could get. He’s the most wonderful man you’ve ever known and he knew you like the back of his hand.

Which is exactly why the condescending tone that nearly drips from his low voice and the way he tightens his hold on you has your body melting into him, shame and arousal mixing together so suddenly that you want nothing more than to grind down onto his lap.

“The chair…” you bite out, your eyes drifting from his impenetrable stare to the wall behind Aaron’s head, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as you can feel the way your panties have started clinging to you, melding to you from your wetness.

A hand comes to grasp at your chin to redirect your gaze back to him, not hard, but forceful enough that the action has you shifting in place again in an attempt to douse the ache in between your thighs.  

“And what about the chair?” Amusement dances in his eyes despite his own arousal clear as day.

You’ve never shied away from sex, clearly since you had to make the first move, but you’ve always had trouble articulating exactly what you wanted from him and he knew it. God, he’s so annoying.

You flounder a bit, mouth opening and closing, because you’re not even sure what you want yourself.

Aaron seems to take pity on you as he tuts and lifts you up by your hips, spreading his own legs even further and maneuvering you back until you were straddling his right thigh with one foot on the ground and the other kneeling in between his legs on the chair. He lifts his leg at the same time you move down, causing you to gasp at the sudden onslaught of pressure against your throbbing pussy.

“You want to ride me in this chair?” He whispers, his voice a low rumble that you swear you could feel in your own chest. “Or you’re feeling so needy you’re willing to ride my thigh?”

A whine bubbles out of you and then Aaron leans in to finally, finally kiss you.

Despite the firm grip he has on your hips and the hard muscle of his thigh against your core, his lips are undeniably soft, if not a little chapped. The way his mouth seamlessly moves against yours, as if reminding you that you didn’t have to be so shy around him, makes affection bloom in your chest.

And then he’s pulling away, leaning back against the chair with lips so deliciously slick that you’d almost be content with just making out for the rest of the night. His hands move from your hips to stretch out on the armrests, your skin suddenly cold despite feeling like you were about to spontaneously combust.

He raises an eyebrow again, a smirk slowly taking over his face. If you didn’t know him the way you did, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest was just barely heaving or the way his gaze kept drifting to your nipples poking through your shirt.

“I want to see just how needy you are,” he says casually, as if you two were sitting on the couch and catching up on how your day was. “And then maybe I’ll fuck you.”

You’re tempted to ignore him, thinking about swiftly undoing his slacks and sliding down his cock, but you shrink under his intense stare. The way the ache between your legs grows stronger at his off-handedness spurs you on.

You experimentally move your hips back and forth, using Aaron’s shoulders as leverage, as a strangled moan rises out of you. He’s not even tensing his thigh but just finally getting some kind of pressure against your aching clit as you feel yourself getting wetter, the fabric of your panties clinging to you as your shorts get bunched up underneath you with every movement, was causing a fire to spread underneath your skin.

Your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the pressure building in the pit of your stomach and the molten heat of Aaron’s gaze on you as you rut against him.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” And then he’s tensing his thigh, causing your breath to catch and your hips to stutter. “I want to hear you.”

And so you don’t hold back because the hardness of his thigh, the muscle he’s earned from running almost every morning, combined with the seam of your shorts, rubs deliciously against your clit and has you whimpering pathetically.

“Aaron…” you gasp, hands tightening on his shoulders. Your hips and lower back are starting to ache, but the fact that you’re grinding on your boyfriend’s leg like an animal in heat has your brain feeling heady.

Aaron, that bastard, is still sitting there and watching you, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. His fingers are twitching against the armrests and his lips are parted, nearly panting from how aroused he was just from watching you bring yourself off on him.

When you glance down and notice his cock straining against his pants, inches away from your knee, your mouth waters. The thought of kneeling in between his legs while he sits on the leather chair, the tufted back painting him to look almost like royalty while your mouth was stuffed with his cock has your eyes nearly rolling in the back of your head and your hips to grind even faster against him.

When your knee brushes against his thick bulge, Aaron lets out a throaty groan, finally sitting up so his hands can come to grab at your hips to help tug you back and forth against his thigh. You moan at the change in pace, your own thighs starting to squeeze around his. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. I can feel how wet you are.”

You let out another whimper, because he’s right, you can feel the way you’ve soaked through your shorts and undoubtedly leaving a wet spot on his dress pants. Your hips move faster at that thought, tension coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

He moves one of his hands from your hip to the back of your neck, grabbing you to bring your foreheads together, breaths intermingling and forcing you to meet his gaze again. That familiar comforting brown of his eyes was completely gone and instead overtaken by his pupils, the blaze in them threatening to swallow you whole.  “Ready for me to fuck you? For me to bury my fat cock in your pussy so I can fill you up with my come?”

“God, yes,” you exhaled. “Please, I need it.”

“Oh, you need it now, don’t you? Need me to come inside you so you can feel it dripping out of you?”

You’re gasping, breathless now from both the arousal and exertion of rutting against him, and you’re so fucking close. “Yes, yes, fuck, Aaron—"

His hands come to push you back, lifting you off his thigh, and you’re about to knock his hands away so you can fucking come when you watch with a dazed expression as he scrambles to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his slacks. He lifts his hips up to push them down with his briefs, and then his cock pops out, a delicious angry red with precum beading at the slit.

“Come here.” He does not need to tell you twice.

You scoot closer into his lap, your knees sliding uncomfortably against the leather, and then you’re tugging the fabric of your pants aside, briefly running the head of his cock through your slick folds with a whimper, before sinking down onto Aaron’s thick cock with no warning.

He mutters a curse, head falling back against the chair and exposing the tendons in his neck as he clenches his jaw. “God, you’re still so fucking tight for me.”

You hiss at the slight stretch, because no matter how wet you were, Aaron’s cock was still so fucking thick. You felt dizzy, mind spinning with every inch of his cock pushing inside of you, but Christ, it felt so fucking good finally being filled.

He has his fingers wrapped around the fabric of your shorts by your hips, most likely so he doesn’t hurt you, but also so he could make sure you wouldn’t move until he was ready. When you’re finally seated in his lap, his cock fully inside of you, he lets out a growl that has a shiver running up your spine, unconsciously clenching around him before you could help it.

When you notice that he’s still leaning his head back, his neck deliciously exposed, you can’t help yourself when you lean forward to kiss along his jawline, detecting the barely there stubble, your hands leaving his broad shoulders to run your palms along his chest.

If possible, Aaron tenses more, his hands on your hips clenching and unclenching. “Honey, if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last,” he rasps.

You smile against his throat, heart thumping erratically that had nothing to do with the fact that you knew you were about to get fucked within an inch of your life. You tell yourself it’s just because he makes it so easy, he knows not to tempt you with this, when you feign innocence and say “Old age catching up with you? I thought you said you were going to fuck me.”

A pause, long enough that has the skin on the back of your neck prickling and you starting to second guess your words, before he’s suddenly lifting you and slamming his hips up into you, driving his cock deeper than you expected.

The action knocks the breath out of you, your hands scrambling on his chest before grasping at the lapels of his suit jacket. Even though he’s barely touched you, essentially hasn’t touched you at all, you feel your entire being unraveling, nearly melting at his touch.

“You’re such a,” he grunts, thrusting up into you again, “brat.” He grinds into you, filling you up to the hilt and grinding into you, causing you to curse and sit up straighter to press your forehead back against his. “If only I wasn’t fucking your sweet pussy, I’d be fucking that pretty mouth of yours.”

You can feel your thighs shaking, your heart nearly beating out of your chest, and you desperately wish that he would fucking move already. “Aaron…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His hands slide down from your hips to underneath your ass, grabbing a possessive hold of you so he could lift you off his lap so he could push you back down on his cock, starting a steady rhythm that has your mouth dropping open and your head tilting back. “Doesn’t it feel better when I’m doing all the work and fucking you instead of having to rub against me like a dirty girl?”

“God, yes,” you gasp, choke out, because Aaron has started fucking into you so mercilessly that you can’t do anything except just take it.

The filthy wet sounds of him plunging into you, his hips slapping against your flesh, and the broken strangled noises you make while he grunts into your ear fill the room. Aaron’s belt, still undone and wrapped around his slacks that have pooled around his knees, clink with each thrust, while the leather of chair continues to squeak.

Despite the way you wanted to let your eyes flutter shut, overcome with finally having that ache in your core being filled and white-hot pleasure zinging up your spine, the sight before you was even more intoxicating.

Aaron, who loved to fuck you until you were a limp pile in his arms, was gazing into you in that intense way he always does, as if studying every eye roll and twitch to memory. There was a light sheen of sweat over his face, causing his hair to fall into his eyes, and the sight of his parted lips as he panted, resolute in his desire to prioritize your pleasure over his didn’t help the tight coil in your stomach that was burning you from the inside out.

Your eyes are suddenly drawn to his arms—the muscles from lifting you up on and off his cock straining against the sleeves of his dress shirt. His forearms, always thick and riddled with deliciously prominent veins, were the perfect anchor point for your hands when he was rutting into you until you couldn’t breathe. His hands, large and full of silent strength, were always gentle with you even when you were begging for more.

You grab at his forearms now as you try to meet his thrusts, shoving your hips down even harder every time he canted up, and when his rhythm falters and his cock nudges deeper into you, you think your mind goes blank and you begin babbling out a mix of curses and breathless mutters of his name.

You’re close, and he knows it—he always knows it. One of his hands releases the death grip he has on your ass, and you watch in disbelief as he doesn’t even struggle. In fact, he continues to hold you up, snaking his other hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Christ, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” he breathes. He’s right—his thick fingers gliding over your clit and your pussy with ease, your wetness undoubtedly dripping down his cock and emitting the filthiest noises you’ve ever heard. “You always take my cock so well, don’t you honey?”

You nod repeatedly, eyes screwed shut as you desperately chase your orgasm steadily creeping up on you. Aaron knows you, putting the most perfect amount of pressure as he rubs your clit in tight circles and continues pumping into you.

He lets go of you completely as he chases his own orgasm, no longer needing to hold you up as he grunts and fucks up into you. He takes a hold of the back of your neck, possessive again, as he presses your foreheads against each other and his breath fans over your face. His brows are furrowed, focused, as he deliberately holds you in place. “That’s it, you’re going to come all over me and then I’ll come inside you and fill you up, just the way you like.”

Jesus Christ, both of you were going to feel this in the morning—your thighs aching and shaking as you attempt to hold your position hovering over his lap, knees pressed uncomfortably into the leather chair while Aaron’s thighs strain to pound into you.

But you don’t care, God, you don’t fucking care.

“Aaron, fuck, oh my God—” you gasp, chest heaving, as you cry out and your orgasm crashes over you. Blood rushes through your ears, brain fizzling out, as you’re distantly aware of your breath stuttering and your walls clenching and spasming around his cock.

Aaron, that bastard, continues fucking up into you, albeit more shallowly, his thumb catching on your clit and watching with heat in his gaze as you shudder through your aftershocks.

And then, while you’re still catching your breath, he picks up a frantic pace, his grip on the back of your neck tightening and causing another shiver to run through your body. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering, and then he’s coming inside of you with a deep, heavy groan.

You whimper when you feel his cock twitching inside of you, pulsating with each drop of come spilling into your cunt. Your grip on his forearms loosens as you slump against him, your entire body feeling loose and pliant.

His breath tickles against your ear as he tries to catch his breath, rubbing soothing circles against your hip before gently pushing at your shoulders so you were sitting back and he could get a look at you.

When you blearily blink up at him, he’s tenderly brushing your hair away from your face and gazing into you with so much affection that your heart feels like it’s seizing.

“Can I assume you like the chair then?” he asks, voice deliciously raspy, wearing a small smile curled with exhaustion.

“Ugh, shut up,” you mumble, attempting to push at his shoulders despite your arms feeling like noodles. He takes it in stride, smile growing wider. “I don’t think I can do this again, I think your old age is contagious.”

Aaron huffs. You can tell he’s trying not to roll his eyes at you. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Your mind flashes back to your earlier thought; crawling on your hands and knees until you were settled in between his thighs and keeping his cock warm with your mouth, maybe while he was on a video call. You hide your own giddy smile as you push your face into Aaron’s neck, making a mental note to bring it up before his next at-home meeting.

taglist (pls lmk if you would like to be added): @kiwriteswords @knitmeatardis @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna <3

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[the-kneesbees]

madame is retiring and i gave her a card that my mom and uncle also signed (they had her like 20 years ago) and I'm so emotional oh my god

[married-to-google-translater]

Self aware AU: First years reaction when they woke up in your room.

Ace would be really, really excited. He, as your "best friend" would be interested in seeing how you live. Ace would explore all the places while you were gone. And not in such a clean way... He should clean up before you come back

Deuce might die from excessive flushing. He couldn't believe this and would be a little shocked. Deuce wouldn't search your room anyway. He would just sit on the bed and try to come up with a rational explanation for why he would be here.

Sebek would definitely be really upset and really loud about it. He would be excited about this but at the same time worried about how he could fulfill his knightly duties in this world. Sebek would search your room but if you ask about it he would just say he cleaned it.

Epel would be excited to meet you... he knows you like him but wouldn't know why. What if even you just thought he was cute? He might look at places and if you have apples make something of them.

Jack's his tail would wag and he doesn't know how to control it. Jack would try to present how this wouldn't be such a big deal. But that would be very difficult. He's a tsundere lol... Jack would probably just be waiting for you to come back.

Grim would be excited. Now he would finally see how his henchman lives. If you had tuna it would "mysteriously disappear". If you didn't have tuna Grim would require you to buy it. Grim would really act like this was his home and when YOU were staying with HIM.

[mokulule]

Haunt is where the Heart is

Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny)

Summary: Danny is down on his luck. He meets Jason. Both of them are a bit weirded out by their own behavior, but it works out in the end.

Chapter 1

Danny sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He leaned on his elbows at the tiny kitchen counter in his one room apartment. He crumbled up the final notice in his hand.

He was out of options. Damn Skulker just had to find a way to Amity when he’d just managed to find a job willing to give him a chance and that was that; he was out of a job before he even got his first pay check, whatever he had earned was deducted to cover the damages.

It was a week ago they turned off the utilities and in two days he was out of an apartment entirely.

He slid down on the cold floor and looked up at the mold that had started to creep in on the ceiling after the tenant above him had a broken pipe.

Dread coiled in his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the mold or the cold or the fact he’d charged his phone at the library the last week because he had no power and everything to do with the thought that he might have to move back home.

Home, a house wired to kill him the rest of the way… He shuddered at his core at being back there, always alert, never knowing what tweaks his parents had made to the defense systems and whether they remembered to make an exception for his oddly high ecto-signature.

But what choice did he have?

His parents would be delighted, they still didn’t understand why he moved out. Especially not for that sad excuse for a flat. Especially not when he could follow in the family footsteps. They didn’t require a high school diploma from him after all. He could just hear his mom: really Sweetie, it is for the best.

He could help reassemble the portal, for some reason they just couldn’t seem to get it working.

He closed his eyes wishing himself away. To Sam and Tucker who were thousands of miles away and not even in the same direction, but he had asked them to follow their dreams. To Jazz who used to serve as a buffer between him and their parents.

Maybe he should have broken the portal from the inside, stayed in the ghost zone instead of this.

He should have left Amity when he had the chance, should have found a new haunt, but what if ghosts found a crack to slip through? Like Skulker had done. And well, now he couldn’t afford it.

His thoughts circled back to home, and he held himself tightly. He couldn’t go back there. But Amity was too small or rather the Fenton’s were too known for him to be homeless, it would be noticed.

He just didn’t have a viable solution.

Oo o oO

Five days later he sat in a diner at a rest stop a little way out of Amity, thinking if he widened his job search to outside the city perhaps he could find someone who would give him a job. With the ability to fly it wasn’t like the commute was a problem.

Officially he’d moved the few belongings from the apartment back to his parents house, but he’d yet to sleep there. He just couldn’t get himself to do so. Every moment in that house he was on high alert, and after trying for hours that first night he’d finally relented to his body’s need to get the fuck away and found an open box of packing peanuts in a warehouse to crash in - the fact that Danny kinda missed Boxy had been the topping on a very long day.

His parents didn’t understand Danny’s need to look for a job, but at least they hadn’t been overly insistent on keeping him at home.

He turned the page in Elmerton Times scanning the job listings for something without unreasonable expectations. Why did a cleaning job require three years of experience? Also did cleaning his parents’ biohazard of a lab since he was eight count?

With a frown he noted it down as a maybe.

The door opened and a young man looking to be around Danny’s age walked in drawing Danny’s attention, though at first he couldn’t tell why…

Sure he looked well enough aesthetically: fit, broad shouldered - but if a pair of muscled shoulders and a nice ass was all it took to draw Danny’s attention Dash would have been a contender. The leather jacket and motorcycle helmet was cool, but it reminded Danny of Valerie.

Really, Danny wouldn’t normally be staring at a stranger at all like this. He’d realized a couple of years ago that his crush on Paulina was just because everyone else was doing it, and young teen Danny had been desperate to fit in.

So what was it that made him stare?

The stranger turned his head revealing a lock of snow white hair in his bangs he was definitely too young for. He narrowed his eyes at Danny and Danny’s eyes widened in turn before he was quick to look down at the newspaper and his by now cold coffee.

Tension wound up his spine when booted steps approached his table ominously. Danny couldn’t decide what he was feeling. Embarrassment for staring? Fear? Excitement?

The stranger cleared his throat and spoke in a surprisingly pleasant voice.

“Can I sit here?”

Danny looked up with wide eyes, gaze running over the subtle lines that to his eyes clearly held concealed weapons before settling on the man’s face. There was a deceptively friendly smile on his lips, but his blue-green eyes were hard and assessing. A gruesome scar scar ran from the corner of his upper lip all the way up the left side of his face - Danny quickly focused back on his eyes before shrugging.

“Sure.”

Danny purposely went back to the newspaper noting down another maybe as the stranger sat dow across him, bumping Danny’s knees with his long denim clad legs. Danny’s heart sped up in his chest for no determinable reason.

“Looking for work?”

Danny looked up then looked pointedly back at the paper open on the job section. “Geh, what gave it away?”

He got a smirk in response that was more genuine than the earlier smile and his own lips tugged up in response.

“Guess, I asked for that.”

The waitress came over with a big plate of still steaming scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon as well as a cup of coffee. Danny couldn’t help eyeing the plate. When was the last time he had such a substantial meal?

“I’ll have another of those,” the stranger told the waitress indicating the plate before pushing it across to Danny rumpling the paper in the process.

Danny looked at him surprised. He was about to open his mouth - to protest or thank him? He wasn’t entirely sure - but he got waved off.

“None of that. Just eat. You look like you need it.”

Danny frowned thoughtfully, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. At the first bite he moaned and leaned back as the greasy food hit the spot in his stomach.

The stranger let him eat for a while. He was observing Danny with a peculiar frown on his face every time Danny stole a glance at him. It didn’t take long for his own plate of food to arrive and Danny was glad for the distraction. Could it be that for some reason Danny was just as interesting to the stranger as the stranger inexplicably was to Danny?

Finally Danny pushed the plate away.

“So looking for work?” The stranger tried again after a moment of silence.

“I’m not doing anything illegal,” Danny said firmly crossing his arms and leaning back.

The man barked a short laugh in surprise.

“What makes you think I’d involve you in anything illegal?”

Danny’s gaze flicked pointedly to the barest outlines of the hidden weapons, before he raised an eyebrow.

“Point,” the stranger grinned tapping a finger thoughtfully on the table. What Danny would give to know what went through his head. Then he offered a hand towards Danny for a handshake.

Danny suspiciously took the glowed hand in his own and gave it a firm squeeze.

“Jason.” The stranger gave his name expectantly, and Danny felt compelled to offer his own, it was only polite.

“Danny.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said as he let Danny go.

“Remains to be seen.”

He grinned again at Danny’s sass. After a moment he pursed his lips thoughtfully before finally speaking.

“So here’s the deal. I’m moving back to my hometown and I’m looking for a roommate slash housekeeper to take care of the apartment when I’m gone since I travel a lot.”

Danny blinked in surprise. Then narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not having sex with you either.”

That stumped this Jason character, and Danny could believe the idea had not even occurred to him. That was at least one point in his favor and Danny relented.

“You gotta realize how weird and creepy this is? So what’s going on? We don’t know eachother.”

“I don’t-“ Jason rubbed his forehead, then leaned back almost as if taking a step back considering his actions. Hesitantly he said, “You seem a bit down on your luck, and I really could use someone to live in the apartment when I’m not around. A mostly empty apartment is easy pickings for break-ins. And it is big enough.”

He tilted his head, somehow the green in his eyes looked more pronounced when the light hit them like that. “And you seem trustworthy, somehow.”

“Well you don’t.”

He outright laughed at that. He really was nice to look at when he smiled, Danny mused. It made him look his age, took away the hard calculation in his gaze. Made him look less like some kind of hitman - which was Danny’s current theory as to Jason’s profession.

And - Danny supposes - there were worse jobs than being a live-in housekeeper to a hitman as long as he kept Danny out of his work. For one it would solve his housing situation - and just the thought that he was gonna have to go home to his parents' house at the end of the day to make an appearance crawled like skittering insects down his spine.

Once Danny was out somewhere more stable, he could also look for something new.

It didn’t solve his worry about the ghosts coming to Amity despite the portal being shut down, but while Jason did not at all ping Danny as trustworthy, there was still that something that drew Danny’s attention. Something he knew would eat at him if he left things at this.

“Okay, so say I agree, what then?”

Jason blinked in surprise clearly at this point not expecting Danny to agree - that made two of them.

“Uh, I suppose I give you the address. It’s in Gotham. You could ride with me, but you probably need to pack. Do you need funds for travel?”

He was already reaching inside his leather jacket and pulling out a roll of cash. Danny started laughing because this whole situation was ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” he said, placatingly holding up a hand and trying to stop laughing, “I just can’t believe I’m doing this.“

Jason huffed. “I will give you that the entire situation is odd."

Their eyes met, two pairs of blue with a hint of hidden green. Danny couldn't help the smile that spread his lips. Jason rolled his eyes, but Danny could see him fighting a smile of his own.

Hitman or not, Jason seemed an okay sort - and, Danny mused, when taking a leap of faith it was a big advantage that one could fly.

-

Alternatively how early days Red Hood acquired a protector spirit for the fallback safehouse where he actually keeps his belongings.

Okay so I don't know when I will continue this, the future of this fic is still pretty vague in my head it's mostly like a mood of ace-spectrum Danny and Jason occasionally living together while Jason prepares to and eventually does upend the Gotham criminal underworld and everything goes up in fire.

Anyways, did you like it? Thoughts?

Edit: now with a masterpost you can subscribe to

[aspenmissing]

ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

6419 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɪɴꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ (ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ). ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ʜᴀꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ꜱᴛᴏᴘ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ɪᴅᴇᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ/ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

It had been a week or two since Y/N first realized she was pregnant. The realization had come as a shock, and though she'd kept it a secret, she had no idea how to tell Jayce. He had been busy with his work, his duties at the academy, and everything in Piltover that required his attention. She had just been trying to find the right moment, but it was harder than she'd anticipated. The news was life-changing, and she didn't want to burden him, even though she knew deep down that he would support her no matter what.

That morning, Y/N had run errands while Jayce stayed at home, catching up on his own work. As always, he had a few things to tidy up around the house — a rare moment where he was actually in their shared space, instead of off in his lab or at the academy. While sorting through some boxes under the bed that hadn't been touched in ages, Jayce kicked one of them over in an attempt to make space. It was one of those old cardboard boxes that Y/N had shoved there on a particularly busy day, not realizing what it contained.

Curious, Jayce pulled the box out from under the bed, his brow furrowing in confusion as he cracked it open. Inside, amidst old papers and forgotten mementos, were the unmistakable signs of something he hadn't expected — a pregnancy test, along with a paper that confirmed the news. Jayce's breath hitched as he stared at the test, eyes scanning the familiar words that he hadn't yet fully processed. The letter was clear, a confirmation that Y/N was indeed pregnant.

His heart raced, and for a long moment, he was paralyzed by the enormity of the situation. How long had she known? Why hadn't she told him? He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not noticing, for not being more aware of what was happening. He had always considered himself a protector, a supporter, but now he felt as though he was falling short.

As he sat there holding the pregnancy test in his hand, he heard the sound of the door opening downstairs. Y/N’s voice floated up the stairs, and Jayce quickly placed the test back in the box, not wanting to overwhelm her.

Y/N walked in, her usual warm smile fading a little when she saw the tense look on his face. “Jayce?” she asked, her tone uncertain as she approached the bedroom door.

He was sitting on the bed, the box still resting beside him. “Y/N,” he began, his voice soft but full of emotion. “We need to talk.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She had no idea what was going on, but she could feel the weight in his words. She closed the door behind her, stepping into the room, her eyes glancing at the box on the bed. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice a little shakier than usual.

Jayce took a deep breath, looking up at her. The look in his eyes was a mixture of love, concern, and something else — something unspoken. He gestured to the box. “I found this... while I was cleaning.”

Y/N’s face turned pale as her gaze followed his hand to the box, and she instinctively felt her stomach churn. She knew what was coming. She hadn't expected him to find out like this.

She swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “Jayce, I... I wanted to tell you,” she began, stepping closer, “but I wasn’t sure how. I didn’t know if it was the right time, and—”

“Y/N…” Jayce interrupted softly, his voice trembling slightly. He stood up and took a step toward her, gently placing his hands on her arms. “You’re pregnant.”

Y/N’s lips trembled as she nodded, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “Yes,” she whispered, her eyes filled with both fear and hope. “I found out a couple of weeks ago. But I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Jayce stared at her for a moment, the reality of it all sinking in. Then, without warning, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped around her like a protective shield, and he kissed the top of her head gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But you don’t have to worry, Y/N. We’re in this together.”

Y/N blinked back tears, her arms wrapping around him in return. She had been so afraid that he wouldn’t be happy, that he wouldn’t understand. But his response was more than she had hoped for.

“I’ve just been... so scared,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want to burden you. You’ve already got so much going on with everything in Piltover. And I didn’t know if I was ready for this... for a baby.”

Jayce pulled back slightly to look at her, his hands gently cupping her face. His eyes were filled with nothing but reassurance and love. “We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Together. There’s no perfect time for this, but I know one thing — I want to be here for you, and for our baby. And we’ll make this work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her heart was lighter now, the weight of her fears melting away in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Jayce smiled down at her, his hands still gently holding her face. “You never have to thank me for this, Y/N. We’re in this together — all three of us.”

And in that moment, as the two of them stood together, embracing the new chapter in their lives, Jayce knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them as a family.

VIKTOR

It had been a few months since Viktor and Y/N had that heart-to-heart conversation. It was one of those difficult talks, where emotions were laid bare, raw, and vulnerable. Viktor, ever the stoic, had admitted his deepest fears—his illness, the mutations, and the possibility of passing it on to any future children. Y/N had been hurt at first, but understanding. She supported him fully, respecting his concerns, even though a small part of her longed for the family they could have had together. She never pushed him, knowing how deeply his fears ran.

But Viktor could see how much it pained her. He noticed the quiet longing in her eyes, the way she would sometimes linger on children in the streets of Piltover when they passed by. It tore at him, but he couldn’t shake the dread of what his illness could mean for their future. It was one of those battles inside him that he couldn't win, no matter how hard he tried.

Today, however, Viktor decided to take a short walk. It wasn’t about escaping the conversation—it was more to clear his head. The streets of Piltover were bustling with the usual activity, the gleaming buildings towering above him as the cool air filled his lungs. He walked with a slight limp, the click of his cane echoing in the otherwise busy street, but it was nothing Viktor wasn’t used to. The cane was a constant companion, the reminder of both his strength and his vulnerability.

As he passed a park, he spotted a young boy struggling to tie his shoe laces. The child was hunched over, a prosthetic limb attached to his left leg. The boy’s hands were shaking slightly as he fumbled with the laces, frustration evident on his face. Viktor slowed his pace, watching from a distance. He expected someone to approach the boy, maybe offer some help. But no one did. The people walking past just ignored the boy, too focused on their own lives to stop and lend a hand.

Viktor hesitated, his heart tightening at the sight. He knew all too well what it felt like to be overlooked, to be seen as different or fragile. But there was something in the way the boy carried himself—something in his attitude—that caught Viktor off guard. The boy was struggling, yes, but he wasn’t defeated. His face was determined as he attempted again to tie his laces, gritting his teeth but never backing down. Viktor waited, thinking that maybe the boy’s perseverance would inspire someone else to step forward. But when no one did, Viktor sighed and made his way over.

“Need some help?” Viktor asked softly, his voice gentle, yet there was a certain steadiness in it.

The boy looked up at him, startled but not fearful. His eyes scanned Viktor’s cane before meeting his face. “I got it,” the boy replied confidently, his lips curling into a small grin. “I just need to focus. It’s not so hard, you know?”

Viktor tilted his head, surprised by the boy’s confidence. “No one should have to do everything alone,” Viktor said, taking a step closer. “Sometimes, we all need a little help.”

The boy paused, then nodded, his hands still trembling a little as he finished tying his shoes. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes meeting Viktor’s again. “But it’s not about letting it stop you, right? It’s a hurdle. A hard one, but not impossible.”

Viktor’s heart fluttered at the boy’s words. There was something about the way he viewed his disability—not as a burden, but simply another challenge to overcome—that struck Viktor deep. It was a perspective Viktor hadn’t considered in a long time. For so long, Viktor had feared passing on his illness, his disability, to a child of his own. He had worried that they would see it as something to be pitied, something to be feared. But this boy—this child—had a strength that Viktor hadn’t realized children could have.

“I think you’re right,” Viktor said quietly. “A hurdle is just something to jump over.” He smiled gently at the boy, feeling a shift inside him, a sense of peace that he hadn’t expected.

The boy beamed up at him, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “Exactly! You just have to keep trying, even if it takes a few tries.”

Viktor chuckled softly, his mind racing. For the first time in months, the dread he had carried about his own illness, and what it might mean for a child, started to fade. He realized that with Y/N’s love, with his own understanding and strength, their child could grow up just like this boy—confident, determined, and ready to face whatever life threw their way.

The realization struck him like a wave, and Viktor suddenly felt lighter than he had in a long time. Maybe having a child wasn’t about protecting them from every hardship; maybe it was about teaching them how to face those challenges with grace and strength.

He turned, making his way back home, the cane tapping steadily against the cobblestones as he thought about the future. His steps felt more purposeful now.

When Viktor arrived home, Y/N was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book. She looked up at him with a smile, her warmth filling the room. “Hey, you’re back early,” she said, setting the book down and patting the space next to her on the couch.

Viktor stood still for a moment, staring at the floor, his hand resting on his cane. “Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation from before. About… the future.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, the same knot of worry tightening in her chest. “Viktor, you don’t have to—”

Viktor cut her off, holding up a hand. “I’m ready to try, lásko. I’m ready to start a family with you.” (Love)

Y/N blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Her mind spun, processing his words. She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. “You… you mean it?” Her voice was trembling, full of disbelief and hope.

Viktor’s gaze softened, and he took a slow step toward her. “I’ve seen something today. A boy with the same struggles as me, but he didn’t see it as a burden. He saw it as just another hurdle to overcome. And I realized… our child won’t see it as a curse. With our love, they’ll know how to overcome whatever life gives them. I believe in us."

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes as she stood up quickly, her breath hitching in her throat. She rushed toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. “Oh, Viktor,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Viktor gently placed his cane aside, his arms wrapping around her in return, holding her close. He could feel the weight of the moment, the weight of their decision, and for the first time in a long while, Viktor felt something he hadn’t expected: hope.

Together, they would face the future—one step at a time, just like the boy had shown him.

JAYVIK

The topic of motherhood had always been a sensitive one for Y/N. She had come to terms with her infertility a long time ago, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. She hadn’t discussed it much with Jayce or Viktor; it was a topic that hung between them, unspoken, but understood. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children—it was more that she had accepted that being a mother wasn’t in her future. And though she had come to terms with it privately, it didn’t mean the idea of motherhood didn’t tug at her heart from time to time.

Jayce and Viktor knew about her infertility. They had been with her through the difficult conversations, through the quiet moments when she wrestled with her feelings. Both of them had been understanding, supportive, and kind, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel the emptiness at times, especially when the idea of raising a child came up. She had always dreamt of motherhood, of nurturing a little one, but the reality was different. Still, she cherished the love and connection she had with Jayce and Viktor, and that was enough—for now.

One crisp afternoon in Piltover, Y/N found herself walking through the busy streets of the Upper City, a faint breeze carrying the scent of fresh bread and the hum of city life. The grandeur of Piltover was on full display—high towers, merchants selling their wares, and children playing in the streets—but amidst it all, something caught her eye.

Two children, a boy around twelve and a girl of about seven, were weaving through the crowd with startling agility. The younger girl, bubbly and chatty, kept the attention of an unsuspecting shopper while the older boy, quick as a flash, swiped a few coins from the merchant’s stall. Y/N watched, intrigued, as the boy casually stashed the pilfered goods in his coat and slipped away, with the little girl trailing behind him, never once looking guilty.

Y/N’s lips quirked into a smile, admiring their street-smart energy. They moved with the kind of confidence that could only come from years of surviving the rougher edges of the world. It was clear they were looking out for each other, and despite what they were doing, there was something endearing about their partnership. The older boy’s protective nature over the younger girl, his quick thinking, and her carefree chatter—they made quite the team.

She decided to follow them from a distance, curious to see where they were headed. After a few turns and alleyways, they eventually reached a small abandoned building, a makeshift hideout. Y/N hesitated, watching them settle in, clearly alone—no parents, no guardians, just the two of them.

The boy caught her gaze as she stood at a distance. He narrowed his eyes, clearly cautious but not immediately hostile.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice gruff, but his stance more defensive than angry.

Y/N took a few steps closer, raising her hands in a peaceful gesture. “I just wanted to see how you two were doing. I noticed your, uh, skills in the marketplace.”

The girl, who had been picking at something in her hand, looked up with wide eyes and shyly glanced at Y/N. She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve before speaking in a soft, hesitant voice. “We’re just trying to get by,” she murmured, clearly a little nervous about the encounter, but still unbothered by their situation.

The boy shot her a quick glance, before looking back at Y/N. “We don’t need any help. We’re fine.”

Y/N smiled softly, kneeling to their level. “I’m not here to force anything. I’m just offering food."

The two children exchanged a glance, and after a few moments of hesitation, the boy finally nodded. “Food’s always good.”

Without another word, Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out a couple of loaves of bread, some fruit, and a few slices of cheese. The children devoured the food quickly, barely speaking between bites. It was clear they were used to going without, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

Over the next few weeks, Y/N found herself coming back to the children regularly. She would bring them food, warm clothes, and the occasional book. Gradually, their wariness of her faded, though they never fully let their guard down. They had learned to survive on their own, and trust wasn’t something they gave easily. But over time, Y/N became more than just a stranger—she became a quiet presence in their lives, offering what little comfort she could.

Y/N knew Piltover was a city of opportunity, but it wasn’t always kind to the ones who didn’t have a place to fit in. The children reminded her of that—young, alone, and scraping by on whatever they could get.

One day, after a particularly long day in the markets, Y/N found herself thinking more about the two kids. There had to be a way to help them—Piltover had more to offer, and they deserved better than a life of pickpocketing and hiding out in abandoned buildings.

The next time she came to visit, she made a decision. She would take them back to her home, introduce them to Jayce and Viktor, and see if they could help these kids build something better for themselves.

When Y/N walked into the study later that afternoon, she was followed by the two children, who were a little more apprehensive than usual but still carrying themselves with a quiet sense of pride.

“Jayce, Viktor,” Y/N called out as she stepped inside, smiling warmly at the two men. “I’d like you to meet Mia,” she said, gesturing to the younger girl, “and Luka,” she nodded at the older boy. “They’ve been on their own for a while. I’ve been bringing them food and making sure they’re alright, but I think Piltover might be the place for them.”

Jayce and Viktor looked up from their work, both of them pausing as they sized up the two children. Viktor raised an eyebrow, his analytical gaze taking in the situation, while Jayce’s face softened with concern.

“They’ve been through a lot,” Jayce commented, his voice gentle.

Y/N nodded. “They’ve got a lot of potential. They just need a little guidance. I think, with some help, they could really thrive here.”

Viktor stood from his chair, walking toward the children. He regarded them for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been through more than most adults would care to face. But if you’re willing to learn, Piltover has room for you.”

Luka, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up. “And if we don’t want to?” he asked, his voice filled with defiance but not hostility.

Y/N crouched down to meet his eyes. “You’ll always have a choice. But I’m offering you a chance to build something better. Not for me, but for yourselves.”

Jayce offered his hand to Luka, who looked at it for a long moment before taking it, Mia following suit, though she was still a bit shy. Their hands were small, but their grip was firm, as if they were already beginning to understand the power of what they were being offered.

As Y/N stood back up, a sense of fulfillment washed over her. She had always wondered what motherhood might feel like, but now she understood—family wasn’t just about blood. It was about love, care, and making space for those who needed it most.

In that moment, with Jayce and Viktor by her side, she felt like they were building something together—something more than just a future for them, but for these children, too. And for the first time in a long while, she believed that family, in all its forms, was within reach.

VANDER

The past few months had been an emotional rollercoaster for Y/N and Vander. It was a topic that weighed heavily on both of them—one they had discussed openly and at length. The decision had been made to try for a child, but time and again, they found themselves coming up empty. The disappointment stung harder with each failed attempt, and each time, it seemed to take more from Y/N than she was willing to admit.

Vander, ever the strong and steady presence in their home, tried to offer comfort, his hand on her back or holding hers tightly in quiet moments, but even his unwavering support couldn't quell the sadness that began to weigh heavily on her heart. With each passing try, Y/N found herself retreating further into herself. She hated feeling this way, especially when there were so many children who needed love and care, but the dream of having their own kept lingering.

Vi and Claggor, of course, understood more than Y/N often gave them credit for. They had seen the way she had been quietly grieving, though she tried to hide it. It was clear that Y/N and Vander had wanted this, and though the children were young and maybe couldn’t fully comprehend the specifics, they could sense the tension.

Mylo, ever the oblivious one, simply couldn’t understand why Y/N seemed so upset. “Why’s she so sad, Vander?” Mylo asked one day, genuinely perplexed.

Vander paused for a moment, his heart aching as he looked down at his son. He knew Mylo wasn’t trying to be insensitive—he was just a child. "Sometimes, Mylo," he began softly, kneeling down to meet his son's eyes, "people want something that they can’t have, and it makes them sad."

"But she’s not sad because of us, is she?" Mylo asked, brows furrowed, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Vander smiled gently, his expression a mix of warmth and sadness. “No, son. Never because of you."

Meanwhile, Powder, ever the innocent and curious soul, had started to pick up on the shift in Y/N’s mood. She noticed how her mother figure’s smiles seemed more forced lately, how she spent more time staring out the window, looking distant. One afternoon, as Vander was sitting by the fire, Powder shuffled over to him, her small brow furrowed in concern.

“Vander,” she began, her voice small and unsure, “why is mama so sad all the time?”

Vander’s heart twisted at the question. He had been doing his best to shield the children from the weight of the situation, but Powder’s innocence had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things. He looked down at her, trying to find the right words.

“Well, Powder,” Vander started, his voice soft and steady, “sometimes people feel sad because they’re hoping for something, and it doesn’t happen the way they want it to.”

Powder tilted her head, trying to understand. “Is it because of us?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry. “Did we do something wrong?”

Vander quickly shook his head, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. “No, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that sometimes, things take time. And sometimes, people just need a little while to feel better.”

Powder nodded slowly, not fully understanding but still trusting Vander’s words. She looked up at him, her big eyes filled with concern for the woman she loved so much. “Will she be okay?” she asked quietly.

Vander smiled gently, his heart aching for her innocence. “She’ll be okay, Powder. We’ll make sure of it.”

Powder stood there for a moment, her gaze lingering on the doorway where Y/N had been standing earlier. Then, as if an idea suddenly struck her, she reached up and hugged Vander tightly, her tiny arms wrapping around him with all the love she could give.

Vander held her close, feeling the weight of his own heart as he promised silently that he would do everything in his power to make sure Y/N found happiness again.

And then, the fifth time came.

Y/N had reached a place of quiet acceptance. After their last attempt, she and Vander had finally come to terms with what life had given them. They still had each other, and their love for the children they already cared for was enough to fill their hearts. They had made the choice to focus their love on the kids they had—Vi, Claggor, Mylo, and Powder—and make sure they had everything they needed. It was a quiet but powerful decision, one that gave them peace.

But life, as it often did, surprised them.

It was early one morning when Y/N felt the familiar nausea creeping up her throat. She dismissed it at first, thinking it was just another random bout of illness, but as the morning went on, it became harder to ignore. She ran to the bathroom, her heart pounding in her chest, and the moment she stood over the sink, she knew.

After taking the test, she sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the results in shock. It wasn’t just a glimmer of hope—it was real. The small blue line on the stick confirmed it. She was pregnant.

Her hands trembled as she stood up, the test still in her hand. She didn’t know how long she stood there, the weight of it sinking in, but eventually, she walked slowly to where Vander was, a mixture of disbelief and joy written all over her face.

"Vander," she called softly, her voice catching in her throat.

He turned from the window where he’d been looking out, the soft morning light playing across his face. He saw the look on her face and immediately felt a wave of concern rush through him. “Love? What is it?”

She didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she handed him the test, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Vander looked at it, his hands steady as he examined it, then slowly looked up at Y/N. His expression softened, a mixture of shock and something deeper in his gaze. “Are you... are you sure?”

Y/N smiled, a tear slipping down her cheek as she nodded. "Yes. I’m sure."

And in that moment, everything changed.

Vander crossed the room, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. “I’m so happy,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “We’re going to be parents again. I didn’t think it was ever going to happen...”

Y/N hugged him back, her chest tight with the overwhelming sense of joy and relief. “Neither did I,” she admitted, her voice thick with emotion. “But we’re going to be okay.”

Later that day, when the children came running into the room to greet their parents, they immediately sensed the change in the air. Vi looked at Y/N with a knowing expression, her arms open wide for a hug, while Claggor stood beside her, looking up curiously at Vander. Powder beamed, as if she somehow already knew what had happened.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Vi asked, her voice gentle. She could see the shift in her mother’s demeanour. Y/N just nodded, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiled.

“I’m more than okay, Vi,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We’re going to have a baby."

Claggor’s eyes widened, and Mylo jumped up and down, excitedly. “A baby! That’s awesome!”

Vander looked down at Powder, who was staring up at him with wide eyes. She grinned, her excitement uncontainable. “Does this mean I’m going to have a little brother or sister?” she asked.

Y/N laughed softly, wiping away a tear. “Yes, Powder. You are.”

As Vander and Y/N exchanged a soft smile, surrounded by their children, a new chapter began for their family. One filled with hope, love, and the promise of a future that was theirs to shape. It wasn’t just the start of their journey into parenthood—it was the beginning of something even bigger. Something they had built together, with the love and strength of their family.

SILCO / JINX

The dimly lit office felt unusually still as you walked in, your footsteps echoing softly against the cold stone floor. The weight of the pregnancy test in your hand felt heavier with every step you took toward Silco’s desk. You placed it down gently in front of him, your fingers lingering on the edge as if unsure how to break the silence that stretched between you.

Silco was sitting in his usual spot, his gaze fixed on the papers before him. His sharp eyes flickered up at the sound of the test being placed on the desk, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He didn’t need to ask what it was. His expression shifted, unreadable, as he slowly reached forward and picked it up, his fingers brushing against the plastic.

You stood still, your stomach tied in knots, watching him closely. Silco’s gaze was locked on the test, his lips pressed together as he processed the moment, his usual calm and control slipping into something else—a flicker of uncertainty that he quickly masked.

"Pregnant?" His voice was steady, though there was a sharpness beneath it, a controlled tension that spoke to the gravity of the situation.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you spoke, your voice quiet but firm. "Yes."

The silence stretched again, heavy, filled with the weight of his thoughts. He placed the test back on the desk, his eyes not leaving it as if trying to make sense of the new reality that had just been dropped before him.

"I wasn’t expecting this," he finally said, his voice still calm, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "This changes everything."

You could feel your pulse quicken as you shifted, unsure of what to say next. "I didn’t expect it either," you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I don’t know what to do, Silco. Can we even give them a life here in Zaun? Can I even give them a life with everything we’ve built?"

For a long moment, Silco remained silent, his eyes moving from the test to you. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, his posture thoughtful yet still unreadable.

"You know how I feel about children," he said, his tone quieter than usual. "They’re a vulnerability, a weakness. I never planned for this."

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your own feelings reflected in your voice. "I used to think I didn’t want children either," you confessed, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the desk. "I thought it wasn’t in me. But... I think maybe it’s different now."

Silco studied you in silence, his gaze unwavering. His features softened slightly as he absorbed your words. "If this is something you want, if you think it’s right, then I won’t stand in your way. We’ll figure it out." He sighed deeply, his voice steady, though there was something almost compassionate in it that you rarely heard. "But we both know the risks. How easily everything could change."

You nodded, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on your chest. "I know. I just don’t know what it would look like... how it would change things between us."

His expression softened further, and he leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours with an understanding that made your heart skip a beat. "We don’t have to figure it all out now. Whatever you decide, I’m with you. We’ll face it together."

The words lingered in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of certainty. The future, though uncertain, didn’t seem as daunting with him by your side.

The air between you and Silco was thick with unspoken words when a shuffle from the hallway broke the moment. A muffled voice, familiar and filled with unease, echoed through the room. Your heart sank as you realized Jinx had been listening outside. She knew something was off, and she was about to confront you both.

The door creaked open, and Jinx stepped inside, her usual manic energy subdued by the confusion in her eyes. Her gaze immediately flickered to the desk, where the pregnancy test lay, its presence now casting a heavy shadow over the room. The colour drained from her face as she processed what she was seeing, and her eyes flickered between you and Silco, realization quickly settling in.

"Y-You're pregnant?" she repeated, her voice small, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered to the test on the desk, and then back to you, her face contorting in an expression that was a mix of confusion, fear, and something deeper—hurt.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words stuck in your throat. You knew what this meant for Jinx. She was no stranger to being pushed aside, forgotten, and replaced. Her unpredictable nature often led to misunderstandings, but the one thing you both shared was a bond, a strange and unspoken connection. The idea that she might think this would mean the end of that bond broke something inside you.

Jinx took a step back, her hands trembling as they fidgeted with the edges of her shirt. Her voice wavered, the insecurity leaking through her usual bravado. "I—I don’t... I don’t know what this means," she stammered, her eyes flickering between you and Silco, her words faltering. "You won’t need me anymore, right? I mean, you... You’ll have the baby now. You’ll have your family, and... I won’t matter anymore."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away, a brittle smile forcing its way onto her lips. "It’s fine," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I’ll just... I'll just go. It’s okay. I’ll stay out of the way. You don’t have to worry about me anymore."

A cold knot of guilt formed in your chest, and you moved toward her, reaching out to steady her. "Jinx, no. You’ll never be in the way. This—this has nothing to do with you being pushed aside." Your voice cracked slightly, but you fought to steady it. "I don’t want you to think you’re being replaced. You're not."

Jinx shook her head, her lips curling into a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s always been that way, though, hasn’t it? People come, people go. You and Silco... you’ll have everything you need now. You don’t need someone like me. I’ll just mess things up." Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though she was trying to convince herself of the lie she was telling.

Silco, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of concern and patience, leaned forward, his voice cutting through the heavy air. "Jinx," he said, his tone more measured than before, yet carrying an undeniable firmness. "You think we would let you slip away so easily? You think you can just vanish because of something like this?"

Jinx didn’t meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the ground as if she were afraid to hear what he was about to say.

Silco’s voice softened slightly, though still strong, like a quiet force. "You’re part of this—our lives. You’re not going anywhere, Jinx. You’re not a burden, and you’re certainly not going to be forgotten."

You stepped closer, placing a hand gently on Jinx’s shoulder, trying to convey the steadiness you wanted her to feel. "I don’t know what the future holds," you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "But I do know that you’re a part of it. I don’t want to lose you. Neither of us does."

Jinx’s breathing hitched, and for a moment, it seemed like she might finally let the wall she’d built up come crumbling down. She glanced up at you, her wide eyes searching yours, as if she were waiting for a sign that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t just some cruel joke.

"You’re sure?" Jinx asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her vulnerability laid bare. "You’re sure you don’t want to... forget about me?" She swallowed hard, her usual bravado replaced by the uncertainty that had been lurking beneath all along.

You nodded firmly, your hand tightening on her shoulder. "I’m sure, Jinx. You’re not a mistake. You’re not a burden. You’re family."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and Jinx stood there, her body tense as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then, slowly, her face softened, and the rawness in her eyes faded just a little. She looked at Silco, and then back at you, as though trying to reconcile the fractured pieces of herself that she had kept hidden away for so long.

After a moment, she cast a glance at the pregnancy test again, her voice still uncertain but with a touch of curiosity. "I don’t really know about this kid thing," she muttered, her words soft but full of confusion. "But... I can teach them stuff, right? Like... how to make cool things blow up?"

You laughed softly, the tension beginning to ease as Jinx’s mischievous spark returned. "Of course, Jinx," you said, offering her a reassuring smile. "You’ll be the best big sibling ever."

"Just... don't make the kid your partner in crime right away, alright?" Silco says, his tone unexpectedly gentle.

Jinx’s eyes lit up, her mischievous grin returning in full force. "Oh, no promises, Silco."

And in that moment, the storm seemed to pass. The air between you all lightened, and though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would face it together. As a family. No matter what.

[fairlyabookie]

the things you do that got them head over heels (part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | feat. third years ! more in coming :>

Malleus - Ice cream date

There was nothing about going out on an afternoon outing after class for an ice cream venture, Malleus thought to himself. The thought of having one was alluring after a tiresome day of classes and homework. He could picture the preserved sweetness, the creamy goodness. Oh, he would love to spend a pretty penny to consume one right now.

Of course, he had to take you into his little adventure of getting ice cream. Malleus certainly wanted the company to ensure he wasn’t the only one getting the delectable; why not share the wonderful goodness that was ice cream together? You couldn’t refuse, go along with your companion for a bowl of ice cream goodness.

Matter of fact, he was glad he had you he couldn't ask for this merry moment - the others would deem Malleus intimidating to go with, Sebek and SIlver was already busy with club activities and training, and Lilia.. Lilia would coax the younger to ask a friend out - besides, didn’t Malleus already make a friend? He definitely implicated you for Malleus.

“Whoa, Malleus, you’re seriously craving ice cream THAT much?!” Your eyes pop out of your head when you witness a grand portion of ice cream from Malleus’ clutches. Amusement graces the fae’s lips, “I did tell you that I’m craving it today; besides, we can share, can we?” You can picture a large draconic tail wagging back and forth.

Vil- window shopping/ trying out new clothes

Vil always experimented with style and, as always, looked good doing it. He’d set trends, and upcycle vintage for a new, refreshing one. Such transformations would send waves upon waves of adoration from his fanbase and onlookers alike, nothing short of Vil’s prowess in impeccable style and attention to detail.

You, on the other hand, try to hold yourself back from buying too many clothes; your closet was practically bursting from your last bulk purchase of new attire. The urge to deep clean and reorganize everything was strong; yet your tendency to seek fashion was stronger. You were dying for a little window shopping trip - just to see the latest fashion trends, the prices of said attire, and the clearance racks.

Vil was more than happy to accompany you, often offering his card to just see you fluster and refuse the card, even though he personally thought the attire the both of you were peering at definitely suited your style. He genuinely loved spending time with you, walking around the mall, and browsing through clothes for a moment or two. He’d even encourage you to purchase it, showering you with compliment,s and even promises to help clean up your closet when the time was ripe.

“Oh, please, [Reader]. That top would absolutely compliment the bottoms you have!” He shows you the aforementioned attire. Your eyes light up, taking a mental picture of the top with an outfit you already had at home. “Oh my gosh, Vil. That’s perfect!” Before you can get your hopes up, you had to peer at the price tag. “Uh uh, don’t even think about the price. I’ll pay for it, [Reader]. My treat.”

Idia - insane gacha luck

The both of you were gamers through and through, spending time in Idia’s room grinding the day away to get the amount of resources required for a certain character you obtained. Sometimes, this would merit occasional check ins with Ortho to ensure the both of you were eating properly.

Whether his room would be filled with silence or the next hit from his favorite idol group, your grumblings, jubilations and musing would cause a clamor. You’d show Idia the results of your labor, showcasing the new stats for the character you were grinding on.

If you two played the same game, he’d one-up you with the same character he had but with the bigger stats, sending you into a competitive streak. No way you can let Idia beat you on YOUR game- you feel the flames of war ignite in your spirit - it’s so on.

“There is no way you can beat ME, the KING of GAMING! I’ve already ascended him, not once, twice but THREE TIMES! Oh yeah, baby, I can CRUSH you if we go 1v1!” Your jaw drops to the ground as soon as Idia's phone comes to your line of vision. You cannot believe this man before you, his build on such character dwarfing yours. Could it be whaling or just getting very lucky with the grind? “Dude, dude, I get it; you definitely whaled.” Idia gasps, a horror-stricken expression befalling his pale complexion. “LE GASP I did NOT!”

Rook - sharing your passions

Rook goes absolutely heart eyes the minute you talk about your passions, your loves and your crushes. He is all ears, watching you with nothing but love in his body language. In the case you ever falter, he’d encourage you to keep going. Holding back isn’t an option.

If there are any events related to your interests, he’d be the one accompanying you, helping you carry your things and help you with pictures for your plushies if you bring them along. He’d even invest in bringing matching merch with you, even surprising you.

In addition to you sharing your passions, he’d even share his - the both of you sharing a space together where you can express yourselves and your hobbies and passions. In the time that you ever feel flustered about saying too much, Rook is your enabler. Whether it be an impulsive purchase you’ve made for your favorite character or a must-buy from a recommendation, Rook is 100% enabling everything so you can feel happier and closer to your idol.

“Oh la la, my dear! I see you’ve brought your little plushies! How should we go about with the pictures? With the lightsticks or not?” You couldn’t seem to wipe off the silly grin on your face when your classmate pets the plushies you’ve brought along to the event. He also brings his pair of plushies, all perfectly encaged in a cute bag.

[tbaluver]

teachers pet

pairing: professor!rafayel x college student!reader wc. 1.4k cw: MDNI p in v a/n: he's so yumm. this is inspo from his anecdotes! warning: explicit and sexual content below. this is intended for mature audiences. both are consenting adults and this fic does not condone sexual relations with your teachers in real life. this is all purely fiction. any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

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you dreaded the idea of taking your last class for college. it was your final semester before transfering over to the Hunter’s academy and your last required class just had to be an art class.

you appreciate the arts but seriously? were you going to paint the wanderers before finishing them off? you later changed your mind about this class until your professor was painting your insides white.

-

rafayel was mesmerized as he watched your tight little cunt swallow his cock whole. the position where he has you bent over has him hitting your spot each time he pushes forward. with each hard thrust you knew you weren’t going to last long, again.

he holds onto your shoulder as he keeps one of his hands on the top of your ass, letting you rock back and forth in his shallow thrusts. the stretch makes you tremble, slick with want. you find your old nail scratches etched into his desk, now adding new ones in this position he’s placed you in.

“so cute,” he praises, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes half lidded. “how can my cutie have such filthy thoughts about me?”

you don’t know how long you’ll last. with the way he was praising you, calling you his, and him rubbing your clit again to make you reach an earth shattering high. you were so close and he can tell. your walls were so desperate to milk dry. all you can feel is how he stretches you to perfection, your mouth drooling from the absolute pleasure he was giving you.

your orgasm slams into you and your vision whitens, clenching around him as he fucks you through it.

“so good to me,” he pants, “my favorite and best student.” he sighs against your neck, sending goosebumps to your skin. he gently takes ahold of you by the neck, angling you for a tender but for a slightly messy kiss while his hands rub the side of your ass.

he helps you clean the mess between your thighs with his handkerchief as you fix the top of your shirt. he gently helps you slide on your panties, guiding your leg over the entrance, then the other, before placing a tender kiss on the inner part of your thigh.

“try and focus today cutie, don’t wanna go rough on you tonight.” he tilts his head and winks, patting your thigh that you’re good to go before any students see.

-

you were known as the model student in this class. always the first to arrive and always looking the best. many of your peers don’t know how you do it and why but truly your motivation was him.

your art could no where compete with his so you always found yourself reaching his help, hoping for his attention- not that you cared much for the projects. it was him you wanted, his touch, his gaze, the thrill of being near him was almost electrifying.

his presence was impossible to ignore. his hand covers yours as he helps guide your brush. his chest pressed gently against your back and his steady breath on the back of your neck made your heart race.

thankfully the canvas you had was large enough to cover both of you. no one could see the way his lips brushed against your ear as he murmured small praises and the way his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than necessary. they couldn’t see the way his hand slipped off your waist as he left you to do your work.

“class is almost over. make sure to clean up your stations and you’re free to go.” he says in a deeper tone, one that he never used much to you whenever you two were alone.

the hum of class chatter, the shuffle of footsteps as students packed up and cleaned their stations, filled the room. one by one, they all trickled out, only a few remained.

as you gathered your things, your eyes found his across the room. his gaze locked with yours and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

neither of you looked away. his nebula eyes followed you and you could feel the weight of his stare as you made your way to the door. you let your gaze linger for a moment before you stepped out of the room, knowing he was still watching until your figure completely disappeared from his sight.

-

a trail of your clothes and his litter in his room to his bed.

“fuuuuck, cutie, - hah. fuck you’re so fucking wet for me,” he lets out a moan that comes from deep in his chest. he takes a couple more breaths, clenching his eyes close and finds solitude in the crook of your neck. his palms could basically leave his handprints on your ass where he’s squeezing so tight.

he thrusts into you deeply, matching your rhythm while you clamp down on his cock. your body seizes as your orgasm washes over your body and continues fucking you through it, trying to find his own.

you hear him whine and continue to let him have your way with you while you grab onto him. he can’t control the sounds that come out of him as he lets out such soft and pretty sounds in your ears. you know he’s getting closer and closer until you feel his cum flooding inside of you.

he continues thrusting inside of you, taking advantage of your hot walls squeezing down on him. he catches his breath with his head still down and you can feel his breath on your chest as you stroke the back of his head.

“raf?” you asked soflty, your hands intertwining with his soft locks. “are you alright?”

he lifts his head away from your neck, his eyes refocusing on you again. a mischievous smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, his hands find your back and draw you down with him, the plush of his mattress catching you both. the unexpected movement earns a surprised yelp from you.

“i love you, my little conch,” he mutters under his breath, unsure if you heard it. both of you were still hazy from what just happened a couple seconds ago.

your fingers trail absentmindedly over the locket around his neck, fiddling with the cool metal. his hands cover yours, gently guiding it away from the chain and refocusing your attention back to him.

“i love you too,” you murmur, “but...why won’t you tell me who’s in this locket?” you tilt your head innocently as you rest your head against his chest cutely.

he chuckles quietly, “i’ll tell you soon, kay?”

you pout and you struggle to hide the frustration on your face. the relationship between you two had always been there but it had to be kept a secret from the public. you both knew the stakes and if anybody found out, you we’re both in deep trouble.

you know he’s not married but the curiosity gnaws at you that he never discusses much of his life and his past with you.

he could tell this was bothering you so he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “don’t worryy about it too much, cutie. you’re the only person on my mind.” he reassures and he figures you were okay once you nuzzle deeper into his warmth.

his arms tighten around you, pulling you close and he knows how exhausted you are. you slowly drift away and your body melts into his as sleep finally claims you. he holds you tight, feeling your body relax against his and finally he allows himself to simply be here with you. no one else to worry about, just you and him alone in your own world.

as you sleep, he stays awake. his fingers play with the chain of the locket as his thoughts wander. this relationship was never supposed to happen. he never intended for it to go this far but the moment he saw you on the first day, he couldn’t resist.

with a quiet sigh, he opens the locket and there it is. a picture of you from your past life that he cherishes so deeply. he doesn't know how to tell you about it and he doesn’t know if he’ll even tell you about it. he can’t bear losing you again, not when he has you this close. he closes the locket, holding you closer. but right now he has you in his arms again and that’s all that truly matters. his beloved bride.

[highvern]

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists.  Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away. 

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger. 

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too. 

It was fun. 

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so’s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on. 

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted. 

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times. 

“What the fuck did he do this time?” 

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?” 

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.” 

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.” 

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call. 

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing. 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—” 

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?” 

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away. 

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences? 

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day. 

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe. 

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic. 

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.” 

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears. 

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.  

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin. 

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge. 

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you. 

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.” 

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza. 

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into. 

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been. 

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go. 

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his. 

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance. 

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much. 

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command. 

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat. 

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers. 

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth. 

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh. 

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does. 

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you. 

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears. 

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs. 

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh. 

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease. 

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo. 

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask. 

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it. 

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes. 

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.  

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm.  “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

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[grandline-fics]

I'm so in love with your writing, I'd love to see the "one bed trope" from you! Maybe a little suggestive, as far as you're comfortable, of course.

DESCRIPTION: There was only one bed

WARNINGS:  nothing too suggestive, more on the fluff side

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,065

A/N: Thank you so much for this request. I didn't know which characters you wanted so used the most popular form the recent poll. I had intended to do Ace as well but only had the energy to get something done for Shanks and Mihawk. I love this trope so much that i'll probably do more parts in the future. I hope you're happy with what I came up with and I'm sorry I didn't make it suggestive.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

MIHAWK

You were going to kill Crocodile. Not only did he order you to the tiniest island you’d seen in a long while, were the only thing in abundance seemed to be gloomy expressions but he also insisted you go to ‘keep an eye on' Mihawk. Since you considered Crocodile your main superior-a perspective you hadn't dropped since your Baroque Works days- you couldn't exactly refuse the assignment but it just made zero sense for you to be here. For starters Mihawk worked alone and efficiently enough that he didn’t require anyone to look out for him. Plus ‘observation’ wasn’t your usual role in Cross Guild. Normally Crocodile handed you a bounty list, told you to pick one and go get them. 

This was just one big headache and to make matters worse after scouring the entire island a call came through from Crocodile saying the bounty had already been completed and just handed in. Now you really were going to kill your boss, but from the look on Mihawk’s face it seemed you would have to get in line. From the receiver, Crocodile’s laugh caught both of your attentions.  “Look these things happen so stop pouting. Just make your way back to Cross Guild.”

Mihawk didn’t offer a response and ended the call, walking out of the alley you’d both stopped at to take the call. Silently you fell into step beside the former Warlord, walking the streets of the island for what felt like the hundredth time already. You let out a sigh of relief to see the inn come into view, now the only thing on your mind was trying to get a good night’s sleep and calm your annoyance at the whole situation. You couldn’t even muster a polite smile to the receptionist at the desk. “Two please.”

“Oh.” The receptionist glanced between you and Mihawk, her expression trained with years of experience to appear calm but you both saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes for the smallest moment. “I’m sorry but we’re booked almost to capacity.”

“You’re joking.” You muttered. Why was everything going against you today? “You have nothing left?”

“W-well we’re a small island. Rooms go fast but we do have one room available.” You and Mihawk exchanged a look, both composed. Then the receptionist had to uselessly add. “Only one bed…” With a sigh you held out your hand for the key, knowing there wasn't much choice. Muttering thanks you glanced at the number of the keyring and headed for your room for the night. Stepping inside you found it lived up to your very low expectations but at least it was clean. Silently you eyed the bed you would have to share and looked to your stoic roommate. “So which side of the bed do you want?” 

As expected Mihawk was mature and respectable about the whole thing. Calm as ever he chose his side-the one closest to the door- and settled in for the night. Mihawk’s ability to fall over to sleep at ease was enviable because in the dark you could hear his deep, even breaths as he slept facing away from you. As tired as you were and as comfortable as you normally did feel in Mihawk’s presence you just couldn’t fall asleep. While the bed you lay in wasn't the worst you’d ever had to sleep in, it wasn’t the comfiest and living at Cross Guild had practically spoiled you. You’d gotten so used to stretching out, something you couldn’t exactly do at this moment. 

Deciding to just make do with your half of the bed and not disturb Mihawk, you rolled onto your side with the intention of getting comfortable. The only problem was you’d vastly overestimated the room you had to move and could only gasp as you felt the bed disappear from under you. In a split second as you braced to hit the ground, you were instead caught by a pair of hands. With ease you were pulled back onto the bed and you tensed to feel your back make contact with the warmth of Mhawk’s chest. “Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s fine, just sleep.” He told you while pulling one arm back to tuck his hand under his pillow. You tried not to react to how sleep brought Mihawk’s voice to a lower register that made it so much more attractive to you. You only nodded at his instruction and shifted slightly, already so much more comfortable than you had been all night. The only thing now was you noticed Mihawk still had one arm loosely draped over your body, not quite holding you but still enveloping you in his touch. “This is only to keep you from falling out of the bed again.”

“I didn’t say anything…” You mused, lips curving into a teasing smile that Mihawk could practically hear in the dark. “If you wanted to cuddle all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this bed.” Mihawk warned in your ear, despite the threat you smirked to feel his arm over you tighten just a little. 

“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” Ordinarily you would have teased him a little more but between the tiredness finally winning over you and the warmth of his body against yours being so comforting. For a moment Mihawk wondered if you were genuinely comfortable against him, ready to release you at the first sign of unease. Yet you surprised him when you yawned and lazily placed your hand over his arm and smile in satisfaction as your eyes slid closed, your breathing evening out as you fell asleep.

Mihawk had been taking his time to slowly get to know you and let you in little by little, but now watching you roll onto your other side and curl up against his chest he began to reconsider his actions. Perhaps a few more missions away from Cross Guild’s base wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

SHANKS

This type of situation should not be happening in this day and age. Not with your crew and Captain having the reputation and fame they had. Drawing names to see who was sharing rooms of all things reminded you of when the crew was only just forming and the coin to pay for individual rooms was a luxury. Some of the others on the crew shared your slight annoyance but you all knew that there wasn’t much you could do about it. The ship needed repairs after getting damaged in a ferocious storm with the sleeping quarters affected and unusable for now. You were all pirates after all and you supposed you needed to be reminded of that. 

Still though you were secretly hoping you were one of the lucky ones who got their own room. You mentally cursed when Ben pulled out a slip of paper and read your name out. Resigned to your fate you grabbed your drink and took a plentiful mouthful as the vice-captain grabbed another piece of paper to announce your roommate for the night. As you wiped the stray remnant of the liquid from your lip you spotted the man pause and fight a laugh, disguising his amusement by rubbing the lower half of his face. “Captain Shanks.” 

Your back went rigid and you ignored the burning stares of the rest of the crew as you instead turned your attention to the man in question. Even he seemed momentarily thrown by the announcement but he recovered swiftly as expected of the laidback man. His dark eyes met your gaze and he offered you a cheeky smile and a wink.

That night when all the drinking had been done you and Shanks stepped into your shared room. Without needed to consult on anything you both instinctively went to your preferred side of the bed to sleep on. You sat down and worked on kicking off your shoes and shrugging out of your coat to at least be a little comfier. You looked over your shoulder when Shanks lightly cleared his throat as he pulled back the cover to settle down on the mattress. “Problem Cap?”

“Not really.” Shanks mused with a sly smile. “I usually sleep naked is all.”

“Poor baby, I’m sure you can be brave and at least keep your trousers on for one night.” You teased, used to your Captain’s antics and knowing he was only making jokes to ease the slight tension at having to share like this. With a tired groan you settled down on your side of the bed as Shanks flicked off the light, bringing the room fully into darkness. “If not the barmaid should still be about to help you.”

“And downgrade my sleeping partner? I’d rather lose another limb.” Shanks told you dramatically, offended you’d suggest such a thing. You let out a huff of amusement and rolled your eyes as you stared tiredly at the ceiling, letting yourself grow more comfortable against the mattress. “I lost count how many of the crew wanted me to swap with them…”

“Uh-huh.“ You mused with a lazy smile before breaking out into a long yawn, sleep coming over you quickly now. “Well aren’t you lucky? Now go to sleep, ‘kay?”

“Can I at least get a good night kiss?” Shanks teased lightly, playfully tapping your nose and grinning in the darkened room to see your tired face scrunch up slightly. He’d said it as a joke, something for you to barely register in your mind as you drifted off to sleep. What he hadn’t expected though was you to roll onto your side and push yourself up with a low hum of sleepiness, not even bothering to open your eyes fully. 

He watched silently, completely overcome with curiosity as your hand reached out to skim your fingers against his face, searching for him in the dark. Your hand settled against his cheek and slowly you drew closer. With half-lidded eyes Shanks couldn’t take his gaze off of your slightly parted lips. 

“Shanks…” your voice was barely a breathy whisper but it was clear as a bell to Shanks, his attention raptly on you and only you. Quickly you pulled back just enough and opened your eyes to smirk slightly to see Shanks had leant in slightly to chase your lips he had been quietly eager to taste.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Shanks protested with a small pout, his hand dropping to the small of your back, fingers flexing slightly a gesture, to request you close the distance. He wasn’t forcing you, you had all the power here. You tilted your head and smiled at the sudden pet-name. You couldn’t deny the temptation to give in to your own idle curiosities about your handsome Captain. Given how you were sharing a bed and he'd requested a kiss you would have been foolish to throw away the opportunity you had. Still you had to at least get a little bit more fun out of it by keeping Shanks in momentary suspense. 

Finally you relented and kissed Shanks, your lips moving languidly against his; it being no surprise to you the he was already returning the action with no hesitancy. There was no fight for dominance in the kiss you shared but you could feel the power and command of Shanks’ presence over you but he left the pace, duration, and intensity entirely up to you. As much as you wanted to take it further, to push your curiosity and attraction towards the man against you for your own satisfaction you had to pull away reluctantly, knowing you wouldn’t have been able to enjoy what would follow fully with how tired you were. “Satisfied with your good night kiss, Captain?”

“You have no idea.” Shanks grinned pressing a quick kiss against your head as you settled down on the bed again. “I can now sleep peacefully and dream the sweetest dreams.”

“Good.” You grinned sleepily, opening your eyes just enough to fix him a playful smile. “I expect a good morning kiss in return by the way.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, love.” Shanks grinned at you, already counting down the hours until he got to feel his lips against yours again but for now he would enjoy the time he had to sleep beside you.

——————————————-

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[moonstruckme]

heyy, so this is my first time sending an ask, i dont know if u do repeated themes, but im so obsessed with bodyguard!james, maybe we could have some angst where he puts himself ia a dangerous situation to save reader and she gets mad/upset at him? love your work very much, they brighten my day🙌

Thank you for your request <3

cw: shooting, blood mention

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

James says your name, soft and worn with exhaustion. “Can you look at me, please?” 

No sooner do you oblige than your vision blurs again. There’s a cruel line across his perfect cheek, leaking blood where the glass sliced across it. Your fault. 

James sighs. “Sweetheart,” he says, knuckles finding your cheek. They brush away your tears without intent, less a purposeful act than a byproduct of a caress. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not,” you insist. Your voice burns like fire, and yet you don’t remove his hand. Even furious with him, you crave James’ comfort. 

His expression tightens when you blink more tears down your cheeks. You wonder if it hurts. You wonder why he’s sitting here with you in your room instead of going to get his cut cleaned or patched or whatever he needs to do, but really you know. You’re always the priority. Even when the threat has passed and protocol no longer requires it, James will always take care of you before taking care of himself.

Your voice comes out softer without you meaning for it to, soft but not thin. “You shouldn’t have moved.” 

“It’s my job to protect you,” says James. 

“I was safe!” 

“You weren’t safe.” Now it’s him who’s being firm. James sets both hands to your shoulders, looking you in the eyes. Not angry, but ardent. “Someone was trying to hurt you. You were in trouble, and I needed to get to you.” His lips tilt slightly, not without sympathy. “That’s my job.” 

You chew your lip, tasting salt in the seam. He makes it sound so simple. So innocuous, too, someone was trying to hurt you instead of someone was shooting at you. James always plays things down this way, softening them into something less horrific, less violent. Another way he protects you, you suppose. 

You’d been going down the hallway with James, chatting about something useless, when the large window you were walking beside sprouted a hole. Your next step stalled, perplexed, and in that time two more holes appeared, with cracking sounds and the tinkling of broken glass on the floor. You and James moved at the same time, his hand reaching for your arm a heartbeat too late as he retreated toward one side of the window and you—stupidly, considering it was a greater distance—threw yourself to the other. 

By now, James’ team knows the shooter was likely some sort of sniper; no one with a gun could have made it onto the property and the bullets were fired singularly instead of in a spray. A spray, you probably wouldn’t have survived. 

The shooting stopped when you were both away from the window. You looked at James across it as you pulled your knees in tight, making yourself small between that window and the one behind you. The air in your lungs felt dry and stale. James was looking back at you, eyes wide but face controlled as he scanned you over. 

“I’m okay,” you said. Whispered, though you don’t know why. 

James nodded, standing. “Stay right there,” he told you. 

You only had a second to be concerned about why he’d say that before he was running back across the window. Your body tensed on instinct, but you were too slow to stand as glass sprayed, punctured by another bullet. James landed with his body covering yours. 

You thought he’d been shot. For a handful of panicky, heartbreaking moments, you’d searched for the wound, feeling for wetness at his neck, his side, his heart, until he managed to catch your hands, whispering, It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re okay. 

There’d been no more shooting after that. James had spoken to people in his earpiece, and you’d both stayed hidden, and eventually someone had said back that you were clear to go. Now James is sitting in front of you on your bed, alive but bleeding and looking like he might like to hug you if you let him. You haven’t let him. 

He watches you gnaw on your lip. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he says softly. 

You scoff. “As if you get to talk.” 

James smiles, but you don’t smile back. You’re not ready for that yet. It fades as a new wave of tears crests your cheeks.

“I don’t want you to protect me anymore,” you say weakly. “I don’t like when you get hurt for me.” 

His brows bend, big thumbs moving soothingly, almost absently, over your shoulders. “You can’t get mad at me for that,” he says. “It’s how it needs to be. You know why.” 

You sniffle. “Because it’s your job.” 

“Because it would kill me if anything happened to you.” His eyes bore into yours, deeply earnest. 

“James…”

“It would destroy me,” he says. 

You look back at him. Your heart feels like it’s beating in the hollow of your throat. You’re no less upset with him, but now there’s another feeling in the mix, not new but inconsistent. James’ eyes dip to where you’re still chewing your lip. He reaches for it, thumbing it free from between your teeth. 

“Stop that,” he pleads. 

You swallow. “You can’t just say that.” Can’t pretend he’s here for any reason other than it’s where he’s paid to be. Can’t act like he cares about you half as much as you do about him. 

James looks wounded. “Why not?”

“It’s not fair.” 

“I don’t think you’re being very fair. You were in danger, and I did what I needed to get to you. You can be angry at me if you want, but I don’t see how I earned it.” 

Your face is hot again, emotion prickling just beneath your skin. “Because I’m not the one who gets hurt, James!” 

“I know.” His voice goes soft to counter your loudness, his hand moving back to your cheek. A warm touch over warmer skin. “I can’t be sorry.” James’ lips touch underneath your eye. You tilt up into them, and he turns his face down. “I can’t.” 

You taste your own tears on his lips. James kisses you gently, coaxing, not wanting to take any more than you can give. Your throat closes as you push your hands up his shoulders, wanting to prove it to him; that you can give, and give, and give. He tempers you when you get too frantic, pulling you back with doting touches. 

You open your eyes to run a thumb gently beneath the line on his cheek. Emotion steals your breath. “I’m sorry for this,” you manage. 

James covers his hand with yours to kiss it. “It was my decision.” 

“A stupid one.” 

He makes an amused humming sound, noncommittal. “We’re okay, though, aren’t we?” 

“What, you think you can just kiss me and I’ll instantly feel better?” It’s a bold thing to mock, when your head is still buzzing and your lips feel warm and tingly. 

“No,” says James, sincerely, “of course not. What can I do?” 

You look at him, fighting the urge to take your bottom lip between your teeth again, if only to see if it feels different. “It wasn’t not helping,” you admit. 

The smile that takes James is so overwhelmingly sweet it almost does make you forgive him for everything. Almost. As his lips close over yours again, you think you can find it in yourself to make it all the way eventually.

[painted-flag]

A VICTOR, part one - Commodus

𓃮 emperor commodus x fem!reader 𓃭 masterlist. part one | part two | part three 𓃮 warnings: none for this part, but future descriptions of smut and violence. 𓃭 As a longtime and loyal servant working in the underbelly of the palace, your emergence into the light catches the attention of the emperor. ✧.* This is a dedication piece to the man who started my obsession with questionable men/villains when I was younger and it only seems the right thing to do with all the hype coming back.

There was something otherworldly about Rome. You always felt it, every moment of every day, that the impermanence of such a city would continue to ring through the annals of time. It had been there long before you and would remain long after. Many of the buildings may deteriorate and the people change – coming and going like the passage of seasons – but here, in this area of the world, Rome would come to stand the test of time. 

You had always been in awe of it all since you arrived as a small child. Eyes darted to every structure, every perception of movement, caught in a trance. Now, after many years, this place continued to enchant you. The lowly streets you grew up in did not last long. Your mother had caught the attention of palace organizers – her food was regarded as the best one could offer. 

Since then, you have moved to staying near the palace. It's so close to court yet so far away. Each day your mother would take you to the kitchens to help her as soon as you became old enough to take the stress of the job. It worked out in your favour, eventually landing you a spot as a servant with multi-talents. Such a thing was rare, and because of that, you were always busy. 

You displayed the same prowess that your mother had in the kitchens but managed to charm other experts in your youth to teach you different skills. From then on, the bowels of the palace became your sanctuary beyond the bounds of the chaotic streets of Rome. Whether it be in the kitchens, the textile rooms, or even the playrooms for the servant's children to stay in and out of the way, you were always found working. 

Today, of all days, you found yourself outside of the kitchen and serving instead. Recently your chores had changed to different duties that required you to be in areas of the palace you did not grow up in. You had learned to like the shadows cast by people as they scurried about the torch-lined hallways of the underground. Now, you were above ground. Serving when necessary, cleaning as well. 

You would not have minded if it was not for the piercing gaze of sharp green eyes that tended to follow you as you went about your work. At first, you had not noticed it. You were too absorbed in your duties to see the constant watch of the newly appointed Emperor. 

However, you caught on quickly. Emperor Commodus would watch you intensely when you would walk into a room he happened to be in. You did not dare reciprocate. Despite growing up in the bowels of the palace, you knew all too well of the habits of men in positions of power. Similar in age, he grew up with you, yet never once had you crossed paths. It was likely due to the protectiveness of your mother. 

Royal male children often became insatiable once reaching adulthood and your mother wanted to spare you from it. Yet, from what you had heard, Commodus had not the taste of princes that came before. Of course, there was still occasional trysts – you could remember a fellow servant giggling about spending a night with him. You could also remember the heartbroken look on her face as she was let go from her services and no longer permitted on the grounds the day after. That happened a few times; Commodus would take in a lover for the night and then discard them the next day as if they were a speck of dust on his feet. 

It was why his heated gaze made you increasingly nervous with each passing day. Any day you could meet the same fate as those servant girls and lose the only place you remembered calling home. 

You breathed in and out deeply, stabilizing the pitcher of wine in your grasp as you prepared to enter the large dining chambers. The Emperor was having dinner with some guests that night and you were tasked with serving. It was not what you wanted, having preferred to stay in the kitchens and make the food, but whatever your master Attius says is done without question. 

With careful and calm steps, you pass the large opening into the room with your head humbly facing the floor. It would be an offence to raise your head and make eye contact with any of the men in that room. 

Their conversation as well was no consequence to you. They were speaking of politics, of a real world outside of your own. There was no care in your life about politics. Why speak on something that does not know you, or rather women, have a capacity for things beyond what they have predetermined? Why should you give it any time of day, when it has not and will not do the same for you? Ultimately, deep down, you wanted to care enough to change something about that predicament, but you supposed you would have a better chance of fighting and killing a tiger in close combat. 

You made it to the table. Custom permits you to fill the emperor's glass first and you become exceedingly nervous once near him. Never in your time there had you been so physically close to him. It would be stupid to deny his exquisite physique. Commodus had likely been crafted by the gods, as it is with the royal line. He reflected the perfect nature of the gods and their mastered ability to craft the perfect human. Now that you were close, you could smell the scent of parchment and burning wood that clung to him. 

The pitcher tipped and you poured his wine. All the while you did not feel his heated gaze on you. He seemed too busy talking to the guests and them laughing as if everything he said was the most genius and original words to pass a person’s mouth. However, once you moved away and another started to talk, you could feel the shift of his eyes. It always caused your heart to race and the tiny nearly invisible strands of hair on your arms to rise. A tingle went up the back of your neck. 

The emperor ignored his speaking guests to watch as you poured the wine into their cups. They continued speaking, not wanting to call out their Ceasar for his lack of manners. They acted as though they did not notice his green eyes become attached to your form. You took in another deep breath, causing your chest to rise and contract within the fabric of your tunic. 

Once you were done, you made your way to exit. The walls had come to suffocate you, and each second under the green gaze of the emperor made you want to crumble and fall to the ground. A slave could not be in their presence for long. Many took offence to it. You had been taught that you go in and out quickly, acting like a fleeting shadow to quell their needs; preferably without them saying it. 

At the entranceway to leave, another slave coming in to serve grabbed you forcefully on your forearm. Callias stood in front of you, a sneer on his face. You tried to pull your arm from his grasp once but knew he would not let go. He had a habit of exerting his strength over the other slave women. You noticed that as a trend from other slave men. They often put down slave women in an effort to feel a sliver of power in a world that had taken what little they had. 

Pathetic, but then again you wished to feel the same way as them. Just a dash of power and a bit of control over the world would feel good. 

“Master says you have taken too long to serve them,” Callias whispered, “You are to go to the kitchens and stay there for the evening.” The venom in his voice, coupled with the pain of his grip, caused you to flinch. You slowly nodded and knew that if you were to say anything it would be taken as disrespect. 

Callias let go of you, nearly flinging your arm away from him as he left you to go serve the emperor and his guests. The spot he grabbed was red and you could feel the ache concentrated there. It would not bruise, but from how much it hurt that fact was not relieving. Finally, you were free and you made work of leaving. You nearly ran through the halls and down the flights of stairs to retreat back to the place you feel most comfortable. 

During it all, you had not noticed the piercing gaze of Commodus as he watched the exchange transpire.

You had found yourself lost in the rhythmic motions of cleaning in the kitchens. It was soothing work once a majority of the workers had left for the evening. The silence allowed you to think as you meticulously scrubbed pots. While not your favourite chore, you scarcely trusted others to do the work well enough.  

The motions of your work distracted you so much that you did not hear the pattering footsteps of someone entering the room until they cleared their throat. You turned around and saw a guard. His clothing was more refined than the lower guards and you swallowed some saliva that was in your mouth. A slight sting of anxiousness swept across your spine. 

“The Caesar has summoned you.” His voice was smooth and echoed throughout the empty kitchen. Your gaze quickly swept about the space, hoping he was addressing anyone other than you. When you realized he was speaking to you, a weight settled in your gut. 

 “Is… is there a reason for my summons?” You questioned. 

The guard did not respond, choosing to turn around and walk into the exiting corridor by a spiralling staircase. You knew there was no other option but to follow. Putting the washing cloth down, you dried your hands and followed behind the guard. He remained a few paces ahead of you as he guided you up the stairs and through the halls of the palace. 

It was not as though you were oblivious to the location of the emperor’s chambers. Despite your limited time serving above ground in the palace, you still had mapped the entirety of the place when you were a child. 

Fear began to grow in your heart and weigh down on your lungs. There was an inkling of hope that he summoned you for something other than the reasons he called for other ladies. Your stomach growled, aware that you had not eaten since earlier that day. In the chaos of your work, it was a frequent habit to forget food. 

In a matter of minutes, you two had reached the doors to the room. He positioned himself on one side of the door, the other covered by a guard that was already there. You hesitated, unsure of what to do. The guard that fetched you grew tired of your loitering and sighed deeply before reaching for the hand and opening one of the two doors. 

You took one final breath and walked into the room. You scanned the area quickly, finding a large well-decorated room in front of you. Various mosaics spanned the walls, adding a sense of grandeur to an already elevated way of living. Carved busts were on display, along with various items that looked like they came from places outside of Rome – lands far beyond that were reached by the forces of the empire. In the very centre rested a bed. Four strong quartz pillars surrounded it, with linen draperies resting as a cover over the bed. 

You saw the figure of the emperor off to the side, standing with his back to you and facing a table lined with various foods. Fruits, nuts, meats, and baked goods you could recognize as having been made by you only a few short hours ago. He had already eaten recently – a grand feast with guests – yet already had more food lined up for him. That feeling in your stomach of both anxiousness and hunger screamed for a reprieve. 

He shifted to face you and your gaze quickly moved to the floor as a sign of respect. You held your breath, unsure of why he wanted you here. Was your service that evening awful? Had he lost care for the food you made and have fallen into disfavour with him? Or, were you going to end up like those other girls before, used and thrown out? 

“Look at me,” His voice was like honey, a sweet tang with a rich coat. You slowly raised your head and made contact with the sharp and deep sea green of his eyes. They reminded you of the foam that would wash up on the shores of your old home before coming to Rome. In a strange sense, it was familiar, which unsettled you more than it should have. 

“Wine?” Commodus gestured to a pitcher next to him and two spare cups. Your eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the gold-lined chalices. He let out a low hum as he awaited an answer. 

“Caesar, I don’t entirely understand…” You trailed off. 

“I thought as much,” He proceeded to pour wine into both of the chalices while you stood there in confusion. His figure was dominating and he had a manner that held control of the space. When he finished pouring both drinks, he turned back around and approached you. He held out the cup, but all you did was stare. It was incredibly unsettling to witness someone ranked so high above you serve not only themself but someone else of lower status.

“Well?” He moved the cup closer to you, his manner mostly amused, but underlined with a growing annoyance. 

“Th- thank you, Caesar.” You took the cup from him. Commodus’ fingers brushed against yours, warm but calloused. He hummed again and took a sip from his cup. You held yours, staring into the clear liquid. White wine, reserved only for elites. You had never even come near it in your life save a few times to serve it. Now that he was closer to you, the familiar scent of parchment and burning wood surrounded you. 

His eyes scanned over your body for a moment as a short silence fell over. Moving almost hesitantly, he used his free hand to reach up and brush the red mark on your forearm. You flinched, both by his touch and the slight pain it elicited. 

“That servant, the one who grabbed you, why did he do such a thing?” Commodus stepped back and moved towards the table full of food. He plucked a grape from a vine and plopped it in his mouth, an action that surprisingly caused a stirring in your lower stomach. 

“My master thought I lingered too long, Caesar,” Your answers were kept short, hoping that there was a way out of this. You still had no clue as to why you were summoned. 

“Lingered too long,” He repeated it as though mocking, but not towards you, “What a ridiculous notion. You are too pleasing to be a blight.” 

“I-” The words got caught in your throat. In one breath, he had insulted your master and then complimented you. You shifted the weight on your feet and decided to take a large gulp of wine, sweet with floral undertones. “Thank you, Caesar.” 

He made his way to his bed, climbing the two steps of the marble platform it was placed on and sat on the edge of it. Commodus was watching you as you stood there, still as a statue busts that littered the room and unsure of yourself. 

“There is something you wish to say. I can see it.” His words echoed through the room and reverberated through your bones. You ran your tongue over your teeth, tasting the sweet wine once more. 

“Is there a reason for my summons, Caesar?” You questioned. Commodus looked down at his cup and used his index finger to trace the edge. He appeared almost… lost for an explanation. 

“Your mother had been one of the cooks, the best as I remember. I’ve heard you have taken that place.” It was an obvious means of deflection, but you knew not to rebuke it. You were also unsure of how he knew so much about you. Did he inquire into your past before summoning you? Had you done something wrong?

“Yes, Caesar, I have been lucky to assume the position.” You answered. 

He surveyed you once more as if it was a personal struggle to look away. Not that it was anything unusual – Commodus always looked when you entered a room. That was likely the deciding factor in inviting you to his rooms after weeks of watching you. 

“Have you eaten?” He asked. 

“I… have not,” Your hold on the cup got stronger and warmed up the surface. 

“Eat,” He motioned with his cup towards the table full of food. You approached slowly, unsure of what to make of all this. It felt like a trap, it had to be a trap. The kindness he was displaying likely followed with a payment. You would have to repay him for this, and what better way would be your virtue? But surely the emperor did not need to bribe women, so what was really going on?

You reached out for a dried fig and ate it. Your stomach had been aching for a few hours and suddenly the onslaught of it all overcame you. The food in front of you was already beautiful, but it intrigued you even more. Commodus was not watching, but instead sat still and looked at his cup in deep thought. 

Silently, you ate. It was only for a few minutes, but the deep satisfaction of a full stomach was not something you were well acquainted with. After you were finished, you set your cup down that was now empty. The sound was sharp and caused Commodus to raise his head. You were still unsure of meeting his eyes. They were so intense that they would knock the air from your chest and cause your head to spin. That was not what you wished to experience. 

“Do you like your work?” His question was sudden and caught you off guard. It seemed that all Commodus was able to do was constantly surprise you with his demeanour. He was not like he seemed and you did not know whether that was dangerous or not. Unpredictability was unreliable. 

“I am honoured to serve the empire in any capacity,” Your words, rehearsed and polished, seemed enough to satisfy him. Commodus placed his cup down on a small bedside table and fell back onto the plush covers. He let out a sigh before adjusting and moving to the other side of the bed. 

“Come here,” He beckoned you over. Your brain started to conjure up scenarios, all of which would end up with you unsullied and out of work. However, you were surprised to see Commodus lying with his eyes closed. He patted the free spot next to him for you to sit. 

Slowly and unsure, you felt the bed dip where you sat and rested your back against the headboard. He kept his eyes closed, content with your compliance. 

“Sing for me.” He requested. 

“Excuse me, Caesar?” You asked. He opened both of his eyes, looking up at you through heavy lids. The space between you two was small and your heartbeat increased at that. 

“I know you can sing, I remember hearing it at the Cerealia festival. Sing for me.” He was staring at you expectantly. 

In your memories, you could briefly remember singing during that festival when you were a girl of ten – only a few years younger than the emperor. It was your first time singing in front of a large group of people. It had been a celebration in one of the gardens amongst some of the other slaves, but Commodus’ words led you to believe it was not just the slaves watching. 

A deep blush settled across your face. While you often occupied your time doing chores through humming and singing, it was not something you wished to do in front of others. The only reason why you sang at that festival was because your mother had wanted you to. However, no amount of excuses could ever be used to deny the emperor, so you took a deep breath to calm your nerves and began to hum a sweet tune. 

The sound carried through the air of the large room. Gradually, your humming turned into light singing. Over that time, Commodus had shifted closer, now only a finger width of space separated you two. One of his hands reached out to touch your forearm that rested by your side, brushing against the fading red mark. His fingers glided up your skin, raising the hairs there. The thumping in your chest increased. 

Quietly, as if not to disturb you, he spoke, “The slave that hurt you, what is his name?” 

“Callias,” You answered. Commodus hummed and closed his eyes again, nuzzling his head back into the pillows. He settled down but did not remove his hand from your arm. 

“Keep singing.” He mumbled into the pillow.

On his orders, you continued the song you had been singing before he interrupted. A warm breeze came in from the open balcony doors, reminding you of the heat of summer. Everything felt like an odd dream. This outcome did not even come across your mode of thinking when you were escorted to his room, but you were thankful it ended up this way. He had not tried to seduce you or even force himself on you when that failed. 

It seemed he only wished for company. You could not help but wonder if your performance so many years ago stayed with him. It was a stupid thought, silly even, to think that young him would have heard a slave girl singing and remembered. It was likely that you were simply sent up more often in recent weeks and had come to his attention. 

At the very least, that was what you tried to assure yourself as the emperor fell asleep next to you. You were not sure what you should do but decided to stay and continue singing. You did so until the stars came out and sleep slowly took over your body. 

In the haze of sleep, you could still feel the warmth of his hand on your arm.

(I am ignoring my archaeology degree to write this. Like Ridley Scott, inaccuracy is my best friend.)

(Also, no beta reader, just my manic thoughts.)

☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!

[starkwlkr]

was i such a fool? | mark webber

part 1 part 3

ENGLAND

You felt embarrassed. You didn’t know who was the person who spread the confirmed rumor around the paddock, but you knew that being in the paddock was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your daughter, Grace, had been reading in her room while you were in your home office replying to some emails. Zak had let you get some time off, which you were hesitant to take at first but you knew how chaotic it was going to get in the paddock if you were present.

“Mommy!” Grace called for you from her room.

“What is it, my love?” You asked, closing your laptop as you stood up and walked to her room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, i finished my book. Can we go to the bookstore and get more?” Grace asked.

“Of course we can, baby.” You replied. As you were about to leave to go back to your office, Grace spoke once again.

“Can I go to a race?”

Grace had never attended a race before. She knew what your job was and why it required you to travel so much, but she never once attended a race. It surprised you that she even thought about it.

“A race . . .” You sighed. “You really want to go to a race?”

Grace nodded. “I want to see the fast cars.”

You thought about it for a second. It would be nice for Grace to see a race after years of only seeing it on tv. But then again only several people knew that she existed and you liked it that way.

“I’ll think about it.”

TIME SKIP TO ABU DHABI 2023

MCLAREN GARAGE

Grace watched as several men dressed in orange with helmets on sat in their chairs. She was introduced to the pit crew by you. Everyone on the team was more than happy to meet her. She was extremely excited to be able to watch her first race in person.

“I’ll be over there watching the race, okay? Stay here with Lucy.” You told Grace. Lucy was an old friend from school. When you explained that Grace wanted to attend a race, she offered to look after the girl while you worked.

“Okay. I love you.” Grace gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you more, my love.” You replied and hugged her before you left.

From a distance, Mark watched the girl wave goodbye to you. It made him feel like the worst person ever. How could he do that to you? You never deserved it. You were always so supportive of him, comforting him when he needed it and that all changed the second Mark kissed someone else.

He thought about going up to Grace and making small talk, but he knew you wouldn’t like it. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t want to upset you even more. Seeing her, so close yet so far away, brought sadness to the older man’s heart. She had his eyes, his smile, they even shared the same laughter, something you loved when you were dating Mark.

By the end of the race, he had decided to talk to you.

He tried to find you, but it seemed like you knew he wanted to talk so you hid from him. Only it wasn’t like that. Grace wanted to walk on the track so you took her. Lucy was tired so you told her that you would meet her back at the hotel. She held your hand as you and her walked around. It was a perfect moment for you and your daughter.

“Did you enjoy your first race?” You asked.

“Yes! The cars go faster than on the tv, it was so cool!” Grace exclaimed. “Can I go to another race?”

“You’ll have to wait until next year, my love, and you have school. I don’t want you missing a day of school because of a race.” You explained.

“Okay. . .” She sighed. “Who was the man that was in the garage?” She suddenly asked.

“There’s a lot of men in there, Grace.”

“He didn’t wear orange like the rest of the team. He had one of these too.” Grace pointed to her paddock pass. “I think Lucy said he used to be a driver.”

You had an idea of who Grace was talking about and you didn’t like it.

When you made it back to the Mclaren garage, you saw that it was almost empty. A few members of the pit crew were cleaning up, but that didn’t catch your attention. It was Mark that was pacing around the garage.

“Mommy, that’s the man I was talking about.” Grace whispered to you.

Mark noticed your presence and stopped pacing. “Hi.” Was all that he said.

“It’s getting late, Mark. You should go back to your hotel room, get some sleep. I know you don’t like early morning flights.” You said to the Australian.

“Hear me out, please. Just this once and I’ll leave you alone. Give me five minutes.” He pleaded. The remaining pit crew took that as a sign to give you privacy so they left.

Grace held onto your hand even tighter. “Who’s that?” She whispered again to you.

“His name is Mark.” You said.

Four words was all it took to break Mark Webber even more. He was just Mark to his daughter and he had to accept that.

“Three minutes and that’s it.” You said.

“I’ll take that.”

@glow-ish @vicurious28 @dannyriccsupremacy @viennakarma @pear-1206 @nathalielovesonedirection @jaydaaasworld @shimmermotorsport @honethatty12 @a-beaverhausen

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

When You're Ready

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: being a single mom, the hard side of being a parent, overstimulation?

Summary: Being a single mother hasn’t always been easy, and life catches up to you whether you want it to or not. You have so much on your plate that you’re not even thinking about being in a relationship. Spencer likes you and he makes it clear that he’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes.

Square Filled: huddle for warmth for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

Today could not be any worse than it is right now. You didn’t have time to brush your hair, you barely got your teeth brushed, your clothes are wrinkly because you forgot to iron them last night, the heater is broken in your house so all your daughter does is complain that it’s too cold, and you’re trying to get both her and yourself ready for the day.

“Mama, I’m hungry!” she whines.

“Food is coming, baby,” you say.

As you try not to cry, you plate more breakfast for her and set it on her tray. She immediately digs into the pancakes like she’s never been fed before. The TV is blaring in the living room as it plays yet another episode of Spongebob, her favorite TV show. Right now, that little sponge is giving you a massive headache. The coffee machine beeps for the tenth time, and you have an overwhelming urge to chuck it out the window. The machine has been broken for quite some time now but will make a cup of coffee every once in a while.

Today is not one of those days.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings and you just about stop and cry right there. What now? Who could this possibly be while you’re already running late for work? You leave Casey in the kitchen and walk to the front door. On the way, you almost slip on one of her toys, and you kick it harder than you should have. You open the front door and see your housekeeper standing there. You barely have enough to pay her since you had to downgrade a bunch of stuff since the divorce, but she stayed and accepted the new salary.

You’re honestly not sure what you would do without her.

“Oh, Shelly, it’s you.”

“Rough morning?” Tears well in your eyes at her question because you’re forced to think how this morning has been in a sea of bad ones. “Oh, Y/N, don’t worry about a thing. I’m here now.”

“Thanks,” you whisper and close the door behind her. You turn down the TV so that you don’t have to shout at Shelly. “Um, Casey has a field trip today. I looked at the weather and it’s going to be cold so make sure she packs a jacket. She’ll fight it but make sure she has one, okay?”

“Y/N, how long have I been looking after this little girl? I’ll be okay. Don’t you have work?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Here, let me.”

She fixes your hair until it looks presentable, and you give her a warm smile.

“Thank you. The coffee machine is broken. I’ll pick one up on the way home.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get a new one. I have a few other things to pick up at the store.”

“Okay. Bye, Casey! Mommy is off to work. I love you!”

“I love you!” she sings back.

Despite how hard it’s being a single mom, she always brings a smile to your face. Not only is it hard being a single mom, but you work in the FBI where your job is demanding and requires a lot out of you. It’s why you needed to hire Shelly. Before, she was here because your ex-husband paid to have her clean the house. You both had jobs and weren't home enough to keep up with it. Now with Casey, she’s a blessing in disguise.

Hotch makes it look so easy. Since Haley was killed, he’s been doing a good job at raising his son and being the Unit Chief. He has Beth and Haley’s sister, but it’s just him most of the time. You have no one but Shelly, and she only comes three times a week. Casey’s father fled the second you told him you were pregnant so you had to do this entire thing by yourself. All Casey knows is the team because you have them over ever so often.

She’s more familiar with Hotch since he brings Jack over for playdates because they are around the same age. Though, she loves Spencer more than anyone on the team. You’re only friends with him but he’s expressed interest in you. He’s made it clear that you’re on his mind, but you can’t be dating right now. There’s no time for boyfriends or flings or whatever Spencer would be. Your life is too complicated. Add in a toddler and a lawsuit for child support, and it’s too much for someone else to handle.

You told him this much, and he seems okay with being your friend. You still catch him watching you and blushing when you give him a compliment, but he’s been respectful of your boundaries.

You walk into work and notice everyone inside the briefing room. You practically throw your shit down on your desk and run to the briefing room.

“So sorry I’m late. Traffic,” you white-lie.

“It’s okay. We’re just going over updates on our cases and finishing files,” Hotch says.

The B Team must be out right now, and you sag your shoulders in relief. You need a chill day right now more than anything. After a rundown of the open cases, you take yours back to your desk to get started on them. Spencer does the same but he approaches your desk from the front.

You barely look up at him. “Oh, hey, Spencer.”

“Rough morning?” You scoff but don’t say anything. You don’t want to hurt his feelings. “How is Casey doing?”

“She’s good. She has a field trip today at the aquarium.”

Spencer is about to say a fact when he sees the look on your face. Maybe he shouldn’t be himself right now.

“That should be fun.” Again, you don’t respond. All you want to do is focus on your work and not on the headache you have. Instead of going back to his desk, he sits next to yours. “You know, if you ever need someone to watch Casey, I’m more than happy to do it. Even for an entire weekend. It’ll give you time to yourself.” You stop typing and look at him. “Only if it’s okay with you, of course. Or maybe I can come over and hang with her while you get some sleep or something.”

“What are you doing?”

“What? I’m just trying to help.”

It’s the way he said it that makes your back crack under the pressure. You know he doesn’t deserve this but you’re saying it anyway because he’s here.

“You’re not her father, Spencer!”

“I know, but--”

“Look, that’s nice of you to offer but I have been raising her by myself since she was born. Even before she was born. I didn’t need help then and I don’t need it now. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

You gather your finished files and walk away from your desk. Tears threaten to spill but you won’t let it. Not now.

“Okay,” Spencer says, his voice small.

Yep, you hate yourself now. Truth be told, he kind of scares you. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted in a man, and that scares you. He’s safe and predictable and dependable, everything you never had, not even with Casey’s father. He messed you up so badly that you learned you can’t depend on anyone for anything.

Not even Spencer.

After putting your files away, you slip into the bathroom and just cry. All this stress shouldn’t be good for you. The bathroom door opens and you immediately wipe the tears away. JJ frowns when she sees the tears, and you splash some water on your face to get the redness to go away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering if you could come over to my place at two instead of four. Will is having his boys come at two, and I figured my girls could be there at the same time to get coordinated with them.”

“What?”

“Please don’t tell me you forgot about my wedding. It’s next weekend. You’re my maid of honor.”

Shit. You completely forgot about that. You’ve been so focused on not breaking down that her wedding has completely slipped your mind.

“No, I didn't forget.” You wince at the lie. “Okay, it slipped my mind, but I will be there. Two, not four.” You’re about to leave when you remember Shelly telling you she is going out of town next weekend. You don’t have money for a babysitter. “Would it be okay if I brought Casey? Shelly is going to be out of town.”

“Yes, the more the merrier. I love Casey, and I know Henry does, too.”

“Thank you, JJ,” you sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just stressed is all. I don’t think I slept more than a few hours each night, my hair needs a cut, I need an everything shower, and I don’t have time to do any of it.”

“Yeah, motherhood can be tough.”

“Tell me about it. Not to mention, I think I might have hurt Spencer’s feelings. I yelled at him. He’s just trying to help.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it. What did he say?”

“He offered to look after Casey for a weekend.”

“It might be good to take him up on the offer.”

You shrug. “I gotta get back to work.” You leave the bathroom and notice Spencer at his own desk. “Spencer?” He looks up and smiles when he sees you, making you feel even worse than you do. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you or said those things.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. You were just trying to help.”

“The offer still stands if and when you want to use it. Think about it.”

The rest of the week is pretty chill since the B Team is still out, giving you and Spencer more time to strengthen your relationship. He shows up to work with an extra coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a smile just for you. He wants to make sure you eat because that’s the only thing he can do right now to help you.

On the day of the wedding, you know he is going to be right there in the audience. He agreed to look after Casey while you stand next to JJ, so you’re getting her dressed in her pretty pink sparkle dress.

“So, while Mommy is up with Aunt JJ, you’re going to be seated next to Spencer in the audience. Right there in the front.”

“I like Spencer,” she grins.

You smooth down your hair and smile. “Me, too.”

“Are you gonna marry him?”

“No,” you laugh.

“I bet he’d make a great dad.”

You choose not to say anything to that and lead her down the aisle where Spencer is seated. The wedding is located in JJ’s own backyard, but it’s perfect. It’s everything she’s ever wanted and more. Casey has a strict bedtime but the wedding goes past that, so naturally, she gets cranky by the time the reception happens. She’s hungry and restless, two things a toddler should never be at the same time.

“Just another hour and I promise, we can go home. I promised JJ we’d be here.”

“I’m hungry, Mama, and I’m bored.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

You look up and see Spencer approaching you two.

“Sorry, she skipped her nap today, and it’s past her bedtime. She’s just bored.”

“May I?” You nod. “Hey, Casey? Would you like to dance? Just one, and then maybe we can get some cake.”

“Okay,” she grins.

Spencer takes her to the dancefloor while you stay seated at one of the tables. He whispers something to her and she eagerly steps onto his shoes. He dances around in circles with her on his shoes, and she giggles happily. It doesn’t matter how much of a shitty week you’ve been having. She’s smiling and laughing and that means you’re doing a pretty damn good job. Spencer picks her up and holds her close so he can dance properly, and she leans her head on his chest.

Would it be so bad to let him in? Maybe not, but you’re clearly not in the headspace for it. Is he willing to wait? You don’t want to keep him from other relationships even though it doesn’t look like he’s rushing to be in one.

After two songs are over, Spencer lets her down. He whispers something to her and she runs off in search of either Henry, Jack, or both. He walks over to you and holds out his hand.

“Care to dance?”

“Yes,” you smile.

You grab his hand and he brings you to the dancefloor. The next song is a slow one, so he pulls you in close to him. One hand in yours and the other low on your back. Has he always smelled this good?

“Thank you for what you did. She likes you a lot.”

“I like her a lot.” He dips his head lower so that his forehead barely touches the top of your head. “I like her mother, too.” Your heart thumps but in a good way. It’s like everyone else around you disappears until it’s only you and Spencer. “I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

You look up at him with tears. “What?”

“If time and space is what you need, I’ll give it to you. Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“You might be waiting a while,” you whisper.

“I’m a patient man.”

You rest your head on Spencer’s chest and let the music guide you. He runs his hand up and down your back, creating a safe and warm aura about him.

“You make me feel safe,” you whisper.

Whether he hears it or not, he doesn’t respond. He just continues to dance with you long after the song has ended.

x

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