your husband had a very convenient advantage over you.
and that would be picking you up— whenever and wherever.
falling asleep anywhere other than your bed was never an issue, not with him around. because rest assured— your very strong, very responsible and very devoted husband, has made it his mission to pick up his beloved wife and deliver her to safety and comfort.
you fell asleep on the couch while reading a book or watching a movie? no problem, he had already anticipated it. cue him carefully picking you up bridal style, grip firm but gentle, your head comfortably cradled against his chest. then, he'd start walking to your shared bedroom with slow steps— but not before staring at your sleeping face for a moment with a painfully tender gaze and pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple. everytime you woke up, you would find yourself neatly tucked in bed with him holding you close to him or simply gazing at you in quiet awe, like you were the very embodiment of beauty itself. (to him, you were, even if you disagreed.)
now, that's not the only place where his strength came to use. whenever you decide to act stubborn and bratty, you'd best be prepared for a pair of large, steady and warm hands to suddenly settle themselves on your waist, hoisting you up over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. he'd go on about his day just like that as if he didn't have a living, breathing, adult-sized human creating a fuss over his shoulder. he'll only put you down when he feels like it. or maybe if you manage to bribe him with some affection… (spoiler; it always works.)
another time would be when you're feeling particularly lazy to get up from bed in the morning. you don't want to get up? that's fine too, he'll let you latch onto him like a koala— your arms lazily looped around his neck, legs around his waist, and his hand keeping you steady while he casually takes a sip of his coffee with the other. that's his life now. happy wife, happy life.
however, there was also a time when he had you questioning your entire existence. you were standing in front of a drawer, very much distracted by an item in your hands. it just so happened that your husband needed to get something from the said drawer. his solution? extraordinary. lift you off the ground by your waist, relocate you to the side, get his drawer business done and casually go on and about with his day. you only processed this a minute later and he had no idea why you kept on staring at him like he had personally rewritten the laws of the universe itself.
long story short, he loved picking you up— even during times when it was unnecessary. why? because he simply could. and also because it was the perfect excuse to have you in his arms yet again.
i stand by the miscommunication trope like nothing else.
LIKE YES GIVE ME THE ANGST THE DRAMA I WANT IT TO GET SUPER MESSY (+points for detailed description of jealousy) but at the end of the day the two characters should sort it out and realise how stupid they were in misinterpreting something because thats the beauty of it.
clark, who perks up when you call his name the way dogs react to hearing the word walk. pleasantly startled, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed energy in a six-foot-something frame.
clark, who insists on carrying all the groceries. so now you just walk beside him, one arm looped through his, watching him play pack mule with unconcealed joy.
clark, who sits beside you at the fountain, tearing bread crusts into little hunks for the doves.
clark, who taps your knee when he spots a squirrel in the park. stops mid-step and whispers, “look, look,” with the same excitement of one pointing out a comet—never mind it’s just a rodent with a peanut.
clark, who sets his lockscreen to a selfie of you both. candid, taken mid-laugh. your head resting against his shoulder, his smile half-formed, cheek pressed into your temple. he carries a printed copy in his wallet, too.
clark, who texts you pictures he’s taken. things that remind him of you, or things he knows you’d like. a cat loaf in a patch of sunlight, a diner chalkboard advertising your favourite pie, or a silly meme he figured you’d laugh at.
clark, who always ends up the big spoon, no matter how you start. even if you fall asleep facing him, curled into his chest. by morning, you’ll wake up with his arm around your waist.
clark, who really knows how to cook. real food, too—not just bachelor chow reheated in a pan. i’m talking soups from scratch or stews that simmer for hours. he doesn’t let you lift a finger unless it’s to taste-test something off the spoon.
clark, who hums commercial jingles around the apartment while doing chores, such as lifting the entire couch (with you still on it) so he can vacuum underneath.
clark, who carries you bridal-style to bed.
clark, who packs little sandwiches in wax paper when you work late. your name written in block letters across the front.
clark, who leaves post-it notes behind cabinets, in the pockets of your jackets. blue ink scrawled sideways. “i love you,” “you looked really pretty this morning.”
I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.
"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.
Ah, the long awaited question.
And the answer is always the same. "No, we're friends, why?"
Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"
Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.
Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?
ʚĭɞ the ponytail.
It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail. Doesn’t everyone know that?
Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.
So he didn’t see anything wrong when he stood behind her after they called for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.
"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.
"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.
"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, as if that's enough explanation.
Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn’t try to, he simply shakes his head and says, "You do realize you're in love, right?"
But Percy isn't even hearing, his eyes fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.
ʚĭɞ the necklace & hairtie
Yes, it is completely normal that she wears his best friend's initial around her neck. Totally normal.
It isn't even that noticeable, just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.
Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her as they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.
Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' in your necklace?"
She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."
"How is that-" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."
She's tired of questioning it.
And Percy? He adores the necklace, but he also loves the hair tie he always has on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.
People don't realize at first, it's a simple black hair tie. But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.
Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.
"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.
"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.
This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.
"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.
"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."
ʚĭɞ the kiss on the cheek
And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.
Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.
So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted. "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss? Percy kind of froze. His eyes followed her as she walked away, looking like a kicked puppy, like a kid who's candy had just been stolen.
He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.
Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like someone just stole your christmas gifts."
"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.
Piper almost looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head as she asks, "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"
"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.
Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else, she finally arrives, almost running to the table and taking her usual seat besides Percy.
"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and then— like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.
And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.
"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.
ʚĭɞ the wallet
Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."
"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.
"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.
"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"
Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on the photo on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."
He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the photo of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin, a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"
"I- uh- do you just carry it in your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise. And he thought he could expect anything from those two.
"Well, yeah? she gave it to me ages ago." and he turns to pay.
Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already busy. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."
ʚĭɞ the flowers and lipsticks
Friends get each other flowers, right? at least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while shopping for groceries with her mom.
It's not his fault, they were just there.
A bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.
When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet in one hand and gummy worms in the other, she smiles to herself.
"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.
"Oh?" he looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they remind me of y/n, so I thought I might aswell get them for her."
Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.
Except that sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"
Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries in the chekout belt. "Yep, but make sure to get the cherry-mint one, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid. She loves that one."
"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"
Silence. For a second, Percy just stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.
"I guessed." he replies simply.
Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve. So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.
And it was totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.
"Perseus, you are unbelievable."
ʚĭɞ the date
Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried for his friend going on a date, worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.
Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers— roses, seriously? and ask her out.
But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to know her favorite flowers.
That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.
That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he doesn’t train or joins his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. By the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.
It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door, and before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.
Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.
No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.
"Hey, how did-" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.
"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."
Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."
"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."
He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.
"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.
"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night. Barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."
Percy's hands stopped on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"
She shifted slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He he told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."
"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs at that, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists again.
She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"
They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.
After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"
His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe-"
Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.
Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.
And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.
ʚĭɞ the kiss.
The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.
Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.
"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.
"Who knows? It could be years, they-" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.
Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.
He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."
"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she has ran off to go find her spear.
Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."
the alleyway was narrow, and lit by the setting sun; clark had you pressed to the brick, his broad frame shielding you from anyone who might pass, though the way you trembled made it clear the thought of being caught was still buzzing in your head, making the experience all the more arousing for the both of you.
“claarkie, you’re gonna ruin my outfit… n’ someone’s gonna see—” that had been the last thing you managed to get out before his hips drove into you again, stealing the air from your lungs and the words from your tongue.
you were dazed, your plaid, pleated mini skirt bunched up around your waist, his coat draped haphazardly over your shoulders in some futile attempt to keep you covered. but the press of his cock inside you deep, unyielding and made it hard for you to think about anything except him.
clark’s jaw was set, his eyes dark with something heavier than lust. the tension in his shoulders spoke of the weight he’d been carrying all week. “y’ so good to me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and rough in your ear. “letting me take it out on you like this… got no idea what you’re doing to me.”
you whimpered, head tipping back against the wall, trying to answer but only managing a breathless, “mm—” before his fingers slid between your lips.
“shhh,” he hushed, pushing two thick fingers into your mouth, pressing down gently on your tongue. “gotta keep you quiet, baby. can’t have anyone hearing how sweet you sound when i’m inside you.” your lashes fluttered, the salty taste of his skin grounding you while your body clenched around him.
“been dealing with so much lately—” his hips snapped forward, hard enough to make your gasp catch against his hand. “but right now?” he groaned, rolling his hips, “right now, the only thing i’m thinking about is how perfect you feel.”
your knees buckled, and he caught you easily, pinning you harder to the wall, thrusts picking up speed. you couldn’t form words anymore, just muffled sounds around his fingers, eyes glassy, body yielding completely to him.
“that’s it,” clark praised, voice thick, forehead pressed to yours. “drunk on me already… my pretty girl. my good girl.” and the city could have crumbled around him, but in that moment, the only thing clark kent cared about was you.
a/n: working hard to deliver my babies and give them loser!clark x mean!sorority reader 🙂↕️🙂↕️
Hi rya!! New follower here and I love what you've written ( ◜‿◝ )♡. Can I get two lattes, #3 and #7 for Jason please? Thank you very much! (≧▽≦)
☕︎ 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 ━━━━━ two lattes for anon and jason todd .ᐟ.ᐟ
☕︎ coffees from rya’s 500 coffee cart .ᐟ.ᐟ
prompts chosen .ᐟ.ᐟ “you never came to bed last night.” & “look, all i’m trying to tell you i- oh god, no, please don’t cry.”
genre/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ 1.9k, angsty (but with a happy ending!), miscommunication/misunderstanding, pregnancy (pregnant!reader), long-term undercover mission.
barista's notes .ᐟ.ᐟ anon~~~ thank you so much for participating! ugh i am so honoured to know that you love what i’ve written so far - hopefully you love this one too!! please enjoy your coffees :)
It has been one hundred and four days since you last saw Jason.
He promised that he’d be back in ninety, and you even got him to swear it, but alas, nothing ever goes to plan when it comes to Jason Peter Todd. Not the way the two of you met, not the way the two of you fell in love, and most definitely not the way the two of you realised you were going to have a child together.
You know it’s not his fault that the undercover op is running over—that’s why Bruce fucking Wayne doesn’t dare set foot in your apartment, even though you know the family has promised Jason to keep an eye out for you, especially in the first trimester. You’re pretty sure you’re going to rip that rich man’s hair out if he’s ever within an arm’s reach, and so he’s smartly kept his distance, instead sending over groceries and nursery items for when the baby does arrive.
In his stead, you get the lovely company of Dick and Tim, who alternate who comes to visit you and waits on you like your own personal version of Alfred. They never complain, always obedient to your snaps, but all of you know who you truly wished was abiding by your every whim.
“He’ll be home soon,” Dick promises one night when you had been on the verge of feeling overwhelmed by the whole pregnancy thing.
You had just burst into tears at the sheer tragedy of your fiancé not being here when you needed him, and that Richard Grayson somehow looked fucking perfect at the ass crack of dawn with at least three days going no sleep. You looked like a zombie, for fuck’s sake, and all you’ve been doing is sleeping non-stop.
Dick had just hugged you, and rubbed your back as you kept sobbing. He even made you a warm cup of tea, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead with a gentle smile. You apologised after, saying that you never should have underestimated his ability to stay attractive even in the worst of situations.
He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve heard worse.”
Tim had been with you when the call came, and the way his entire body had just relaxed when he had hummed an affirmative in response was all you needed to confirm that Jason was coming home.
But you had waited, not breathing, just for Tim to turn around and pull his phone down as he regards you seriously. “He’s coming home,” he affirms, breaking out into a massive grin. You threw your arms around him, shrieking with excitement, and he had just laughed and helped steady you when you lost your footing.
Then, of course, you had cried tears of pure joy and passed out from the exhaustion of it all.
When you wake up, you’re tucked into bed, a pillow tucked perfectly under the curve of your hip to keep you comfortable. You snuggle into the sheets eagerly, hands splaying out to the other side of the bed to—
He’s not there.
Where is he? Where is your fiancé?
Your eyes peel open groggily, just to double check that you hadn’t hallucinated feeling Jason’s arms around you to carry you to the bedroom. A gentle candle burns on the windowsill, the one that Jason always lights, and so he’s definitely back. But why isn’t he in here, in bed with you? What is he doing?
Distantly, you register the clicks and clanks of the dishes being washed out in the kitchen, and the scent of rosemary and lavender wash over you, wafting over form the candle. It’s an intensely familiar experience—the scent, the sound, and even the touch of the bedsheets around you, it’s just it.
You relax even further into the bed, turning into goo. Jason’s home, is the only thing you can think in your half-awake state. He’s home.
You close your eyes. He’ll probably come to bed after he does the dishes.
The next time you wake, it is with much more clarity yet simultaneously much more confusion. The fatigue from the past few months have been completely washed away, and your muscles feel so well-rested, but your mind is still befuddled.
You reach out to Jason’s side of the bed just to double check. No, it’s still cold.
He never came to bed. Did he sleep out on the couch or something? Why would he do that?
Dread seeps into the depths of your stomach, and you rub at it self-consciously. Sure, you’re staring to show a little now; those who don’t know you might just think you’ve gained some weight, but if they know you’re pregnant, it’s obvious that it’s the baby growing. You just didn’t expect Jason to be put off by it, or something.
Is he? You haven’t changed that much in the past couple of months, have you?
Oh fuck, you think, spiralling. What if he’s had a change of heart? Maybe something about the undercover mission made him rethink his decision of opening up his vulnerability to a civilian wife and a literal baby?
But you’ve had these talks before. You’re sure he’s sure…right?
With a groan, you force yourself onto your feet. You have to brace yourself against the bed as the inevitable back pains are incited once more, and the sound of your movements must wake Jason because there’s an inelegant thud somewhere in the living room and he comes scrambling over.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, immediately coming over to steady you, “you should sleep some more. God, Dick was saying how you barely got any sleep recently—fuck, c’mon. Lie down f’me?”
“Jason,” you say accusingly, “you never came to bed last night.”
He blinks at you, a pinched tightness pulling at his face. “Can we talk about this when you’re back on the bed?”
“Are you going to lie next to me?” you argue, scowling, batting off his attempts to coax you to bed. “Otherwise, no.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I’m not fucking glass,” you say over him, voice loud, “don’t treat me like I am. Jason. Jason!”
Instantly, his hands are off of you, and you lament at the loss of the heat as he takes a step back. Holding his hands up placatingly, he clears his throat awkwardly, trying his hardest not to look up into your eyes.
In that moment, you take him in. His T-shirt is newly washed—it was in the laundry basket from two days ago, you remember hanging it out to dry just yesterday—and his hair has that distinctly poofy quality to it that means he’s washed it recently. There’s some stubble on his chin, a few new bruises across the left of his jaw and across his collarbone, but otherwise, he’s still your Jason.
“Look at me, Jay.”
He glances up, but not a millisecond later he has to look away, instead focusing on your forehead.
“Jason.”
“I can’t,” he says.
“You can’t look your fiancée in the eye?” you demand, crossing your arms. “It has been one hundred and four days, Jason. You promised it would be under ninety!”
His gaze drops down again, this time with shame. “M’sorry, sweetheart. Really. It got complicated, we wanted to reduce the casualties—I just—”
“I’m not mad because you were out there doing good and actually making change,” you say, suddenly tiredly, and you stumble back to the bed to sit on it. Jason jerks forwards at the movement, arms spasming outwards as if he was afraid you were going to fall, only to stiffen awkwardly when he realised you were just sitting down. “I’m just frustrated that I haven’t seen you in so long, Jay. It has been over three months, you can’t even look at my face, much less cuddle me.”
“I want to cuddle you,” he mumbles, weakly. “I just—I just can’t. Uhm.”
You feel tears rush to the forefront of your eyes, and you angrily blink them away because now is not the time for pregnancy hormone interference. “Was it the mission? Are you okay? Are you injured?”
He shakes his head, shuffling closer. “M’fine, sweetheart. Promise.”
“Then what is it?” You just want a kiss and a hug from the love of your life okay? It’s pretty hard not to overthink things when he literally hasn’t seen you since the pregnacy announcement. “Is it…is it the baby? Are you having second thoughts?”
“Fuck no,” he says vehemently, and it makes you relax marginally, “fuck no, sweetheart. Absolutely not. It’s just—okay, look. I’ll cry if I look at you properly.”
You pause. “You’ll what?”
“I’ll cry,” he states, very matter-of-fact. “I almost sobbed last night, carrying you to bed. Had to go clear my mind with the fucking dishes—I could tell you had Tim around, by the way, because only he would order such greasy shit.”
“Jason,” you start, but he shakes his head, clearing his throat to indicate he has more to say.
“It’s just something about your eyes,” he gestures abstractly, still not looking at you, “it just—it hurts to look at, sweetheart. I just missed you, that’s all. Didn’t think it was gonna trigger a fuckin’ cry or whatever, but I swear. If I look at you right now, I’m gonna be a puddle in the ground and I don’t think that’s what you need right now.”
The incredulity of it all gets to you, and you burst into tears at the same time you throw your head back to laugh.
“Look, all I’m tryna tell you, is—oh God, no, please don’t cry,” Jason protests weakly, instantly engulfing you in a hug, pressing your face into his chest. “Oh God, if you cry, I’m going to cry.”
“Jason,” you say into his chest, in between hiccups, “please shut the fuck up.”
He tightens his embrace, and you think he might be crying by the way he buries his face into your hair. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers. “M’sorry. M’sorry, it just got to me, that’s all—I just, those eyes, man, I can’t—”
“Jason. I’m only going to say this once.”
He stiffens. “Okay.”
“I don’t fucking care if you ugly cry right now, but I need a kiss and a cuddle session approximately two hours long, so get your fucking ass in bed and if you’re crying at the same time, so be it.”
He laughs, sniffling in the way that means he’s definitely crying, but he acquiesces and gently releases you to allow you to get comfortable on the bed. You have to wait a little, tucked under the sheets, because he scrubs at his face in a fruitless attempt to staunch his tears, but all it does is make his shoulders shudder with more sobs.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before. He’s vulnerable before you, sure, but never like this.
It…it almost comforts you, knowing that he’s just as emotionally raw as you are. It makes you open your arms, beckoning back to bed. One look, and he’s instantly allured, kicking off his shoes and shuffling across to get on the bed.
He slips under the covers right next to you, arms wounding right around your waist—just below the baby, the first time he would’ve touched them, you marvel—and instantly, he’s covering you with his warm body again.
“M’sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. It’s just been so long. I didn’t know if I could control myself.”
“Don’t be,” you reply, tightly, “make it up to me with cuddles.”
“Okay,” he whispers, gently and with a warm breath on your neck. “Okay. I love you.”
You smile, squirming so you’re even closer to him. “I love you too, Jay. I missed you.”
“I missed you more,” he says, firmly. Just yesterday, you wouldn’t have believed him. But now, honestly? You’re not sure you can underestimate just how much he’s missed you.
check out other coffee orders from the cart here .ᐟ.ᐟ
You guys ever feel like you're having a fling with some franchise? Or exes trope for that matter. Like you used to be fully engaged in the fandom before they no longer your hyperfixation but when you coincidentally came across the posts about it and hit nostalgia lane, you then stop by for a second to relish the remnants and memories. You started to engaged with it back before bouncing again.
dating iwaizumi hajime has turned into a full, chaotic, and perfect marriage—he’s 31 now, terrifyingly strict with the national volleyball team, and yet the most tender, doting husband at home. you’ve built a life together with a three-year-old daughter who keeps both of you on your toes—and has made iwaizumi’s possessiveness toward you even more intense.
mornings are soft and domestic—shirtless iwaizumi flips pancakes in the kitchen while your daughter climbs onto a chair to “help,” tiny hands patting his cheek and giggles filling the room. he hums low as he works, occasionally glancing at you with a fond smile, like he can’t believe he gets to spend his life with the two of you.
the home gym has become a family space—your daughter tries to copy everything you do, stretching or folding into wobbly yoga poses while you guide her, and iwaizumi chuckles quietly from the side, proud and entertained. he gently adjusts your posture during light workouts, hands lingering a little longer than necessary, teasingly possessive under the guise of coaching.
he still never pushes you too hard—your workouts are gentle, short, and playful, mostly to keep you active and healthy. he encourages your daughter’s movement too, whispering little praises while sneaking in soft kisses or playful nudges at you. the three of you together create a cozy, loving rhythm: yoga, stretches, and giggles filling the gym.
sex now happens only when the house is empty—usually when your parents or his parents take your daughter for a day or two. when it’s just the two of you, iwaizumi is unrestrained and possessive, indulging fully in his breeding kink.
he pulls you into the gym or bedroom, pressing you down onto benches or the yoga mat, hips pressing into yours with full strength. every thrust is deliberate, deep, and overwhelming, making you gasp and tremble beneath him.
he grips your waist, lifting and adjusting you mid-thrust, murmuring filthy praises: “so tight…so wet…all mine, baby…mine to fuck.”
his hands roam across your body while he fucks you, squeezing your hips, tracing your back, and teasing your breasts, making your body arch instinctively toward him.
he loves dirty, possessive whispers while he pounds you, dragging your face to the side of his shoulder, pressing his lips to your neck, and groaning your name like it’s the only thing he wants to say.
he shows off his strength, picking you up and spinning you over onto the bed without breaking rhythm, cock still buried deep, thrusting into you with full force, hips snapping harshly against yours.
favorite position is still mating press—he folds you in half, pressing your chest to the mattress, holding your arms above your head as he drills into you, watching your toes curl, your back arch, and your lips part for him.
he loves hearing you moan around him, telling you how perfect you feel, how he can fill you so completely, and how you’re his in every way.
when he knows you’re close, he grabs your jaw or presses a hand over your chest, forcing you to meet his gaze as he murmurs, “cum on my cock, baby…only mine.”
he doesn’t let you come alone—drags it out, thrusting deep, teasing, whispering filthy praises and ownership, until your body is trembling, overstimulated, and completely his.
after he’s done, he collapses beside you, still glancing down at you with that soft, satisfied smile, brushing damp hair from your face, murmuring, “so good…so perfect…my girl…my wife…”
afterward, he cradles you like he did your daughter as a baby, kisses along your shoulders and neck, whispering soft praise while you both catch your breath.
iwaizumi balances life as a trainer, husband, and father—commanding and strict at work, playful and doting at home, and completely possessive in private moments, showing that he can be all sides of himself and make them work seamlessly together.
as a father, he’s everything you knew he would be—firm when needed, endlessly patient, and completely soft for your daughter. he melts when she runs into his arms after practice, scooping her up like she’s the only thing that matters in the world. he reads her bedtime stories in a low, soothing voice, even doing silly voices to make her giggle, and sometimes you catch him asleep beside her crib, still in his work clothes, too tired to move but unwilling to leave her side.
as a husband, he’s fiercely devoted—always making sure you feel loved, protected, and cared for. he checks in on you throughout the day with texts, sneaks you quick kisses in the kitchen while dinner cooks, and holds you close at night when exhaustion hits him hardest. no matter how stressful work gets, he never lets you doubt his love or his attention.
balancing his role as japan’s athletic trainer with family life isn’t easy, but he manages it with grit and dedication—strict, no-nonsense iwaizumi at the training facility, and gentle, soft hajime at home. he sets boundaries clearly: work stays at work, and when he steps through the door, he’s yours and your daughter’s completely.
he takes pride in being able to do it all—guiding the best athletes in the country, being the father his daughter can always run to, and the husband who never stops cherishing you.
the mix of domestic fluff with your daughter and unrestrained, filthy intimacy when alone makes life with iwaizumi full, messy, and perfect—strong, loving, tender, and completely his.
iwaizumi hajime, at 31, is proof that he can carry the weight of the world in his hands and still come home to hold his family just as carefully—balancing discipline and devotion, strength and softness, until the life you’ve built together feels unshakable.
synopsis. he had one job. but when it comes to you, dick grayson has never been good at following the rules.
contents. fluff, (implied) exes to lovers, catwoman!reader, batcat dynamic, theyre in love your honor
notes. i wanted a bruce and selina parallel except these two finally give in. this concept has been plaguing my for far too long. everyone thank blair for the idea + part 2
“And under no condition should you flirt with her,” Barbara’s voice crackles through his comms, sharp with warning. “This is a quick intel mission. You’re in and out, Nightwing.”
Dick chuckles. “Got it. Best behavior.”
Word had gotten back to the Batcave that, after Catwoman’s arrest, Catgirl was making moves to finish what her predecessor started. Even worse, there were rumors of Catwoman’s involvement in the riots of Blackgate Penitentiary. Usually, Gotham’s affairs stayed strictly in Bruce’s hands, but Dick had fought hard for this case. Maybe too hard.
“Nightwing,” Oracle’s voice falters as the group watches the hidden camera feed from his suit. “Did you… style your hair?”
Dick freezes mid-motion, his fingers still carding through his dark locks in the reflection of a nearby window.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” He clears his throat, schooling his expression. Jason’s laughter bursts through the comms like a gunshot.
“Oh, this is priceless,” Jason wheezes. “Loverboy's got it bad.”
Dick exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he continues forward. “Can’t believe you guys planted a camera on me. Have you no trust?”
“It’s not about trust, Dick,” Bruce finally speaks, his voice cool and measured. “It’s about intelligence gathering.”
Of course. Ever the pragmatist.
Dick rolls his shoulders, trying to shake the unease creeping in. “Nah. My girl would never do anything to hurt me.” His voice dips. “Nothing I wouldn’t enjoy, anyway.”
Jason groans. “Barf.”
Oracle sighs. “Loverboy, focus.”
Dick lifts his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk lingers, betraying him. “Alright, alright.”
By the time Dick reaches the coordinates he was sent, the abandoned building seemed to be empty. Devoid of any criminal activity that was suspected.
Or at least, that’s how it looks.
Nightwing lands silently on the rooftop, scanning the darkened windows. No movement. No heat signatures. Just the city humming below, a steady pulse against the quiet.
Any amateur would enter the building to start his investigation, but Dick knew you better than that.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips.
You’re here. Somewhere. Watching.
His lips twitch. “Y’know, most people say hello first.”
Silence.
A shift in the shadows, a whisper of movement, too fast for anyone else to catch.
He’s airborne for half a second before his back slams against the rooftop. His breath escapes in a sharp huff, and before he can fully register what was happening, a warmth presses close, your weight against him, a knee braced against his ribs, gloved fingers skimming the hollow of his throat. Light. Barely there. A tease, not a threat.
“Thought I’d mix it up,” you murmur.
The moonlight frames you in silver, your mask casting half your face in shadow. He watches the way your lips quirk, the way your breath fans against his jaw, closer than necessary. Closer than you should be.
He should move. Counter. Flip you.
Instead, his fingers curl around your wrist, his thumb ghosting over your pulse point.
Dick blinks up at you, the city lights outlining the curve of your smirk.
“Well,” he breathes, grin unfazed. “You sure know how to make a guy feel wanted.”
You hum, tilting your head. “I’d say sorry, but you walked right into it.”
Your knee eases up just enough for him to shift. It’s all he needs.
With a twist, he sweeps your leg from under you, flipping them. Now you’re the one pinned, but your expression doesn’t change—if anything, your smirk deepens.
“Better,” you muse. “Almost had me there.”
“Almost?” He tuts. “You wound me.”
Then, without hesitation, you hook your leg around his waist and throw your weight into a roll. The two of you tumble, shifting control back and forth, dodging and countering, neither ever fully committing to an actual strike.
It’s a dance. One you both know by heart.
You feint left and he dodges too slow. Your fist brushes his jaw, not a real hit, just enough to make him feel it.
“You’re distracted,” you observe, eyes glinting.
He exhales, grip tightening around your wrist just enough to keep you close. “Maybe I just like having you this close.”
“Always the flatterer.”
For a moment, neither moves. Your breaths mix, city lights reflecting in your masked gaze.
Then, you blow him a kiss, fingers ghost over his lips before twisting free.
A quick, effortless slip, like smoke through his fingers. By the time he blinks, you’re already a few feet away, perched on the edge of the rooftop, ready to make your exit.
His comm buzzes. Jason’s voice, laced with amusement: “Tell me you’re at least trying to win.”
Dick ignores him.
Instead, his eyes flick toward the shadows. "C’mon, sweetheart, you really want it to end so soon?" He calls, the playful edge to his voice betraying the pulse of something more intense. “I’m starting to have fun.”
“Yeah?” You step into the moonlight, half a step in front of him. “You’re losing, horribly.”
You paused.
“But I’ve always liked how optimistic you were, Grayson. It’s cute.”
He can’t help but smile at the sound of his last name leaving your lips with a casualness that does something to him. He’s heard it from everyone, whether it be taunts or flirty whispers, but from you, it lands differently.
“I’m losing?” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge in his voice, but his heart pounds just a little faster. “I don’t think I feel like a loser.” In fact, he feels more alive than ever, adrenaline coursing through him, sparks erupting with every quip you exchanged.
You let out a laugh, the sound light and effortless. “I’ve transported all of the artifacts from the Gotham Museum hours before you even got here.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but he stays relaxed. He’ll deal with that later. “You know that’s not why I’m here.”
You tilt your head, smirking. “No?”
He steps closer. Slowly. “No,” he repeats, his voice dropping to a softer tone, low enough that it’s just for you.
You watch him, waiting.
He stops when you’re chest to chest, both of you breathing a little heavier now. The proximity is too close. Too much. And yet, neither of you move away.
“Then, what are you here for?”
For a heartbeat, the world slows, and he sees it, something soft in your eyes, hidden behind the mask. Something more than the game you’ve been playing.
“You know,” his voice softens.
But it’s fleeting. Gone before he can fully grasp it, and it hits him harder than he expects.
For a moment, he sees your own eyes underneath the black eye mask softening as they flicker between his own. But it’s gone as soon as it comes and Dick mourns it.
You break the moment first, pulling back just slightly, the warmth of your body still lingering as you glance away. “I’m not… involved with that and you know it,” you say, tone sharp but steady.
You’re not naive. He knows you’ve heard of the rumors circulating about Blackgate and Selina’s growing influence in the prison.
He catches your hand when you try to push him away, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. It’s the same dance they’ve done for years—one step forward, then the pull.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs.
“Obviously not.” Your eyes flash as you look away, trying to hide the strain in your voice. “You don’t trust me.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You know I do, sweetheart.” His voice softens, and he steps even closer, bringing his other hand to your jaw, his fingers gently guiding your gaze back to his.
“I just needed to confirm.” His breath catches in his chest as he leans in, his lips almost brushing yours. “You know. B and his procedures.”
He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. You’re not backing away, but you’re holding yourself together with that quiet strength of yours.
“Dick,” Oracle warns him through the comm. He can feel Bruce’s silent warning echoing through his mind. He’s overstepped.
But Dick doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care about the mission anymore. Not when you’re standing there, eyes locked on his, body close enough that all he can think about is what it would be like to not fight this anymore.
With a quiet resolve, he reaches for his comm, deactivating it, then rips the camera from his suit, crushing it under his foot. The sound of the camera breaking echoes through the silent night, and he watches as surprise flickers in your eyes.
“You’re insane,” you murmur, the disbelief in your voice mixing with relief.
Dick steps even closer, no words now, just the steady thrum of his pulse and the way his body wants to close the distance. “Mission completed anyway,” he mutters, his lips curving into a grin, but it’s softer now.
“As always,” you whisper, your eyes flicking to the shattered camera. There’s a quiet moment where everything feels like it’s teetering on the edge.
Then, without another word, he pulls you in, his lips crashing into yours, soft but insistent. It’s everything he’s wanted, everything you’ve been dancing around for far too long.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his suit as he deepens the kiss, his body pressing into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The kiss is slow, almost agonizing in its sweetness. No more games, no more hesitating. Just the two of you, finally letting go. His hand rests on the back of your neck, fingers tracing down every curve.
“That,” he says, voice husky, “was a mission well done.”
Your eyes twinkle, and you don’t pull away. “You know you’re never going to hear the end of this, right?”
“Worth it,” he grins. “Every second.”
thank you for reading! reblogs n comments are appreciated :3
