FEEL FREE TO IGNORE TSSS, but can you do like.. hoshiumi/tobio waking us up by sucking our dih or riding us???? THIS FEELS SO AWKWARD OMG ITS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING
sure!!! i hope you like the fic!!! it was kinda awkward for me to write too but because i am used to write just bottom fics (excluding the korai one) so this was a nw challenge for me to do! thx for your request!!
warning: this is a +18 piece, dont read if youre under 18
Hoshiumi Korai:
Your job as a sports photographer was all you ever wanted, but was draining you. Last night, you stayed up until late photographing the V League match that happened in your city.
It was the first time you got to picture your boyfriend, Korai, as the superstar he was. But the whole ordeal of running around, taking pictures, dodging people, dodging slammed balls and dealing with your boss there too, took all the energy out of you.
It took your energy so much you forgot you promised Korai to fuck him if he won.
In your mind, you thought your boyfriend would be tired as fuck too, as he was the one who was actually in court, so you excused yourself in your mind and quickly drifted off soon after arriving home.
The morning sun hit your eyes directly, blinding you before you could even wake up properly. Your whole body felt hot and a little sweaty, and your groin seemed… amazing?
In your half sleepy brain, you melted into it. Feeling how the strange thing caressing your cock was moving up and down your shaft. When it grazed your head, a sudden jolt of pleasured sparked throughout your whole body.
The -you could feel wet- muscle bobbed up and down your shaft, making your cock feel like it was in heaven, exploiting all of its nerves. The oh so amazing feeling was gone for a second, leaving you a little irritated until something touched your tip.
In an instant, you felt how your cock was enveloped inside something hot, wet, and that was hollowing out. The sudden explosion of feelings in your cock made you finally wake up, moaning out of pleasure in the process.
You lifted the bed sheet, to graze upon seeing Hoshiumi, eyes fierce, locked into making you feeling good, but also enjoying it himself. One hand was in the base of your cock, pushing himself further into deepthroating you. He glanced at your face, and tried to smile. Not too successful, as he had a whole dick in his mouth.
As he bobbed his head up and down, you threw the bed sheets of yourselves, seeing Hoshiumi in all of his glory. You could see his naked, well-built body, laying in the mattress. His hips were rocking, frotting his cock into the blanket under him, and the crack of his ass was covered in lube.
“You had it all planned out, didn’t you?” You crackled, reaching for his head to stroke his hair. With a pop, he lifted himself out of your cock, stroking it slightly next to his face.
“You promised to fuck my brains out after the game, didn’t you?” He lifted his head back to your tip, teasing it with his tongue, circling it in just the way that made you go insane. “I want my prize”
In a whim, you lifted yourself off the bed, pining Hoshiumi down it. Your cock, hard as a rock, was now teasing Korai’s hole, smearing your precum and mixing with the lube. His eyes softened, morphing into his characteristic ‘I want cock’ face you were so weak to.
Finally, your cock pushed into his wet and tight hole, making him scream out lewd moans. You gritted your teeth near his neck and shoulder, your groans littering his ears as you pushed into him at a hornily fast pace.
“Wanted your prize?” You whimpered into his ear, pushing your cock into his sweet spot, making sure Korai was so loud he woke up their neighbors.
“Y-yes! I want it so ba-AGH!” Korai moaned loudly, feeling how your cock tore apart his insides, and letting himself drown in the pleasure.
You pushed as deep as you physically could, locking eyes into him, feeling how his insides pulsated around you, pushing you further into ecstasy.
“Well, here it is”
------------------------
Kageyama Tobio:
Last night was an absolute party, you thought.
Your boyfriend came back from Italy to play as Japan’s main setter for the fourth year in a row! The whole stadium was in an electrifying mood, watching and keeping count of all the game, as you did as well with your man.
When the game ended, you got invited to an after-party, and you accepted to go without any hesitation. The party was mainly relatives of the players, as the actual players wanted to remain sober because they had another game literally the next fucking day (lmao). But you still dragged your boyfriend into the party.
You didn’t push him to drink, as he almost never did, and he just kept to himself in a couch, watching how you got absolutely demolished with two bottles of alcohol in your hands, and someone pouring another down your face and throat. And somehow, with that drunk look of your he got horny.
In the morning after you guys came back to your hotel room, he got to work.
He lifted himself off the bed, and carefully positioned himself over you, his legs almost trapping your hips. Carefully, he lowered himself until his groin touched yours, and he started to grind himself off your cock.
In a smooth, slow motion, he rocked his hips back and forth, sending pleasure sparks up his body. He grabbed the bedsheets and clenched them, trying to ground himself to a faster speed. In a few moments he became a whimpering mess, broken moans and pleas were spitted out of him, also in an attempt to wake you up, to no avail.
When he felt your hard cock rising, he got off your pelvis down to your knees, removing the clothing off your penis to set it free. After positioning himself, he grabbed your cock at half mast and began to stroke it. In a whim, you became harder, starting to leak precum.
Tobio quickly removed his underwear, tossing it somewhere, and positioned himself above your cock. Slowly, he lowered himself, and your dick started to push through his hole. The stretch of his entrance, how it was moving up him, brushing in his sweetest places and moaning was all in Kageyama’s mind.
After a few moments he bottomed out, feeling how your pulsing dick was growing even harder inside him. With no much thought in mind, he started to ride you, moving his hips up and down, your shaft and tip caressing his prostate, which made him lose himself in ecstasy.
In a fuzzy view, you woke up to your boyfriend moaning and whimpering a whole lot, riding your cock and his tits bouncing up and down. As Kageyama was lost in pleasure, he didn’t see you waking up. All he felt was a sudden warmth in his left pectoral.
When he glanced down, he saw your hand, squeezing on the muscle, before your fingers played and fiddled with his nipple. This was the last straw for Tobio, cumming on the spot, splurging in your face and chest.
“How naughty…” You whispered, seeing your usually calm boyfriend all worked up and horny only by your penis. Your hands grabbed both sides of his hips before you started to slam into him relentlessly.
His moans augmented exponentially, shouting his lewdness out into the room, fearing someone might hear them. In fact, it made you go faster.
authors note: I really enjoyed writing about de-aged Bucky Barnes, so I thought 'huh, what if Dick was de-aged by one of Joker's pranks, but instead of keeping his memories, he's literally a kid.' Like, yeah, he knows the basic info, but other than that, nothing. So while the rest of the batfam is protecting Gotham and finding an antidote for Dick, he male reader is tasked as Dick's babysitter. Anyways, hope you get the vision and like the fic!
synopsis: You were nursing a massive headache, your nose was clogged and your strength was non-existent. So the universe thought it would be hilarious to de-age your boyfriend Dick and make you his babysitter.
Of course. Just your luck. The day you fell down with a nasty cold was the day your boyfriend suffered the after effects of one of the Joker's gas. You were still half convinced this had to be a fever dream. Because surely, surely, the universe wasn’t cruel enough to line up both disasters on the same day.
Your nose was stuffed. Your throat burned. Your head felt like someone had stuffed cotton into your skull and then shaken it like a snow globe. You were wrapped in a hoodie despite the mild weather outside, and the cold medicine you’d taken earlier had done absolutely nothing except make you slightly dizzy.
So when you walked into manor and saw the scene in the living room, your brain simply refused to process it. “Please someone punch me and make me wake up from this nightmare.”
The nightmare in question was a ball of energy struggling to free himself from Jason's arms.
The child looked about five years old.
Dark hair bounced wildly as he twisted in Jason’s grip, small sneakers kicking uselessly while he tried to claw his way free. His bright blue eyes were blazing with determination, and the expression on his face was one you knew far too well. Jason held him under one arm like a football.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
“I can run.”
“That’s exactly the problem, bud. Also you're five and don't remember shit, so it's either me holding you or putting one of those baby leashes on you."
"Let me go!" the kid shrieked, and you winced as the sound drilled directly into your frontal lobe. Your headache, which had been a dull throb, upgraded itself to jackhammer status.
"Jason," you croaked, leaning against the doorframe because standing upright seemed like too much effort, "what exactly am I looking at?"
Jason grinned at you, the sadist. "Morning, sunshine. You look like hell."
"I feel like hell. Answer the question."
"This," Jason said, giving the kid a slight jiggle that made him squeak with indignation, "is Dick. Joker's new party favor. Age regression gas. Cute, right?"
The kid stopped struggling long enough to look at you before his eyes widened. Then, somehow, he became a liquid. That was the only explanation for how he slipped out of Jason's grip, dropped to the floor, and shot across the room like a missile before Jason could even curse.
You had approximately half a second to brace yourself before thirty five pounds of hyperactive child collided with your legs.
"You're here!" he shouted, wrapping his arms around your knees with enough force to nearly topple you. "You came!"
You looked down at the dark head pressed against your stomach. Then you looked up at Jason, who was staring with an expression of profound betrayal.
"He's been trying to escape for two hours," Jason said slowly. "Two hours. I had to tackle him off the chandelier. Twice. He bit Tim. He doesn't even know who I am, but he bites like a feral raccoon."
"I didn't bite him hard." the kid mumbled against your hoodie.
You swayed, lightheaded from the cold medicine and the sudden impact. "Get him off me."
"Nope." Jason pulled out his phone and started typing. "Bruce said you're on babysitting duty."
"I'm sick."
"And I'm needed in the field. Zucco made a move, Barbara and Cass are already tracking. Tim's analyzing the gas components. Bruce is being Bruce somewhere." Jason pocketed his phone and headed for the door, pausing only to pat your shoulder with mock sympathy. "Good luck. Try not to die."
"Jason—"
"Oh, and he only answers to 'Dick' now. Don't call him Richard, he cries. Don't ask me how I know."
The door shut.
You were alone. In Wayne Manor. With a cold. And a child.
The child in question looked up at you with those devastating blue eyes, still clinging to your legs like you were the last life raft on the Titanic. "Are you my boyfriend?"
Your brain short circuited. "What?"
"Jason said my boyfriend was coming to get me. Are you him? You're pretty."
"I'm—" You coughed, a horrible, wracking thing that made your ribs ache. "I'm your boyfriend, yes. But I'm also dying, so if you could maybe...not touch me..."
Dick's face fell. Then, impossibly, he tightened his grip. "You're sick?"
"Plague level sick."
"I'll take care of you!"
"You really don't have to—"
But he was already dragging you toward the couch, his small hands wrapped around your fingers, pulling with surprising strength. "Sit! Sit! I'll get you a blanket!"
You sat, mostly because resisting required energy you didn't have. Dick scampered off, returning moments later with not one but three blankets, a throw pillow he apparently considered medically necessary, and Alfred's tea tray, which he dragged across the floor with determination and zero regard for the scratches he was leaving on the hardwood.
"Here!" He dumped the blankets on you, then climbed up onto the couch and sat directly next to you, pressed against your side from hip to shoulder. "Better?"
You were now approximately ninety percent blanket and ten percent regret. "I can't breathe."
"That's because you're sick," he said solemnly, as if he'd cracked the code. "I read about it in a book."
"You can't read. You're five."
"I can so read. I can read letters and numbers. Up to twenty!" He paused, considering. "Maybe fifteen. Twenty is hard."
You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the couch. Maybe if you pretended to sleep, he'd go away. Maybe—
A small hand patted your cheek. "Don't die."
"I'm not dying."
"Your eyes are closed like dead people."
"I'm resting."
"Oh." He was quiet for approximately three seconds. Then: "Can I rest with you?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"I'll be quiet."
"Jason said you climbed a chandelier."
"That was before. I'm calm now."
You cracked one eye open to look at him. He was staring at you with an expression of such hopeful adoration that you felt your resolve crumbling like wet paper. "Fine, but you stay on your side. And if you kick me, I'm selling you to the circus."
Dick's face lit up like Christmas morning. "Really? A circus?"
"That was a joke. Don't get excited about the circus, you hate the circus, you have trauma about the—" You stopped, rubbing your temples. "Never mind. Just sit there. Quietly. For five minutes. Can you do that?"
He nodded solemnly, pressing a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.
You closed your eyes again.
For thirty blessed seconds, there was silence. Just the sound of your own congested breathing and the distant hum of the Manor's heating system. You started to drift, your feverish brain sliding toward something resembling rest.
Then you felt it.
A small hand, creeping under the blanket to find yours.
You jerked your eyes open. Dick was pressed against your side, when had he moved?, with his head on your shoulder. "I said your side." you croaked.
"This is my side," he whispered. "You're warm. You're not supposed to be warm when you're sick, but you are. I like it."
"I'm feverish. That's not a good thing."
"I still like it." He snuggled closer, and you could feel his small heartbeat against your arm, rabbit fast and trusting. "Don't go away, okay?"
Something in your chest did that traitorous softening thing again. You hated it. You were miserable, congested, possibly hallucinating, and now you were feeling emotions.
"I'm not going anywhere," you muttered, because it was easier than arguing. "I'm too tired to move."
"Good," Dick said, satisfied. Then, after a moment: "Can I have juice?"
You stared at the ceiling. "There's a kitchen. It's that way. You can get it yourself."
"I'm not supposed to go alone. Jason said so. He said if I go alone, I'll 'get into trouble and probably explode something.'"
"Jason is dramatic."
"He said you'd get it for me. Because you love me."
"I—" You coughed again, a horrible wet sound that made Dick's eyes go wide with concern.
"You're too sick. I'll get it!" He scrambled off the couch before you could stop him, hitting the floor at a run. "Don't move! I'll be right back!"
"Dick, wait—"
But he was gone, small feet thundering down the hallway toward the kitchen. Somewhere in the distance, you heard a crash. Then a giggle. Then running water.
Your phone buzzed. A text from Bruce:
How is he?
You typed back:
He asked if I was his boyfriend and then told me he'd take care of me. He's currently destroying your kitchen to get juice.
Bruce:
He was affectionate when he was younger.
You:
Well, that hasn't changed. I'm currently sick, can't breathe and have a massive headache. Yet that somehow translates to me being his personal heating pad.
Bruce:
You're doing well. Alfred will bring soup later.
You:
I'm not doing well. I'm literally dying. Tell Tim to work faster on the antidote.
Bruce:
He says it'll take at least 24 hours.
You dropped the phone on your chest and groaned.
Twenty four hours. You had twenty-four hours of this. Of being clung to, climbed on and used as furniture by a child who had the energy of a caffeinated squirrel and the emotional attachment issues of a barnacle.
Dick thundered back into the room, holding a juice box high like a trophy. There was a smear of something purple on his cheek. Possibly jam. Possibly something worse.
"I got it!" he announced, climbing back onto the couch and immediately reclaiming his spot against your side. He held the juice box out to you. "You have the first sip. Because you're sick."
You looked at the juice box. Then at his hopeful face. Then at the purple smear. "I don't want juice."
"But you have to drink!" He shook the box insistently. "Liquids! For healing!"
"Where did you learn that?"
"TV."
You took the juice box, mostly to make him stop shaking it. Apple juice. Room temperature. You took a sip and handed it back. Dick beamed like you'd given him the moon, put the straw in his mouth, and drank while maintaining eye contact. It was unsettling.
"You're staring."
"You're very pretty." he replied, around the straw.
"I'm aware. I'm also highly contagious so you might get sick."
"I don't care." He finished the juice box in one long slurp, then tucked himself against your side again, one small hand finding yours under the blankets. "I'm staying here. Forever."
"Twenty four hours," you muttered. "Just twenty-four hours. Then you're an adult again and we can find you something else to amuse yourself with."
Dick didn't answer. He was already falling asleep, worn out from his earlier escape attempts and kitchen raid. You looked down at his dark head, at the way his fingers were curled trustingly in yours, and sighed.
"Fine," you whispered, adjusting the blanket to cover him better. "Forever. But only because you're cute and I'm too tired to argue."
Dick smiled in his sleep, smug even unconscious, and held on tighter.
Your phone buzzed again. Jason:
He asleep yet?
You:
Finally.
Jason:
Told you he likes you. Even as a kid, he knows who his favorite is.
You:
He's using me as a mattress.
Jason:
Like I said. Favorite.
You didn't answer. You were too busy trying not to sneeze on your boyfriend's head and wondering exactly how much soup Alfred was bringing, because you were going to need approximately a gallon of it to survive the next day.
like a puppy boy! (yan! sub bottom! clark kent x domtop! gn! reader)
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
— masterlist ! ; related post !
a/n: short post to kickstart pride month hehe. more to come soon. just need to spread the pathetic clark kent agenda. like i said, i accidentally wrote this instead of sleeping.
*gulps* imagining an extremely flushed and overly warm clark being fingered by a smaller top reader, hands tied behind him with a fragile ribbon. the bet was set: if he doesn't move his ass to grind against the rhythm of your strokes and break the lace while you're fingers deep in him then he gets to cum, but if he dares to so much as rip the little ribbons holding him down then you get to edge him for the rest of the night— his high denied until you're satisfied enough with your punishment.
clark, as superman, prides himself in his ability to hold his strength back. but right now, golly, your fingers expertly rubbing in and out of the spongy walls of his ass has his veins bulge out of his quivering arms and buckets of sweat dribble out of his incredibly heated body. his eyes are all rolled to the back of his skull the same way his head's leaning against the bed's headboard, the poor piece of wood chipped and cracked from the way he's been repeatedly banging against it. sweat rolls like waves down his exposed adam's apple, littered with bleeding loves bites; just how he likes it.
just exactly how he begged for it.
and just right when your middle and ring finger curls up to rub that oh-so deliciously pleasurable spot inside of him, his swollen lips unleash a cacophony of gorgeous moans and breathy whines, it's like all restraints snap, the same way his wrists twists from behind him and— oh!
you removed your fingers out of him faster before he could truly reach the peak of his pleasure.
he releases a sharp cry, biting his lips when you slap his throbbing cock, where only pathetic spurts of pre-cum leaks out of his reddened tip. guilty tears water his eyes, but his shaking fingers already daintily pawing at your wrists is enough proof of his blunders.
and mistakes should always follow with correction.
"p- please..." he begs, eyes glazed with shame, humping against your clothed crotch.
yet you only glare at the discarded piece of ribbon from behind clark, then back at him, before ultimately running your thumb across his adam's apple, piercing it just a little harder when you feel him gulp.
his eyes remain fixated on your reactions, memorizing every flick of your brow, every frustrated tuts, even the way your skin grazes against his. and burns every feature and sensation of yours into his memories.
this was better than just watching you from afar before, touching himself while sniffing through your stolen blazers.
too preoccupied with his straying thoughts, he didn't notice just how hard his own hands have been clinging to your wrists.
"baby, hands off." he yelps, letting go of your wrist, arms now obediently limp at his sides. your fingers then run all the way down to his swollen nipple, twisting it, smirking widely when clark, in return, shuts his teary eyes and releases a shaky exhale. his cock only throbs even more. right, every part of him had always been sensitive.
for a man who claimed to be made of steel, he sure feels more like the fragile ribbons once tied against his wrists. and yet it's your fault for turning your past colleague this way. his inexperience is cute, but molding him to your whim is better.
maybe it's his karma for all the times you caught him staring too hard from a distance.
"you know the deal. bad boys deserve to be punished. and you proved you haven't been good to me at all— am i right?"
"y— yes."
"i can't hear you." now your fingers have found their way to toy with his faulty tip, still dribbling with pre-ejaculate, red and angry. he gasps, fists clenching the bedsheet, you hear the fabric nearly rip.
"— yes! yes, yes, yes! i- i understand" clark squeaks out a thoughtless reply, breaths coming out hasty. for a moment, it felt like the slightest bit of contact alone could make him cum.
you laugh, his face only becomes warmer.
"good," you lean in closer to him, fingers still on his tip, feeling the way his cock pulses with every slight graze. when your foreheads touch, the way perspire exudes out of his blazing skin makes, his even warmer breaths, his eyes glued to your lips— even his heartbeats thumping out of his chest makes you feel like falling in love all over again. you kiss him, eyes closed, he leans forward but is stopped by your other palm against his hairy chest.
it was a sloppy kiss, teeth clashed against teeth, drool lolls out of wet lips. for a moment, all that echoed inside your room was the sound of smacking and clark's barely concealed whimpers.
it wasn't long before you let go, though, ignoring how clark's head nearly followed you forward. like a dejected puppy, he whines.
then, like a switch, your lips touch clark's red ears, kissing it faintly. he couldn't see, but he could make out the workings of a sinister smile shaping your face. a whisper, all dark and domineering, had every vein in his body pulse like electricity had struck him.
"we're not done yet, baby. remember?"
his cock throbs when you lick the outer shell of his ears.
that's right...
the deal.
you're going to draw out as many denied orgasms as you want. you're going to drain every bit of cum out of him after. then you're going to use his body for your own pleasure, and he'll be nothing but your cute little toy by the end of the night... just exactly what he wished for.
clark is in for a long night.
goodness, he might have to call in sick for work tomorrow.
OKAY, RECEIVED. ( PART 2 )— RYLAND GRACE x Male!READER
SUMMARY: Distance means nothing to the destined and the damned.
# # TAGS: Epistolary, Transcripts, Single Dad!Reader, Doctor!Reader, Teacher!Ryland Grace, Miscommunication, You've Got Mail Type Beat, Petrova Taskforce
## WARNINGS: No Beta, Formatting this was a Nightmare. This fic contains a lot of media, but don’t worry as alt text is available. I find that it's quite difficult to read this in light mode, so dark mode is recommended. Edits made by me, images sourced from Pinterest. Basically I've just fucking lost it. Enjoy.
There is no specification of the reader’s height nor form but there is specification of his handwriting. Please Pretend That You Write Like That.
PETROVA TASKFORCE
ARCHIVAL TRANSCRIPT
TRANSCRIPT ID: COMM-LOG-INT-88
FREQUENCY: CH-09 (INTERNAL SECURITY / MEDICAL RELAY)
DATE: ▇▇, ▇▇ / 20:15 UTC
[ AUDIO START. ]
[20:15:02] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Watch-Command, this is Attending Physician, Unit B. Metabolic panels for Sector 4 are complete. Requesting clearance to log off the active medical net for the evening. Over.
[20:15:15] WATCH-COMMAND (MILLER):
Copy that, Doctor. Metabolic logs received by central grid. Clearance granted at 20:15 hours. Secure your handset and switch to standby status. Over.
[20:15:17] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
[ AUDIO FEEDBACK. ]
This thing on? Over.
[20:15:19] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Birdie, what did I tell you about using the tactical frequencies? Switch to the house channel. Over.
[20:15:22] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
House channel is very quiet and no one responds to me. Over.
[ SILENCE. ]
[ FAINT CHATTER. ]
[20:16:02] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I’m bored. Over.
[20:16:05] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Young lady.
[20:16:08] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
What’s for dinner? Over.
[20:16:13] WATCH-COMMAND (MILLER):
Hab-Deck-B, be advised this frequency is reserved for operational data and emergency triage. Clear the net. Over.
[20:16:20] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Hi, Miller.
[20:16:23] WATCH-COMMAND (MILLER):
Hi, Miss Birdie.
[20:16:30] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Apologies, Command. The civilian asset will be contained. Heading to quarters now. Unit B, actual, out.
[ AUDIO START. ]
[20:17:05] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Okay, I'm on twelve.
Birdie, do you copy?
[20:17:11] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Loud and clear!
[20:17:16] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
What are you botherin’
us for.
[20:17:22] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Nothing. Just wanted
to chat.
[20:17:27] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Okay.
[ PAPERS SHUFFLING. ]
What do you wanna
chat about?
[20:17:35] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I dunno. What did you
do today?
[20:17:41] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Lotta tough work. We’re doing as many trials as we can, putting folks to sleep.
'Course the issue isn't actually getting them to sleep. We can throw a dozen different sedatives into the line and knock a subject out in under two minutes. The real problem's the metabolic maintenance.
[20:17:54] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Medically-induced comas are so fascinating.
[20:18:04] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Yeah. It's like a pause button. They could close their eyes in your lab, sleep for four years, and when they wake up, it'll feel like only hours have passed. You're like -- removing them from time.
Super cool.
[20:18:08] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Other twelve-year-old kids don’t usually think so.
[20:18:13] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
They’re missing out.
Oh, hey! I got so much mail today! Everyone wrote me back and I got a bunch of gifts!
[20:18:25] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
[ BACKGROUND CHATTER. ]
Run the analysis again.
Thank you, Doctor.
What sorta gifts?
[20:18:34] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
It’s so funny.
I have six winter hats now.
They're all from my friends.
[20:18:43] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Winter hats?
[20:18:47] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Yeah, they think I’m in Antarctica, remember?
[20:18:52] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
Oh, yeah.
[20:18:56] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I love them all.
I might as well wear them around the facility. They’re pretty cute.
[20:19:07] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
That’s nice.
You got a favorite?
[20:19:12] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
Yeah, there's this fox one. Wraps around my ears.
I got a ton of
stickers, too.
Olivia gave me fifty
sheets.
[20:19:24] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
That’s too many stickers.
[20:19:28] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
No such thing!
[ STATIC. ]
[ SILENCE. ]
[20:19:50] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I miss them. Over.
[ STATIC. ]
[ SILENCE. ]
[20:20:12] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
I know, baby.
[20:20:18] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
[ SIGH. ]
[20:20:23] MED-UNIT-B (DR. ▇▇▇ ):
I wish things
were different. Over.
[20:20:30] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I don’t.
Don't ask me to go
back again.
[20:20:36] HAB-DECK-B (BIRDIE):
I’m okay as long as
you’re here. Over.
[ AUDIO END. ]
PETROVA TASKFORCE
ARCHIVAL TRANSCRIPT
TRANSCRIPT ID: COMM-LOG-INT-88
DATE: ▇▇, ▇▇ / 20:45 UTC
[02:45:01] [ AUDIO START. ]
[02:45:04] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _This is Dr. ▇▇▇, Attending Physician and Lead Coordinator for the Comagenesis Division, Petrova Taskforce. Recording audio log from Auxiliary Lab Four, Observation Suite B.
>> _I am accompanied on deck by senior research leads Dr. Annalise Bautista and Dr. Ethan Jackson.
>> _The time is... 0245 hours.
[02:45:32] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _We are currently observing Subject 0-42, cleared for Trial Phase 3-B at approximately 1800 hours yesterday following a titrated intravenous infusion of the revised neuro-suppressive cocktail.
>> _Current physiological vitals are stable, but highly volatile.
>> _Core body temperature is holding at thirty-four point two degrees Celsius. Heart rate is suppressed to twenty-eight beats per minute.
[02:45:58] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> [ DISTANCE VOICE, SLIGHTLY MUFFLED. ]
>> _I'm seeing a minor spike in baseline levels. Cortical micro-arousals are beginning to register in the occipital lobe on Monitor 2.
[02:46:09] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Copy that. Increase the paralytic drip by zero point five milligrams per hour. Let's keep the receptors dark before the twitching triggers a full cycle.
[02:46:21] DR. JACKSON:
>> [ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
>> _Adjusting the line now.
>> [ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
[02:46:35] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Think this one'll work?
[02:46:39] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Too early to tell. Cross your fingers.
[ SILENCE. ]
[ FAINT SHUFFLING. ]
[02:46:58] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Hey, what do you guys think about Stratt?
[02:47:04] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> [ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
>> _What about Stratt?
[02:47:08] DR. JACKSON:
>> _I don’t know. Just - -
>> _Stratt.
[02:47:13] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Like, a general idea?
[02:47:16] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Yeah, something like that.
[02:47:20] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _I’m not sure.
>> _She’s very severe, I guess. In a good way. She gets things done regardless of how crazy it may seem.
[02:47:31] DR. JACKSON:
>> _She feels a little disorganized to me.
[02:47:35] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Disorganized?
[02:47:38] DR. JACKSON:
>> _I mean look at us --
>> _We’re synthesizing coma technology for astronauts she hasn’t even recruited yet.
>> _And even when she does recruit them, the probe’s not set to come back for another month. We don’t know what’s dimming the sun.
>> _Is that her next plan? To send astronauts to the sun?
[02:47:58] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _You think that’s disorganized?
>> _She’s literally thinking twenty steps ahead. I don’t know what you mean. Even if we don’t have the data on the sun yet, we can still try to look for other solutions out there in space.
[02:48:12] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Out there in space?
[02:48:15] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _I don’t know. I’m not an astrophysicist.
[02:48:19] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _I have an audio log running, I don’t think now’s the best time to gossip.
[02:48:25] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Just edit it out later.
>> _What about you, ▇▇▇?
>> _What do you think about Stratt?
[ STATIC. ]
[ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
[ SILENCE. ]
[02:48:45] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Subject status?
[02:48:48] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Subject is stable.
[02:48:51] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Nothing’s going to get in Stratt’s way.
>> _Good for humanity. Bad for the people around her.
[02:49:01] DR. JACKSON:
>> _How’d you get saddled into all of this, anyway?
>> _I hear you took some convincing.
[02:49:08] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> [ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
>> _The convincing is downstairs in the mess hall eating ice cream.
[02:49:15] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Wait, that’s your kid?
[02:49:18] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Geez, Ethan. ‘You been living under a rock?
[02:49:22] DR. JACKSON:
>> _I don’t ask questions, alright?
>> _I see a girl running around the facility I think it’s one of the senators’.
>> _I didn’t know ▇▇▇ had a kid.
[02:49:31] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Now you do.
>> _Status?
[02:49:35] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> [ KEYBOARD TYPING. ]
>> _Ah, shit.
>> _Encephalogram is smoothing out but the delta wave amplitude is still dragging. It’s not locking into the hibernation state we need.
[02:49:48] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> [ LONG EXHALE. ]
[ SILENCE. ]
[ STATIC. ]
[02:50:02] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _As the logs will corroborate across the past three cycles, the data suggests that while we can successfully induce a prolonged, deep comatose state without immediate cellular degradation, the threshold between true metabolic stasis and irreversible brain death remains narrow.
>> _We are trying to perfect a chemical suspension that can keep human beings alive, asleep, and entirely unmonitored for years in a deep-space environment.
>> _To be entirely frank for the record... the trials have a long way to go.
>> _That’s it for Phase 3-B. In the meantime, we will reconvene.
[02:50:41] DR. JACKSON:
>> _You guys wanna go out for lunch?
[02:50:45] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Very funny.
[02:50:48] DR. JACKSON:
>> _What? This great new place just opened. I think it’s called the West Side of the Facility?
[02:50:55] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Do you have a single serious bone in your body?
[02:51:00] DR. JACKSON:
>> _You? ▇▇▇? C’mon, let’s get drinks.
[02:51:04] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Can’t.
>> _I’m the division’s representative for tonight’s plenum.
[02:51:10] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _I have literally never seen you outside of work.
[02:51:14] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Which makes me a good representative?
[02:51:18] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Which means you probably have five minutes before you drop dead.
[02:51:23] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _That’s funny, Anne.
[02:51:26] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _I got news from that plenum you’re going to attend, though.
[02:51:30] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> [ SHUFFLING. ]
>> [ FAINT THUD. ]
>> [ PAPERS RUSTLING. ]
>> _There is a difference between news and gossip.
[02:51:39] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Oh, c'mon.
>> _All I was going to say is I hear they’re recruiting more people. Making more divisions.
>> _They’re looking into microbiologists.
[02:51:50] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> [ FAINT LAUGH. ]
>> _I matched with a microbiologist once. On a dating app.
[02:51:56] DR. JACKSON:
>> _You’re on dating apps?
[02:52:00] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Was. Alright? It was a while ago.
[02:52:04] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _And? Then what?
[02:52:07] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _What do you mean, then what?
>> _Then I got shipped to the pacific and made to do all this work.
>> _I don’t talk to him anymore. I wish I still did.
[02:52:19] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _Maybe you’ll meet a new one on the Taskforce.
[02:52:23] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> _Right.
[02:52:25] DR. BAUTISTA:
>> _No, c’mon. Maybe you will.
>> _I mean just this morning I saw a printout in the office.
>> _I think they’re planning to recruit this guy named Ryland Grace?
[02:52:38] DR. ▇▇▇:
>> [ OBJECTS CLATTERING TO FLOOR. ]
[02:52:41] DR. JACKSON:
>> _Dude.
[02:52:45] [ AUDIO END. ]
ⓘ The preceding transcripts were recovered from the central USS Kilauea auxiliary comms unit. The names of particular dependencies have been redacted in compliance with the International Non-Disclosure Act regarding the Petrova Event.
been reading some omegaverse manhwas recently so the baby fever be hitting HARD, those cute little babes are so damn adorable on a screen but I absolutely HATE children irl
Bruce who's getting on in his years, but now is the time his stupid hormones decide that he wants NEEDS a baby.
The kids are all grown up now, living their own lives and the manor is so terribly vacant and in desperate need of a little one waddling around and causing trouble.
His last babe, Damian, doesn't even cling to him much anymore now that he's an angsty teenager in high school going through puberty.
So you just HAVE to breed him. Absolutely stuff him full of your cum 'til his belly's all swollen with your child and his breasts are full of milk for the little baby (you?) to suck on.
Wouldn't a babe that looks just like you and him be adorable? Well he's not getting any younger, SO HURRY UP AND BREED HIM NOW.
🍼MAMA NEEDS A BABY RIGHT NOW🧸
Warnings: SubBottom! Character (vague genitalia, mention of womb), DomTop! reader, AMAB no pronouned reader, creampie, implied multiple rounds, established relationships. No use of y/n.
Note: U guys are getting me to wanna fuck this old man. MY STREET CRED NOOOOO-
!!------------------------------------!!
The manor has always been big, but ever since Bruces parents died it’s been lonely too. The years and wards rise and dip with children to fill it’s rooms and halls with laughter, and now that only one puppy remains the grandeur of Wayne Manor once again haunts it’s owner.
Bruce doesn’t really know what to do with himself as of late. Gothams safety has been more or less forked over to his older kids, and he’s similarly no longer the prime eyed sponsor he used to be.
Bruce has you now though, and that counts for something. Your ring in his finger catches every light he passes, and your warm body grounds him every restless night without fail. Bruce loves you, and he loves you in a way he’s never loved anyone else before. Maybe that’s why this…unexplainable sudden urge has over taken him so violently.
Bruce wants a baby. Not just any baby, not another orphan to nurse and coddle off the streets (not that he’d ever turn one away), but your baby. A mix of the sexy hot shot love of his life and him. A wryly tiny thing for him to raise from the ground up. Bruce considers all his children truly his, but to develop one from the depths of his womb would be…something else. Wouldn’t it?
Your omega isn’t subtle about this want either, that is after he scopes that it isn’t a lost cause to bring it up to you. Constantly rubbing up and cooing at you. Faux nonchalantly groping his stomach and chest and asking if he’d suit a fuller figure (who wouldn’t?). The tension breaks when your husband refuses to let you fuck him with a condom. Whining and hissing that you have to give him a little one.
“Lover, darling, please.” Bruce scoffs underneath you, pawing at your arms and shoulders. As if willing you into fucking him raw. “A baby, I want a baby.”
He pulls at you until you push in, unsheathed and closer than ever. Bruce writhes like you’ve never fucked him before. Drunk on the very prospect of being knocked up and full of your load. “Lover, lover.”
One round is rarely enough for a man of such insatiably, but even more so now. Bruce demands you bend him this way and that, at this pace and his proper angle. If too much of your seed seeps out between positions thats two more climaxes you owe for your wastefulness. Don’t think he isn’t above scooping that white goodness up and fucking it back inside of his hole via his fingers.
At the end of it all you fall asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms. Your soft, and frankly raw, cock still buried deep between his hole. Bruce purrs a low but soothing melody to fall asleep to. Blissed out completely.
The sun was blazing down on the private stretch of beach Bruce had somehow secured for the day. The Batfamily was scattered around — some lounging under umbrellas, others playing volleyball further down the sand. Dick had dragged you here with that bright, charming grin of his, insisting you needed “a real day off” and that he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
You were trying to relax on your towel, eyes closed behind your sunglasses, soaking in the warmth. But it was impossible.
Dick Grayson was impossible.
He was wearing a pair of blue board shorts that should honestly be illegal. They were ridiculously short, barely reaching mid-thigh, the bright cyan fabric clinging to his narrow hips and hugging the curve of his ass in a way that left very little to the imagination. Every time he moved, the shorts rode up just a little higher, revealing the strong, toned lines of his thighs and the sharp cut of his obliques.
You tried to ignore him. You really did.
Then you heard the sound of waves and opened your eyes.
Dick was walking out of the ocean, carrying a surfboard under one arm like it weighed nothing. Water streamed down his body in rivulets, tracing every ridge of muscle on his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet and messy, pushed back from his forehead. The sunlight made his skin glisten, highlighting the perfect V of his hips disappearing into those dangerously short blue shorts.
He looked like a fucking fantasy.
Dick shook his head, sending droplets flying, and caught your stare immediately. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.
Instead of heading straight toward the group, he veered toward you, surfboard still tucked under his arm, water dripping from his body onto the sand. His shorts clung even more obscenely now that they were wet, the thin fabric molded to the prominent bulge at the front and the firm swell of his ass.
“You’re staring,” he teased as he stopped right beside your towel, voice low enough that only you could hear. He planted the surfboard in the sand and stood over you, droplets falling from his body onto your legs. “Thought you were trying to enjoy the sun?”
You swallowed hard and forced your gaze back up to his face.
“I was,” you muttered, trying to sound casual. “Until someone decided to put on the world’s smallest board shorts and play lifeguard.”
Dick’s smirk widened. He crouched down beside you, one knee planted in the sand, giving you an even better view of the way those shorts stretched across his thighs and crotch. Water continued dripping from his hair onto your chest.
“These?” he asked innocently, plucking at the hem of the shorts. The movement made them ride up even higher. “They’re just normal board shorts. Comfortable for surfing.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Why? Are they distracting you?”
He leaned in closer, voice dropping into that husky tone he knew drove you crazy.
“Because if they are… I can always take them off later.”
Your face heated instantly. Dick chuckled softly, clearly pleased with himself, and brushed a wet strand of hair out of his eyes. He let his gaze drag slowly down your body before meeting your eyes again.
He stood back up, giving you one last deliberate stretch that flexed every muscle in his torso, before shooting you a wink and heading toward the rest of the family like he hadn’t just ruined your ability to relax for the rest of the day.
As he walked away, you caught his ass in those tiny blue board shorts — firm, round, and barely covered, the wet fabric clinging to every curve with each step.
hi just wanna say i love your timmy 4skin blurb so much udek how many times i’ve reread it 🤤🤤 could you expand on the idea sometime pretty please and also tim with foreskin oughh oh my god bro im so bricked
⋆˙⟡ Are You Just Happy To See Me? ಇ.
Warnings: Head while asleep (reader receiving), frothing, AMAB but no pronouns are used for reader, established relationship. No use of y/n.
Note: Pt. 2 of '4 Me?' kinda. Enjoy!!
!!------------------------------------!!
Tim, who’s so obsessed with worshipping your cock to the point where it’s almost a hindrance to your daily schedule. You can’t blame him! (You…totally can). It’s just so inciting, and anything is easy access if you’re quick enough about it.
Every morning without fail, you wake up down his warm throat, Tim will still be in uniform, waving your complaints about him retiring already off. “Can’t sleep without this,” he’ll breathe around your cock, drool slicking down his chin. “N’ you can’t start your day without me either, right baby? Ah, just cum already.”
Really, he just wants to lick up the sweat you've accumulated in your cock hood throughout the night before you wash up. It's his treat for doing such a good job on patrol. The sweetest thing he could ask for.
You're so cute sleeping soundly when Tim enters the room. Even cuter when you groan as he shifts your sleep shorts off, boxers along with it. Your cock is limp, sticking to your thigh, foreskin totally encasing its head, and then some. Tim hasn't been able to get you to shower with him yet. For all you know, it's so he can perv on you. Which is wrong! He...isn't a pervert at all.
Tim only wants to watch you pull your own skin down and clean between the hood. Then perv out on you, jeez.
If time allows, he also likes to see you off before he heads back out again. Pushing you down against one of the couches or up against the wall. Palming your cock with all his might so that he can froth his hood onto yours. It's a little silly, but Tim would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous of how long your foreskin is. His doesn't even fully encase his tip!
"Hah...[name]," He hisses, jerking his clammy palm over the girth of your combined thickness. While you can only writhe in pleasure, Tim's laser focus on the slit of your tips peaking out with every thrust down his hand pulls. "Baby...shit, fuck yeah. That's the stuff."
SUMMARY: A astrobiologist and his sole surviving crewmate are trapped together in deep space, not realizing how quickly their professional boundaries are about to completely dissolve.
Tags: Ryland Grace/Male Reader, POV Ryland Grace, Dom!Reader, Sub!Ryland Grace, Touch Starvation, Trapped in Space, Slow Burn to High Heat, Science Metaphors, Explicit, Edging, Mind Melting.
Total Word Count: ~3,200 words
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Chapter 1: The Co-Efficiency of Friction
Human skin sheds roughly forty thousand dead cells every single minute.
Yeah. Gross, I know. It was the exact kind of useless trivia Ryland used to throw at his middle schoolers back in his classroom just to watch them write “ew” in the margins of their notebooks. But out here, in the cold, endless void of the Tau Ceti system, it was the only stupid math keeping Ryland from losing his mind. Forty thousand cells a minute. Which meant the Hail Mary wasn't just a spaceship; it was a sealed metal box slowly filling up with the microscopic, physical dust of two men.
Two men. Not one.
When Ryland first crawled out of the amnesia haze of his coma, surrounded by creepy robotic arms and the mummified remains of his actual crewmates, he thought he was totally alone in the universe. But then, in the third pod, there was a heartbeat. A steady, stubborn little beep on the monitor.
You.
It took weeks of grueling physical therapy, a lot of stomach-churning space-slurry feeding tubes, and several frantic breakdowns that Ryland technically hid by locking himself in the lab to get You upright. But now, You were here. Standing in the middle of the science bay, squinting at a digital readout of the Petrova lamps, wearing nothing but a pair of issued grey sweatpants and a tank top that showed off the sharp, clean line of Your collarbone.
Oh, great, Ryland thought, his brain instantly short-circuiting. Fantastic. He's attractive. Just what I needed on a suicide mission.
"Grace," You murmured, Your voice still carrying that rough, low gravel from months of artificial sleep. You didn't even look at him, Your fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the console. "The radiation shielding on the starboard side is fluctuating by point-zero-two percent. Is that normal, or are we about to turn into glowing space meat?"
Ryland stopped washing his beaker. He didn't mean to stare, he really didn't, but his brain was currently undergoing a massive system crash.
For months on Earth, Ryland had been isolated in a sterile underground lab under Eva Stratt’s iron fist. Then came the coma. He hadn't been touched—not truly touched, with warmth and human intent—in almost a year. Every nerve ending in his body felt like a live wire waiting for a spark. And You were standing less than three feet away, smelling like the ship’s recycled water and warm, clean skin.
"Uh. Normal," Ryland squeaked. He cleared his throat frantically, trying to sound like a respectable scientist instead of a guy losing his mind over a clavicle. "Totally normal. The Astrophage is just... settling. It’s like a car engine warming up. No glowing space meat. I promise."
You finally turned your head, a faint, tired smile touching Your lips. "Good. Because I didn't survive a suicide mission to the stars just to get micro-waved."
You stepped closer. Too close. The science bay was a masterpiece of efficient, cramped engineering, which meant any movement required a delicate ballet of dodging elbows and hips. You reached past him to grab a stylus from the magnetic strip, and Your bare forearm brushed firmly against his.
It was a fraction of a second. Just a brief, heavy glide of skin against skin.
Ryland completely froze. A physical shockwave went straight up his spine, so intense his fingers twitched and he nearly dropped the glass beaker right into the sink. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Holy moly. Touch. That was touch. A real, warm human.
"You okay, Ryland?" You asked, noticing how stiff his shoulders had gotten. You didn't move away. In fact, You tilted Your head, Your dark eyes scanning his face with a sudden, quiet intensity that made his skin feel tight.
"Yep! Fine! Great!" Ryland muttered, his voice way too high. He frantically wiped the beaker with a towel, over and over. "Just... thinking about data. Lots of data. Brain is full."
You let out a soft huff of laughter, but Your eyes lingered on his mouth for a heartbeat longer than necessary before You turned back to the screen. Ryland stared down at his own hands. He’s a man of science, but right now, the only hypothesis he could form was that if You touched him like that again, he was going to completely fall apart.
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Chapter 2: The Thermal Mass of Two Bodies
The problem with the Hail Mary was that everything was shared. The oxygen, the water, the terrifying burden of saving the human race—and the sleeping quarters.
There were only two operational bunks left after the equipment shift. They were stacked vertically, little more than padded shelves recessed into the bulkhead, separated by a thin privacy curtain. But tonight, the ship’s primary life-support system was running a diagnostic cycle, which meant the heating grids in the bunk area were completely dead for the next six hours.
"It's freezing," You muttered, walking into the main cabin while rubbing Your arms. Your breath formed a faint plume of mist in the dim, emergency-red lighting. "Tell me the Astrophage didn't die."
"Astrophage is fine," Ryland said, huddled on the small bench with a thick insulation blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He probably looked like a miserable space-penguin, his teeth clicking together. "The ship is just re-routing power. It’s going to be like a meat locker in here until zero-four-hundred."
You stood there, shivering, looking at the tiny bench and then at him. The blanket Ryland was holding was the only heavy-duty thermal layer outside of the EVA suits, and it was barely big enough for one person to wrap themselves in completely.
"Move over," You said suddenly.
Ryland's eyes widened. "What?"
"Move over, Grace. Basic thermodynamics," You said, stepping up to the bench and not waiting for his permission. "Two bodies generate more thermal mass than one. If we sit separately, we both freeze. If we share the blanket, we don't. Scootch over."
Oh, boy. Okay. Thermodynamics. Sure. Let's go with that, Ryland’s brain scrambled for a counter-argument—something about personal space, or the psychological boundaries of a command structure—but You were already sitting down right next to him.
The contact was immediate and total. Your thigh pressed firmly against his from hip to knee. Ryland let out a small, choked gasp as You reached out, grabbing the edges of the heavy silver blanket and pulling it over both of Your laps, tucking it in tight around Your sides.
"Jesus, you're like a furnace," You whispered, leaning Your shoulder heavily against his.
Ryland literally couldn't breathe. Every single point of contact felt like it was branded with fire. The touch-starvation he had been trying to ignore for weeks violently rushed to the surface, making his entire body tremble. He wanted to pull away out of sheer, overwhelming panic, but his instincts—the deep, primal part of him that was absolutely starving for human warmth—forced him to stay rooted to the spot.
"I—uh. High metabolism," Ryland managed to choke out. He was staring straight ahead, his arms locked tight against his chest to keep from accidentally grabbing You. "Lots of... caloric intake."
"Mmm. Keep talking," You murmured. Your head dropped, Your cheek resting softly against his shoulder. Your eyes drifted shut, exhausted from the day's repairs. "Your voice is nice. It's warm."
A giant, heavy lump formed in Ryland's throat. He looked down at the top of Your head, the messy strands of Your hair just inches from his lips. You looked so vulnerable like this, stripped of the survivalist bravado You wore during the work shifts. You were just a guy, millions of miles away from everything You had ever known, looking for comfort in the dark.
Slowly, deliberately, Ryland let his arm relax. He allowed his shoulder to sink into Yours, absorbing the heavy, comforting weight of Your body. He let out a long, trembling exhale, his eyes stinging with sudden, hot tears.
He was so goddamn lonely. And You were right here.
Ryland didn't sleep at all that night. He spent the entire six hours frozen in place, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of Your breathing, his heart keeping time with Yours under the silver blanket, completely intoxicated by the simple, quiet magic of being held.
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Chapter 3: The Breaking Point
The tension didn't disappear when the heat came back on. It got way worse.
It was in the way Your eyes lagged on him while he worked in the lab. It was in the way Ryland's hand would shake whenever he passed You a tool, Your fingers deliberately brushing against his, lingering just a second too long. The air inside the Hail Mary became thick, charged with an invisible static electricity that had nothing to do with the ship's reactors.
The breaking point happened during a routine inspection of the fuel lines in the lower maintenance crawlspace.
It was a space less than four feet high, requiring both of them to crawl on their hands and knees amidst a maze of pulsing pipes and bundles of wiring. Ryland was in the lead, holding a diagnostic scanner, his breath echoing loudly inside the cramped metal tube.
"Okay, the primary manifold looks... wait," Ryland stopped, squinting at the screen. "That’s weird. The pressure here is higher than it should be."
"Let me see," You said from behind him.
You crawled forward, Your body moving over his until You were draped over his back, Your chest pressing firmly against Ryland's shoulder blades as You leaned over his shoulder to look at the scanner. The heat of Your torso radiated through his jumpsuit, Your breath hot and sharp against the sensitive skin of his neck.
Ryland's hand shook so violently he dropped the scanner. It clattered against the metal floor.
"Ryland?" You asked quietly.
"I can't—" Ryland choked out, his voice cracking completely. The proximity, the smell of You, the absolute weight of Your body pressing him down into the metal deck was too much. The wire finally snapped. "I can't do this, ███. I can't."
"Can't do what?"
"This!" Ryland burst out, twisting around in the cramped space until he was lying on his back, staring up at You. You were hovering directly over him, Your hands planted on either side of his head, your faces inches apart. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide and frantic. “Do you realize what you’re doing to me? You’re always close—always finding some excuse to touch me. Every glance, every brush of your hand, drives me completely insane. We’re the last two men left in the universe, ███. I should be focused on saving the world, but instead, you’re all I can think about. No matter how hard I try, my mind keeps coming back to you.”
The silence that followed was deafening, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines. Ryland immediately regretted it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought, wanting to dissolve into the floorboards. He just confessed to his crewmate. Now it’s going to be weird forever. Oh, great. Brilliant job, Grace.
But You didn't look shocked at all. Your eyes darkened, a heavy, intense heat flaring in Your gaze that made Ryland's breath catch in his throat.
“You think you’re the only one?” You whispered, your voice dropping into a low, steady tone that made the air between you feel heavier. Your gaze held his firmly as you stepped just a little closer, enough for the space between you to tighten. “Ryland… I’ve been watching you for weeks. The way you move around the lab, the way you talk about science—like it’s the only thing that matters.” Your breath hitched slightly, honesty slipping through the control in your voice. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I honestly thought I was going crazy.”
Before Ryland could even process the words, You leaned down, closing the distance between them.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a collision of months of suppressed terror, loneliness, and raw, burning lust. Your lips slammed into his, hard and demanding, parting his mouth instantly. Ryland let out a loud, needy groan, his hands flying up to grip Your shoulders, his fingers digging deep into the fabric of Your shirt as he pulled You down onto him.
The taste of You was intoxicating. Your tongue slid into his mouth, claiming the wet space with a fierce, possessive hunger that made his hips buck involuntarily against Yours. The friction of your bodies rubbing together in the tight, hot crawlspace was a sensory explosion. Ryland’s mind went entirely blank, his intellect completely melting away under the onslaught of Your mouth.
You pulled back just an inch, Your lips slick, Your breath coming in ragged gasps as You stared down at him. "The lab," You muttered against his skin, Your thumb tracing his jawline with a fierce, trembling grip. "Now."
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Chapter 4: The Chemistry of Displacement
The transition from the maintenance shaft to the lab counter was a blur of friction and oxygen deprivation. Ryland’s brain, normally a finely tuned instrument of logic and sequence, was failing him. It was short-circuiting under the sheer volume of tactile data.
You. Your hands. Your weight.
When You shoved him back against the edge of the primary examination table, the cold stainless steel bit into his lower back through his jumpsuit, creating a jarring, freezing contrast to the blistering heat of Your body wedged between his thighs. You reached down, Your fingers hooking into the front zipper of his uniform and tearing it down with a sharp, heavy snap.
"Jumpsuit off, Grace," You ordered, Your voice dropping into a low, quiet authority that Ryland had never heard before. It wasn't the voice of a co-astronaut; it was the voice of someone taking absolute territory. "Hands at your sides. Don’t move."
Ryland's breath hitched, a frantic, high-pitched whimper escaping his throat. He wanted to argue—he was the primary science officer, for heaven's sake—but his arms felt like lead. The touch-starvation he had been harboring for a year had turned into a physical dependency the second Your bare chest pressed against his. His eyelids fluttered closed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Look at me," You commanded, Your palm coming down in a firm, heavy slap against his clothed thigh. The sharp crack echoed through the sterile bay, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to his groin. "I didn't say you could close your eyes, Grace."
Ryland’s eyes snapped open, his pupils completely blown out, reflecting the emergency red lighting of the bay. He was flushed a deep, brilliant crimson from his chest to his ears. “I’m looking,” he gasped out, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that embarrassed him. “I’m looking. Please...”
You didn't rush. You reached over, grabbing a tube of medical-grade conductive gel from the lab supply rack. Ryland watched in a daze of anticipation as You flipped the cap with Your thumb and squeezed a generous, thick pooling of the clear fluid over Your fingers.
When Your wet, gel-slicked fingertips first touched the tight, un-stretched skin of his entrance, Ryland violently bucked off the table.
“Ah—wait! Wait, that’s—”
“Easy,” You said, Your voice calm but completely unyielding as Your free hand pinned his hip flat against the steel with inescapable force. “You’re too tight, Ryland. If I don’t take my time opening you up, I’ll end up hurting you.” Your hands stayed steady at his hips, grounding him as You leaned in slightly. “Breathe... and relax for me.”
Ryland bit his lip so hard he tasted copper, his knuckles turning white as he clawed at the edges of the metal table for purchase. You pushed one finger inside, testing the resistance, and Ryland let out a ragged, choked sob. It was an overwhelming, invasive fullness. His internal walls convulsed around You, desperately fighting the intrusion, but Your touch was patient and firm. You began to stroke inward, Your thumb pressing against his perineum, deliberately seeking out the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves inside.
Anatomy, Ryland’s brain scrambled, trying to cling to clinical facts to stay sane. The prostate gland. Approximately two to three centimeters inside. Surrounded by smooth muscle. Oh, great, he was doing biochemistry during a hookup, brilliant—
Then Your finger hooked upward, striking the exact spot, and all scientific thought dissolved into a high, broken wail.
“There it is,” You whispered darkly, watching the way Ryland’s head tossed back, his throat arching elegantly as fresh tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “You like that, don’t you, Grace? You’re already slick.”
You added a second finger, then a third, stretching him with a slow, agonizingly thorough rhythm that turned his insides to molten liquid. Ryland was weeping openly now, completely undone by the preparatory torture. His lower body was entirely loose, weeping precum onto his own stomach, primed and completely hollowed out for You.
By the time You withdrew Your fingers with a wet, heavy slide, Ryland was shaking from head to toe, completely dependent on Your hands to keep him from sliding off the table.
You didn't give him a moment to recover. You lined Your thick, rigid length against his dripping entrance. Ryland stared down at the sheer scale of You, his breath completely stalling in his lungs. You were thick-veined, heavy, and stretching him open visually before You even entered.
With a slow, deliberate lean of Your hips, You began to sink inside.
“Oh, God… ███—!” Ryland shrieked, a desperate, breathless cry tearing from his lungs as his body was forced to accommodate Your massive girth. It felt like being split open from the inside out, an impossible, suffocating fullness that buried deeper and deeper until You bottomed out, Your hips locking hard against his.
Ryland let out a long, trembling sob, his eyes wide and glazed with a mixture of shock and sheer, unadulterated ecstasy. You were so deep he could feel the throb of Your pulse against his internal walls.
“You took all of it,” You muttered, Your chest rising and falling as You secured Your grip around his waist, holding him firmly against the table. “Now we’re staying right here until you’re completely ruined, got it?”
You didn't rush the climax. For the next forty-five minutes, You subjected Ryland to a brutal, agonizingly prolonged demonstration of human stamina. You locked into a slow, heavy, punishing pace—withdrawing until almost the crowning tip left his lips, only to plunge back in to the hilt, deliberately crushing his prostate with every single stroke. The lab filled with the explicit, wet sounds of Your coupling. Ryland was completely reduced, a sobbing, whining mess under Your weight.
Every time he felt the explosive wave of a climax building in his lower stomach, the desperation became too much to bear.
“Ah... nn-nh, no, please…” Ryland whimpered, his voice dissolving into a broken, high-pitched whine of pure sensory frustration. It wasn't a shout, but a pathetic, breathless plea, completely ruined by the heat. “Don’t stop… ███, please, I’m right there… let me, please let me…”
Beneath You, Ryland's hips bucked frantically in tiny, useless twitches, his internal walls constricting in a desperate, weeping search for friction. He was teetering on the razor-thin edge of a helpless climax, his chest heaving as a soft sob caught in his throat.
But You weren't about to let him off that easily.
With a low growl, You suddenly halted Your rhythm. You buried Your massive length to the hilt, pinning Ryland flat against the desk to freeze him completely in place.
"Ah, ah, puppy," You purred darkly against his ear, Your hot breath making him shudder. "Who told you that you could cum?"
Ryland let out a tortured, wet whimper, his entire body shaking as the sudden lack of movement left him stranded and agonizingly close at the absolute peak. He tried to squirm against Your thickness, a quiet, desperate sob spilling past his lips. But You locked him down, reaching around to wrap Your fingers securely around the base of Ryland's rigid, leaking length—completely blocking his release.
Ryland’s eyelids fluttered open, his blue eyes completely drowned in tears of sheer overstimulation. He looked at Your dominant, unyielding expression and completely fractured. “You do,” he wept, his fingers clawing at Your shoulders, pulling You down into a messy, wet kiss. “You own it. Just move. Please… please, move.”
You stopped him once. You stopped him twice. You stopped him a third time, stretching the encounter out for nearly an hour until Ryland’s mind was completely blank, his intellect entirely burned away by the kinky, agonizing denial. He was nothing but a weeping, trembling instrument for Your pleasure.
Only when his internal walls were violently spasming around You in an involuntary, desperate rhythm did You finally release Your grip on his length. You picked up the pace to a blinding, savage blur, hammering into him one final time, driving Ryland over the edge into a messy, cataclysmic release that left him screaming into the dark.
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Epilogue: The Equilibrium of Rest
Two hours later, the science bay was quiet again.
The sterile lights had been dimmed back to a soft, ambient glow. The data screens were still blinking silently in the background, tracking the course of the Hail Mary through the infinite dark, but for the first time since the mission began, the ship didn't feel like a tomb.
Ryland was lying curled on his side on the narrow examination bench, his head resting securely on Your bare chest. His jumpsuit was loosely pulled back up to his waist, his skin still flushed, breathing in slow, exhausted drafts. Your arm was wrapped securely around his shoulders, Your fingers mindlessly tracing small, soothing circles into the bare skin of his back.
Oh, wow, Ryland thought, his brain finally functioning at a normal, non-panicked baseline. We actually did that. I just got completely unmade by my crewmate on a sterile lab counter. Very professional, Grace.
But as he felt the steady, heavy thump of Your heartbeat beneath his cheek, the lingering spark of anxiety completely evaporated. The suffocating loneliness that had been weighing down on his chest for months was just... gone. Replaced by a profound, heavy warmth.
"Hey," You murmured quietly, Your voice a low rumble against his ear that made his stomach do a pleasant little flip.
Ryland shifted slightly, a soft, content sigh leaving his lips as he snuggled closer into Your side, his nose pressing into the crook of Your neck. "Hmm?"
"You're not overthinking the physics of what just happened, are you?"
Ryland let out a faint, sleepy chuckle, his fingers reaching out to lightly trace the line of Your jaw. "Actually," he whispered, a tired, dorky smile touching his lips. "I was just doing the math on our proximity. And I think the co-efficiency of friction between us is... absolutely perfect."
You smiled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. Out here, in the cold, unyielding void of space, the universe was vast and terrifying. But inside the tiny metal walls of the Hail Mary, tucked securely in each other's arms, You both had found exactly what You needed to survive.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Hey, Writer San here. I’m pretty new to writing on Tumblr, so this is one of my first attempts at a fanfic. I really hope you enjoyed reading it and that it was to your liking…
If you have any thoughts, feedback, or even criticism, I’d genuinely appreciate it. Don’t be shy. Please.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this. Bye-bye!♥︎
can you plz do some michael myers x dom reader smut ☹️☹️
BOUNCE ON IT
michael myers x male reader
authors note: I'm still not that great at writing smut, so I hope you can excuse any mistakes you may find. Also, I kinda changed your ask to have Michael be more of a power bottom because I just think it fits him more. Like, sure, the male reader has his cock inside him, but I think Michael is still in control and not as kitten/soft like as other smut paint him as. He's also still stoic as fuck though.
WARNING: 18+ SMUT AHEAD
"Fuck," You hissed, bitting your lip hard enough to draw blood as Michael began to deep throat your cock. The pleasure didn't gradually speed up nor you didn't expect him to go easy on you. After all, even with Michael being on his knees and giving you the most intense blow job to date, he was in total control.
"Mikey, please slow down. Imma cum quickly if you—"
You moaned deeply as he began to speed up even more, blond hair covering his eyes as he looked up at you unmoved. He gave no outward reaction that this was pleasurable for him, blank eyes staring at your soul as he showed you his non-existent gag reflex.
Your hands moved to his head, seeking stability of some kind, but before they made contact with his hair, Michael pulled back and stood up. The sight of your pre-cum rolling down the side of his mouth was erotic, you couldn't help but follow. However, he pushed you back on the bed and the world tilted.
You landed with a soft thud, the breath knocked from your lungs, and before you could even process the fall, his weight was on you.
His hands, rough and calloused, shot out, grabbing your wrists and slamming them into the pillows above your head. The sheer difference in strength and size between you two sent a jolt of electricity straight to your already aching cock. You struggled instinctively, but it was useless. He was a damn rock.
"Mikey—"
One of his hands traveled to your neck, cutting off oxygen as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. His eyes, still that unnerving, placid blue, held no mercy. He was a blank slate, a beautiful, terrifying machine, and you were the thing he was currently taking apart. You could smell yourself on his breath, see the faint sheen of your pre-cum still on his lips.
The sight made your hips buck involuntarily.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, the first real sound you'd heard from him, and it vibrated through your entire body.
It was a warning.
He shifted his weight, the movement fluid and terrifyingly fast. He kept his hand locked around your throat, using the other to line up your slick, throbbing cock with his entrance. With a brutal, downward thrust of his powerful hips, he impaled himself on you in one, single, devastating motion.
A strangled cry tore from your throat, the sound muffled by the pressure on your neck. The heat, the tightness, the sheer force of him taking you was overwhelming. Michael didn't pause. He didn't let you adjust. He set a punishing rhythm from the very first bounce, his massive thighs flexing as he lifted himself up and slammed back down.
His hand on your throat cut off just enough air to make your vision swim at the edges. Yet the lack of oxygen also sharpened every sensation. The drag of his tight heat around you, the slap of his ass against your thighs, the sight of his powerful, sweat-slicked body rising and falling above you.
He leaned over you, his chest against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear. Still, he was silent, save for the low, guttural grunts that escaped with each punishing drop.
The pressure in your core built to an unbearable peak, a coil wound so tight it was about to snap. And, as if sensing it, Michael's pace became erratic, his movements deeper and faster.
He was close too.
The hand on your throat disappeared and he pulled you up slightly for a bruising, possessive kiss. It was all teeth and tongue, a fight for dominance that he won without even trying. The new angle made the tip of your cock touch his g-spot repeatedly, causing his eyes to water slightly.
You couldn't handle it anymore.
The combination of everything sent you over the edge. Your orgasm ripped through you, violent and all-consuming, your body convulsing beneath him as you cummed deep inside him. He followed a moment later, a deep, silent shudder running through his massive frame as his own cum painted your stomach.
Hi Sin, can I request a yandere!batfam x villain!yandere!reader ? I loved your headcanons about yan!batfam, and now i need them with a yan reader that is as dangerous as them.
My Heart Beats Faster When I'm Near You...
Warnings: Usual Yandere shenanigans (mutually toxic), established relationship. No use of y/n.
Note: Kinda a pt. 2 of 'The Red On My Face Is Matching you', not needed for total context, but I would recomend reading before this part. If these suckers weren't inhumanly strong and trained, I would lock them in a dog cage in my closet forever. Poke them with sticks between the bars. Ruff ruff (U●ᴥ●U) !!
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Bruce Wayne
The sum of this relationship is that two of the worst people you've ever met found each other so that they wouldn't be anyone else's problem. Only if that letter part was totally true...Gothamites pray.
It's not hard to notice you're watching him back with how insubtle you're being in your trail. Not out of stupidity, no, not at all. You want the Batman to notice. You know that he's Bruce Wayne, and it's terrible.
Your ever-watchful eye has Bruce in a downward spiral, and he latches back on just as tight. It isn't until you present yourself to him in your civilian identity in the middle of a gala that he realizes he may have just met his match.
Your letters come in flurries to the manner then, and you're constantly wreaking havoc upon Gotham's streets in hopes of drawing out attention every night without fail.
Technically, he has better things to do, but what sort of vigilante would he be if he were to turn a blind eye to any sort of evil mischief? Besides, there's no telling what you'll do if you get restless.
...you get violent, he quickly learns. Those heartfelt letters turn erratic and threatening, and more so than endangering regular people, you corner and ward off other villains. If you can't have his time and attention, no one can.
Bruce's preferred dates are when he can visit you in Arkham Asylum. Clearly, you aren't of sound mind (to be honest, neither is he), but here he can act as level-headed as he believes himself to be.
If he also had things his way, your relationship would remain strictly in uniform. You, however, have other plans. Always inserting yourself into his children's patrols and stirring up the media with your real name to encourage gossip about your relationships. Friends and family alike would be more derrered if it wasn't so obvious Bruce was into it.
It's a battle of power and control with this one, and his desire to never be known or seen. Don't let him warp you under his obsessive thumb. Bruce can't win.
Dick Grayson
"Is this poison again? Aw, you doll!"
It's coddle central up in here between you two. Dick doesn't want you to strain or hurt yourself trailing after him during patrols...likewise, you wish he'd stay tied up at home rather than risking his life every night.
He thinks you're so silly. What a cutie you are! Always throwing fits and tantrums for his attention. Dicks never felt more loved.
When your needs bleed over onto other Bluhaven residents, though...that's when it's not so funny. You already have his heart. Can't you wait a few hours for him to get back to you? It's annoying at that rate to have to constantly soothe you, adverse to the other evils that lurk in the night.
Not that he would ever say that out loud! Dick's a gentleman, after all. Shame on him if he ever makes you feel bad about your very important needs.
Whenever Dick apprehends you, he never turns you in. Instead, he throws an unfortunetly placed lesser villain in your stead. You spend the rest of the morning and day in his arms, doing exactly what he wants as 'punishment'.
But he's very forgiving, with a loving touch too. Always murmuring sweet nothings and praise against your ear, hands roaming up and down your body. It's...not much of a punishment if you both enjoy it. Is it? Like hell anyone cares to come in between you two, though.
Jason Todd
You have to be careful with your obsession with Jason, although you know he shares the same interest in you. Oh, Jason, so sensitive, so sheepish, and skittish. You're sure you'd scare him off if he truly knew about you.
While your love drives himself crazy with shame and self-doubt, you spend your time lulling him into your sweet embrace from behind the scenes.
To his face, you're nothing but a well-meaning civilian, if not...a bit weird, but who isn't in Gotham? Your greatest act, however, is deceiving him with your villainous mask. Eliminating anything that would dare to distract his thoughts and time from you.
Jason has never had a stable home, and even though he knows what a healthy relationship should look like, it's different experiencing the hot, possessive hand of your love. It feels...really good. He wants it. Bad.
The whole time, Jason makes himself out to feel like he's the one manipulating you. He's a dirty, washed-up wannabe vigilante impeding on your time. You let him think that, playing and feeding into it, even. You only want what's best for him after all...cheeky thing.
Just don't get cocky, Jason is still detective-raised and trained. His guilt warps his conscience, but he isn't stupid. Do not get ahead of yourself, or it will be your downfall.
Let him come to you, all teary-eyed and in desperate need of reassurance. Dab and kiss at his wounds. Tell him all that he wants to hear. He's a good guy deep down, oh, you know he is.
Tim Drake
My HC's 'I've already got your heart' kind of goes into this scenario already, where you're both stalkers trying to out-freak each other. Still, there's no harm sprinkling a little more Yandere here and there...
Unlike some of his other siblings, where your villainous streak is downplayed, it specifically is what Tim adores. It gets him so hot and bothered knowing you've taken so much time to set up a mystery for him to decode.
Make him choose between you and a bunch of civilians in the trolley dilemma! Of course, he's going to choose the people because he has a mantle to uphold, but he's stroking it to the very brain tease.
Tim genuinely becomes the Batman to your Riddler, in the most extreme way possible. You both have fun roleplaying your daytime personas casually, whilst fist-fighting teeth to knuckle at night, only to lock bloody lips later on.
Only you can match his genius, his intellect, finally! A worthy mind in this new era of soft-hearted petty thieves and villains. Tim couldn't ask for anything more.
Go read my mentioned HC's if you wanna know more about this dynamic with Tim (˶ > ₃ < ˶)♡.
Cassandra Cain
Her only frame of reference for romance is her books and movies; everything else is...well, cold and unnatural. It's considerably easier to coax her into your arms despite your villainhood because she can tell you're being earnest, and that she sees and wants the best for you.
Cass has spent a long time believing she was just like you, well, your assumed evilness. She was no good, only destined for cruelty and to hurt others. So if she can change, so can you.
While you ocestrate her to your side night after night, Cass is determined to have you come to hers just the same. She takes after her new mentor in that regard.
To others, it's a waste of time. She should simply wash her hands of you and send you to Arkham, or, better yet, Gotham State Penitentiary.
Cass takes everything you do through rose-colored glasses; she truly sees no ill will in your movements and, therefore, your heart. That is why she's content to 'waste her time'.
Still, that doesn't mean your intentions are so well-meaning. You care about her, and not much else.
Her combat skills make it hard to confront her head-on, so you're always leading her forward at a distance. It's a good opportunity to use those romantic passages from her books that way.
She calls after you with velvet words that warm your heart. Embodying the "no, this isn't you!" energy fully. Maybe someday you will change and be the person she's trying to tame you into fully. Only after your souls are irreversibly intertwined, though, so that she may never leave you then.
Duke Thomas
He...doesn't take you seriously as a foe, much to your dismay. It's not such a bad thing because it means he's constantly underestimating you.
Duke thinks you're capable! Sure, he does, you can sure cause a scene if you really want to, but will you? Yes. But...he doesn't know that quite yet.
Duke dismisses your attempts with a wave of his hand. You're just needy! You just have a temper. That, he can deal with. All relationships are like that to an extent, right? Why would he complain?
He really just doesn't realize how good you are at what you do. If he were a little more experienced, maybe, but he's confident in his perception of you. You're harmless. Totally.
It's the perfect opening to isolate him. Duke is used to fending for himself and feeling lonely in this cruel city. People aren't inherently bad, but you'd be stupid to expect the best from them at all times. Duke just takes the people in his life with drawing from him at face value. He should have known better.
It just gives him more time for you! Silly you, who sticks with him through it all. Even if you are a bit funny, at least you're reliable. Duke latches onto just like you wanted him to.
Make it seem like it's his idea to obsess and to think about you all the time. His one...and only, he supposed, at this rate. Since everyone else suchs so bad.
Without realizing it, Duke has no one else to turn to, or is willing to. Just perfect for your design.
The small Earth Kingdom village was still recovering from the storm. You and Aang had stopped to help, and the work quickly turned intense under the blazing sun. While Aang used his airbending to move lighter debris and help rebuild rooftops, you handled the heaviest labor — hauling thick wooden beams, carrying supplies, and lifting whatever the villagers needed.
You had taken your shirt off hours ago. Sweat rolled down your chest and back as your biceps and shoulders flexed powerfully with every lift. The way your muscles shifted and bulged under the sunlight was impossible to ignore.And Aang was down bad.He tried to focus on his tasks. He really, really tried.
But every few minutes his eyes would drift back to you. He’d stare at your arms, at the way your back muscles moved when you hoisted another heavy beam, at the sweat glistening on your skin.
His face would flush, his stomach would tighten, and he’d have to force himself to look away, biting his lip hard. Multiple times he nearly lost control of his airbending because his mind kept wandering to how those strong arms had pinned him down before. How good you felt inside him. How much he needed you.
He was completely whipped.
The Avatar, reduced to stealing desperate glances at his own boyfriend like a lovesick fool
.By the time the sun finally set and the grateful villagers gave you a small guest house for the night, Aang was barely holding it together. The second the door closed, he was on you — kissing you hungrily, hands roaming over your still-bare chest, whimpering softly against your mouth.Now the room was filled with the wet sound of skin slapping against skin and Aang’s broken, needy moans.
You had him pinned face-down on the thin mattress, your chest flush against his back as you fucked him with deep, brutal thrusts. One of your thick arms was locked tight around his neck in a firm headlock, your bicep pressed against the side of his throat, holding his head pulled back so you could feel every desperate gasp and whimper vibrate against your skin.
Aang was completely gone.His mind had melted hours ago. Gray eyes unfocused, tongue slightly out as he drooled against your forearm. Every punishing snap of your hips made his smaller body jolt forward. You were so deep inside him it felt like you were reaching his stomach, bottoming out so hard his legs wouldn’t stop shaking.You’d already fucked two loads into him.
The filthy, wet squelch of your cock plunging through your cum echoed loudly with every thrust, forcing it even deeper into his sloppy, wrecked hole. His walls fluttered and clenched desperately around you, oversensitive but still greedily sucking you back in.
“Gonna fill you up again,” you growled against his ear, grinding your cock deep inside him. “Pump you so full you’re swollen with it.”Aang couldn’t speak anymore. Only broken, pathetic whimpers escaped him. His cock was trapped beneath him, twitching and leaking nonstop even though he’d already come untouched twice.
Every time you slammed into that perfect spot, his whole body shuddered violently, hole clenching hard like he was trying to pull you even deeper.You tightened the headlock just a little more, possessive and firm, and started railing him harder, faster. He was exactky where he wanted to be.
Aang’s lithe body was limp and pliant under you, completely yielding, taking everything you gave him like the desperate, whipped boy he was.His blue arrow tattoos began glowing — soft light spreading across his forehead, arms, legs, and down his spine.
The blue flared brighter with every deep thrust.Aang came again with a choked, airy cry, his cock pulsing hard beneath him as he spilled messily onto the sheets.
His walls clamped down violently around you, spasming wildly while all of his tattoos lit up with brilliant blue-white light, glowing intensely as pleasure wrecked him completely.
You kept thrusting through it, chasing your own release, ready to fill him even more.
yooo the Olympian reader got me thinking, how would the batboys be w a famous reader, maybe an actor or a singer?
♬ ♪ ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و Material Girl ‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹
Warnings: None! Fluff. No pronouns used for reader, established relationship. No use of y/n.
Note: WHEN I TELL YOU I USED TO HAVE A BATFAM OC THAT WAS AN ACTOR/SINGER 💥💥 The Brucie Wayne persona needs some help sometimes, okay?
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Bruce Wayne
To everyone outside of the Waynes' inner circle, this couple makes perfect sense. Anyone who knows Bruce, however, is astonished he's managed to bag you. Renowned Gotham sweetheart [name]? There's no way.
He likely meets you at another socialite party, assigned to sit next to you for the night. Naturally, he researches you beforehand, and makes flattering enough conversation for you to say you're quite fond of the elusive Mr. Wayne.
Bruce listens to two types of music on his own: classical jazz reminiscent of his childhood and hard emo music, so if you don't produce either, Bruce only listens to and watches your productions through his children's interests.
They're elated that he's managed to meet you! Dick, Jason, Tim, and Duke grew up watching you through their younger years. Bruce is kinda the awkward dad asking for a photo to send to his kids.
They serve as his wingmen to sweep you off your feet. Your [name]! He cannot fucking mess this up. Mess...what up?
It takes a really long time for Bruce to drop the ditzy, pompous act he feigns for the public. That's when his own infatuation for you really starts. For a socialite...you're not half bad (though you could say the same for him).
Bruce woos you in secret, but the two of you have fun stringing along the press and paparazzi. Some people refer to you as his sugar baby, others as the better parent to his children.
When you announce your relationship to the public, everyone in Gotham is up in cheers. Finally! Gotham's most elegant bachelor has someone worthy on his arm! Likewise, he's a fine man for the heart of Gotham's most beloved talent.
Dick Grayson
Dick has been watching you ever since Bruce first took him in. You starred as a character in a sitcom that quickly became his comfort show amongst the cold, old house that made up Wayne Manor.
He wouldn't call himself your biggest fan or anything crazy like that...but he is a fan. Dick enjoys media a lot more when you're on the face of it, but he doesn't necessarily seek your material out.
That is, until he meets you at a gala, and all of a sudden, he can name every album, tour, and song you've put out in the last decade. Dick goes as far as to ask you to sign his arm like a little kid! If you included your number underneath it...that's no one's business but yours.
Dick turns his charm up to the max, trying to pursue you. Everyone who has his contact is tempted to block him because of how much he runs his mouth, talking about how cool you are and how he can't believe you're even interested in him!
But...Dick's a cool guy, you don't need to know all that.
He likes to help you practice for things in any way he can. Be that in reading lines and acting out scenes together, or being your muse to figure out what to send to your choreographer.
Dick might not indulge in the arts very much himself, but goddamn if he isn't talented in them.
Have him be a backup dancer on a show in Gotham, and he'll be on cloud nine, having the time of his life! Ignore the flood of articles calling him an undeserving nepo baby. What would they know?
Jason Todd
Barely anyone had cable in the apartment complex he used to live in, but one of the older kids found a way to set up a TV near the roof and get a signal working.
One of the channels that they always kept on replayed this talent show where nobodies competed to make it big. You were his age when you won gold on that show, and for a week, it was all Jason could think about.
Now, as an adult, Jason recognizes your face on a billboard. Huh...you really did get far, didn't you? Between his death and well, everything else, he hasn't really cared to catch up on celebrity drama.
But Gotham is a crazy place, and on a night like any other, you're the person he saves from getting mugged. Your cover falls off, and it's exactly out of a scene of a romance novel.
Except Jason has a gun, and he's scrambling on how to tell you that you've been his idol since he was fucking like seven. What the hell?
He's needed somewhere else before you can make conversation, and you're left with your encounter with the infamous Red Hood. Suddenly, he's trending as you advocate for him and the rest of the city's vigilantes.
Bruce...isn't happy, but there isn't much he can do about it without butting his head into the conversation. Jason takes it as a win.
The following month, when the discourse slows down, you get a letter in your room, from the one and only, of course.
'If you're that interested, give me a call. Xoxo, your savior.' It's corny, and stupid, and Jason's red in the face as he leaves it, but it's all worth it when he gets that ping from you.
Tim Drake
Tim met you before you 'got big TM'.
You took piano lessons together, but you were always better at playing than he was. Typical, Tim didn't care much for instruments, but it always ticked him off that he never scored higher than you during performances.
As you grew up, you lost touch, not that either of you were ever that close to begin with. Reconnected at a fundraiser party where you performed. The two of you got to talking again, forced to take photos and answer interview questions due to your shared past.
As an adult...you're not so terrible, he guesses. Pretty hot, too. Ah, shit, is he really crushing on his old childhood friend? Damn.
Tim stumbles a bit in his pursuit of you. Since you already know him, he can't lie his way into your inner circle like he normally would, but at the same time, he wants to show you that he's a changed guy! Not the same little shit he used to be. He's good for it now, trust.
He buys VIP tickets to every concert, even if he can't attend in person, hiring people to hold out large signs in his stead. It's always the booth you can see from the stage. Likewise, he'll buy up all the backstage passes, giving you free time to decompress (and keeping that attention for himself).
You can feel the love from atop his four windowpaneled office above Wayne Enterprise...
When the pin drops and the two of you make it official, the media explodes. Full of 'they were the last ones to know', 'wait, they weren't official?', and the like.
Cassandra Cain
Her siblings go out of their way to recommend some of your older shows to her. TV and movies are difficult for her to watch because the physical acting is always too distracting, so Cass falls in love with you through your voice acting instead.
It's just...so soothing. Quickly, she finds herself hours into your albums and singles alike. Helping her sleep during the early mornings post-patrol and keeping her leveled during those tenser moments.
You're the one who comes up to her, offering flowers and praise after one of her ballet shows. She's shocked to say the least. Who knew big star [name] liked to come to local performances like this?
Cass shyly admits that she's a big fan of yours, and, in hopes of encountering you again, she invites you to a party as a plus-one that Bruce was forcing her to go to anyway. To her surprise, you agree.
It’s…certainly awkward at first, but her determination to make a good impression on you is so endearing that you can’t help but like her off the bat. Besides…a Wayne does look pretty good on your arm. Vice versa.
Cass is entranced by the world of art, being that it’s still so foreign to her. There’s nothing she likes more than sitting down and watching you go through your creative process. Humans are so amazing, living simply to make others feel like this.
You introduce her to the people you know who will help her get farther in her dance career, and with your recommendations, Cass gets audition opportunities she wouldn’t have otherwise.
She's forever grateful that her idol in private becomes one of her heroes in person, now her lover too.
Duke Thomas
As a kid, there was always this one ad Duke would play over and over again. It was a short clip advertising a cyber toy that could transform from a car to a fighter robot. Cooler than the toy itself or the soundtrack was the kid actor playing with it in the commercial.
It was cute! A crush he was able to point out on other posters and billboards throughout Gotham. When his childhood took that unfortunate turn, and Duke was no longer able to sit around and watch TV, he mostly forgot about it.
With Duke's new family, he comes across that old toy discarded by Dick. Casually, he mentions that old infatuation he had with you, and lo and behold, his siblings know exactly who he's fucking talking about. What.
Next thing he knows, he has a date scheduled with you for the following weekend. Fucking rich kids and their networking circles.
You're so different than what he was anticipating, and obviously gorgeous. He's similarly charming towards you for his earnest disposition and his lack of knowledge of your more recent work.
It's a dream come true when the two of you hit it off, making Duke tag along with you to movie permers and casting calls. Most of his glimpse into Gotham's high society is from the begrudging attitude of his family, seeing a less ultra-rich but no less elegant side to things is entertaining.
Duke is even more fond of you for being mostly self-made and hard-working. Honestly, it's a small world the lot of you live in.
notes. title should really be 'The Chapter Where Satoru Almost Gets It (Then Misses Completely)' but the current one sounds mysterious and way cooler. remember to like and subscribe for more pining !! :D CT-growth arc for reader beginning next chapter, everyone wish him luck :3
The quiet of the medical wing smells like antiseptic and citrus. Through Shoko's office door, cracked open, the echo of two pairs of footsteps carries through. A familiar loud laugh travels down the corridor. Shoko straightens, wincing slightly at the ache in her neck.
Her door slams open, rattling the pencil holder on her desk, and Satoru fills the doorway with a heroic pose and a bright grin.
"Shoko! Shokooo, where are you?"
"Stop shouting, Four-Eyes. You know exactly where I am."
"Details, shmetails." He bounds into the room, vibrating with barely-contained excitement. He grabs her rolling chair and drags her away from her desk to the pristine white patient bed, where he hops up and swings his legs like a child. Her chair bumps the edge of the bed and stops. "Guess what?"
"What?"
"I beat up a curse user yesterday! Not the one we were hunting – YN took care of him with one bullet, it was awesome – but one of his grunts. Still cool. Apparently he's part of some criminal organisation that mixes jujutsu crime with normie crime. Totes illegal, on all fronts." Satoru grins, leaning close. "We basically dismantled a whole operation today! Isn't that crazy?"
"Pretty crazy. It seems you're moving up in the world, going from exorcisms to manhunts," she replies with a chuckle. "Now, did you break down my door to tell me this, or are you actually critically injured and about to die in my office?"
A second figure steps into her office, holding two ice cream bars. You greet them both with a soft hello, giving Satoru the strawberry one and Shoko the matcha one. Satoru tears open the packet with glee, leaning into your side as you move to stand next to him.
"I healed him on-site. He was bleeding too much for me to do nothing," you explain, lifting a hand and ruffling Satoru's hair. "Multiple lacerations – stellate and split, mostly around the knuckles. Shallow avulsions around the face and neck. Periosteal contusions in the hands."
She recoils slightly, pausing with her ice cream – half open – in her hands. "Avulsions? On his face? What the fuck?"
Satoru grins, unaffected. "I'm looking good, right? Props to YN for making me pretty again."
"Do you know what avulsions are?" Shoko smacks his knee, making him yelp. "People get those in machine accidents and bad car crashes! It's up there with degloving as some of my least favourite meat injuries! What the hell were you doing to get hurt like that?"
"Degloving?" Satoru tilts his head, biting his ice cream.
"Imagine pulling off a winter glove. Now imagine that glove is your meat and your hand underneath is the bone. That's degloving."
Satoru looks down at his reddish-pink ice cream. "I don't feel so hungry anymore."
With a harsh exhale, Shoko pops her ice cream into her mouth and breaks off a corner with her teeth. "I see why YN got me a snack, too. It's bribery."
"An apology," you correct. "Officially, I'd like you to minimise the damage on the medical report. Everything except the avulsions should be fine."
Shoko turns in her chair to look at you, pointedly facing away from Satoru. "Why? Just because it's ugly doesn't mean I can't fix it."
You sigh. "This was originally my mission. Satoru might have pulled some strings to join, but the responsibility is on me. Letting the elders know that someone managed to bypass his Infinity and injure him to that extent – under my watch – will tell them what they've always believed but can't prove: I am a detriment to Satoru's growth as a sorcerer."
Silence falls. A small frown creases her brow. After a moment, she glances at Satoru, who sits uncharacteristically quietly. His feet no longer kick above the floor.
"Is that true?" she asks quietly. "Did that curse user get past your technique?"
He huffs, fiddling with the wrapper. It crinkles in his grip as he lifts it to his mouth. "No," he mumbles. "I had it down so I could hit him. He didn't bypass anything."
"So then what's the issue? Why would they blame it on anyone but you?"
"They won't care that it was intentionally dropped," you say. "All they'll see is that he was badly hurt under my observation, and I couldn't stop it."
You remember your long hours in the temple's ancient library, reading the remnants of collected research about the man who shared your technique a thousand years ago. You remember how he vanished at the same time as the contemporary Six Eyes user stopped responding to all letters and summons – and how, only a few years after their simultaneous disappearances, a new child with those heavenly eyes was born.
The reports never confirmed it, but every sentence you read dripped like venom with the implication.
You killed the Six Eyes.
You glance down at your hands. Clean, now. Weren't always. Was it some awful joke the universe played, to make you Satoru's best friend? The universe didn't do jokes, of course, being an unfeeling logical cycle of cause-effect-rebirth, but something deep in you is convinced it must have at least cracked an eye open the moment Satoru first looked at you, all those years ago.
It was too perfect. You weren't even that good at sorcery; most of your strength came from taijutsu and knowing the human body better than your opponent. It just so happened that your innate technique was a perfect shutdown of Infinity, as if you were made for this one singular purpose.
Was it cruel, then? To let him stand by you while knowing that if something in you breaks, not even he could do a thing to stop you?
Now, he reaches for your wrist, pulling you away from Shoko's window, where you'd wandered during the conversation. You could throw him to the ground right now and you know, as certainly as you know your soul, that he could not lift a finger to hurt you.
Unable to protect himself both passively and offensively... Did the universe want you to kill him, too? Is this why it made him adore you, so that when his Infinity fails and your hands wrap around his throat, he'll think not of death, but of the familiar warmth of your skin on his?
The hand tightens around your wrist. Satoru, with his glasses on his head and his soft azure eyes on you, tugs you closer. "Angel, hey," he murmurs. "It's not your fault. You were fighting, too. You didn't just let me get hurt."
"I'm older. More experienced. I shouldn't have taken so long to put down that shikigami." You look away. "Then you wouldn't have been injured."
Satoru's brows furrow. His grip tightens on you as he stands up, crinkling the empty wrapper in his other hand. "Oi, dummy. Stop blaming yourself just 'cause I was stupid and reckless and didn't care to block." He exhales sharply. "See, there – I said it! I was stupid! Now quit beating yourself up and making that sad face. I hate it when you make that face."
"I'm not making a face," you say weakly.
"Yeah, you are!" He wiggles a finger and flicks you on the forehead. "Dummy. Just tell Shoko what to write in her report and we can get out of here. This place stinks like cleaning bleach and unpaid overtime."
Shoko snorts. "You can say that again."
"Dummy," Satoru repeats, smugly.
You sigh. "You don't have to sound so happy to insult me."
"You're never stupid, so when you are, I have to rub it in your face to get proper mileage out of it."
"Very funny…"
He leans in and bumps his forehead against your temple, butting you with his head like a cat. Or a goat. You laugh softly, and Satoru smiles, flushing with pride.
"Alright, alright, Satoru. Sit down while I discuss your medical report with Ieri."
With a toss like a three-pointer, Shoko chucks the wrapper of her ice cream in the wastepaper bin. She kicks off the floor and spins back to her desk, picking up a clipboard and snapping two double-sided pieces of paper beneath the clip. She lifts a pen, turning around and crossing one leg over another, all business.
"So – you wanted to list just minor lacerations and bone bruises, right? Is there any reason beyond the political bomb that is your relationship?"
You hum, leaning against the edge of her desk as you read her scrawled notes. She goes down a list of checkboxes, ticking them off in rapid succession. "It's not just about me. He needs to remain the strongest so no one will undermine his name. After so long without a Six Eyes user, the big clans have grown attached to their power – if Satoru shows weakness, they may believe he can be overruled, and whispers of his fallibility may trickle down to curse users like the ones we fought today. They might try something."
Shoko nods as her pen scratches over the paper, detailing injuries and checking 'no' for 'continued observation recommended'. "Damn, that's so shitty. He can't even get slightly more hurt than usual or people might try to kill him? It's hard to imagine medical notes about breaking an arm leading to assassinations and mutiny."
"You don't know what power-hungry vultures these old farts are. Once, a bunch of them tried saying I wasn't fit for leading my clan 'cause I invited YN to my birthday party," Satoru scoffs, leaning back on the patient bed and tucking an arm under his head. He deepens his voice mockingly. "Such close attachments are indicative of immaturity. A clan head should stand strong on his own. What a load of utter bullshit."
"Why wasn't I invited to your party, rich boy? I bet your house is huge."
"I was, like, nine. I didn't know you existed."
Her nose crinkles. "Oh, no – immaturity at nine years old, how terrible. What, did they expect you to pop out of the womb fully-grown?"
He closes his eyes. "Probably. They blamed my clan for coddling me. Pah – as if I needed the protection of a bunch of sycophantic grade three sorcerers."
"It’s always demanding old dudes dictating what we do with our lives, huh? Some things you just can't escape." She shakes her head and signs off the date on the second sheet of paper. She leans back and grabs the stapler, punching them together. "Right, all done. Gojo, deliver this to the principal." She holds it out expectantly.
Satoru's eyes widen. "Eh? Why me?"
"'Cause I'm putting my career on the line to make sure you don't get yourself killed. Consider the delivery paying back a favour."
Reluctantly, he takes it, scanning it briefly. Wow, she already has the doctor's chicken scratch down. "The principal's office is literally down the hall. What's so bad about doing it yourself?"
"If it's such an easy trip, surely the great Gojo Satoru won't have a problem walking there, hm?" Shoko smiles sweetly. "Or is this a task too arduous for a man of your noble standing?"
Groaning, Satoru picks himself off the bed, lower lip pushed out in a pout. "Okay, okay, fine… Sheesh. So many words just to say you're lazy."
"Gojo."
"Mmhm?"
"Get out of my office before I break your legs and make you crawl there."
He swallows and skitters for the door. "Yep! Uh-huh, leaving, going right now. Angel!"
"Yes, just give me a moment, no need to shout." You turn to Shoko and squeeze her shoulder with a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for doing this for me, Ieri."
"No problem." She pats your hand. "Least I can do to pay you back for your company. Are you staying long this time?"
You shake your head. "No, only a little while. I have to meet with the elders soon. They likely have another mission for me." You sigh, glancing pensively out the window. "I haven't returned to the temple in a while. I'll stay here for a few days to ensure Satoru isn't hiding any lingering injuries, then see if I can't fit in a visit before travelling. I'll make sure to come say goodbye before I go."
"I can watch Gojo, if you want," she offers, spinning a pen between her fingers. "I'll get him to come in tomorrow and the day after for a check-up."
"Thank you, but I should do it. I... also have things to discuss with him," you admit. Having him sit still is a miracle I need to take advantage of."
Shoko chuckles, but you can see the flash of concern that flits over her features. "If you insist. Guess I'll be busy with the curse user you brought back, anyway. You can leave the door open when you go – I need some air circulation in here."
You nod, stepping away. "Thank you again, Ieri. I know politics should stay out of what you do, but I'd be naive to ignore the ramifications of unfiltered truth. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."
She waves as you leave and says lightly, "I'll hold you to that promise."
You exit her office to find Satoru lazily sprawled across a cushioned bench, papers hanging from his grasp in a rolled-up cylinder that will definitely take some flattening to get back to normal. He lifts his head when you step out, expression brightening at the sight of you.
"Angel! Ready to go?"
You hum as you fall into step beside him, your shoulders brushing as you walk. "You didn't need to wait for me. Did you forget the path to your principal's office already?"
"No, of course I remember. Down the hall past the drinking fountain, third door on the left." A sigh flutters past his lips. They twist as he looks away. "I heard what you said, by the way. About your meeting."
You glance up, surprised. "You were listening?"
"Pressed up with my ear to the door," he says sarcastically. "No, the door was slightly ajar. I heard everything. I'm not hiding injuries – you know I wouldn't. So why did you refuse Shoko's offer?"
You watch your boots, footsteps naturally perfectly synchronised with his. "I wanted to talk about earlier," you say quietly, "regarding your fight with the curse user."
Glancing at you from behind his glasses, he presses his lips together. "Well, go on, then," he replies. "Why wait for tomorrow when you can say it now? Fresh on the mind, and all."
The silence stretches. He doesn't back down. You gather yourself with a soft inhale.
"Physically, you fight efficiently. Good control of the fight, good minimisation of collateral damage. You understood that as a shikigami user, he would likely be less comfortable in close quarters, and you gave him no space to breathe. I'm pleased you applied my tip of using your legs to both take space and deny it. Here, you outranged his arms – I saw you noticed how he seemed more confident with them – and to reach you, he had to overcommit. He left himself wide open."
He winces. "I hear the 'but' coming."
"But… you are emotional. You let it drag you around instead of sliding off like oil on water. It's something of a trend I've noticed with you: you begin strong, but you get cocky and turn the fight personal. All your opponent has to do is succeed in goading you and you falter because you're too busy trying to save face. You should work on that with Geto."
"Not with you?"
You lift a brow. "You think I would willingly insult you?"
He smacks your arm lightly with the paper cylinder. "We can train you this time. 'The Art of Shit-Talking'." He spreads his hands in an arc before him. "You'd probably be great at it, with how good you are at reading people."
"That's a terrible use of my skills."
"But think of the advantages you could gain by getting into people's heads!" He leans closer and wiggles his fingers with a grin, trotting by your side. "Make 'em let their guard down, y'know? 'Cause you need to get close for your technique to work. Just a split second of anger, and then bam! You're all up in their space, and you win."
Triumphantly, he smacks the rolled-up paper against his other palm. With a soft huff, you shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips against your will.
"I'm serious, Satoru."
"So am I." Competitively, he gazes into your eyes. You gaze back unblinkingly. He squints. He loses the staring contest – perhaps on purpose, but he won't tell you that – and blows a raspberry, rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine! No lessons for the master. I am, as always, your devoted disciple..."
"Good. As my disciple, then, you'll ask Geto to train with you this week. Refine that trick with Blue again – the trick from the mission. It seems like a good staple move to give you an edge in the neutral fight."
Glancing down, Satoru coats his fist in Blue, and his eyes gleam brighter as he traces the unstable waves of cursed energy, which fluctuate as his instinct attempts to reform it into a more familiar shape. The strength of Blue comes from the 'centre point' of the 'sphere' – at least, that's how he imagines it. It shouldn't be too difficult to stabilise that 'core' while it's stretched into a thin layer. Ideally, he just has to shift that core into the centre of his fist.
Now that he thinks about it, if he could learn to snap Blue rapidly around his fist, could he also technically stretch it into other shapes, like a really long stick? Like a laser? Though, the location of the 'core' where space condenses might make it ineffective. It sounds a little strategically useless, too, because regardless of the shape of the projectile, it'll still have the same effect.
But shit, a beam attack would look sick as hell.
He disperses his technique with a sigh. "Are we going to talk about… the thing?"
"Thing?"
"You know… the big one." He slows down slightly, and you match him automatically. "When I wanted to…"
"Ah." You hum, gaze trained on him as you choose your next words carefully. You glance away. "I'm willing to let it pass. You said you understood what I meant. I trust you."
He blinks, lifting his eyes. "That's it? You're just… letting it go?" He tilts his head. "Not gonna nag me? Everyone else would."
"I can if you want, but I figured you'd appreciate my belief in your maturity. Do you?"
Pausing in front of the principal's office, Satoru turns to you with his hand on the knob. Half a step behind him, you tilt your head patiently, hands clasped behind your back. His mouth opens and closes a few times before his throat bobs and his gaze slants sideways.
"Thanks," he says quietly, "for not treating me like a child. I won't let you down."
He pushes the door open and peeks around the edge. Empty. It wouldn't be out of character for him to snoop around, maybe try to find his schoolwork to find out his grades in advance, but he simply steps up to the desk and places his own medical report right in the centre. When he unfurls it, he even flattens it by briefly rolling it the other way, fixing the curled corners.
"What kind of mission are the higher-ups gonna give you, ya think?" he asks, turning around and resting against the edge of the desk. "I hope it's an exorcism. I wanna see if I can persuade them to let me come."
Your lips quirk up. "Again? You're not tired?"
He shrugs his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the desk's fine dark wood. "I slept well last night. You're warm. And before you make excuses about my homework: I finished it all early," he says smugly. "I've got nothing due for the next four days! Praise me, please. Tell me how great I am at time management."
"Sure, you finished it, but did you do it well?" you chuckle. "You still skip your working-out in maths. That bad habit got you a seventy per cent in last chapter's test."
"Ughhh, but I hate it," he whines, clutching his head melodramatically. He squishes his cheeks. "It takes foreverrr and takes up so much real estate in my pages! My brain works too fast for all this nonsense. Why do I have to spell it out step-by-step? It's baby calculus – maybe I'll oblige when I start vectors or whatever."
"I know," you say soothingly, "but they can't play favourites. They have to treat you like everyone else."
"But I'm not everyone else," he complains. "There's a conspiracy out there to prevent me from spending time with you, I swear. Are you in on it? Is that why you're telling me to waste my time writing out every single change happening to a number? I'll beat you up if you say 'yes'."
You step closer, glancing down at him with an amused glint in your eye. "Will you?"
He slouches further, crossing his arms. He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes noisily. "No… But I'll punch Geto in the face instead! You don't want that, right?"
"So you want me to lie, and you'll punch someone else for that lie? That doesn't sound very rational to me, Satoru."
"No, it isn't. I've backed myself into a corner. But I am no quitter – and I will defend this hill until I die!" he declares.
Silently, you reach out, wrap an arm around him, and hook your chin over his shoulder. You hold him gently, pressing him into your chest and threading your fingers through his soft hair.
His eyes widen as his heart stutters. His hands hover over your sturdy chest. He can feel the shifting muscle beneath your robes, so close to his own. You feel so warm.
He clears his throat, blinking rapidly as his body finally responds and he wraps his arms around your middle. "Not that I mind this," he coughs, "but is there a reason you're hugging me?"
"Do I need a reason to hug my friend?"
"N-No, of course not. But you're not, usually, you know…. the one who initiates it." His arms tighten around you and he buries his face in your shoulder. You smell like incense and something sharply herbal. His eyes flutter shut. "This is nice," he mumbles, trying to bury his nose even deeper in the collar of your robes. He's basically headbutting you. "Really nice…"
You tuck his hair behind his ear, cupping the back of his head. "I don't want to hear about you dying," you murmur, grip tightening around him as if to anchor yourself in his presence. "Please."
That horrible prophecy again, he thinks. He relaxes in your arms. "Okay. I won't."
You squeeze him one more time, lingering, before you let him go with a soft warmth in your cheeks. You scratch the back of your neck. "I'm sorry. It's been a long couple of days."
"It's fine, I know it has. My presence probably didn't help, what with you having to hide both of us instead of just yourself." Only reluctantly does he pull back. His thumb rubs absentminded circles into your wrist, feeling your steady pulse beneath the fine skin. He glances up – a little apologetic, a little hopeful. "Can we, maybe, go out for dinner? I want to try out this dumpling place I found in the city. Little alleyway shop. The type with six chairs total and only enough space to sit at the counter."
"Sure," you agree, "though I have my meeting at five-thirty. Can we go before that?"
"Lunner it is!" He beams. He hops off the principal's desk and reaches up to fix your collar. "Meet me by the eastern gates at four. Wear something casual."
—
The wind rakes gently through swirling fallen leaves on the stone path and rustles the hedges lining the bottom of the school's boundary walls. You lean against it near the entrance with your arms crossed and one foot kicked up against the wall. Your eyes are closed, and you wear a serene expression. Here, the hum of machinery and rapid, unimpeded modernity is silenced, replaced by birdsong and the hush of leaves.
It reminds you of the temple – almost reverent in its quiet, with so much room to breathe that you glance behind just to check where the nearest wall is. Nothing steps on your heels, urging you to move faster, kill quicker. These days are few and far between.
"Angel!"
A smile tugs naturally at your lips at the bright joy in his voice. You open your eyes to see him jogging up to you, waving excitedly. On his wrist is a familiar string of glassy red beads that match the ones around your neck.
They fit him, finally. They no longer slip off his wrist every time he lowers his hand.
"Hey," Satoru breathes, approaching quickly. "You're early. Miss me, didja?"
"I didn't want to make you wait," you reply, pushing off the wall. "Ready to go?"
"Mm-hm." He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his head and grins, linking his arm with yours. He wears a zip-up hoodie with a graphic tee, and relaxed, light-wash jeans. His sneakers are scuffed and a little grass-stained from kicking Suguru out of a tree in a game of hide-and-seek that got too serious, but he wears them with pride, refusing to buff out the marks. They're proof of his independence, a quiet rebellion – if his clan elders order him to be here, separated from you, then he'll be damned if he doesn't drag their pristine reputation through the mud as well.
"The restaurant's run by a little old lady and her husband," he says as he skips down the steps, rocking sideways into you on every other step as if he's dizzy. You're used to it, steady as a rock like always, and nothing could be more perfect. He gets to be so much closer to you this way. "Food's made fresh for every order. When the lady mentioned a vegetarian bowl, I just knew I had to take you there."
"You asked for recommendations?"
"Of course! All the pictures looked too good. I couldn't choose which one to get, so I asked for her opinion. I got her top three. All freakin' amazing."
You smile gently. "You're sweet, Satoru."
"Hm? For being indecisive?"
For thinking of you even when he's alone. "Just… in general."
He puffs up his chest and fixes his glasses with a smug grin. "I better be – with how much sugar I eat daily, I now share the atomic structure of a marshmallow. It's my greatest achievement. My second-greatest is the time I took to finish those three massive bowls of ramen. Seriously, they were huge." He fans his face. "Wow, I surprise even myself sometimes."
"I'm sure the owners appreciate your endless wallet and stomach. Maybe they'll name a dish after you."
He laughs, squeezing your arm. "That'd be awesome."
You spend the trip into the city practically glued together. Satoru sits right next to you when you board the train, shoulder and thigh pressed to yours as he pops in an earbud, listening to ripped songs from his newly-purchased MP3 player. It's fire truck-red – metallic, slim, and fitting perfectly into the palm of his hand. His foot taps along to an upbeat pop song, and his head comes to rest on your shoulder as he turns sideways along the seats and lets his feet hang over the edge. You should probably tell him off for being inconsiderate, but the train car is nearly empty despite the hour and he looks so peaceful that you'd hate breaking that.
He hums along softly, slightly off-key. His sleeves are pushed up unevenly around his elbows, and his bracelet gleams crimson in the late afternoon light as it flashes by billboards, skyscrapers, and tunnels. It's like a tiny piece of you with him all the time. He hates tradition for the sake of stuffy etiquette, wears Nike socks under the uber-formal kimonos his clan forces him into when meeting with the elders, but he chooses to wear something as religiously-charged as prayer beads because you gave them to him.
The beads around your neck probably aren't the same ones you wore all those years ago, but Satoru's bracelet looks brand new, carefully maintained and worn under his sleeves to stop the string from catching or the beads from chipping. And, even though he doesn't pray the way you do, when he fidgets with them, he never goes past the distinctive mother bead, larger than the rest – he flips it around and counts the other way.
You're not even sure he remembers why he does it. But you know he used to watch you do it, and so he does it, too.
His hair catches the light in a pale, effervescent halo as his head bobs gently. He hums a few soft words in fragmented English, copying the sounds more than anything, and he taps his fingers to the beat on his thigh.
You shift your shoulder slightly to make him more comfortable. He tilts his head back, gazing up at you through his lashes, and smiles, the warmth of the sun cutting golden shadows across his high cheekbones.
Your heart beats a little faster. You look away and stare at your hands.
Later, Satoru herds you into a tiny restaurant in an alley, hardly larger than a single bedroom. He smiles at the old woman behind the counter and drags you over to the seats she gestures to – one of only two tables. He takes the furthest seat from the entrance – to 'watch the door for bad guys', he says with a smug grin, winking over his glasses. You order the vegetarian bowl while Satoru agonises over putting pork on top of ramen or rice.
"It's a little cold tonight," you say. "Why don't you go for the ramen? It comes with soup."
He picks the ramen.
It arrives quickly. He barely manages to slam his palms together for a quick 'itadakimasu' before he's shoving the first huge slab of pork belly into his mouth. He nearly weeps with utter bliss, savouring the tender meat that falls apart in his mouth.
"Ohh, that's good," he says through a mouthful of food, shovelling bamboo shoots and greens into his mouth before he even swallows. "It's melting in my mouth. Melting. If I start crying – no, I didn't."
Even though you haven't started eating, this is already the nicest dinner you've had in a good long while. You feel as if you can relax for once – nobody here is watching your every move, just begging you to twitch wrong so they can brand you a problem they have to forcefully correct. Every breath comes lighter, easier. The bowl is hot under your fingertips; the air is pleasantly warm and carries the scent of grilled meat and sweet steamed vegetables. You can focus on the sensation of the porcelain bowl burning your fingers as you rotate it without wondering if it's a test of your obedience.
Your lips quirk up as you watch Satoru's glasses fog with the steam, blocking his view. Your ramen is a rich umami broth filled with miso-roasted vegetables and topped with tofu, and you don't even blink as Satoru tangles a huge ball of noodles on his chopsticks and shoves the whole thing into his mouth. He has nearly his entire bowl's worth of noodles wrapped around his chopsticks.
"You should slow down when you eat," you suggest. "You'll get heartburn."
"So? You're here. You can heal it, right?"
"I could. That doesn't mean I will."
He gasps and whines, eyes widening with betrayal. "So mean, angel! You wouldn't do anything even if I was in horrible pain and begged for your help? Heartless!"
"I'll see how I feel when you start begging." You pop a piece of tofu into your mouth. "Besides, you know how much it takes out of me to heal someone else. I'm not sure RCT for heartburn is worth it when antacids exist on every block's corner store."
"But you'd receive my devotion and undying gratitude," he tries, stirring his bowl. A thin layer of oil swirls perfectly on the surface. "You're talking like over-the-counter medication will give me the same love and affection you give me. Pills just give me an icky coating on my tongue. An' you know how many times I have to push the pill down? Like, physically shove it down my throat?" He drags his fingers down the front of his throat and scrunches up his face. "I hate it! Feeling the bump go down grosses me out. It's seriously body horror. You're so much better – gentler on my fragile body."
You sigh, even though you're smiling. "You're not supposed to hold the pills on your tongue. You can also just… take the pills with water, you know that? You aren't any cooler because you're dry-swallowing. It's like running down the highway instead of taking a car."
He narrows his eyes, pointing at you dramatically. "How many times have you seen someone in a movie drink water with pills? Huh? Now compare that to the number of times they toss it back, maybe grunt a little – like, hngh – and then go on with sewing their own wounds up while their abs glisten under a single fluorescent lightbulb. It's undeniably cooler than washing it down."
"And who are you looking cool for?" You arch a brow, feeding yourself between sentences. The deep, savoury heat of the broth tingles on your tongue. "I watched you fall into a pond once."
He makes a noise, brows furrowing as his cheeks turn pink. "Not true! You pulled me in! And you tricked me. That wasn't my fault."
"How was it not? You were so small I barely had to try, and you barely reacted until after you were already falling in. Such slow reflexes," you tut. "I could've done far more embarrassing things to you if I had the will for it. Fortunately, you looked so pitiful, sitting in that pond. I suspect you wouldn't like me half as much as you do now if I had, for example, held your Game Boy above your head out of reach every time I saw you."
"You were a year older, of course I looked small in comparison! One year for kids is like five for us." He pouts hard. "I wasn't small, by the way. I was a perfectly normal size for my age."
"Maybe it was those big eyes of yours, then. They made you seem so much younger because they took up half your face."
"You mean these big eyes?" He widens them, batting his thick white lashes up at you with that pout still on his glossy lips. He presses his hands together against his cheek. His pupils are larger than usual in the soft light, swallowing the blue of his irises; he looks like a doll, porcelain skin included. "You should totally give me some of your food to apologise for being mean – past and present. I'm a growing boy, y'know. I need extra protein to build more muscle so I can finally beat you without cursed energy."
You point at his half-full bowl. "You still have most of your pork, Satoru."
"And? You think that's enough to sustain muscle growth across my entire body?" He stretches his legs out beneath the table and hooks his feet around your heels as he flexes an arm and leans back. "There's so much potential here. So much real estate. Angel, you'd be praised by the entire jujutsu world for helping me become the strongest, once and for all."
With a smile, you lean over and grab his wrist, tugging it up between you. You glance at it and encircle his wrist with your thumb and middle finger. They touch.
After a beat, Satoru goes bright red, yanking his arm back and cradling it as if burnt. "Oi! That's considered bullying, you know!"
"I didn't even say anything."
"You didn't have to! I-I tasted the intent behind that look on your face!"
You hum. "Maybe you should order another bowl, Satoru. Have you gone mad with hunger? You're not talking right anymore."
"You're not talking right," he replies stubbornly, still cradling his hand. "You're also being very mean, poking my insecurities like that, and I'm heartbroken right now." His eyes glint with mischief. "But – I bet I'd cheer up if you gave me half of your egg."
"Why did we even order separate dishes if this is what happens?"
"Hey, hey!" he says, affronted. "It's not like I planned this. You don't have to sound so suspicious. You just happen to be a bully, and I just happen to know what brightens my mood. So pay up – share with me."
You purse your lips. "You're not even asking anymore."
He grins cheekily. "Did I ever?"
You sigh. You edge your bowl closer to him, and he lights up with glee as his chopsticks snap out and transfer the egg so quickly to his own bowl it feels like teleportation. You blink and it's already submerged in his soup.
"You can have the other half if you like," you offer, watching as he reaches for the soy sauce and drizzles it over the egg, an amount that's just shy of being 'too much'. "Did you eat before this?"
"Nah, you keep that piece – I'm feeling generous. And nope, not since breakfast." Satoru's feet jiggle against the backs of your calves, his legs stretched all the way out and under your own chair. He bites into the soft, creamy yellow yolk, and his body does this excited little wiggle as his eyes flutter shut in total bliss. "Oh, man, it was so worth it, though! I can fit twice as much as usual inside me."
Pulling back your bowl, you stir the rest of your ramen, chuckling as he renews his efforts and inhales half his bowl in roughly four mouthfuls. You eat at a more respectable pace. "Consistency is better. Three meals a day, 'Toru. It's what everyone else does for a reason."
With some difficulty, he swallows, and his mouth twists into a lecturing grimace. "Uh, says the guy who used to never eat after noon?"
"That's different. And I can't really do that anymore – the number of missions I receive requires me to eat more to keep up, biologically speaking." You shrug. "But I don't mind it much. It means I can eat dinner with you."
His expression softens slightly. He hums as he hooks his feet around your boots, then kicks up one foot to brace against the footrest of your chair. Your calves press together. "Silver lining, huh?"
"I take everything I can get," you agree, and Satoru grins as he kicks the side of your boot lightly, playfully.
"Hope that doesn't apply to your egg," he teases. "It's non-refundable, but I could probably give something back if I tried hard enough."
"No, thank you. I prefer to chew my own food."
He laughs brightly, a clear sound that rings out in the tiny restaurant. He doesn't bother muffling it. Why would he, when genuine joy comes so rarely to sorcerers?
He plucks a laminated menu from the edge of the table closest to the wall, where it's propped up by the napkin dispenser. He leans in and points at a dish of pan-fried vegetable gyoza. "Let's get some of these, too. I'm still hungry. Do you feel like ginger?"
As late afternoon turns to early evening, Satoru grows noticeably clingier. There's a slight furrow between his brows as he concentrates on pulling apart one of the last dumplings. He'd dumped more than half of them into your bowl before you could protest, and you're certain he's making up for your stolen egg. You're not sure how part of an egg is equivalent to half a dozen dumplings, but drawing attention to it might just make him embarrassed rather than anything productive. In a way, they're gifts, and you won't ever reject his.
"We should order more. Or go to a dessert place. You up for crepes? Shaved ice sounds really good right about now."
Your chopsticks clack against the rim of the plate as you dip a dumpling into sauce. "You're trying to think up excuses to make me stay."
He glances up. "Hm?"
"You look like you don't want me to leave this restaurant. Your legs are twisted with mine. I might trip if I try to get up."
He rests his cheek on his palm as he averts his gaze. He tries to whistle – doesn't get far. "Eh, what're you going on about? No idea. Stumped."
You lower your chopsticks. "It won't be long – I should only be gone for an hour or so. If you like, I can stay tonight on campus rather than returning to the temple. Would you like that?"
"Yeah," he says immediately, and the sound of his own voice is pathetic, even to him. He clears his throat and rubs his warm cheeks. "I-I mean – it's closer than the temple. Easier for you."
You hum and smile slightly, lifting a dumpling to your lips. "Oh, but before I forget – can I ask something of you?"
He straightens. You never ask him for help. "Sure, anything. Whatever you need."
You reach under the table. When your hand comes up, you're holding the little blue rectangle of the Digimon Pendulum, your thumb hooked through the loop of string.
"I want you to keep this safe for me," you say, brushing your thumb over one corner as you gaze at it. "I fear I might not give it enough attention. I've already hatched it, but I feel it might have a better life with you."
"You hatched it already?" He blinks. "When?"
"Last night, after you went to bed – got curious, plus I couldn't sleep. Too quiet." You click it on, and a tiny, pixelated creature pops up on the screen, looping through an idle animation. "I want you to take care of him."
Carefully, he accepts it from you. You haven't fed it today, so he does that in your place. "You're abandoning your Mochimon?" He frowns, lifting it next to his face and turning the screen around to face you. It's a circle with big eyes, a line for a mouth, and two little feet. "But look how cute he is! He has my eyes. You're really gonna orphan our baby like that?"
"It's not 'orphaning', it's a handful of pixels."
Satoru gasps and cups it to his chest protectively. "Don't let him hear you say that! His own father… How cruel!"
"Please don't make me feel bad over a virtual pet."
"Well, maybe you deserve it, angel," he sniffs, propping his elbows on the table and pressing the buttons on the side to give the creature a little wash-down when the alert pops up. There – poop-free zone. "You didn't even clean him! You're so neglectful. He poops every three hours, and he could get sick if you don't clean him once a day. If he gets sick twenty times, he dies."
"Twenty days?" You look horrified. "I've gone on missions longer than that."
He harrumphs. "Maybe it is better I take care of the little guy. As long as you pay child support, I'm okay with keeping him with me."
"How much does that cost?"
He lifts a thoughtful finger to his lips, his eyes roaming the ceiling of the restaurant. "One soda whenever I ask for it. On campus."
"Don't I already do that?" you tease. You incline your head. "But alright. I can afford that."
"Good. Now, look, our son already wants to evolve. He's so eager. C'mere, come watch."
You lean in and he matches you. You probably look silly, heads pressed in close as you stare at the tiny box in Satoru's palm. But Satoru's almost vibrating with excitement, his foot constantly kicking yours as it jiggles.
"This is where his future is written," he whispers, his voice almost reverent. He lifts his eyes to yours, his smile bright and eyes brighter. His messy hair tickles your temple. "What he becomes now will determine what Ultimate forms he might eventually evolve to. Are you ready to watch our son graduate from 'baby' to 'child'?"
You nod firmly. "He'll always have a warm home to return to, regardless of what he becomes."
Satoru reaches out and grabs your hand, gripping it tight. You hold him back, unable to hide your smile as you watch him practically tremble in your arms. You shift your arm around his shoulders and he leans into you, holding his breath.
With a celebratory animation and a musical jingle, the Digimon evolves.
Letting out a gasp far too loud for the location, Satoru throws his hands up to cheer. "Yes! He's a Gottsumon! Angel, I'm such a good single father! Tell me I am!"
"You fed and cleaned him once," you note, though you laugh anyway because his delight is infectious. "But you're a great parent, anyway."
He bobs his head fervently. "From here, he can evolve into a Tortamon, a Starmon, or a Gekomon." He lists them off on his fingers. "But what I'm really hoping for is that he'll become a Monochromon! That's basically a dinosaur, by the way." He grabs his hair. "Argh, but I can't remember what the prerequisites are for it! I found this blog that details a whole bunch of Pendulum evolutions, but since this is the 1998 version, I'm not sure if it'll have it. Might be too old. But that's for future-me to worry about. Look, look – see how cute our baby is? Look at his widdle frowny face," he giggles, cooing as it blinks in what is, indeed, an adorable animation. "He gets that from you."
"Didn't you say he evolved from a baby? You have to treat him like the grown-up child he is," you say with false solemnity as Satoru pouts. "Otherwise, he'll get embarrassed. I'll become the favourite parent by elimination."
"So mean! But I guess you're right. I'll hatch mine when I get back to my dorm tonight – then our firstborn can have a little sibling and they can grow up together on my desk." He grins, putting the Gottsumon to sleep for the next few hours. "Can't wait. It'll be adorable."
You pop the last dumpling into your mouth. "You're going to be busy with two of them, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but that's fatherhood for you! I'll be fine. In a way, Gottsumon will be my reminder of you when you're off doing god-knows-what. I'll remember all the highs and lows we had together, raising him from an egg through many harsh winters and scorching summers." He sighs, resting his hand against his forehead like a fainting maiden. "But that was all before you decided we weren't good enough for you."
"I think you're overreacting slightly, Satoru. I'm working hard to make money for us so we can live comfortably. An unfortunate side effect is my absence."
He lowers his gaze and his lips curve up, a slightly mournful tilt to them. "Yeah, I know…" he sighs, and pushes all the empty plates and bowls together. "Fine, I can take a hint. I guess I've stalled you as much as I can." He looks up with a complicated expression. "You promise you won't take long at the meeting? Come back right away. You should get to witness the birth of our second child."
"Of course, 'Toru. It only makes sense," you promise, standing up as he does. "Why don't you wait outside? Too cramped here to fit both of us if customers want to come in."
"Paying for our meals without me having to say a thing? What a gentleman," he jokes, pretending to swoon. He pats you on the shoulder. "I'll pay you back later. I'll be outside."
He attaches the Digimon to his belt and steps out of the entrance as you move up to the counter, where the old woman walks over and greets you. Satoru leaves the steady heat of the small kitchen and tugs his hoodie sleeves down his arms as he leans against the wall, tilting his head back and exposing his pale throat. A silent sigh escapes his lips.
His phone vibrates in his pocket.
Stole your bo staff for training, will be keeping for a week. How's the date?
He rolls his eyes.
Geto I h8 u
It's not even surprising how quickly he responds.
RMB: don't be a nerd, don't eat lobster, don't talk about the weather ;) IDK how senpai even likes u honestly
Satoru makes a face, fingers already moving rapidly.
'Senpai' eww LOL
Fine mr know it all, hows ur d8s then?
Oh u dont even have 1
Cuz ur a LOSER hahahaha
"Um… excuse me?"
Satoru glances up from his phone, not even bothering to move his head. Doesn't really need to, anyway, because the voice belongs to a teenage girl who barely comes up to his chest. She wears the fiercest blush he's ever seen on someone. She's gripping her phone tightly in her hands.
"Oh," he says, glancing back down to his phone. "Not interested."
"A-Ah, don't worry, I wasn't going to ask for your number," she squeaks, waving her hands madly, and her friend giggles behind a hand – he assumes it's her friend, anyway, because they have matching charms on their shoulder bags. "I saw you inside with that guy in the red… I assume you're friends?"
Satoru's eyes narrow suspiciously. He straightens slightly, and perhaps that gives the girl hope, because she stands a little more confidently and lifts her chin. "Yeah. Best friends, actually."
"Oh, great!" She takes a deep breath. "If it's not too much trouble… Could you introduce me to him, maybe? I just, um, think he's super cute."
What did she just say…?
Cute?
Cute?
His fingers twitch. His heart begins to pound beneath the cage of his ribs.
Oh, hell no.
"He's off-limits." His voice is flat, controlled. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
Her smile fades. A sick satisfaction settles in his chest, and something dark compels him to keep going.
"What, were you too busy mooning over his pretty face to realise what he's wearing? Are you seriously blind or something? He's very clearly a monk – the only thing that could make it more obvious was if he wore bright yellow and started chanting the Wisdom Sutra in your face. Y'know what a monk is, right? That means no romance, no marriage, and no picket-fence life where you hand-feed him strawberries and make pancakes for breakfast." He scoffs, settling back against the wall. Is everyone fucking in love with you or something? What's changing? You don't look that much different from three years ago. "Sheesh. Kids these days."
"Hey—!" Her face is bright red, and her annoyance seems to have overtaken any embarrassment. "I can't be much younger than you, dickhead! And I only saw him for a few moments, it isn't that clear he's a monk. Even if he is – who are you to be so rude for nothing?"
"Yeah, yeah, go cry me a river. Isn't like he'd be into someone like you, either, so just drop the whole creepy idea and turn around. You look like you could be in middle school."
"I'm sixteen!"
He looks her up and down and rolls his eyes, crossing his arms. "Could've fooled me. Now shoo, shoo. You're blocking the light."
"You…!" She glares hard, her curls bouncing around her face. "Ha. Fine, I'll go. But just so you know, nobody ever gets this defensive about their buddy potentially scoring, even if that buddy's religious. I've only had this kind of response in one situation: when I asked a girl about the guy she's in love with. Maybe you should just say that next time, rather than being a shitty person to a stranger."
Satoru stiffens. His neck almost creaks when he slowly turns to stare at her, his eyes wide with something unreadable. A sharp, dark shadow bathes half his features in shadow.
"Say that again," he whispers, his voice dangerously even. His nails dig so deep into his bicep that he feels his knuckles grind under his skin.
"You deaf?" she barks. "I said: you're acting like a jealous girl in love!"
His blue eyes almost seem to glow.
A few minutes later, you exit the restaurant with a cheerful jingle of the bell overhead. You look up to find Satoru leaning against the opposite wall, staring unblinkingly down the dark end of the alleyway, where the skinny road ends in a burst of light and movement – but there's a long stretch of darkness between you and that light.
"Satoru," you call, and his head snaps to you. "Are you alright?"
After a beat, he drops his folded arms. "Never better," he replies, pushing off the wall and joining your side. He pushes his hands into his pockets, concealing his clenched hands.
Why is it only you who makes him this way? Why does it have to be you, and no one else?
You watch him for a moment, but he flashes you an easy grin, hiding behind the shield that is his sunglasses. His strides are long, loping, and normal. There's a slight tension to his shoulders, but you suppose there's a hundred-and-one things someone like him might be stressed about. Your heart aches – if only you could ease that burden.
"Alright," you relent, and Satoru hums. "Try to walk quickly – we spent longer than I anticipated at that restaurant and we might miss my train."
Making a face, Satoru begins exaggeratedly dragging his feet, whistling off tune. He dodges backwards when you try to grab his arm, giggling when you chase after him a few steps in the wrong direction.
"Hey, hey! Hands to yourself, mister. I might throw up if you manhandle me like that. I ate way too much back there."
"Satoru," you try, and laugh when he dodges you again but trips backwards over an uneven manhole cover. You dart forward and catch his wrist, pulling him upright. You misjudge the distance and he ends up crashing into your chest, but that's better than being sprawled on the ground.
"Ow!"
"Satoru, you're so clumsy," you chuckle, flicking his forehead with a finger. He whines and rubs the spot. "That's payback for earlier. Be careful, silly."
"Dummy," he retorts, pouting. "Seriously, you nearly pulled my arm off! You know how much it'd cost to sew that back on?"
"Probably about… a minute's worth of constant cursed energy usage. And a particularly filling meal to stop me from getting a headache," you estimate, and Satoru rolls his eyes with a big, loud sigh. You smile and turn around, pulling him along. "Come on. The sooner I leave now, the quicker I'll be back."
"You better. Our second child is going to be born tonight. You gotta be there for it."
"I'll do my best," you promise. "I'll hold your hand through it. You can squeeze my hand as hard as you like."
"Ooh, you say that now, but it'll hurt. Bad." He sways into you, draping an arm over your shoulder with a lazy stretch. He grins, glancing at you from the side of his glasses. "It'll be a real test of your love for me, angel! I'll scream and cry, and I'll need a lot of attention and burden you with bringing me breakfast in bed every day for months. Think you can survive that?"
"You're not a burden," you say. "Not to me. Not if it's you."
For once in his life, words fail him. Something about the way you spoke – so earnest, so plain and painfully truthful – makes his words catch in his throat, his laughter dying before it can fully form.
He looks at you. Really looks at you.
Your cursed energy reserves are running thin. The last time he saw you operating at full capacity was before he enrolled at Jujutsu High. You always recovered slower than him, and now also slower than Shoko or Suguru. He assumed it was the trade-off for being able to hit so hard, and on anyone else, his Six Eyes would tell him at a glance whether or not he was right. You, though… You've always been different. He can't read you the same way; it's like his Eyes falter when they pierce too deeply, shying away from learning you too intimately.
But he doesn't need his one-in-a-billion eyes to see that you glow whenever you spend time with him. Despite your tired eyes and slow blinks, there's a joy in the curve of your mouth that's hard to ignore, lighting you up from the inside with the warmth of a star. He's seen it in the way you smile at the sight of him, the way you stand straighter and never look away until he's pressed securely against your side, safe where you can protect him best.
You're not a burden, you say, but what you really mean is You could never make me leave you.
"Oh," he whispers, and there's a humiliating little wobble in the middle that he can't control. He clears his throat and drops his arm from your shoulders, looping it around your elbow instead. He flashes you a big, overconfident grin and pushes his glasses higher on his nose. "Of course not, angel, I was just testing you! You passed, by the way. Flying colours. Gold star."
"Thanks." You smile, amused. "Now, try not to trip again. The train station looks crowded."
"That was one time! It was only 'cause I ate so much that it affected my centre of gravity and I wasn't used to it. I am, now. And you caught me that time, so whatever, I'll just make you catch me again."
"I fear I spoil you too much," you muse, unwrapping your arm from his to hold his hand instead. You manoeuvre around a queue of salarymen in dark suits at a small food stall, walking single file along the underground tunnel towards your platform. There's not enough room to walk side by side. You glance back and smile at the pout on his face as he's forced to give up his preferred proximity to you. "Case in point. You don't have to look so upset when you can't walk beside me."
"I do, actually," he argues. "The angrier I look, the more space people will give us, and then I don't have to walk behind you like a kid."
"Is that your angry face?"
"Yeah. How is it?"
"Ah…" When you said 'upset', perhaps you should have used 'sad'. "You certainly look more emotional than the rest of the people here."
Satoru laughs and shrugs, absently rolling his beaded bracelet higher on his exposed wrist. "Close enough. But stop walking so damn fast – I'm tripping over myself back here, y'know?"
"Can't do that. I told you, we're already late – all because someone wanted extra dumplings."
"Hey! That was the best idea I've had in weeks, thank you very much!"
He complains about your blindness to his apparent 'genius' all the way to the correct platform – down two sets of crowded stairs. Luckily, you manage to dart between the doors of the train moments before they close, though it forces you and Satoru chest-to-chest in a crammed-up carriage of underpaid and overworked nine-to-fivers.
Somehow, Satoru retains his smile all throughout – he pops in one earbud and offers his MP3 player to you in the tiny space between your bodies, mouthing 'You choose' and tapping the little LCD screen. You pick a playlist at random, pressing play, and you must have chosen correctly because he lights up and nods ferociously. He accepts the player back from you and tucks it into his pocket.
Listening to music for the sake of enjoyment is typically not allowed for you. But as Satoru cranks up the volume, and as the crowded space forces you to press your cheek to his temple, you can hear the song playing clearly enough that you can pick out the lyrics. It's a pop ballad, a woman crooning about life in the big city where everything moves too fast and love clings on like cigarette smoke.
With a hard sway of the train, Satoru's forced to switch handles hanging from the roof. His fingers brush yours in the loop, and his lean body presses closer. You wrap a hand around his bicep, steadying him from someone bumping into his shoulder blades, and he rights himself quickly.
He smells like his honey and vanilla shampoo, silky and luxurious. A silent, embarrassed laugh vibrates through his chest, and you can feel every inhale, every shift of his ribs beneath his clothes. His body is warm and solid against yours. You inhale without sound, shutting your eyes as the train emerges from the dark tunnel into the violet, neon-lit evening.
Pairing: Aang x Top/Seme Male Reader x Sokka x Zuko
Summary: It's been years since you've seen any of the gaang, and the three male members have just been dying to get their hands on you.
Featuring: Oral/anal sex, straddling, biting, blood, hand job, cowgirl, no-prep, exhibitionism, infidelity, jealousy/possessiveness, blow job, creampie, prostate massaging, making out, temperature play, glowing body parts, minimal Sokka x Zuko at the end, and cum play.
WC: 4.7k
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The flicker that came from the flames presented in front of you did nothing short of create a beautiful scene. Their romantic glow caused an inconsistent cascade of light and shadow to mix in the cave you and the rest of the crew were in.
Of course, the master behind those flames was even more impressive himself. It had been a while since you had seen Zuko in person—hell, since you had seen any of the members from your teenage group. After everyone had decided to go their own way, there was never much time for you all to have a mutual meetup, as everybody was busy pursuing their own life.
Maybe it was a calling from a spirit that Aang needed all your guys' help on this mission. You did miss the dynamic and energy that came from being surrounded by the people closest to you; heaven knows you craved to be going back and forth with the guys or teasing the girls about something random.
In the midst of your zoning out, you suddenly heard an abrupt yet clear cough that came from your right.
"Hey, Y/n, you okay?" probed the same voice that previously cleared its throat, seeming to add a slight playfulness to its tone as if to not discomfort you. "You've been burning holes into Zuko’s torso for a good minute now."
Blinking your eyes a few times, you zoned back in to realize that your pupils had been laser focused on the fire lord's chest. Immediately ripping your eyes away from his body, you looked at the floor instead, deciphering whether it would be better to explain yourself to who you now realized was Sokka on your right or apologize to Zuko for the unintentional staring contest with his pecs.
You ultimately decided to do both while keeping your gaze on the ground, assuming that would save you the most humiliation from the expressions plastered on your comrades’ faces.
"My bad, I guess I was too in my head and didn't realize where I was looking," you mumbled timidly, like a kid who was forced to say sorry by their guardian. On your right you heard Toph let out a cheeky snicker while Katara started to tease.
"What's so enthralling about Zuko’s chest that had you zoning out over it, huh?" the water bender taunted, wrapping a lazy arm around Aang’s shoulders. She put a portion of her weight on him while eyeing you, her grin stretching across her face at the realization she struck gold in something to mess with you about when you covered your face with shame, groaning in response.
"It was nothing. I'm telling you, I got busy thinking and didn't pay attention to where my eyes were," you stated disgruntledly, trying to be as casual about the conversation topic as possible in hopes that it would make it die out faster.
"Yeah, right," Toph mocked, now starting to join in on the ridiculing that should've ended 30 seconds ago, "I bet you were doing it on purpose and are just making the zoning out thing up to not get caught."
The metal bender got more comfortable in her sideways position on the floor before looking in your direction. For a blind woman, she sure did have a talent for knowing where to look to make eye contact.
"You can admit Zuko is pretty handsome," she kept on going, manipulating a small rock to head in the firebender’s direction and circle his upper body. You dragged your eyes over to look at him, wondering if he was hating the situation as much as you, only to be met with a rather flustered expression.
Although he wasn't saying anything or interacting with the discourse, Zuko was visibly red in the face. His shoulders were nearly steaming from how hot he was.
'He's probably just surprised at the direction the conversation went in,' you thought to yourself, not questioning his reaction much. 'It's nothing.'
Thinking about reactions, it had just dawned on you that neither of the other males in the room had said a single word since you apologized. Looking over at Sokka and Aang, you noticed that they seemed rather...tame with the whole theatrical.
They didn't seem overjoyed at the opportunity to dogpile on you about something silly like they usually would. Instead, their faces reflected that of hidden discontent.
Sokka was wearing a smile like usual, but the ends of his mouth shifted from time to time as if he were forcing himself to do it for appearances. Aang was barely reciprocating Katara’s physical affection, spiritlessly wrapping his arm around her waist while mundanely looking around the room.
Their reactions were inherently odd compared to how you last remembered them acting. However, again, it has been several years since everyone's gotten together like this. Perhaps they've just grown up and changed.
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Nighttime had officially fallen, and everyone had mutually decided it was time to rest. After a bit of rearranging had been done to better set up for sleeping, the crew had started to pull out their own bed linens and do whatever else was needed before lying down.
You had found yourself taking the space between Zuko and Sokka, dropping your blanket and slowly following it onto the ground as well. Sluggishly mumbling a goodnight to the rest of the group, you closed your eyes and instantly began dwindling into a limbo between wakefulness and sleep, your exhaustion overtaking you.
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Gradually evening out your breathing, you tried focusing on the black behind your eyelids and disconnecting from the rest of your surroundings. In the process of doing so, though, you heard a shuffling coming from in front of you.
‘Someone's just probably changing positions,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It's not like sleeping on a cave floor is the most ideal resting location.’
Just when you were about to return to your previous activity of zoning into nothingness, you heard something again, but this time it was coming near you. Someone was up, but that shouldn't bother you. There isn't any danger from anyone in the team. You're safe, and as far as you know nobody from the outside is coming in.
Still, you opened your eyes just to peek at who exactly it was and what they were doing at this hour of the night. You did not expect, however, to be met with Zuko hovering over you, his stature unwavering even as he came to realize you were, in fact, awake.
"Uhm, hey there, Zuko," you started, a slight concern present in your voice by the odd interaction. "Everything alright?" The buffer man did nothing but gaze down at you for a few more seconds.
It was when you were about to go in again with another question that he finally acted, kneeling down to meet you at face level and inching towards yours. Somewhat appalled by the action, you attempted to lean back and put some space between the two of you, but just as you were starting to, another hand made contact with your neck, halting your movement.
Slightly jumping at the unexpected intervention, you turned around to be met with Sokka already looking back at you, his loosened hair cascading over the front of his face, giving him a rather alluring appearance.
"Why are you up?" Zuko grilled in a low voice, though it came out more like a statement with how harsh his voice sounded. While asking, he leaned forward again, but this time his body language came off more territorial than usual. Your knees bumped together as he took a hold of your forearm, seeming as if ready to drag you away from the other man.
"The same reason you are," Sokka bit back, pulling out a smile as he gave Zuko an all-knowing look. You now wore a perplexed expression, completely unaware of whatever hidden message was being spelled out behind the pair’s short sentences to one another. What exactly was Zuko here to do?
You didn't have to wait much longer for that question to be answered, though, as Sokka pulled his arm back—your hair that was held by that same hand went with it. He forced the back of your head onto his collarbone, instantly diving into an open-mouth kiss. The tactician’s tongue played inside your mouth, making room for itself without prior notice.
Your eyes widened at the intrusion, too surprised to do anything. Too caught up in the obscurity of the moment to fight back or do anything but make an alarmed noise.
"You—" Zuko spit out, catching himself before going off the handle over what he was seeing in front of him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Everyone should've been asleep, and the two of you should be kissing. Yet, now that the situation has been changed, there's nothing he can do except modify his plan.
The flame king clenched his teeth, taking a breath before crawling towards you. Just because Sokka landed the first move didn't mean it was over for him. He slowly brought his hands to rest on your thighs, using them as leverage to put his weight as he neared your necks. The firebender began to leave soft kisses from your collarbone to your neck, finding home on one of your scent glands and beginning to suck. If Sokka got the first kiss, he was going to be the first to leave a mark on you.
You groaned into Sokka’s mouth at the sensation on your neck, subconsciously wrapping a hand around Zuko’s waist to keep him there. The man who was responsible for tonguing you seemed to take notice of this, a new rage filling him at the reciprocation in touch. How come Zuko got it and not him? Why were you even looking at his chest earlier? Did everything have to always be about him?
Deep in his thoughts, Sokka ripped his lips away from yours and dug into your neck instead. However, he wasn't as sweet with his markings as the fire lord. The inventor locked his canines into the skin in between your shoulder and neck, biting down without a second thought. An uncomfortable grunt came from your throat. Moving your irises down to look at the skin after feeling a trickling wet sensation on it, only to be met with your own blood flowing down and seeping into your clothes.
"W-what did you do?" you asked, a visible quiver in your voice at the fact that you already knew the answer. Sokka dragged his eyes back to your own, a small grin of satisfaction on his face. Lowering his head, he licked the open wound, not breaking eye contact with you as he lapped up the spilling red liquid. That seemed to have gotten your attention away from the other male.
While in a dazed state and still looking at the clear bite mark on your trapezius, you heard another shuffle come from across the cave. That's when reality hit you again: there were several other people in the lair that could wake up at any given moment and see the scenario unfolding.
Although you told yourself that scared you, and your stomach filled with anxiety at the thought, you somehow felt an additional mix of arousal at the idea too. That small drop of it must've been enough to cause your body to react, as you felt yourself growing.
Zuko seemed to notice it too, looking down to be met with a clear bulge sticking forward in your pants. Continuing to gaze at it, he moved one hand away from your thigh and cupped your clothed penis. A ragged breath tore through your lips at the feeling. This caused the fire lord to snap his head back up, looking at your pleased expression and uneven breathing that was mildly hitting his face.
A blush crept up his cheeks as he swallowed down the saliva that had unknowingly been building up in his mouth.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he whispered, letting himself catch a small peck from your unguarded lips before lowering his head to be between your legs. Though the contact of lips merely lasted for a second, you could feel just how high his body temperature was. Had he not been the leader of the Fire Nation, you would have become concerned at just how hot he was.
You got distracted from his steamy kiss, however, when you heard the shuffling from before again, but this time it seemed more consistent. Hearing a groan, you turned your head to be met with Aang slowly waking up. Your heart started beating even harder, a mix of feelings seeping into your skin.
The moment you were experiencing had happened so fast that you hadn't even thought to yourself what you would do if another member woke up. You hadn't exactly wanted this, so should you ask for help? Yet again, you weren't exactly fully opposed either.
Not much time to think was given, though, before Aang rubbed any sleepiness he had left over from his eyes and scanned the view in front of him. After shifting his now wide eyes back and forth and analyzing what was going on, his pupils ultimately landed on you. Staring back at him, you said nothing, but your expression was an amalgamation of panic, anxiety, and arousal.
A beat passed without anyone saying anything, but eventually the avatar slowly rose from his bed, walking more casually than you would've expected towards the scene. Squatting down in front of you, he cupped your face and leaned into a kiss. His kiss was less intense and aggressive than Sokka’s, but just as hungry. He let himself moan into the kiss, seemingly enjoying the small yet heated act of intimacy.
"Not gonna say hello or anything before crashing the party?" probed Sokka through heavy breaths. One of his hands was down his pants and the other up his shirt, twitching his right nipple. He had become so spellbound by the bite mark he left on you that he'd been lapping and sucking on it for minutes, getting off at just how dark and noticeable he could make that singular mark of his on your skin.
Aang spared him a glance before returning his attention back to you, not completely in the mood for talking.
"It's not like there's much to say. And anyways, I obviously showed up late, so I have some catching up to do." He simply stated, closing his eyes to continue the kiss while slowly reaching to hold one of your hands.
By this point you had stopped including rationality or morals into the mix. You were so drawn in by the kiss that it hadn't even hit you that out of all three men, Aang was very much taken. The man who was necking you like he needed you in order to breathe was in a relationship with a woman who was less than 20 feet away from you.
The thought itself punched your gut with guilt, but with the way he was kissing you the negative feeling slowly transitioned into one of excitement. You eagerly kissed back, letting the airbender intertwine your guys' hands together as you made out. It wasn't your responsibility anyway to deal with the way people went about their relationships.
A sharp inhale was forced into your lungs as you felt a warm sensation overtake your cock. Slightly opening your eyes, you lowered your vision to be met with Zuko and his mouth wrapped around your cock. You could see the tip of it poke out through his cheek as he made his best attempt at taking you all in.
Utilizing your free hand, you moved it over to be on top of his head, caressing and petting his hair in a way of showing praise for his actions. The lord peered back up at you, his half-lidded eyes making their best attempt to stay on you as he swallowed, making more space in his throat for your dick to pierce through.
"Lean back for me, baby," heaved out the strategist behind you, freeing the hand latched to his nipple and making a feeble attempt at pushing your shoulder down to put you on your back. You obliged, momentarily removing your hand from Zuko’s head—who seemed rather saddened by the missing physical contact—to balance yourself as you lay on your back, stretching your legs out to give the one between them better access.
Aang followed you down the whole way, continuing to smooch you like a lovesick puppy. It really started to make you wonder just how devoted he was to Katara with how feverishly he was about a simple kiss.
When he leaned back to catch his breath, Sokka took that as an opportunity to use your mouth for himself. Putting a hand on your chest, he used his other to peel off any clothing item that was on his lower body. Once they were discarded, he crawled closer to you, putting a leg on either side of your neck and straddling your face.
Without even needing to speak, you knew what he wanted to do and instantly cooperated, moving one hand to get a firm hold on his thighs as you helped lower him onto your face. Now that your mouth was taken, Aang resorted to kissing your free hand instead, slowly moving it over to his lips. The wet sensation of his tongue rolling around your middle and index fingers was felt directly as he sucked on them while palming himself through his pants.
You laid your tongue flat under Sokka’s ass, licking a long line from his balls to his brown hole. This seemed to appease him, evident by the strained exhale that left his lips. Deciding to stop teasing, you went for the real motive. Pointing your tongue, you wiggled it into his anus, letting a finger you had previously wet tease around the edges before ultimately sinking in too. The inventor arched his back at the intrusion, slapping a hand over his mouth to keep his voice down while you worked your way into his hole.
The change in pace seemed to have struck a nerve for the element bender more down south. Zuko retracted his lips away from your cock and impatiently started to part ways with his lower-body garments as well. Throwing them off to the side, he inched closer to your midbody, deciding to straddle your hips before he made a reach for your cock again.
Aang had by this point soaked your fingers in enough of his saliva that it dripped down the back of your hand and onto your wrist. He pulled back from it, a string still connecting to your middle finger before fully detaching.
Lowering his pants just enough to unsheathe his cock, he moved your hand over to position it in a way that your palm would immediately make contact with his base. As you felt around it, you wrapped your hand around his dick with a firm hold, going to toy with the tip and realizing it was already leaking pre-cum.
A groan left your mouth and reverberated into Sokka’s tight walls as you felt Zuko’s warm ones take in your cock. The sensation mildly came off as painful first due to the lack of prep he had done for himself, too eager to have you inside him to consider the faults of his rushed plan.
However, his walls were soooo warm. He absolutely lived up to the fire lord name with how heated and comfortable the muscles taking your penis in were. A small groan of discomfort left his mouth at the initial penetrating sensation, but eventually he started to move, not seeming to let the tenuous pain get in his way.
“Do you feel it, Y/n?” he called out, looking down at the visible bump in his stomach from your cock. He felt himself twitch just from the sight below him. Moving a hand over to lay it over the protruding skin, he instinctively tightened around you even more. “We’re one now, too.”
He placed his hands on your torso while swaying his hips, moving them in a circular motion as he made his best attempt to properly ride you. Although the lack of preparation made for an uncomfortable start, the more he grinded down on your dick, the more tolerable it became.
Just when he was about to start speeding up, the side of your cock hit a bundle of nerves that made him gasp, suddenly freezing at the spike of pleasure he felt. When he tried moving again, he realized it was a lot harder to hit that same spot with the way he was positioned.
He grounded his feet on the floor, taking a squatting position before begging to bounce up and down on your dick. The change had absolutely helped, as he was more frequently able to make contact with the spot.
"U-ughhh, Y/n, Y/n, Y-Y/n, this feels really good," whined the man, getting cock-drunk the more stretched out his walls became from your erect piece of flesh. His eyes started to unfocus as he didn't know where to look while feeling this almost unbearable amount of pleasure.
With Zuko now having a repeated pace he was fucking himself on your cock with this caused you to also start reacting to the building feeling in your abdomen. Pulling your finger out of Sokka’s anus, you wrapped your hand around his thigh, squeezing it as a method to mildly ground yourself.
Focusing instead on protruding your tongue as deep as you could inside him, you used that hand to push him even closer to your face.
While moving your tongue near the middle of his walls, he suddenly clenched around your tongue, letting out a small mewl and clawing at your thorax. Seeing this as a good sign, you repeated your assault on that specific angle, locking your arm around his thigh when he tried rising from your tongue or squirming away.
With your opposite hand, you had started to fully jerk Aang off, utilizing the pre he had been leaking as a form to more smoothly glide your hand on his cock. He had been able to better handle the sensation of pleasure than the other two men, focusing on keeping his breathing evened and as quiet as possible.
Yet, even with not being as loud as them, his pleasure could be visibly seen by his arrows actively glowing. He had also put a portion of his weight on one arm, slowly starting to feel himself collapse the closer he got to reaching his high. Even with his energies being down, though, he made an attempt at reciprocating your actions by repeatedly pushing his hips forward, humping your hand in return for the service.
"T-thank you f-for this, Y/n," he huffed out, trying to put together words without letting out an audible moan. With the hand not supporting his weight, he laid it on your forearm, wanting to have more physical contact with you even aside from the one already taking place.
"I-I," Zuko whimpered, taking in a few breaths before trying his sentence again, "I'm going to cum soon." Had you not been tongue-deep in Sokka’s ass, you would’ve realized that the firebender was heating up like crazy.
Aside from his walls sucking you in so warmly, his back—leading up to his shoulders—and thighs were releasing steam at a rapid pace. It’s surprising he hasn’t caught on fire by this point.
Sokka agreed with his message by nodding his head, opening his mouth to speak, but only an airy moan came out.
"Me too," he added, biting his lip the closer he got to his climax. He’d started grinding his hips back into your face, alternating from shifting away at your abuse towards his prostate. “I-I don’t think I can last much longer.”
Aang was the only one of the three that stayed quiet, seeming too caught up on your hand pumping him to care about the other two’s words. Yet, he too felt himself building up and getting ready to explode. Anyone could tell, really, if they simply looked at him. He was lighting up like a glow stick the closer he got to reaching his peak.
Five more bounces later and Zuko had started shaking, his orgasm overtaking him as he clenched and unclenched around your cock. He wasn’t able to actually say anything, but small strained noises left his lips while he aimlessly looked up at the ceiling of the cave.
His seed spilled all over your stomach, dripping down to nearly reach your belly button. The flame king’s breathing continued to waver as he felt his limbs collapsing, the overexertion from riding you taking a toll now that the high was coming to an end.
But it didn't come without the seeping of your own semen starting to fill him too. He softly gasped as he let himself hunch over, using your cum-splattered stomach for leverage while you let your load out inside him.
Sokka came next, the moans from you reaching your own peak being the last thing he needed to be thrown over the edge and climax as well. His thighs tightened around your head as he bit his hand to cheaply cover his moans. He tipped his cum on your pecs, some of it still dripping from his tip, painting little dots in the middle of your collarbone.
As Sokka and Zuko both were catching their breaths, stooped over and holding onto a part of your core for leverage, they timidly made eye contact. They were practically breathing on each other from how close in proximity they were.
The non-bender decided to make the move first, and he weakly reached out for the flame bender’s face, pulling him into a tired and messy kiss. Although mildly surprised, the other didn't pull back and soon started to kiss back. The two silently rejoiced in the kiss, seemingly content with what they got out of tonight.
Aang finished last, an extra few pumps from you being enough to finally join the rest of you in the euphoria that came with experiencing sexual relief.
With his mouth agape but no sound coming out of it, his arrows maintained an unwavering glow throughout his whole orgasm, and his eyes fully went bright too for a few seconds before calming down. His cum dribbled onto your closed fist, gradually slipping downwards and seeping into the web space between your thumb and index finger.
The avatar used the hand previously grabbing yours and slid it over to your knuckles, extending his fingers to intertwine his hand with yours once again, letting his still warm semen mix into both of your palms.
Everyone seemed to have been satisfied for tonight.
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The next day you had mysteriously risen with a fever. Nothing deadly, but definitely not well enough for you to move much for the day.
"You were just fine yesterday," stated Katara, organizing her bag before getting started on whatever needed to be done that day. "I just don't understand where this could have come from in such little time."
"Maybe those guys chasing us had something to do with it," guessed Toph, shrugging her shoulders while putting her hair up. It's true, there hadn't been that big of a time window in between yesterday, when you were doing just fine, and today, when you're practically bedridden.
But there definitely had been a lot of action, and none of the men in the room seemed to want to offer any explanation for your sudden decrease in health.
"I'm not too sure what happened, but someone should stay near Y/n while the rest of us go out," Katara sighed, seeming both concerned and irritated at your condition.
"The three of us can stay behind, and you two look for resources today," chimed Sokka, getting closer to you and putting a hand to your forehead, checking your body temperature. "There's a decent chance someone might locate us here, and if that happens we won't be able to move as efficiently with one of us being weaker."
Katara wanted to interject, but Zuko and Aang cut her short by immediately expressing their agreement with Sokka’s idea. She eventually gave up on proposing any other agenda and went on her way with Toph, leaving you alone with the three other men.
Nothing to worry about anyways; they were obviously going to take good care of you.
authors note: Okay, so this fic came to me while writing about clint's daddy issues. Just Tony having a younger, hotter boyfriend who's also a super soldier. Which is great on paper, but when you get down and dirty, it makes Tony feel old. Like, sure, he still got it, but years have caught up to him and suddenly he's drained after just one round when before he could go up till three. So yeah, hope you guys enjoy the fic!
synopsis: Having a super soldier boyfriend wasn't an easy walk in the park. Sure, the perks outweigh the drawbacks, but when it comes down to having sex, it just highlights the wedge between them. Tony was pushing 50, and you, with the serum, were barely 30.
WARNING: 18+ SMUT AHEAD
The headboard slammed against the wall with a sharp crack. Tony's fingers scrabbled for purchase on your shoulders, his legs wrapped tightly around your waist as you thrust into him with a relentless, super soldier rhythm.
"Fuck," he choked out, his head thrown back against the pillows. The arc reactor cast a frantic, blue light across his heaving chest, highlighting the strain in his neck and the blissful agony on his face. "Slow down, you…you animal…"
You couldn't. Not when he was clenching around you so perfectly, not when his broken moans were the sweetest sound you'd ever heard. You were on your second round, and while your body was still humming with energy, his was already reaching its limit. You could feel it in the tremor of his thighs, the way his breath hitched in short, desperate pants.
"Almost there," you grunted, angling your hips just so, hitting that spot inside him that made him see stars. "Come on. Give me one more."
He cried out, a raw, ragged sound as his orgasm tore through him, his body arching off the bed. Cum painted his stomach, and the sight of him completely wrecked and lost in pleasure, was enough to push you over the edge. You buried your face in Tony's neck, groaning his name as you cummed inside him.
Tony lay motionless, chest rising and falling in a rapid, shallow rhythm. His eyes were closed, his face pale.
"Tony?" You reached out and brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead.
He didn't open his eyes. "I think…I think I saw the afterlife for a second there. It was surprisingly boring."
A small smile touched your lips. "You okay?"
"Peachy," he breathed, the word barely a whisper. "Just need a minute. Or a week. Definitely a week."
You watched him, your chest swelling with a fierce, protective love. He was so beautiful like this. Vulnerable, sated, and completely yours. But you also knew the look that was beginning to settle on his face.
You shifted onto your side, propping your head up on your hand. "Don't start."
One eye cracked open. "Start what? I'm not starting anything. I'm just decompressing. A man is allowed to decompress after being practically fucked into a new dimension."
"I can hear the gears turning from here. You're thinking about how you're in your fifties and I'm, well, this." You gestured vaguely to your own still perfect physique.
He finally opened both eyes and the vulnerability there made your heart ache. "Can you blame me? I feel like I've been hit by a truck. A very persistent, very well endowed truck. And you look like you could go for round three right now."
You leaned in, kissing him softly, a stark contrast to the raw intensity from moments before. "But I want you."
"You have me," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "But for how long? One day you're going to wake up and realize you're shacked up with a relic. An old man who can't even keep up with his boyfriends stamina."
You felt a surge of anger, not at him, but at the cruel voice in his head that told him these lies.
You moved then, shifting to hover over him. You framed his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you, to see the truth in your eyes.
"Listen to me, Tony Stark. I don't care about how long you last during sex. I don't care if we do it everyday or only once every month. You know why?"
He shook his head.
"Because I care about this. I care about you. Every laugh line, every gray hair, every scar. I want the man who built an arc reactor in a cave. I want the man who saved the world half a dozen times and still burns his pop tarts. I want Tony Stark. All of him."
You kissed him then, a deep kiss that wasn't about starting another round, but about reminding him exactly who he was to you.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. The self doubt had been replaced by awe or just the profound, overwhelming reality of being loved. "You're too much."
"Good," you growled, nipping at his jaw. "You deserve too much. You deserve everything."
You settled back beside him, pulling his body flush against yours. He was still trembling, overstimulated and exhausted, but he melted into your embrace. His head found its place on your chest, right over your heartbeat.
"Just give me a minute," he mumbled into your skin. "Or ten. Maybe twenty. And some Gatorade. And possibly a full IV drip."
You laughed. "Whatever you need old man."
Tony pinched your side, but there was no heat in it. "Watch it, supersoldier. Even if I'm older, I still know how to pack a punch." Silence befell the room, but when you thought he might have drifted off, he spoke so softly you almost missed it.
"I love you."
You held him tighter, pressing another kiss to the crown of his head. "I know, Tony. I love you, too."
tagged (because you commented it): @stvrw1tch @rebelioussavant
You know what? You were so done.
After what felt like the hundredth time you cried on the living room floor, curled up against the couch cushions with swollen eyes and an aching chest, you finally lifted your head and glared at the framed photograph sitting on the coffee table.
It was one of Dick’s favorites.
You remembered the day clearly now, which honestly pissed you off more. The two of you had been out on the pier after patrol, exhausted and sweaty and delirious from lack of sleep. Dick had wrapped his arm around your shoulders while laughing at something stupid Wally said, and Roy had snapped the picture before either of you noticed.
Dick loved that photo because, according to him, “You smiled like you forgot the world sucked for a second.”
You hated it now. Not because the memory was fake. That was the problem. It wasn’t fake. That’s what made this hurt so much.
You stared at Dick’s smiling face. Beautiful blue eyes. Stupid perfect grin. The same mouth that told you he loved you while conveniently forgetting to mention you’d originally been his emotional rebound after Kory left him.
“He fucked up,” you muttered bitterly to yourself. “He fucked up and I’m the one acting like my life ended.”
You shoved yourself upright off the floor, wiping your face aggressively with the sleeve of your hoodie. Your entire body ached from days of crying, rotting in bed, ignoring texts, and replaying memories until you made yourself sick.
Sure, you didn’t want Dick dead.
And if he really was falling apart like Kory said, well, that sucked. But it wasn’t your responsibility to hold together the man who shattered you. He had Bruce. He had the Titans. He had a family that worshipped the ground he walked on.
You? You had yourself, and honestly? You missed him. You missed being Y/N instead of whatever miserable shell this was.
“What the fuck am I doing? I’m not Bella Swan.”
That actually made you snort a laugh. A real one. Slightly hysterical, maybe, but still.
The sadness didn’t disappear overnight. But rage? Rage was useful. Rage got you off the floor. Rage made you shower for the first time in days. Rage made you throw away the cold takeout containers piling in your kitchen. Rage made you open the curtains and let sunlight into your apartment again.
You started going out again.
You hit the gym hard enough to leave your muscles screaming. You started reconnecting with friends outside the hero circle. You started sleeping without checking your phone every five minutes for Dick’s name lighting up your screen.
And eventually? The ache dulled. Not gone. Never gone, but survivable.
Dick showed up at your apartment three weeks later. You opened the door wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, looking mildly annoyed more than heartbroken.
“Hey.”
You leaned against the doorway. “What do you want?”
His throat bobbed nervously. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Right. Okay.”
Dick looked exhausted. Too thin. Dark circles under his eyes. Hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets like he was trying to physically hold himself together.
“I miss you.”
You stared at him without reacting.
“I know I don’t deserve another chance. I know I hurt you. I know I lied to you and destroyed your trust, but I swear to god, Y/N, I love you. I love you. Not Kory. Not anyone else.” His voice cracked slightly.
“And Kory wanted me to tell you she never knew—”
“Dick, I genuinely do not care anymore.” That visibly stunned him. “I’m serious. Kory doesn’t owe me anything. She didn’t betray me. You did.”
“I know.”
“And honestly?” You crossed your arms. “You coming here to swear you aren’t secretly in love with your ex anymore isn’t exactly helping your case.”
His face crumpled. “That’s not what I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Your voice stayed calm. “But you still don’t get it. I was with you for three years. Three years, Dick. And at no point during those three years did you trust me enough to tell me the truth. You decided for me. You decided what I could handle. You decided I’d stay if I never found out.”
His eyes watered immediately. “I was scared.”
“And I was in love with you. Do you understand how humiliating that feels now?”
Dick looked like he’d rather you hit him. “I do love you,” he whispered desperately. “Please believe that much.”
“I do believe you,” you admitted. “That’s the fucked up part. You know, I spent weeks thinking my life was over. Crying over you. Missing you. Wanting you back so badly it physically hurt.” Your expression hardened slightly.
“And then one morning I realized something. You’re not the center of my universe. I loved you a lot. Maybe part of me always will, but I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. And I don’t want to lose that by trying to glue together something already broken.”
“Y/N…” His voice cracked apart completely now. “Please.”
“No.”
Dick looked utterly destroyed standing there in your hallway, eyes red, shoulders slumped, heartbreak written all over his face. You softened just slightly. “I don’t hate you, Dick.”
His expression broke further somehow.
“That almost makes this worse.” You gave him one last look before stepping back and closing the door of your apartment.
