#Its nice to see someone else noticing this hehe

[millermouth]

pretty baby

Summary: When Joel returns home after months away, he doesn't expect to see your face in the church pews. Or rather, your mother’s face, clear as day, stirring up everything he tried to forgive and forget. He tells himself to keep his distance, but something (and he's almost certain it's the devil) keeps putting you in his path, like it was always meant to happen this way.

|| smut MDNI 18+, angst, hurt / comfort, reader is fragile and emotional, reader is having a bit of a hard time, joel is down bad, soft!joel, very flirty!reader, no outbreak, age gap mentioned but not specified, readers mom and dad are addicts, joel might be a baby bit of a perv for this, reader asks joel to be rough, she doesn't know how to accept someone being nice :((( ok smut tags: pinv, f!receiving oral, fingering, kissssinggggg, riding, reader cries during sex, its emotional smut ok, aftercare, reader's mom has a given name for story purposes, reader is often compared to a kitten and 1 reference to a puppy, little bit of daddy kink, lotta praise kink || notes: I uh...whewy is this a doozy. I had so many big emotions writing this which is probably clear. please please please heed the tags!!!! im in love w this and I hope you are too hehe // teased here

The thing about Austin, Texas, is that no matter how loud the city had gotten in recent years, a lot of the outskirts remained the same. 

It didn’t matter how many new buildings there were, or how many Californians moved in claiming they’d discovered it, there were still patches of the town that time hadn’t bothered to touch. Pockets of quiet where the same families had lived for generations, where they still gathered in backyard lawn chairs and strummed guitars as the cicadas screamed. Joel had grown up in one of those towns just outside the hussle of the main city. 

If there was anywhere he felt more like himself than in the rush of construction sites, it was there, on the quiet streets lined with sagging porches and humming box fans.

He was always happiest when he came back. Since his business took off and Sarah headed to university, he was taken far away more months out of the year now. Out of state, out of his rhythm, out of his usual comfort. And it was always the commercial ones that made him feel the most homesick. When he’d take jobs that required him to smile for millionaire owners who thought hard labor was something other people did. And so, on the first Sunday home, he found himself parked outside the old church in town again, pulled in by habit more than faith. He knew he’d see the same faces he’d grown up with, the same mothers and father of friends long gone, all still filing into the pews for their sunday worship.

Joel had never been much for man-made religion, but he respected and even enjoyed the community of it all. The way a small town church could hold a town together. Sarah needed that once, when she was young and angry and he wasn’t enough. Even though she was gone now, off to school with a future and friends, Joel still came. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of hope.

Walking inside, the morning light bled softly through mosaic windows, washing the rows in color as he settled into a middle pew and exchanged handshakes with the men beside him. The voices were low and familiar, thick with that homely drawl he shared. They asked about business, how Sarah was, and told him how good it was to see him. He always reciprocated the kindness, it was cheerful and grounding all at once. But then, as everyone settled, he noticed someone else ahead. 

Just a few rows ahead, hair piled high and skin glowing in the light from the stained glass, was the outline of your frame. You had a gentle curve of your spine beneath that summery top, and it pulled at something buried in Joel's memory.

And when you turned just slightly towards your neighbor, the air went still around him. You were saying good morning with a sugar sweet smile and a voice that raised the hair on his neck, and his mouth fell open before he could pick it up off the floor.

But no, it wasn’t who he’d thought at first glance. No, it couldn’t be. Carrie would be his age by now, and besides, she never came to this church anyway, never got outside the house these days as far as he knew. But God, the resemblance—the cheekbones, the curve of your mouth, the glint in your eyes—

“You sure do you look like your mama, ya know?” the man beside you said with a grin, leaning towards you like he was sharing a secret.

You turned your head more to respond, and your eyes found Joel’s for a split second over your shoulder, and you winked at him. As if he was in on the secret too. 

“I know,” you said with a laugh, it was all honey and sickly sweet as you brought your hand up to grip the man’s arm, “She really taught me well.”

Joel had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth before a fly could land on his tongue. He was so in awe, so mesmerized by how much you looked like your mother. Carrie had never been the mothering type. She raised hell better than anything else. And if she had loved anything more than herself, it had been the chase. But looking at you now, standing in her place with a wink like that and eyes full of mischief, he felt a strange, uninvited gratitude. Maybe she hadn’t been perfect, but she’d given the world something beautiful. 

He barely registered the rest of the service. The pastor’s sermon faded behind the soft motion of your shoulder blades, the gentle slope of your neck, the way the baby hairs at your nape curled delicately in the summer heat. His thoughts wandered as his eyes followed the way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you shifted to cross your legs, sending that same light across the exposed skin above your knee.

And when the service ended, when the final hymns were sung and the congregation began to move, Joel rose slowly. He was greeted by a woman who hugged him tight and welcomed him home, another who remembered him as a boy with scuffed boots and far too broody for someone so young back then. But his eyes kept drifting. They kept finding you, all smiles and ruby red nails. 

You were standing at the altar now, speaking with the pastor and the sight of you nearly knocked him down. He couldn’t believe your chosen church attire. Cut off shorts that hugged you too well, a clingy tank top that damn near looked painted on, and heels on your feet. The pastor was red in the face, nodding politely as you leaned in close, thanking him for the service, for letting you volunteer at the soup kitchen last Friday. Joel could see the way the men around looked at you, all trying not to stare but by god, staring anyway. He wondered if you'd given any of them the time of day, if any held your interest as you spoke to the oldest man in the room. There was no ring on your finger, no boyfriend that he could see. You didn’t even glance at the youth pastor trying to make eye contact with you from the corner by the communion table.

But you looked at Joel suddenly. Turning away from the pastor with a quiet goodbye, you looked straight at him. And for a second, it wasn’t just Carrie’s features he saw in your face, but something else. Something raw and hollow. A well of grief, or loneliness, or maybe just the exhaustion of being too much in a town that wanted you to be less. And Joel knew the feeling like a bruise under the skin. 

He turned before he could think better of it, pushed through the heavy church doors and stepped into the scorching Texas heat. The sun fell hard against his shoulders as he walked to his truck, sweat already gathering at the back of his neck, and he sat in the driver’s seat with the engine off and his hands tight on the wheel, wondering where in the hell you’d come from.

The good thing was, by the time the AC was blasting in his truck and the open stretch of county roads rolled out before him, he had mostly managed to scrub away the thoughts of you, of how you looked a thim. As if you knew him. As if you knew he could see you for what you really were beneath it all. It had only been a wink, one lasting look, but Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that, in that moment, he’d seen straight through you. Past the lip gloss and the red nails and the way you curled your voice like ribbon. And worse, you’d seen him too. He needed to shake you off. Rid himself of the memories that threatened the corners of his mind, the way they spun backwards like some cheap cinematic flashback in a drama movie, the kind he’d roll his eyes at if it weren’t playing out in his own damn head.

The cicadas buzzed through the open window, his elbow resting along the edge as he turned onto the road that led toward home. His thoughts still wandered, the way they always did when he was behind the wheel without anyone else in the cab, and without meaning to, he found himself giving into the thoughts. Of his life before, when he was just a young man in love with someone.

With your mother. 

HIs first real girlfriend from highschool, the prettiest girl he’d ever known. She had a laugh like summer and eyes that could put any man on their knees. And she was so damn smart back then too, though she never would admit it. She'd always been kind, had been voted Most Likely to Become a Celebrity and Best Smile in their yearbook. She’d even won Cutest Couple, but it hadn’t been with Joel. No, because he’d loved her in a clumsy, boyish way young men do. He’d made her mixtapes and took her on dates sneaking into the movies or the lake. After a while though, she got tired of not being able to be spoiled or driven around. He always knew, though maybe he’d pretend not to, that he wasn’t enough for a girl like Carrie. She needed more, and even back then, Joel had more grit than charm. So she had left him for the golden boy of the football team, and he never could bring himself to hate her for it. The guy was everything he wasn’t, flashy and confident with his Camaro his daddy bought him. But the jock peaked his senior year, and now they lived in a rusted out RV on the far side of town deep in a drugged or drunken state as far as Joel knew.

And he hadn’t done that much better. Sure, he stayed away from the hard stuff, but he was the senior with a baby on his arm by the time graduation came around. He had found Sarah’s mom not long after the breakup with Carrie, and it felt like love for long enough. Even got married. And then divorced. And then left high and dry with a baby to look after. And Carrie and her washed up football star were still getting high every night, drinking their life away while he carried on.

Life was funny like that. In the end, it never mattered if you’d won Best Smile or Most Likely to Succeed, sometimes the one who burned the brightest burned out first while everyone else just kept…living.

He eased his foot off the gas now, rolling into the familiar gas station with the faded Coke mural across the cracked brick wall. He hadn’t thought about any of this in a long time, not with the ache in his chest blooming deep and familiar. But maybe that was what seeing you had done, like it had stirred something that had been sleeping just fine until you looked over your shoulder at him. 

He wondered if he was too deep in his head, imagining things as he cut the engine and looked towards the door of the storefront.

Because you were there, standing outside the door to the gas station. How the hell did you end up here?

Your heels were off and dangling from your hand, the late sun casting your bare legs in gold as you leaned a little too close to a man outside the gas station entrance. Joel recognized him as the one who said you looked so much like your mom at the church. And it looked like you were trying to talk him into something, the way your head tilted up, eyes wide and lashes slow to blink, your hand brushing his arm like you knew exactly how to play your part. Joel didn’t need to hear the words to know the rhythm of the conversation. 

He got out of the truck and shut the door loud enough for you to look over. When the guy turned, your hand pressed back against his chest like a quiet command. Eyes back on me. Joel didn’t linger, he just pushed through the door, the bells overhead jangling like wind chimes, and didn’t bother browsing. Straight to the back, cold shelf, six-pack of Miller Lite. He paid with cash, gave the man behind the counter a polite nod, and was turning to leave when he heard the muffled conversation outside turning louder, the heat of raised voices.

He caught a flash of your face between the cigarette posters taped to the window. Your expression had changed, all softness gone, replaced by something scornful and mean, your mouth tight and drawn. And as he stepped back outside with his fingers looped in the pack of beer, the volume shot up tenfold. 

“—not worth a fuckin’ thing if you’re just gonna act like a goddamn tease,” the man barked, voice booming and angry, “Got your mama’s reputation, but not her guts, huh?”

Joel didn’t raise his voice as he approached, only walked up slow and heavy, making his presence known. Your eyes found him over the man’s shoulder almost immediately. 

“That’s enough,” Joel said, voice calm as stone. “Time to head on.”

The man turned, gave him a once over and scoffed somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You her daddy or somethin’?” he asked, squinting into the sun, lips curling with a smirk. “Or just another sucker she’s playin’ for free shit?”

Joel didn’t flinch. “I said that’s enough. Get outta here.”

The man snorted. “Jesus, relax.” He held up his hands, backing away a step. “Mind your own business, man. She came up to me.”

Joel took a half step forward, not aggressive but assertive enough to be intimidating. He knew could rattle people without raising his voice with that burly, off putting kind of presence he carried whether he liked it or not.

For a second, the guy stood there like he might say more. Then he shrugged, the bravado wearing thin. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Ain’t worth the price of a bale of hay.”

Joel watched him go before turning back to you. “You alright?”

You nodded, lips pressed tight before you exhaled, shaking your head with a forced little laugh. “Real charmin', ain’t they?” you said. 

Joel hesitated, shifting the weight of the beer in his hand as his gaze flickered around the nearly empty lot. “What’re you doin’ out here anyway?”

You squinted at him in the lowering light, like you were trying to decide how much to say. “Lookin’ for someone to buy me a pack.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed back on you, “Not old enough to buy your own?”

That made you snort. “I turned twenty-one a long, long time ago,” you said, a little theatrical. “I just don’t got the cash or my ID. Left it at home.”

Joel tried to chuckle, but it caught in his throat. The guilt hit fast and hot, low in his gut. Christ. What if you weren’t? What if he’d been sitting in that church, eyeing someone who hadn’t even aged into the beer she was asking for now? 

His gaze dropped to the pavement as he exhaled, glancing back at his truck. “You want one of mine?”

You raised your brows. “Oh, and what’s the price, huh?”

Joel just shook his head, “Ain’t like that. S’just a bad side of town. Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you out here, should get you home.”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

Joel weighed his options. He knew he wasn’t going to leave you here, all bare feet and scraped knees, your hair falling out of the clip and lipstick faded. But he knew if he did what he really wanted, it would be toeing a line he wasn’t sure he had any business getting near, let alone crossing. You were too young—a complete stranger and yet so familiar to him. He should’ve just offered you a cab or pointed you towards someone else’s door, but there was something in your eyes again as he looked back at you. Something there that kept him from walking away. It wasn’t… want, not even need. Just an emptiness. Something cracked and quiet and too close to what he���d seen in his own rearview mirror more than once. Something that made you so different from your mother. 

“Then you can…you can come to mine,” he said softly. “Just for a drink. Just so I know you’re alright. Then we’ll talk about gettin’ you home.”

You didn’t answer right away, only watched him. He watched you back, saw how your eyes roamed over his broad shoulders in the late sunlight all the way down to his work boots, your tongue dipping out unconsciously to wet your lip before looking back in his eyes. Then finally, you gave the faintest nod, your voice low as you said, “Alright then. But only 'cause you asked nice.”

And Joel, gentleman to the bone, just walked you to his passenger door, held it open and said, “C’mon.”

The drive to his house wasn’t long, just a handful of turns and wide stretches of road that cut through dry fields and sleepy oak trees, but time seemed to drag, honey thick and viscous, like the heat still clinging to the asphalt. The air smelled of dust and engine grease and the faint sweetness of your perfume, something heady and cheap. The sun had dropped low behind the hills, casting the truck’s cabin in amber. Every so often, light spilled through your window and painted your thighs gold.

Joel had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. You had your feet propped on his side mirror, your red-painted toes catching the breeze, one ankle crossed over the other like you hadn’t a care in the world. When you cracked open the beer with a soft hiss, brought the rim to your mouth and drank slowly, he had to remind himself to breathe. The bottle looked big in your delicate hand, the polish on your nails glossy and the same shade as your toes. The same color as every warning sign he should be paying attention to.

You let your hair down halfway through the drive. The clip snapped off with a little flick of your fingers and your hair fell loose around your shoulders, catching in the wind pouring through the open windows. It whipped wild and free, strands of it drifting across the center console, brushing his arm. 

Eventually, you set the bottle down in the cupholder and pulled your feet back to the floor. You sighed and dragged your nails up the length of your bare thighs, mussed your hair again like you were trying to look casual. Then you turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and lazy like syrup, “for all this.”

“No problem,” Joel replied, trying to keep his tone even, his eyes on the road.

“It’s just…” You glanced out the window, then back at him. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really alright,” he said again, a polite smile on his face as he leaned on his fist in the window.

You were batting your lashes at him now, slow and calculated. He recognized it as the same look you’d given that man outside the gas station, turning on whatever switch you had to melt men in your hands. And soon enough, your own manicured hand was sliding across the console and brushed his thigh, red nails bright against his faded blue jeans.

“I just really wanna thank you proper,” you said, your voice suddenly low like smoke curling through the cab.

Joel went still, his one hand gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Oh, darlin’, I don’t—”

“It’s just," you cut him off, "I’ve had such a long day,” and your hand began to move, stroking higher, your touch light but confident. “And you were so sweet to offer me booze and a ride…”

Your fingers found the edge of his belt, the cold metal of the buckle, and that was enough. Joel flinched, and he caught your hand firmly before gently placing it back in your own lap.

“That ain’t what this is, hon.”

You blinked and leaned away, your head ticking back like you’d been slapped. A grimace twisted your lips, one brow arching in wounded surprise.

“What, you don’t want me?”

Joel could barely keep the wheel steady. You said it like he’d insulted you and your grandmother all in one breath. As if the thought of you coming on to him was the most ridiculous thing he could’ve imagined.

“It’s not—” he said, heat crawling up the back of his neck. “I just—this ain’t…I don’t… It ain’t about that. I’m not doin’ this for any kind of… payback. I don’t want nothin’. Don’t need nothin’.”

You crossed your arms tight over your chest and leaned against the seat stiffly.

“I just thought…” You said quietly, beaten down, defeated, wounded, “You know. You bought me beer. You’re givin’ me a ride. Not like most guys do that kinda thing for free.”

Joel dared a glance at you, but your face had turned away from him, looking out into the darkening neighborhood around you. 

Something curled in his chest then, a slow, boiling heat that moved up his spine and settled sharp in his ribs. Anger, red and searing, but not at you. Not even close. It was for the men who came before, the ones who’d taught you that kindness was a transaction, that safety was something you had to pay for with your body. That you should expect to pay, just for needing something.

He pressed his lips together, eyes back on the road, knuckles whitening on the wheel as the sun bled out over the hills.

“No one ever done somethin’ for you just to be decent?” he asked quietly.

You huffed in annoyance and didn't answer him. 

You seemed to have relaxed a fraction since the car ride over, Joel now beside you on the porch in his rocking chair. He strummed his guitar every now and then, foot ticking to the beat in his head. You had taken his flannel that had been draped behind the back of your chair and pulled it around your shoulders, even though the night was tepid and still. The porch light buzzed above you, casting everything in a yellow hue while the world around you began to quiet. Somewhere off in the distance, a dog barked and cicadas had started to hum low, almost lazily, as if even they were winding down.

You were in the chair beside him, your knees drawn in close, beer bottle in hand as you took slow, thoughtful sips. You looked at your toes a lot, where they curled under you, chipped polish catching what little light the porch offered. Every now and then, your cheek would rest against your knees, eyes drifting to him or across the lawn or up to the sky.

Joel didn’t say much, just enjoyed the quiet evening with the beer sweating in his hand between strums. His gaze moved over the yard, the porch rail, the stretch of gravel drive beyond the gate. He liked this, the stillness, the quiet. He’d even venture far enough to say he liked your company too. 

“It’s so nice out here,” you murmured.

He hummed in agreement, not looking over.

“Peaceful.”

Joel paused his playing and took a sip. “That’s the idea.”

You tilted your head back, hair falling behind you as you looked up into the sky, now washed in that rich, late-summer indigo. A few stars had begun to blink through the haze, faint and patient, waiting their turn. Your lashes caught the porch light when you blinked, and Joel had to look away. His fingers found the guitar strings again, plucking lightly.

You spoke again, quieter now. “You always sit out here at night?”

“When I can.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

He nodded, eyes on your shadowed features, “Especially then.”

You were looking back at him, something gentle in your eyes. Not quite searching, not quite curious. Just... seeing him. He didn’t get that often. You smiled to yourself and let your legs unfold and slid upright in your seat, shifting to face him more. The porch creaked gently under the movement, boards worn smooth from years of foot traffic and hot sun. You leaned over and set your empty beer bottle on the table between you, fingers brushing the edge of his side of the table. 

“Empty?” Joel asked.

You nodded, quiet, almost sheepish.

He set down his old guitar and stood, “I’ll go grab you ano—”

“I’ll come with you,” you said, almost too quickly. “If that’s okay.”

He hesitated, looked at you a little longer than he probably should have, but he nodded.

He opened the front door and held it for you, and you stepped through, bare feet soft against the threshold, the screen slapping gently shut behind.

Joel followed, heart ticking a little louder now with that strange, prickling feeling of someone else walking through his space crawling up the back of his neck. His house had grown quieter over the years, the corners taken over by clutter and dust, a man’s house through and through. Photos still lined the walls—Sarah’s drawings, her soccer trophies, a lopsided art project she made in elementary school that he could never quite bring himself to put away. There were old horse paintings on the walls too and a chipped mug still drying by the sink, the faint scent of wood shavings from replacing the cabinets a few months back. 

He moved to the fridge, grateful for the small excuse to make himself busy. The cool air met his face in relief as he reached for two more beers.

“You have a daughter?” you asked, your voice gentler now. He peeked over the fridge door to see you standing by the entry table, holding a photo of him and Sarah at a soccer game. He knew the one, it was when she’d won her first trophy, his arm around her neck in pride, both of them wearing winning smiles. He’d been so proud, so happy to see her so happy. 

He shut the fridge with a grunt, moving across the kitchen back to you. “Yeah, she’s in school now. All the way at UCB.”

You smiled faintly, still looking at the picture. “Smart girl.”

“Don’t I know it.” The corner of his mouth lifted despite himself and he held the bottle out to you.

You took it slowly, fingers brushing his as you wrapped your hand around the neck. He caught the movement of your eyes then as they flickered down to his left hand, to the bare stretch of skin where a ring might’ve sat. You didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask.

But you set the bottle down then on the entry table, and Joel didn’t care if it left a moisture stain, not with the way something had changed in your expression. 

“You never told me your name,” you said softly, stepping in closer, your hands coming up to press gently against his chest. His breath stuttered, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat.

“I—” he started, voice catching, and, clearing his throat, said: “It–it’s Joel.”

You smiled at that, eyes flicking up to his again. “Joel.” You tried it once, rolling your tongue around with it. He didn’t let himself think too hard about how right it sounded in your mouth.

Your fingers spread wide as they smoothed over his shirt, slow and certain, like you were learning him by feel. Joel put his beer down and his hands came up, cold with condensation and grasping lightly at your wrists, stopping their slow climb just before his collarbone. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, voice low. That ain't what this is.

“I know you did,” you said. “But… you’re just so…” you shook your head, tongue dipping out to moisten your bottom lip before tugging it beneath your teeth. He watched, transfixed, blood rushing in a low roar through his veins, dragging all his sense straight down with it.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Joel,” you said softly, pushing up on to your toes, still barefoot and so god damn warm on him. Joel held his breath as your lips pushed against his jaw, through the thick scruff of his beard, and suddenly there was no more blood in his head, in his ears, in the rest of his body. It all rushed south. 

“Darlin’, please,” he begged, shutting his eyes tightly, gathering his wits, “I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea,”

Because he knew your mother. Because he’d loved her once, and that alone should’ve been enough to stop him. Because he saw you in church today and let his eyes linger too long, let his thoughts stray where they shouldn’t, let the devil lean in close and whisper. And God help him, he listened.

Because it was the devil, he was sure of it, who’d set you in his path. Not fate or chance or any hope of angels. The devil, grinning and cruel, who laid you out like temptation on a Sunday afternoon.

And even when he tried to ignore that pull, tried to quiet the ache, to drive home and forget the way you looked at him in that pew, there you were again laid out in his path a second time at the station. 

And maybe it was sin, or weakness, or something older than both, but part of him wanted to be the man who filled the ache he saw in you.

Because he’d seen the hollowness in your eyes, the sadness, the loneliness. And right now you were peppering kisses to his jaw, his neck, not listening to a word he was saying. He dropped one of his hands from your wrists, and you took that as some sort of consent to move in, but he stopped you. He pushed his hand into your hair, from your jaw to your ear to card his fingers through your locks, tangled and wind blown now, and latched his fingers at the nape of your neck.

You gasped in his hold, lips wet and parted, looking so goddamn tempting it made his teeth ache. But he held you there, held them away from his reach, scruffing your neck like a kitten too wild with need, your fingers clawing at his shirt, delicate and desperate.

“It ain’t right, darlin’,” he rasped, voice raw.

You whined softly, hips tilting toward him.

“If I do this,” he said, “there ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from keepin’ you for myself. And that ain't fair. For you, for the boys your age.” 

“Don’t want them,” you breathed, “Want you,” you breathed, “Keep me, please.”

He groaned, low and pained, nose brushing your jaw, his mouth close enough to nearly taste the salt of your skin. Your hands curled tighter into his chest, and he felt you trying to close the distance, inch by inch, but he kept you in place. Far enough to keep himself from sealing your fate in him.

“Hurt me, Joel,” you whispered. “Please.”

That snapped him out of his reverie faster than a bucket of ice water.

His eyes narrowed, brows knitting as he looked at you. He let go of your hair, letting you fall away from him. You stumbled a little, hands dropping from his chest, your own brow furrowing in confusion.

“No,” he shook his head.

But you didn’t stay gone, you were clambering back to him, those kitten hands still needy, clawing and wanting. Your eyes were wild and shining now, lips pressed into a deep line. One hand grabbed his wrist while the other curled around his shoulder, anchoring you to him.

You pushed his hand under the curve of your jaw, “I know you want me,” you begged, eyes burning, lips parting now, “Please, Joel, I’ll be good, I’ll be whatever you want, just please…touch me, hurt me.”

Joel tried to pull away, trying to find the part of himself that still had a grip on this, but you were already kissing him, hot and frantic as you licked the slant of his mouth, hand threading into his thick hair. You clutched at him with such force, as if he might vanish if you didn’t cling to him with everything you had.

He didn’t mean to kiss you back, but he couldn’t help himself. A sound left him as your tongue pushed past his lips, low and guttural and equal in fervor, pulling you into him. He hoisted you up into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he took hold of you. He was losing this fight, losing his grip on the lie that he could be better, that he could say no, that he could walk away from this and still call himself a good man. That he wasn’t some pervert with a younger girl. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t—

Your tongues slid against one another, filling the desperate space between your mouths, teeth colliding, your entire body shaking against his. He was overwhelmed with the taste of you, the taste of his beer in your mouth, the warmth of it all. How fucking alive and needy you felt in his arms.

He barely remembered reaching the couch, just that he had you under him, laid out across the cushions like some sort of fever dream. He felt like he was eighteen again, desperate in his ache to have you. Your legs pulled him closer, your hands clawing at his shoulders, his neck, digging into his jaw like you needed him closer.

You arched beneath him, gasping, fingers clutching his shirt at his back.

“More,” you whispered, nearly sobbing it. “Please, Joel—please—I can take it—”

He caught your wrists in his hands, holding them down on either side of your head, not rough, but firm.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he rasped, breathless. “I’m not—I don’t want that—”

“But I do,” you cried, your voice cracking.

Joel stared down at you, chest heaving, and something twisted in him then. A wave of grief, of helplessness, of understanding he didn’t want. You weren’t playing, this wasn’t a game. This wasn’t kink or curiosity or seduction. This was a wound, deep and aching in its bleeding core.

“Baby,” he said softly, “Look at me,”

You paused, breath hitching, chest rising and falling as you looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears. It made his heart cleave in two, the way you looked at him like you didn’t know any other way to be loved. That it could be something else but violent.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked gently, “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

You looked away, eyes blinking hard. Your mouth trembled like you were about to speak, but the words didn’t come. You just shook your head, like you didn’t know either.

He let go of your wrists slowly, brushing his thumb across the inside of your arm, gentle now. Still between your thighs, but the fire had dimmed into something sad and raw.

“You want me to keep you?” he asked quietly, trying to bring you back. “You wanna be a good girl for me?”

You looked back up at him then, eyes shining, cheeks wet. You nodded, quick and desperate like your whole body needed to say yes.

“Then we’re gonna do it my way,” he said, wiping your cheeks, “Alright? Ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m gonna show you.”

“Show me?” you echoed, voice small, cracking right down the middle.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmured, petting your hair back from your face, his hand cradling the back of your skull. “Show you how good it can be.”

“Okay,” you whispered. He brushed his lips against your eyes, collecting your tears, kissing your lips again gently. 

“Gonna be a good listener too?” he asked against them.

You nodded, small and shaky. He could see how tightly your eyes were shut, how your lips trembled beneath his.

You threaded your hands back into his hair, tugging him close again, your mouth open, warm with tears and want, nibbling softly at his lower lip as you kissed him, tasting like salt and surrender.

“Such a pretty thing,” Joel murmured, pulling back just enough to take you in. He sat back on his haunches, hands gliding down the length of your sides, his palms broad and steady. He couldn’t help but admire how good you looked beneath him.

“Gonna take this off, okay?” he whispered, and you nodded as he pinched the hem of your skin tight tank top, peeling it up, revealing more and more of you to the quiet room. He did the same with his own shirt, tossing both pieces aside, not caring where they landed.

Your hands found his chest instantly, fingertips diving into the thick, wiry hair there. Your skin was so soft against his, so warm and open. He shivered.

“You’re so handsome, Joel,” you whispered.

He let out a breath of disbelief, smiling faintly, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He bent to kiss you again, slower now, deeper. His tongue slipped past your lips, mapping the shape of your mouth, memorizing it. He licked every part he could reach, wanting more and more. Then his mouth began to drift, trailing wet, reverent kisses down the line of your jaw, along your throat, until he reached the edge of your bra. Red, like your nails and your faded lipstick. He wondered briefly if it was your favorite color. 

His fingers found the straps, easing them down your shoulders with aching care. He watched your eyes as he did it, saw the way your breath deepened and your pupils darkened, your lips parting as you panted. He pulled the cups down, slow and steady, until your breasts spilled free.

“Look at you,” he said, more to himself, and then he was lowering his mouth, pulling one nipple between his lips, tugging gently with his teeth.

Your jaw dropped, a quiet sound catching in your throat as your hands flew to his hair, holding him there. Your eyes had gone heavy-lidded as you watched him.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Joel groaned softly at the sound, the vibrations humming through his chest. He suckled you gently, unhurried and savoring and letting the soft weight of your breast fill his mouth as his tongue swirled lazy circles over the sensitive peak. 

He moved to the other, brushing the soft underside with his nose before taking you in, mouthing at the tender skin with a kind of need he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever. You smelled like salt and that sickly sweet perfume, like a summer night. His palm smoothed up your side, fingertips brushing the swell of your ribs, holding the shape of you close.

“You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” he murmured between kisses, letting his mouth drag up the center of your chest.

You nodded, breath shuddering as your hands traveled his body, delicate fingers feeling his shoulders, his arms, his wrists and fingers.

“I like it when you talk,” you whispered. “You have a nice voice.”

He huffed a breath against your sternum. “That so?”

You nodded again, eyes still hooded low and pupils blown wide as he looked at you.

“Mhm, makes me feel…” you trailed off.

“How do you feel, baby? Tell me,” he urged softly.

“Feel good, feel…safe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel blinked, that word doing more to him than anything else you could’ve said. It rooted him to you, to the moment. It kept him in the soft curve of your hip beneath his palm, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks as you blinked at him.

He smiled at you lightly, kissing down your belly now, your skin trembling as he descended your body. “That’s good, baby,” he assured you, tongue dipping into your navel, making you giggle. He would keep that sound in the back of his head for safe keeping, remember it for days after.

When he reached the waistband of your shorts, he looked up at you, hand already undoing the buckle. You squirmed, fingers flying to help.

“Easy,” he ground out, voice like gravel, a teased warning. You huffed but obeyed, hands retreating to trace over his knuckles as he dragged the zipper down. He kissed between the open denim, right where the little bow on your panties peeked out. That single spot made his mouth water. If he could unhinge his jaw, he’d have swallowed you whole.

He shifted down more, his shoulders bumping your thighs, pulling your shorts down. He kneeled over the side of the sofa to give you room and in one slow, reverent movement, he left you bare beneath him.

He groaned out a sound from deep in his throat before he could stop himself.

“Christ, baby,”

You smiled bashfully at him, your finger going to your mouth, holding your nail between your teeth as your knees bumped together. Your glistening puffy lips pushed together between your legs, until he gently nudged them apart, opening you. He swore he would’ve fallen to his knees if he wasn’t already there.

“Fuck,” he said, kissing the skin of your knee, your inner thigh, leaning his cheek against it.

His fingers came up, pressing into the apex of your thighs, collecting your arousal and spreading it. You gasped something blasphemous as he touched you, as he let his finger gently circle your shining little clit. He felt like he was drooling, his jaw slackening as he watched his fingers play with you. You looked so warm and wet and inviting, clenching and pulsing, needing to be filled.

“Joel—” you begged.

“I know,” he cooed, his eyes, black as yours, finding your gaze, “I know,”

You moaned and squirmed again, and he pulled his hand away to taste you even as you whined at the loss. His eyes rolled back at the taste of you, hunger flashing hot through his body. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He dove into you, head first, tongue hungry, all need and no hesitation. He ate you with slow, dragging strokes, his tongue flattened and curling to catch every drop of you. Your back arched in a perfect curve, your soaked pussy covering his face. He moaned against you, and you answered with breathy little sounds, each one sweeter than the last, like music pressed into his skin.

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty, honey,” he mumbled into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently.

“Ah—!” you gasped, one hand fisting in his hair. He moved to bring his fingers up, prodding you with just one. He slid it in with ease, feeling you squeeze around him with a hiss.

“Oh my—” your eyes rolled back as he looked up at you, “You’re so—so thick,” 

“S’only one finger, baby,” he chuckled, kissing the skin of your thigh, “How we ever gonna get my cock in you, huh?”

“I can take it, I can take it,” you chanted, “want more, Joel, more!” 

“What’d I say about doin’ this my way?” he muttered, kissing your hipbone. “Gotta take my time, baby. Gotta open her up for me real gentle. You gonna let me?”

You nodded like your life depended on it.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, voice breaking on the last word as your whole body shivered beneath him.

And fuck, he was aching now. His cock heavy and stiff in his jeans, throbbing at the sight of you spread out and pliant—so ready, so damn pretty, and all his.

His mouth found you again, letting his teeth graze your clit as he slid in a second finger. His eyes never left your face. He watched as sweat beaded at your temples, your mouth parted in a perfect, wet little “o” as you watched him through heavy lids.

You clenched around him, your pussy fluttering as he felt your walls pulse and draw him deeper. He moaned into you, licking firmly, then suckling your clit between his lips, rolling it steadily with his tongue. Your head flew back, the long line of your throat catching in the light, letting out the prettiest yelp of pleasure he might’ve ever heard in his life.

“Oh fuck!” you cried, thighs trembling as you came hard around his fingers. He kept going, groaning against you, taking in every last second of it like it was the first breath after drowning.

When you came back down to earth, gulping in gasps of air, he was still kissing your clit, gentler now. His fingers slipped out of you slowly, careful not to jolt you.

You reached for him with both hands, cupping his face, your nails digging into the scruff at his jaw, “C’mere,” you said softly. He followed you, letting you pull him up and kissed you hard. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself as his swollen lips and tongue claimed you there. 

“Are you going to fuck me, Joel?” you asked, a little drunk on pleasure. 

“That what you want?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. I need it.”

“Okay, baby,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “Anything for my good girl.”

He stood up, pushed his jeans down his thighs, the denim stiff and dragging, and finally let himself breathe. No boxers. Just him, thick and aching and already leaking a pearl of arousal for you. He caught the way your eyes dropped to it, wide and wonder-filled, the way your breath filling your lungs in a little gasp.

You reached for him, helping him pull down the denim, your fingers finding the length of him immediately, panting like a puppy for him. You leaned up, only wrapping your delicate little fingers around him, that heartbreaker red glistening in the low light of the evening. You tilted your head up at him.

“He’s so pretty, Joel,” you said.

Joel’s stomach flipped at both your words and the contact of your hand moving to brush your thumb over the precum at his tip. He hissed between his teeth, watching your fingers curl around him, barely able to meet at the underside. That sight alone nearly undid him.

His hips twitched in your touch. He reached for your face, thumb swiping along your lower lip. You licked his digit without hesitation, parting your mouth in invitation. He pressed the pad of it against your tongue, slow and firm, pushing until the bend of his hand sat at the corner of your mouth and his fingers cupped the curve of your cheek. Your tongue fluttered, and he felt the moment you almost gagged, throat constricting just enough to make his eyes darken.

He pulled back with a soft hum, dragging his thumb across your lips, spreading your spit there like gloss.

“Think you can take it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, lifting your hand to hold his palm to your mouth, nuzzling against him like a kitten again. Tamer now, domesticated.

Your eyes dropped back to his cock, mouth parted and inching toward him with intent, but he caught your scalp in one large palm, tightening just enough to hold your attention.

“Uh-uh,” he tutted. “Not today.”

“But–”

“Don’t start, baby,” he warned, voice like gravel. “Not if you want me to last long enough to fuck you proper. Need to be inside you, need to know how that sweet little pussy feels wrapped around me.”

You kissed the tip of his cock anyway, disobedient little thing, looking at him from under your lashes. It made his vision fuzzy around the edges, melting the shred of control he felt.

He groaned, remembering himself, and sat on the couch in one fluid motion, pulling you into his lap. You squealed, giggling breathlessly at the motion, but he had you steady between the breadth of his hands. His cock throbbed beneath you, so hard it almost hurt, balls drawn tight from how long he’d been aching for you. 

He smiled, nuzzling his nose beneath your jaw until you turned to kiss him, lips meeting his slow and deep, your mouth warm and wanting. He guided you lower, your hand wrapping around him again. He groaned at the feel of it, his cock heavy and aching as it notched at your entrance, arousal already dripping around the head of him.

“Gonna take all of me?” he rasped, voice rough with restraint. “Gonna make me proud, baby?”

“Yes, Joel… yes,” you whispered, eyes squeezed tight as you began to sink down on him.

His palm found your cheek, thumb stroking lightly. “Look at me,” he said, breathless, “open those pretty eyes… lemme see ‘em.”

You did. And when your gaze met his, he felt his control fray. You looked so undone, lips parted, brows drawn, tears threatening from the stretch of him inside you. He moaned, the sound caught low in his throat, as you sank down another inch, and then another. Your thighs trembled against his sides, hands clutching his shoulders, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you. He could hardly breathe as he watched you take all of him. And when you finally seated yourself all the way, your ass resting against his thighs, Joel’s jaw slackened in ecstasy.

You felt like heaven and sin all at once, velvet and silk and so god damn warm. 

“Oh, baby,” he exhaled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that. So good. So tight around me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your arms wrapping around his neck as you clung to him, your chest pressed flush to his. Joel brought his chin to rest between the soft weight of your breasts, brushing his lips along your jaw as you shifted against him. You whined, gasping at the feeling of him opening you.

“I know, baby, I know.” he soothed, “Don’t move just yet—gotta let yourself adjust. Gotta take it slow.”

“But I wanna,” you whined petulantly, a bratty little sound as your hips rolled, slick and insistent, breath warm on his neck.

He wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you in tighter, his voice slipping lower.

“Told me you’d be a good listener, didn’t you?” he murmured, “So listen, baby.”

Then, as if he’d torn free from whatever leash he thought he had on himself, letting that buried, wanton part of him take over, he added—

“Listen to daddy.”

You froze for half a second, and so did he.

Your breath caught, his grip tightened.

And then your hips rolled again, slower this time, steadier, your voice a little dazed.

“Yes, I will, I’ll be good,”

Joel sighed in relief, heart still punching his ribs from the inside.

“Yeah?” he asked, a small smirk pulling at his lips as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Need daddy to take care of you, huh? That all you wanted, sweet baby?”

You whimpered, nodding into the side of his neck, and he couldn’t help the low groan that escaped him as you clenched around him again.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, holding your hips down so you couldn’t move, keeping you filled to the brim. “That’s it honey, I know, just needed to filled up and taken care of, like a good little girl.”

You were panting above him, your thighs slick with arousal and anticipation. Joel kissed your collarbone, your jaw, your cheek—murmuring quiet, dirty little things between each one as you clenched around him.

“You ready, honey?” he whispered against your ear.

“Yes,” you sighed dreamily.

“Yes?” he asked with a crooked smile. He felt one spread on your lips against his shoulder, and you turned to bite his earlobe.

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered, and the words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, skin lighting up in goosebumps, cock jumping inside you as his blood rushed hot and fast.

“Atta girl,” he said, lifting you slightly, just enough to slide out an inch, then dropped you back onto him. The sound you made was sharp and breathless, like the air had been knocked clean from your lungs. Joel pulled you closer, leaning back into the couch, one hand threaded through your hair, the other curling around your spine.

He started to move, thrusting with even, sawing strokes, letting you just lean into him and take it. Each one was deep and controlled, his cock dragging through every inch of your sweet, wet, addicting center. Your body trembled and beaded with sweat against his, your breath catching on each pass as he filled you again and again. You were so warm and velvety against him, pulling him in deeper, squeezing the life out of him every time he bottomed out.

“How’s that feel, hm?” he murmured, pushing your hair back with gentle fingers before sitting you up to face him.

He was surprised to see tears flowing down your face.

“Baby…” he cooed, stilling his hips. But you let out a helpless breath at the pause, rocking against him in search of friction.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he said, his hand firm at your back to keep you still. 

“I just…” you sniffled, voice catching. “I want you—I want—” Another breath. “It feels so good, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, tears streaking your cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” you said, wiping at your face. Mascara smudged under your eyes. “I’ve just never felt like this before.”

Joel kissed your trembling lip, soft and reassuring. His hands never left you, anchoring you in his lap.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I’m gon’ take care of you. Tell me what you need.”

“Don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop,” you hiccuped. “Even if I cry. Just—hold me. Please.”

He nodded, brows knit as he kissed along your jaw, your chin. “Okay. You sure?”

“I’m begging you,” you whispered. “It feels like heaven, Joel. You feel so good inside me.”

He let you rock your hips, guiding you with a hand at the base of your spine. Your clit caught on the rough thatch of hair at his base, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice rough. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” you breathed.

“Good girl,” he moaned, thrusting up into you again, slow, deep, and steady, "I got you, I got you, take what you need,"

Joel kept one hand on your back and the other cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing under your eye where a fresh tear slipped free. You weren’t sobbing or in hysterics, but the tears kept falling, thick and hot, like your body couldn’t contain the multitude of emotions, like it was breaking open somewhere soft and untouched inside you.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You feel good, baby? I got you.”

You nodded again, lip caught between your teeth, still trying to keep quiet even as your hips moved with more urgency, chasing the fullness of him. Your hands gripped his shoulders, then his hair, like you didn’t know where to hold on.

“I—” you started again, breath shaking. “I want you, want to be with you, want to feel like this all the time,”

“I know, honey,” Joel murmured, kissing your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. “I know. And you can, I’m right here, gonna keep you, gonna show you how good you are.”

You moaned louder when his hips rolled up to meet yours, slow and deep. His cock hit that spot inside you and he felt you flutter around him. 

“There she is,” he praised, voice low, lips brushing yours. “Look at you, takin’ me so good. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your hands found his chest, nails curling into him as he fucked up into you. He kept it deep and measured, taking his time with you, letting you feel every inch of him that burned for you, that ached and needed. And maybe one day he’d give in to all of it, that hunger to take you hard and fast and leave you marked and shaking. But not tonight. Not when you were looking at him like that, when your brain and your body needed to be shown softness, gentleness.

He wanted to show you something else. That you didn’t need bruises to feel wrecked. That it could be slow, and warm, and still ruin you completely. That he could be that for you. 

His nose nudged yours, voice barely more than breath. “She’s close, I feel her chokin’ me, feel how much she loves it.”

You mewled, your thighs beginning to tremble around him. “So close. Joel—please—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I got you. You’re doin’ so good. Yeah, that’s it.”

His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight to him, guiding your rhythm as he fucked up into you just a little harder, a little deeper, dragging those moans out of you with every pass. Tears clung to your lashes again. Your mouth hung open, eyes unfocused, your hands clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him to hold onto.

Joel stared up at you, undone by the sight. Every time you rocked down onto him, every time your body gripped him like that, he felt it deeper. Felt something in him start to fray.

“Christ,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your lips.

“You’re takin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ pretty like this. Makin’ me proud, sweet girl.”

You moaned and panted, head tipped back in a mix of agony and pleasure, “I’m gonna—oh god—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, baby. Let go. Let me feel ‘er. Come for me, sweet girl, gooood girl—there you go—oh, fuck—”

You cried out, body clenching down around him, your thighs tightening as your orgasm crashed over you hard and electrifying. Joel held you through it, kissing your face, your neck, rocking into you. Your walls clenched and fluttered around him, pulling him in deeper, squeezing him like you needed him deeper, milking every last bit of him. It scrambled his thoughts, popped them like fizz in his chest. 

“Oh fuck that’s so—” he groaned, head falling back onto the back of the sofa, “so fuckin’ pretty,”

You returned to him, kissing his jaw as you came down from your high, dazed and breathless, your lips trailing to his throat, to the thrum of his pulse. Your tongue flicked there, tasting the salt and skin, and Joel let out a strangled sound. He gripped your hips hard, rocking into you, his cock pulsing, twitching deep inside, thick ropes of his spend coating your walls, leaking down between you as his whole body tensed and strained. His mind went white around the edges, like all he could feel or think about was you.

He stayed there through it, and eventually his panting turned to a soft, easy sigh and he tilted his head up to look at you with a lazy smile on his face.

Bringing a hand to your face, he brought you down to him to kiss your temple once, then again, then your cheek and your jaw. Soft, aimless kisses like he didn’t want to stop touching you, like he couldn’t.

“You okay?” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, still wrecked from everything he’d just felt.

You nodded against him, slow and a little dazed, your fingers weaving into his hair. The curls behind his ears were damp with sweat, soft between your fingertips. He didn’t move, just let you touch him. Let you stay.

Joel exhaled and pressed his nose to your hair, breathing you in. The room had gone quiet now, save for the soft sound of your breaths mingling. His cock was still tucked deep inside you, softening, but still thick with presence, the warmth between you both beginning to fade.

“How about I start you a bath, hm?” he said softly. “Get you cleaned up. That sound okay, baby?”

You leaned in, placing your lips against his. Not even a kiss, just a gentle press, in the shape of one, soft and plush and lingering. Joel kissed you back with the same careful slowness, like he didn’t want to startle whatever fragile thing was unfolding between you.

Then, his voice came quieter than before. “You can… stay here. If you want.”

He felt it the moment the words landed. The way your body stilled, the shift behind your eyes. Not a flinch, exactly, but something close. Like a thread inside you had pulled too tight, stretched too far.

You inhaled the tiniest gasp, gaze dropping down, retreating into yourself. He saw it, saw the question in your eyes, saw the moment of uncertainty. And for one awful second, he wondered if he’d broken whatever this was, if he’d asked for too much.

But you didn’t move. You just sat there, caught in the space between something old and something new.

Joel watched you, silent and waiting, even as his heart started to ache with the fear that you’d pull away. He knew that look. The kind of quiet panic that wasn’t about him, not really, but about what came after. About what it meant to be wanted and not just… used. To be safe and not trapped.

He didn’t rush you, he let the quiet stretch as his thumbs softly brushed over your skin in wait.

And then you looked up at him slowly, studying him. Your fingers brushed through his hair again, slower this time, thinking. You combed it back, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes like you were memorizing something. 

Joel let you. His eyes never left yours.

He saw the flicker of something in your expression—fear, maybe, or hope. Maybe both.

Then your hand paused at the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you whispered, so quiet it barely reached him.

His heart kicked hard in his chest. He slid his hand to your nape, curling his fingers gently there, pulling you in for another kiss, this one deeper, but still sweet and soft. 

“You won’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured against your mouth. “You don’t have to stay if it feels too much.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Joel closed his eyes, and you leaned down to press your forehead to his.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, voice so full of quiet emotion it ached.

You nodded, your nose brushing his.

Joel kissed you one more time, a little peck, a little check in. It didn’t need to be some grand gesture or heart filled confession just yet, no explanation of everything you’d seen and everything he’d done. He knew that. Knew it would come, when you were ready. When he could finally let himself believe you might actually want to stay.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it for years, something heavy easing in his chest as he shifted beneath you. His hands slid under your thighs and he rose carefully from the couch, cradling you close to his chest.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s get you in that bath.”

don't talk to me for 7-10 business days this ruined me and IM THE ONE WHO WROTE IT

[gotaksboyfie]

Hello there !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

I just saw the Seong-je headcannons you did, can i req a oneshot?

Where the reader (fem or gender neutral, its up to you ^^) is an absolute sweetheart (basically a polar opposite to Seong-je) accidentally makes him jealous??

Seong-je x reader smut-fluff req ( ≧ᗜ≦)

(Im a sucker for opposites !! Hehe)

-🎀

sweet and sour

gif creds: @1liv

pairing keum seongje x female reader

summary when seongje catches you talking to another guy, he has to teach you a lesson

word count 1.7k

warnings/tags jealousy, smut, degregation, minor violence

it's late at night, and you're still waiting for seongje's union meeting to end. you're sat outside of a convenience store drinking an iced americano as you stare down the street, hoping seongje comes quick.

a voice from your left startles you as you look up at the owner. it was just some guy from your school—the transfer kid if you remember correctly.

"i love the pin on your bag! you like one piece too?" he points to your purse, where a zoro pin lies.

"oh my god, yes!" you beam as he starts a conversation about one piece and anime. you always enjoyed talking about your interests.

"what's your name? mine's taesan."

"like the kpop idol," you laugh. "mine's y/n!"

the topic somehow shifts to his life as a new transfer student, originally coming from busan.

"how are you enjoying it here?" you ask.

"it's really nice. pretty peaceful so far."

"that's great! there's a really nice cafe with some kitties living around it around xxx street," you clap your hands together happily, remembering the small babies.

"cool. say, would you ever want to go with me some time?"

"mmh.. maybe if i'm not busy?" you furrow your brows trying to think of when you can spare some time to buy food for the cats and go out for a few hours. your schedule consists of... all seongje. uhh....

what you don't notice, is seongje staring intently at the two of you. he doesn't care who it is you're talking to, but you're smiling too widely for his liking.

too sweetly at someone other than seongje. your eyes look too bright as the random inches closer to you. his hands are starting to creep onto your seat, sliding towards your shoulder. even from a distance, the other guy's expression is just sleazy and nasty. seongje's not dumb, he knows what that guy's intentions are.

no one is allowed to touch what's his.

clenching his fist with barely concealed rage, he marches up to taesan wordlessly and strikes him first.

"what the fuck?!" the transfer student yells, clutching his cheek. blood oozes from his lips as he gets into a fighting stance. he doesn't get far before he's knocked down into some tables by seongje.

"the fuck are you trying to do, huh?" seongje clicks his tongue, stepping towards him.

"nothing! i–i swear," taesan pleads, covering his face with his forearm.

"don't fucking look at her, don't fucking talk to her," seongje snarls, diving in to land more hits. "don't even dare to breathe in her direction unless you want to die."

"seongje, stop! he wasn't doing anything!" you try and latch onto his arm to stop him, but he shakes you off.

"i didn't know she was taken!" taesan stammers, barely defending himself from seongje's assaults.

seongje chuckles dryly, "you must be new here. listen, she's mine. get the fuck out of my sight." he grabs taesan's collar and brings his mouth next to his ear, making sure you can't hear seongje. "you're lucky my girl doesn't like blood, or else you'd be losing a limb today."

as seongje gets up, taesan is gone in a flash. seongje doesn't look at you yet, just staring at the wall as he bites his lip angrily.

"seongje, he really wasn't-"

"do you think this is a game?" seongje cuts you off, dragging you roughly towards his house. his voice is quiet but you can hear the anger behind it.

"what? no, of course not." you're stumbling as seongje practically speed walks down the side walk, slightly unable to match his pace.

"you think i don't see it? the way they look at you. like they're owed something just because you look at them once." seongje's head is high as he stops himself from looking at you, holding back just barely.

"we were just talking, though? i was being nice to him," you know the concept of being nice was foreign to seongje, but why was he so worked up?

seongje is silent as he opens the door to his house and slams it shut, immediately pinning you against the nearest wall. your back slams against it and you let out a sharp cry at the sudden pain.

"you don't fucking get it y/n," he snarls at you, "that bastard was seconds away from getting handsy. but of course you're too nice to fucking see it."

"i— i didn't mean to, i'm sorry," you stammer. seongje's face is centimeters from you, and you can smell the scent of nicotine from his breath.

"you don't see it because.." seongje leans in, his nose brushing against yours. his gaze pierces through you as he continues.

"..you're too fucking soft. you see a friend, they see some sweet and easy prey." his hand finds your jaw, holding it in a firm grip. "if one more person approaches you like that, i wont hold back like i did today."

you open your mouth to try and speak, but seongje pinches your cheeks together and cuts you off. "guess i just have you remind you who you belong to, huh?"

in one quick motion, seongje picks you up and brings you in for a bruising kiss. his hands hold onto your thighs tightly before he drops you on the bed.

the bed creaks with your sudden weight, and seongje is over you within seconds. his hands find your hips again, and he tugs you until your clothed pussy is flush against his hard cock.

"you have no clue what you do to me," he groans, rutting harshly against you. the friction feels so good, but it's not enough and you both know that.

"seongje," you whine, pulling him down for another kiss. his hands skillfully take both his and your pants off, and he starts rutting against you again—this time with no layers in between.

"you're fucking dripping for me, sweetheart," seongje mutters as his thumb travels down to find your clit. you gasp sharply as he roughly thumbs at it, hands scrambling at his back.

"ready?"

that's all the warning you get before seongje slots himself inside you in one thrust, leaving you no time to adjust. the stretch is deliciously painful, and tears start to well up in your eyes as seongje starts with a brutal pace immediately.

"it's too– too much! seongje–" you cry out, throwing your head back in a mix of pleasure and pain. seongje grins, leaning in to mark up your neck.

"you're so tight around me baby, like you were made for this. the perfect fit around me," seongje groans into your neck, nipping and sucking dozens of hickeys all over.

when the pain subsides, you can barely form coherent sentences. there's no room for you to breathe, not with seongje's cock pounding into you almost every second.

"no one else can fuck you better than me, isn't that right?" seongje detaches from your neck and talks directly into your ear, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine. you nod faintly, hoping that'll satisfy him.

seongje notices the lack of response and pauses briefly, flipping you over and resuming his pace. this angle forces him deeper, and you wail as seongje abuses your cervix.

"you're mine, only mine. got that?" seongje breathes out. "say it, baby."

"'m y-yours," your voice is muffled by the sheets as you stutter it out. seongje doesn't seem too pleased as a sharp sting begins to bloom on your ass.

he chuckles as you flinch from the sudden impact, "that's all you've got? try again."

"i'm yo–yours seongje–!" you choke on his name as he spanks you again, heat flaring across your skin.

"too cockdrunk to even say it properly?" his palm soothingly rubs against where he hit you last, but you know it's all a ruse. another hit has a fresh cascade of tears running down your face as seongje laughs cruelly again.

"one more chance, baby. you've got this, i know you can do it." seongje's voice is mocking as he thrusts harder, as if he already knows you can't do it.

your voice catches before it even leaves your throat. you can’t get it out. your lips part but nothing comes out. your brain is hazy from the sting and the heat and him.

“i’m only yours, s–seongje—please—”

your words collapse under the weight of it all. it’s not even a full sentence. just pieces, broken up by the way your body’s shaking, by the grip he’s got on your hips, by the ache building deep in your gut.

at first it's silent. the only sound you can hear are your ragged breaths, and the wet squelches from where seongje slams into you with no reprieve.

but then you hear it, a quiet sound he makes when he’s pleased with you. a laugh, low in his chest.

"that's what i thought." his voice is slightly deeper, and you can hear the satisfaction in it. "good girl, y/n-ah."

seongje grips your hips again, and you can tell he's planning something. theres no time to dwell on it though, because the knot in your stomach is growing tighter and tighter by the second.

"gonna let everyone know who you belong too? who fucks you the best?"

you nod vigorously as your hand reaches down to circle at your clit, but seongje swats it away. "stay there and take what i give you."

his hand slides down between your thighs in a practiced circular motion with no mercy. your back arches further, and you're so close.

your hips jerk, helpless against the pressure. your moans are getting higher, faster and you’re almost there, barely holding on.

"come for me, sweetheart."

it comes crashing down all at once. your walls threaten to squeeze shut around seongje, and you're crying out his name so loud the neighbors definitely hear it. there's nothing in your mind except for seongje, seongje, seongje—

your thighs twitch as you feel ropes of his release paint your insides, and your arms lay limp next to you. you distantly feel something warm wiping at your entrance, but you're too worn out to properly react.

then, seongje pulls you into his chest. his arms are wrapped around you, with one hand stroking your hair.

"love you," you mumble, dozing off.

"love you too, baby."

fin

a/n i rlly rlly hope this was okay 🙇🙇 this is more on the filthy side rather than fluffy.. i'm sorry 😭

[bloodybreakupscene]

-> 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃.

robert (bob) reynolds x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [desc.] :: although he isn't aware it's even a thing, you're bob's comfort person, his safe space.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ [a/n] :: haaiii this is just fluff and cuteness i love bob he deserves the world,,, go watch thunderbolts* for this cutie 💔

bob has always struggled with his self confidence, from youth to the age he is now he's never felt really.. worth it. he always figured he was just there, no real purpose. however, after the whole, void-sentry thing, he's felt fine, content, basically, but there's some days where he feels as if he's better than he is, and most of those days are with you.

“your hair looks nice today.” you say, both of you at the kitchen sink together.

“wai- what? me?” he asks, pointing at himself as if there's anyone else in the room with you.

“mhm,” you nod, putting your washed plate on a rack so he can dry it with the small towel in his hands.

“i, wow, thanks, hehe,” he giggles, small smile on his face, “you look, nice too. well, you always do.. that was corny, sorry.”

he tilts his head back down, face flushing red as he rambled for a bit. “thanks for helping me by the way.”

“it's no problem, i really don't mind.” facing back to the plethora of utensils you've been washing. he faces his feet but all he can think about is you, which he finds stupid now because you're literally right there.

“since everyone's out right now… wanna go like, watch a movie?” you ask, walking up next to him, body nearly up against him.

you don't notice but he surely does.

“i.. uh .. yeah. yeah i would.” his hands fidget with a towel as he follows you into the watchtower living room, like a puppy trailing its owner.

you sit on the couch and grab the remote, bob sitting next to you, you ask if there's anything specific he wants to watch and he shakes his head, “no, no, i'm fine with whatever,” smiling in that goofy way he usually does.

he tries to disregard his pink dusty cheeks but it's hard when he physically feels his face heating up. he loves talking to you, he loves listening to you, just everything, he thinks.

this feels nice, being around someone, back when he left the vault, he was so consistently on edge, that there was danger around every corner. which granted, there was, but now its all a distant memory; something he can shove– “no, can't do that anymore”

“huh?” you turn your head away from the screen.

“oh, nothing, sorry,” his eyes looking at the screen instead of a blank spot on the wall. he feels so safe with you, also very sleepy. he swears he wasn't this tired when you were both doing dishes, what happened?

his head leans over to the side and he slouches down more. he's never felt so comfortable before. did we get a new couch? he thinks.

not even five minutes pass and he's leaning on your shoulder, legs nearly half off the couch like he's some sort of house cat. your body is so comfy, comfy and warm.

he must've been sleeping for at least an hour because when his eyes open again credits are rolling and his head is on your lap. if he was more awake he would've apologizes profusely but he couldn't really care less right now. not when your hands are in his hair and you're massaging his scalp.

your hands play with little parts of hair and he feels so relaxed. his arms are splayed over your legs as well and he shifts his own legs onto the rest of the unoccupied couch. he thinks you fell asleep too because the moving hand remains still but still intertwined in his locks.

“OUR TEAM BOND IS STRONGER THAN EVER!” alexei declares–loudly, as he always does when he sees his two favorite valued team members passed out on the couch.

the others pour in nearly a hundred times quieter than alexei and groan at the volume of his voice for what seemed the 34th time that day.

bob doesn't flinch or even stir in his sleep, the warmth and contentment being enough to keep him in slumber. however, the same could NOT be applied to you. eyes blinking open staring at the Thunderbolts*™ that just entered the tower.

“team bond? what? what the hell were you guys talking about?”

“nothing, nothing. go, continue with..” ava takes a swig of water from a cup, “your little cuddle sesh and whatnot.”

“were not..? like barely..” you roll your eyes, now feeling the weight of your friends eyes on you, “ok whatever.”

john snickers, “pfft, we all know where that'll go,” he leaves the room, the others pour into their respective rooms but yelena stays.

“i'm glad you two have each other,” her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“even if it's not like that,” she teases, “i give it two weeks– confession, heartfelt, whatever shit they do in the movies.”

“okay–thanks yelena, you can leave now.”

[rosenclaws]

How does he handle (you're totally oblivious and innocent when this other man comes on to you, Logan's your one and only) other men flirting with you and his jealousy?

Hehe more jealousy stuff I love it

Origins Logan -

He hates ittt. He’s already this close to punching one of the assholes he works with because they keep making comments about you when you drop him off from work. In fact thats where i see this happening. Logan forgets his lunch and being the sweet partner u are u come and bring it to him. He’s out when you show up and some dick head new hire doesn't know that you're Logan's so he tries to flirt with you and you're completely oblivious and just think he's being nice. Oh man when Logan comes back he is pissed off. He literally grabs this boy by the back of his shirt and yanks him away from you and taking his place. He doesn't care if the other guy falls or what because you're here and he was talking to you. You scold him a little bit but he just smiles and wraps his arm around you, taking you back to the truck so you can eat lunch together. You tell him all about your day and he just listens. Next time you come around, Logan has made sure that every man knows not to even look at you unless they wanna go through him first.

Trilogy Logan -

Oh he is such a jerk and not to you but to whoever tried to flirt with you. It's a little embarrassing but it's also kinda cute seeing him get all protective. He stands a little taller and makes snippy comments and jokes towards them. Okay so like. There's a new mutant and he's around your age and much too flirty for Logan's liking. Logan def stands really close to you at all times and really likes it when you got his scent on you from sleeping in his bed or using his shampoo. But this asshole isn't taking the hint and keeps trying to flirt with you. I could imagine Logan testing him a little harder in the danger room and when you scold him about it he denies all accusations. He's not trying to get him hurt he's trying to see how he would handle dangerous situations. Doesn't matter that Logan turned the intensity up a few notches and it was only that guy in the room. Logan even offers to spar with him but he declines. After that Logan notices that he's left you alone and he's more smug than usual.

DOFP Logan -

Okay this one I think is the funniest of them all. So there's this new student teacher and he's been assigned to your class and Logan hates it because this little prick is taking up all your time. He brings you coffee in the mornings when Logan should be doing that. He doesn't even make it right but you're too nice to correct him. Look Logan doesn't blame the guy for being attracted to you because you're the hottest person in this mansion but you're his and no one else. I think he gets all grumpy about it. He's meaner in class and harsher when he grades and all his students know he's jealous but he refuses to admit it. So they come to you and beg for your help because you're the only one he listens to. You tease him a lot for being jealous because its so cute seeing him pretend not to be annoyed at your new coworker. Of course you reassure him that he's the only one you love and maybe spend a very long night showing him just that oop. The next morning when that other guy tries to bring you coffee Logan is already sitting on your desk sipping his own while you're drinking the one he made for you. A smirk on his face as he sees that boy clock the hickeys on your neck that you tried to cover up.

Old Man Logan -

He's the most sulky out of all of them tbh. He knows he's old and mean and way past his prime so when he sees someone flirting with you as you serve them coffee he just kinda gets all sad. Like he's weighing you down and you could be doing so much more with you life than be with him. He doesn't get upset he just gets jealous and already convinces himself that its better if you go off with this other guy. Of course you have to slap some damn sense into him and how he's being ridiculous. He's got a lot of demons inside of him and it's not easy for you to chase them away but you try your best and all you ask of him is to not give up on you and your relationship so easily.

Worst Logan -

He's like. Half sulking and half raging jealous. He's insecure about his past and how you view him as a person so when he sees someone making you laugh and being flirty at one of Wade's parties it can be a blow to his self esteem. He doesn't want it to affect him as much as it does so he tries to pretend it doesn't bother him but it does and you know it. I think he'd be standing across the room giving this guy a death stare when Wade comes up and makes a couple jokes just to rile him up a little. His poking works because Logan def comes over and steals you away just because he can't take watching you laugh at a joke that isn't his. You find it adorable and tease him about it but also tell him that no one else has your heart but him.

[pineconepie]

I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR CREATIVE BRAIN WHIPS JUST PLEASE GIVE ME A FEM YANNNN (love your work btw)

Hehe tysm!! I hope this is good!! <3 I made parental yandere ghost!!

TW: Kidnapping, parental yandere, infantilization

...

When you got a shady ad of a mansion for the same price of a tiny home, you figured it'd be covered with mold and falling apart. The ad didn't give much information, other than it had several acres, and three stories tall.

You wondered why someone would sell such a building for such a cheap price, but given your budget, might as well check it out.

And oh boy were you shocked at what you found.

A beautiful mansion, not a single sign of mold or decay in sight, other than a tiny bit of dust here and there. It's as if no one lived in it for quite some time, yet it was taken care of.

Three bedrooms, all fully furnished. Three bathrooms, also fully furnished. A kitchen that you couldn't even imagine in your wildest dreams. A living room. An attic, a basement, a garage. All of them with furniture inside. Several acres of land, as it had advertised.

"Is it to your liking?"

You whip around to see a woman with short black hair, brown eyes, wearing a dress shirt and tie with a long black skirt. She looks to be in her early to mid forties.

You're pretty sure she wasn't there before. Perhaps she came in silently and didn't mean to scare you like that.

"Yes. Yes! Of course! Is this seriously all for such a cheap price?" you ask, completely confused. Something isn't adding up here. There has to be some kind of catch, surely.

Her smile unnerves you just slightly, its a little too wide. She makes a cooing noise in the back of her throat, but snaps out of it quickly.

"The reason it's so cheap is because there's not that many people interested in living out here in the middle of nowhere. It's incredibly hard for us to get this off our hands."

You don't believe that's the only reason, but you decide not to question it. "And you're the realtor, right? Blair Watts?"

"That would be me!" she says cheerfully, although there's an edge to it that you can't place.

It doesn't matter anyway. This is the house for you. "So... where do I sign?"

Blair gestures to a paper and pen on the nearby table. You read over them.

Something about this house seems wrong. You should've listened to that feeling. But you sign the papers and hand them back to Blair, who takes it.

She smiles down at you, although her expression is a mix between condescension and what you think is relief.

"Welcome home," she croons. "If you need anything, feel free to contact me."

"Thank you!" you say, maybe a tad bit too quickly. But who cares! A mansion for such a cheap price! You're about to ask another question relating to the home, but in just one blink, she's gone. No trace she was ever there at all.

A chill goes down your spine. This woman is absolutely strange, although she didn't seem harmful in any way. Not in the physical sense, at least.

...

You move all your things with relative ease into your new home. It's not much to fill the space of a mansion, so you still have several empty rooms left. The furniture that's already there looks far too expensive and nice to get rid of or replace, so you decide to keep everything as is.

It could definitely use a makeover, if you have that kind of money anytime soon, but it isn't your top priority for now.

When you enter the room with your own things to decorate as your own bedroom, you notice it looks different than how you remember.

The walls are painted pastel, there's toys littering the floor, and even the bed has a cartoon-themed comforter spread over it. You glance behind you and see that nothing else looks out of place.

So weird. Maybe you just forgot which room you liked best, and didn't see this one earlier?

You back up, only to bump into someone. You drop all the boxes in your hands, and spin around with wide eyes. There stands Blair, a concerned smile on her face.

"Oh, what's wrong, honey?" Blair asks, her voice sounding like a parent trying to speak gently to their upset child.

Her arms wrap around your body. You freeze as she slowly rocks you both back and forth. Her touch feels cold yet not as solid as most normal touches are. As if it were... ghostly.

"Uh- yeah, I'm alright! Just... just lost my balance for a second there! But hey, when did you get here?" More importantly, why is she here?

She keeps rocking with you in her arms. "I never left." With a chuckle she finally lets you go. "That room is my favorite in the whole mansion. Isn't it lovely?"

You nod without thinking. You start gathering your dropped belongings as quickly as possible, and stand back up. When you look at Blair again, something really doesn't feel right. Her presence is uncanny, yet you can't really pinpoint why.

There's a slight haze that comes off her outline, almost like she's blurry around the edges. Like a bad photoshop edit on the image of reality.

"Yeah. Lovely," you mutter. "I swore it was different last time."

"Oh." Her smile softens. "I tried to decorate it to your personality."

"But it's not..." You shake your head. "Why? I don't understand what's going on..."

"My child deserves the best, after all." She makes that cooing noise again, which sends another chill down your spine. "How about we unpack?" You're in too much shock to argue when she kneels down to pull things out of your moving boxes.

"Hey, that's not--"

"Hush, dear. Mama needs a moment."

A long beat passes. "...What? Mama?"

Blair sets almost everything into a large pile--things like your electronics, books, paperwork, and other adult essentials. In fact, anything adult seems to have been set aside.

The only things left from the box is your stuffed animals and blankets.

Then she glances back up at you. "You can call me Mommy too, if you'd like. Anything but 'Mother'. Makes me feel old." Her voice gets distant. "I always wanted a little baby to raise as my own... that's why the price was so low! To encourage someone like you to buy this home. I could tell you would need me right away. I mean, look at you!" She gestures to your clothing and messy appearance.

You're too confused to even get offended. "Someone... like me? Aren't you the realtor? What's going on?"

She sighs. "No. Not technically. But this is all too complicated talk for you, silly. Grown-up talk will just overwhelm you."

"But..." You flinch when her smile fades just slightly. "Look... I don't know what's going on, but I think I wanna back out of this..."

"No. No, no, no. We can't do that."

"Well I just--"

"You just want attention," she scoffs. "Don't worry. You'll get plenty of it from Mama." She effortlessly picks you up, much to your shock. Is this a real person, or are you just losing it? "Now, how about some dinner, hm? I have many bottles and sippy cups already prepared for you, and more items for you on the way!" She peppers the side of your face in kisses.

They still feel cold, almost like ice. "Blair, please put me down! This has gone far enough!"

"If that's what you want..." She releases you, and you land with a hard thud onto the floor. You wince at the impact and lay there, taking a minute to process this interaction. She has the audacity to gasp in shock. "Oh goodness! Are you alright? Oh, my poor baby!"

You're too speechless to answer, and before you know it, she picks you up again. If you didn't know any better, you'd say this woman was legitimately worried over you.

For the rest of dinner, you tune out her words, in too much shock and confusion over your situation.

She gives you some sliced fruits and finger foods to eat, as well as a sippy cup filled with juice. You keep pushing the items away, but every time you do, she simply pushes them right back. Finally giving up, you eat, wondering when you can escape her and figure this place out yourself.

At the end of the meal, you push away the empty plates.

"Are you finished?" she asks in such a gentle tone, you nearly forget how scary she can be.

"Yes." Your voice sounds raspy and far-away. It makes sense, given what you've been through today.

"Very good!" she praises, pinching your cheeks as you sit frozen on the spot. She takes the dishes away and hums as she cleans up, her apron tied behind her back as she washes each plate by hand.

"...Blair."

"That's Mama," she corrects gently. "Try again. Here, I'll help you practice. Ma-ma. Can you say that?"

Your eye twitches. "Mama," you repeat emotionlessly. "I'm tired. Can I just go to bed?" Hopefully you can wake up from this nightmare.

"Yes, of course." She puts the wet dishes onto a drying rack to let them air dry. Her skirt swishes around her legs as she turns back to you. "Do you need my help changing into your jammies?"

"I'm not a child," you deadpan. "Let me just change clothes by myself and you go somewhere else. Anywhere else."

"How rude!" Blair says, putting her hands on her hips. "I try so hard for you, and then you disrespect me like this? You really do need discipline. Do you really think you can do whatever you want in this house?"

You go quiet.

She tuts. "You go get dressed into your jammies, and I'll come up in a few minutes to tuck you in. Got that?"

With that command, she nudges you towards the stairs.

You trudge up, each step taking much more energy than it normally should.

As soon as you step into your bedroom, you shut the door behind you. It's not like this door has a lock or anything, but at least she can't watch you while you get ready.

After you change into the childish pajamas she put out for you and climb into bed, you bury yourself under the covers and pray this all blows over by tomorrow.

She comes in, and you try your hardest not to glare at her. Blair sees that your eyes are open anyway and beams.

"There's my perfect angel~" Her cooing voice does nothing but terrify you now. You stay silent and try to ignore her gaze. "Now, would you like a bedtime story? Or perhaps a lullaby?" You feel her presence as she sits down next to your blanket-covered form.

"How about you tell me what you are? Why are you doing this?" You don't sound angry or even scared anymore. Just tired and done with everything that happened so far today.

You suppose there must be an explanation to this.

She takes a deep breath. "...I'm not... human. I used to be, but not anymore."

You blink. "Are you a vampire?"

Blair chuckles. "No, sweet pea." She hesitates a bit more. "I'm... I suppose what people would call a ghost." She speaks her last word so softly you nearly miss it.

"...A ghost?" You sit up. "You're lying! If you were a ghost, why can you touch me and other objects?"

She tilts her head. "Hm? Oh! That's because we're in my home. Where I died. As long as I'm here, I can be seen and touch anything like you can. I can leave, but I can't really do anything. That's why I made that fake listing. I'm lonely, and I've always wanted a baby of my own. But I died before I ever got to experience that."

"...A ghost..."

The pieces fall into place. Her blurry outline, her strange appearance, her odd behavior. It makes more sense than one would expect.

You can almost see pity in her brown eyes as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. "But now that you're here, I have my very own little baby to take care of!" Blair practically squeals in excitement. "My life--or rather afterlife--is complete now that I have you. And as long as you stay, I will always love and take care of you."

So if what she says is right, then if you escape, there's no possibility she could make you come back, or even be visible to you.

Blair frowns. "I know what you're thinking. But please reconsider! You're already settled in, and I want you to have everything you could ever need. This doesn't need to be negative."

You narrow your eyes. "...okay."

She doesn't like your dry, one-worded response, but chooses not to push it. Instead, she stands up.

"Sleep tight, angel. Mama loves you. I promise to show you that, okay?" She kisses your forehead and flicks off the light, closing the door behind her.

You hear her lock it from outside the room with a key.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 12

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 5.3k

Trigger warning; //

notes; hello hello, hope that everyone is doing great ! The month of January is finally over I can't wait for the weather to get warmer because it's freezing. Anyways, shorter chapter but a nice one hehe, just for you guys to be ready the next chapter will be longggg. Well see you all soon. Love you and thank you for reading this story <3333

previous ✧ next

The first thing you noticed was the pain—a sharp, unrelenting ache radiating from your back and shoulder. It was enough to wake you, though not enough to drown out the feeling of utter comfort surrounding you. You blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment. The bed you were in wasn’t yours, but it smelled warm, familiar, and safe.

Azriel’s.

The realization came slowly as you glanced around the room, taking in its simple yet elegant decor. Dark walls, a shelf lined with well-used books. The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, hitting your bare back and warming your skin. You hadn’t slept this well in... years.

Groaning softly, you pushed yourself upright, the movement sending fresh waves of pain through your body. The bandages on your shoulder and back tugged slightly, a reminder of the arrows that had pierced you only hours ago. Still, you managed to shuffle toward the small dresser, where a set of spare clothes had been left for you. A simple shirt and trousers—functional, but clean and comfortable.

As you slipped into the shirt, pulling it carefully over your still-healing wounds, you heard the door open behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Azriel standing there, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but sharp with concern. “You need to rest.”

You finished pulling on your boots, tying the laces with deliberate precision, and looked up at him. “I’m fine,” you said, your voice steady despite the discomfort. “I need to get home, and there’s work to do—”

Azriel cut you off with a humorless laugh, stepping closer and crossing his arms. “Madja warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “‘She’ll try to get up the moment she wakes,’” he quoted, his tone mimicking Madja’s no-nonsense voice. “‘She’ll say she’s fine. Don’t let her fool you, Azriel. Knock her out again if you have to.’”

You huffed, folding your arms in defiance despite the strain it caused. “I’m not going to let a little pain stop me. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Azriel’s golden eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice like a command. “Madja will have my head if you collapse again, and I’m not about to risk it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “What are you, my mother? Last time I checked, you’re not. Let me go, Azriel.”

His lips twitched as if he were fighting back a smile, though his tone remained firm. “No. Back to bed.”

“Azriel,” you said, exasperated, standing your ground. “I don’t have time for this. People need me at the clinic—”

“And you’ll be no use to anyone if you tear open your wounds,” he retorted, cutting you off. His shadows swirled faintly around him, emphasizing his words. “For once in your life, Y/N, let someone else take care of things.”

You stared at him, your annoyance warring with the undeniable truth in his words. The man was infuriating, but you knew he was right. You were exhausted, barely able to stand without the dull throb in your back reminding you of your limits.

Finally, with a huff, you threw your hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll rest. But only because I don’t want Madja chasing me down with one of her syringes.”

Azriel allowed himself a small smile, though his relief was palpable. “Good,” he said, stepping aside to let you return to the bed. “Now lie down, before I have to carry you.”

You shot him a glare but complied, easing yourself back onto the bed. The mattress seemed to welcome you, wrapping you in its warmth, and despite yourself, you let out a small sigh of relief.

Azriel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his golden eyes fixed on you with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “Sleep, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice gentler now but still laced with authority. “The rest of the world can wait.”

You stared at him, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you locked eyes with him. “I’m not going to sleep,” you said, your voice steady and defiant. “I’m not tired.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your argument. Before he could open his mouth to protest, you pressed on, your tone softening just slightly. “But if it’ll make you happy, could you at least bring me the files I need to work on? I can do it here, in bed.”

For a moment, Azriel just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he pushed off the doorframe. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the door.

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows as you watched him go. “Thank you,” you called after him, a hint of triumph in your voice.

Azriel paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with a look that was equal parts fondness and exasperation. “Don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook. You’re still resting.”

“Of course,” you replied sweetly, though the glint in your eye betrayed your true intentions.

Azriel rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath about stubborn healers as he disappeared down the hall. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a flicker of warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, there was something undeniably comforting about having him around—whether he was scolding you or fetching your work.

Azriel entered the clinic, his sharp gaze sweeping across the space. To his relief, everything seemed calm. Healers moved with measured efficiency, and there was no sign of chaos that might worry you further. Elira, noticing him, approached with a friendly smile that quickly morphed into concern as her eyes landed on the bandages wrapped around his wings.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

Azriel inclined his head. “I’m fine,” he replied evenly, his shadows shifting around him like restless companions.

Elira’s gaze flicked behind him, searching. “And Y/N?” she asked hesitantly, her voice lowering. “Where is she?”

At her question, it was as if the entire clinic paused. Every healer nearby seemed to stop what they were doing, their ears subtly tuned to the conversation. The tension was palpable, the concern for you evident in their eyes.

Azriel straightened slightly, his tone reassuring but firm. “She’s fine. Resting. But I need to pick up some files for her.”

Elira nodded, though her shoulders relaxed only marginally. “Of course. Give me a moment.” She disappeared upstairs, the creak of the wooden steps echoing in the silence as the others went back to their tasks, albeit with less focus.

When Elira returned, she was carrying a massive stack of files and documents, the weight of them making her arms strain slightly. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he took in the sheer volume.

“This is everything?” he asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

Elira set the stack on the counter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “No,” she said, almost sheepishly. “These are just the most urgent ones. The rest can wait—but there are still two or three more piles like this that she needs to go through.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him. “How does she have this much work?” he asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

Elira sighed, her voice carrying a note of sympathy. “It’s always like this. Healers from all over Prythian—and even beyond—reach out to her for advice. Taking over for Madja is no small task, and Y/N...” She trailed off, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Well, she’s not the type to ignore anyone who needs help.”

Azriel huffed softly, a mix of frustration and admiration flickering across his face. He gathered the stack of files with practiced ease, the weight barely registering in his strong arms. “Thank you,” he said curtly, and with a nod to Elira, he turned and left the clinic.

Azriel returned to his bedroom, his sharp senses immediately noting the absence of you. His heart skipped a beat, a pang of unease settling in his chest. You wouldn’t have left—not like that, not in your condition. He glanced around the room, as though you might still be there, but the space was untouched, the bed neatly made except for the slight indent where you had slept.

The sound of quiet frustration carried through the halls, pulling his attention. He followed it, his steps quick and deliberate, until he reached the door to one of the guest bedrooms. Pushing it open, he found you seated at a small desk, a blanket draped over your shoulders as you pored over a stack of damaged papers. Relief surged through him, but it was quickly followed by exasperation.

“You moved?” he asked, his voice low but carrying a note of incredulity.

You glanced up at him briefly, then back at your papers. “It’s your room,” you said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to disturb you more than I already am.”

Azriel frowned, stepping into the room. “You weren’t disturbing me,” he said, his tone firmer now. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

You shrugged lightly, the movement almost imperceptible beneath the blanket. “I’m fine. Besides, this is more comfortable for me.”

His jaw tightened, but he let it go, knowing you well enough to recognize when you wouldn’t budge. Instead, he moved to the desk and set down the stack of files he’d retrieved from the clinic, the weight of them landing with a dull thud. The sound drew your attention, and you glanced at the pile before offering him a small, tired smile.

“Thank you,” you murmured, but your gaze flicked almost immediately back to the paper in front of you, the frustration clear on your face as you tried to decipher the smeared ink.

Azriel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he watched you. “Are those the ones from the meeting?” he asked.

You nodded, gesturing to the papers. “Some of them. Most of them got soaked when we fell into the sea. I’ve been trying to salvage what I can.”

He frowned, stepping closer, his shadows curling inquisitively around the papers. “Y/N,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice. “You need to take a break.”

“I can’t,” you replied, shaking your head. “There’s too much to do.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the massive stack he’d brought in. “Elira said this is only the urgent pile. There are two or three more stacks like it. You can’t possibly handle all of this right now.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

For a long moment, he studied you, his golden eyes softening as his shadows danced faintly around him. Then he stepped forward, gently prying the damaged paper from your hands. “And you will,” he said quietly, his voice calm but resolute. “But not today.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the intensity in his gaze stopped you. There was no anger, only quiet determination—and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” he added, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

The weight of his words settled over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe them, even if only for a moment.

Azriel left the room after ensuring you were settled with the files you insisted on working through. His hands trembled slightly as he closed the door behind him, his breath uneven. Every time he was near you, the bond hummed louder, stronger, as though it were trying to pull him closer.

He returned to his bedroom, his steps heavy with the weight of everything he had learned—and everything he was still trying to understand. The faint scent of you lingered in the air, a mix of something soothing and uniquely yours. Without thinking, he lay down on the bed, his wings spreading slightly as he sank into the mattress.

The remnants of your presence surrounded him—your scent on the sheets, the faint warmth left behind—and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt... calm. Comforted.

Azriel closed his eyes, his hand resting over his chest as he lingered on the bond. It was there, pulsing softly, unrelenting in its presence. He exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly as he let himself feel it.

You were his mate. And that knowledge, as terrifying as it was, filled him with a sense of purpose he hadn’t felt in years.

You spent the rest of the day trying your best to work through the ever-growing list of tasks demanding your attention. Miraculously, you managed to recover most of the documents from the meeting, painstakingly piecing together their content from the water-damaged remnants. It was a small victory in the chaos, but one that left you utterly drained.

Azriel hadn’t come to check on you again, and while part of you was relieved for the reprieve, another part felt an inexplicable pang of sadness. You and Azriel had grown closer during the trip to the Dawn Court. His worry after the storm and the attack had been palpable, and that memory brought you both comfort and pain. But it was the look in his eyes, when you were both struggling in the sea, that was inked into you—a mix of fear, determination, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. You shook your head, willing those thoughts away, but they lingered, haunting the edges of your focus.

Despite the warmth of the townhouse and the relative quiet surrounding you, the weight of the bond between you and Azriel pressed harder against your chest. It had been easier to ignore before, but now, after everything, it was as though the bond had its own heartbeat, pulsing insistently whenever you thought of him. It wasn’t just Azriel—there was Elain, too, a presence that complicated everything. You knew their relationship had made waves in the Inner Circle, creating a tension that was difficult to ignore. And yet, you couldn’t deny that part of you wished, irrationally, that things were different.

A soft knock on the window drew your attention, breaking you from your spiraling thoughts. Ydle, your faithful bird, perched just outside, his golden feathers glinting in the afternoon light. You quickly moved to open the window, letting him hop onto the desk. The sight of him brought a small, genuine smile to your face.

“What news do you bring me today, Ydle?” you murmured, stroking the top of his head.

The bird tilted his head, chirping softly as he offered a small pouch tied to his leg. Inside was a neatly folded note from Elira, detailing updates from the clinic. She reassured you that everything was on track and that you shouldn’t worry. Patients were healing, the other healers were managing well, and there hadn’t been any emergencies requiring your attention. You exhaled deeply, relief washing over you.

“Good,” you whispered, tucking the note away. “At least something is going smoothly.”

But that relief was short-lived as you turned back to the first document Azriel had brought you earlier. It detailed the latest updates from the Illyrian healers. Progress was being made, but it was clear that the work was far from over. Collaboration with the largest camps in Illyria had helped spread techniques and materials to smaller, more remote camps, but resources remained scarce. The thought of returning to Windhaven twisted something deep inside you. You’d grown to hate that part of the Night Court, its memories etched into your very bones. But duty called, as it always did, and you knew you’d have to face it soon.

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. When you called for them to enter, Feyre stepped inside, cradling Nyx in her arms. She offered you an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, her voice gentle, “but I had a feeling you’d be working when you should be resting.”

You managed a small laugh, setting the papers down. “You’re not wrong. But thank you for checking in.”

Feyre’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’ve done so much for all of us, Y/N. This house is for family, and you have your place here. Don’t ever feel like you’re imposing.”

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left babbling, unsure of how to respond. The warmth of her sentiment, so genuine and heartfelt, left you momentarily speechless.

“Thank you, Feyre,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means more than you know.”

She smiled and nodded toward the door. “Come downstairs with me. Take a break. Tea’s ready, and I could use some company.”

For once, you didn’t argue. Setting the documents aside, you stood and followed her out of the room. Nyx cooed softly in her arms as the two of you made your way to the cozy kitchen. The prospect of a warm cup of tea and Feyre’s steady presence was a welcome respite from the weight of everything you carried.

As you settled into the kitchen’s comforting glow, a part of you felt lighter. There was still so much to do, but for now, you allowed yourself to simply be—surrounded by warmth, acceptance, and a fleeting sense of peace.

The soft clinking of teacups filled the warm, sunlit sitting room as you and Feyre chatted, Nyx settled comfortably in her lap. The conversation drifted easily, lighthearted and refreshing. Feyre had been recounting one of her recent painting lessons, a vivid smile lighting up her face.

“So there I was,” Feyre began, her voice laced with amusement, “trying to show this group of kids how to mix colors for a sunset. And one of them, this tiny little boy, just looks at me and says, ‘But why can’t the sky be green?’ I didn’t even have an answer—he completely caught me off guard.”

You laughed, imagining the scene. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should paint it however he sees it,” Feyre said with a grin. “And you know what? He did. His whole canvas was just this swirl of greens and golds, and it was beautiful.”

“It sounds like you’re inspiring the next great painter of Prythian,” you teased, leaning back in your chair.

Feyre waved a hand dismissively but couldn’t hide her pride. “Honestly, it’s just fun to do something different. I spend so much time dealing with court matters that these lessons feel like a breath of fresh air.”

You nodded, feeling a similar sense of relief in the moment. It was nice, for once, to talk about something other than healers’ strategies or court politics. “I should come by sometime,” you mused. “Maybe I’ll learn a thing or two.”

“Oh, you absolutely should,” Feyre said, her eyes lighting up. “Though fair warning—I’ll probably put you to work helping with the kids.”

The thought made you smile, and for a while, the two of you continued chatting, the conversation flowing with an ease that left you feeling lighter.

Nyx, meanwhile, had grown increasingly interested in you. His wide eyes fixed on your face as he reached out with tiny hands, making soft babbling noises. Feyre chuckled, adjusting him in her lap. “I think someone’s curious about you.”

When he continued to squirm, Feyre offered him to you with a small shrug. “Do you want to hold him?”

You took him carefully, cradling him in your arms. He settled almost immediately, his little fingers tangling in your hair as he let out a delighted giggle. You laughed softly, trying to free your hair from his grip. “He’s strong,” you said, glancing at Feyre.

“He gets that from his father,” Feyre replied with a fond smile.

Nyx continued to babble, his tiny face lighting up as he played with your hair. Feyre watched the interaction with a thoughtful expression. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” she said after a moment. “How easily some bonds form. Sometimes without us even realizing.”

Her words carried a note of curiosity, and you tilted your head slightly. “If I may ask, how did you and Rhys figure it out?” you asked, your tone light, though the question lingered in the air with an unspoken weight.

Feyre smiled faintly, her gaze softening. “It wasn’t immediate,” she admitted. “For a long time, I didn’t even know. Rhys… he waited for me to see it, to understand it. And when I did, it was like everything finally made sense.” She paused, her eyes drifting to Nyx, who was now babbling softly in your arms. “It wasn’t easy, though. There were so many obstacles, so many moments when I thought it wasn’t meant to be. But in the end, it was worth every challenge.”

You nodded, absorbing her words as Nyx tugged gently on your hair again. He let out a delighted giggle, his tiny face lighting up, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“And you?” Feyre asked, her tone careful. “Have you ever thought about… bonds like that? Or someone who could be?”

The question lingered, but it didn’t feel intrusive—just an honest curiosity shared between two friends. You hesitated, choosing your words with care. “I suppose I’ve thought about it,” you admitted. “But it’s never felt like the right time or place. Even when I’ve had partners, it’s always been hard for me to truly connect. There’s always been something... missing.”

Feyre nodded in understanding, her expression open and encouraging. “Sometimes, it takes time. And sometimes, it surprises you.”

Before you could respond, the door to the sitting room opened, and both Rhysand and Azriel stepped inside. Their sharp gazes swept the room before softening as they saw the two of you. Azriel’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he looked away.

Rhys grinned, crossing his arms. “Looks like my family has taken over the sitting room.”

Feyre smiled, standing carefully with her arms outstretched. “Time to go back to your father, Nyx,” she said, reaching for him. But as soon as the baby left your arms, his face crumpled, and a loud wail filled the room. He squirmed and reached toward you, his cries growing louder.

“What in the—” Feyre began, trying to soothe him, but he continued to cry until you reluctantly took him back. The moment he was in your arms, he quieted, resting his head on your shoulder.

The room went silent for a beat, everyone exchanging curious glances.

“Well,” Rhys said, breaking the quiet with a chuckle. “Looks like we’ve found Nyx’s new favorite person.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, though his shadows curled faintly around him. You cleared your throat, brushing off the attention. “It’s probably the soothing balm,” you explained lightly. “It’s calming—it must have lingered on me from earlier. It’s one we often use to comfort babies—though I assure you, it’s a much lighter concentration than what I needed."

Feyre raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, instead smiling softly. “Whatever it is, he clearly feels safe with you.”

Azriel, who had been standing silently nearby, took a step closer. His voice was low and careful when he asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

You lifted your eyes from Nyx to meet his, offering a small smile. “Yes,” you said softly. “I’m still a bit sore, but I feel much better. Thank you.”

Rhysand, standing beside Azriel, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad to hear that because last night was... quite the spectacle. We need to talk about your version of the story.”

You nodded. “Of course. I also have recaps of the Dawn meeting to give you, along with various other documents about the other courts.”

Rhysand tilted his head, his mouth twitching into a grin. “Weren’t you supposed to be resting today?”

You gave him a playful wink. “If I hadn’t been resting, those would have been finished yesterday.”

Rhysand laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me never to question your work ethic again.”

With a gentle smile, you carefully handed Nyx back to Feyre. The baby protested faintly, a small whimper escaping him, but soon settled in his mother’s arms, curling against her. Feyre gave you a grateful look. “I’ll send you some of that balm,” you promised. “It works wonders.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said softly, cradling her son close. “And for more than just the balm.”

Rhysand and Azriel watched as you straightened your posture, their gazes following your every movement. The room was warm with unspoken camaraderie and a quiet understanding, a shared bond strengthened by the challenges you’d all faced together.

After leaving the warm scene downstairs, you made your way back to the room you were occupying to gather the files you needed to give to Rhysand. Azriel followed silently, his presence a constant, steady shadow at your back. As you entered the room, your focus shifted immediately to the neatly stacked papers on the desk. You began sorting through them, murmuring to yourself about the updates and notes you needed to include.

Azriel lingered near the doorway, but his shadows seemed less patient. One curled around your ankle, its cool, featherlight touch pulling your attention momentarily. Another drifted into your hair, twining softly like it was exploring. You laughed under your breath, amused but without turning around. “They really seem to like me.”

“They do,” Azriel said, his voice low, almost contemplative. There was a subtle warmth in his tone that made your heart skip.

You continued organizing the documents, explaining aloud the updates and recaps you had prepared. Azriel stepped closer, his footsteps soft against the floor, until he was standing just behind you. When his hand came to rest gently on your back, it was as though a million jolts of energy coursed through you, mingling with the pulse of the bond that flared between you. Butterflies erupted in your stomach, your breath catching for a moment before you forced yourself to focus.

“Do you ever actually stop?” Azriel asked quietly, his hand still on your back, his touch grounding yet somehow electrifying. His golden eyes held yours when you glanced up, his expression equal parts amused and serious.

“Stop what?” you asked, your voice slightly breathless. “Working?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. “It’s... insane.”

You hesitated for a moment, then babbled, trying to keep your voice light and steady. “Honestly, I don’t mind. I love what I do, and there’s always so much that needs to be done. It doesn’t feel like work when it’s something I care about.”

Azriel’s smile deepened, and for a moment, his gaze lingered on your face. The faintest blush crept up your cheeks, and you quickly looked back at the papers, clearing your throat. “But enough about me. We should head to Rhys’s office before he decides to drag us there himself.”

Azriel chuckled softly, stepping back to give you space. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. “Let’s go.”

As you gathered the files and walked out together, his shadows trailed behind you like silent sentinels, and the bond between you pulsed faintly—an unspoken connection neither of you could yet put into words.

You entered Rhysand’s study with Azriel close behind you. Without preamble, you dropped the stack of papers onto his desk with a satisfying thud. Rhys looked up from his seat, his eyebrows shooting up as he took in the sheer size of the pile. His lips quirked into a faint smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“What is all of this?” he asked, gesturing to the stack.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Pretty much everything we covered during the healer meeting. The decisions and actions that need validation from the High lords, updates on court matters—particularly Autumn and Spring, which are... sensitive right now.” Your gaze sharpened as you added, “Highly private, Rhys. Not a word of this leaves the inner circle.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious as he picked up the top sheet. “You have my discretion,” he promised, before his eyes drifted back to the stack. “Anything else in here I should know about?”

“There’s also a missive from Thesan,” you said, gesturing to a smaller envelope placed on top of the stack. “He asked me to ensure it reached you directly.”

Rhys chuckled softly. “Well, that’s just lovely. I’ll review these after dinner,” he said, setting the letter aside before folding his hands on the desk. “Now, about your travel back here. Azriel filled me in on some details, but I need the full story.”

You glanced at Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his expression unreadable. Taking a steadying breath, you began recounting the events. “It started just after we left the Dawn Court’s borders. The storm came out of nowhere. One moment, the skies were clear, and the next... everything changed. Time stopped.”

Rhysand’s brows furrowed as you continued, your voice steady despite the unease creeping into your tone. “I saw a black cloud, like a sentient presence. Death itself. Then, the arrows started flying—aimed directly at us. I don’t know how, but I managed to break whatever spell had frozen time, and we avoided most of the shots, but...” You trailed off, gesturing vaguely to Azriel’s wing and your own shoulder, which still ached faintly.

“And you fell into the sea,” Rhys concluded, his tone quiet but sharp.

“Yes,” you confirmed, folding your hands tightly. “It was chaos. But I swear, the moment the storm appeared, I felt it—it wasn’t natural. It was deliberate.”

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Azriel before his gaze softened on you. “Madja mentioned your influence and powers. She believes it could be the reason Koshiev is targeting you.”

You nodded, already anticipating his next question. “It’s not just Prythian. In the continent, the powers of Koshiev are... insidious. For the past century, I’ve seen diseases and epidemics that defy explanation—illnesses that seem to come straight from hell. They spread like wildfire, targeting not just people but entire ecosystems. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered before.”

“And you’ve cured them,” Rhysand said, his tone more a statement than a question.

“Most of them,” you replied. “But it hasn’t been easy. Some of the cures required years of work, collaborations with healers across courts and continents, and even then, there were losses. If Koshiev is behind those diseases, then it makes sense he’d see me as a threat.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he processed your words. “That would explain a lot,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. “If Koshiev is trying to weaken the world through sickness and fear before strating a war, and you’re undoing his work... yes, you’d be a target.”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, stepped forward slightly. “We need to assess his reach. If his power extends beyond Prythian, it’s not just the courts here that are at risk.”

Rhys nodded, his focus shifting between you and Azriel. “Agreed. But for now, you both need to recover. Let us handle the next steps.”

You met Rhys’s gaze, appreciating the concern but unable to suppress a small smirk. “I’ll rest when the work is done.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a wry smile. “You’re impossible, Y/N. But I’ll hold you to that.”

As you gathered your remaining papers and stood to leave, Azriel’s shadows flickered around his shoulders, and you caught the faintest look of resolve in his golden eyes. Whatever the next steps were, you knew neither of you would be standing idly by.

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[ma1dita]

do we have any sick!trouble and luke taking care of everything for her??(including her hehe🤭) if not then i’d like to think she would probably try to push herself through the day making sure camp doesn’t get set on fire bc older sister core! + dionysus probably dgaf 🤷🏻‍♀️ and maybe only luke noticing that she’s breaking out in a cold sweat and her movements a little more sluggish than usual but shes stubborn af so she refuses to rest

🐥

also ur works are crushing me jo they’re soo good😭💗

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x dionysus!reader

a/n: no trouble tags fuck it we ball! no edits either lmfao fluff :) can be a standalone just know reader is camp mom and Luke calls her trouble/slight cabin 12 mentions but not important (partners in crime series if you wanna check it out)

wc: 860

Luke doesn’t think he’s ever seen you be quiet.

Your voice is synonymous with the harmony of Camp Half-Blood in all of its forms: early morning announcements over the loudspeaker that serve as a wake-up call for campers to be ready for cabin inspections, hollow outcries to keep certain deviants in line (the Stolls and your brothers are a deadly force to be reckoned with), comforting words like kisses for scraped knees for the little ones, down to the gentle blanket of your singing at lights out. Luke also just knows by now that you love to have the last word—gods forbid someone else beat you at something you’re good at. Words always come easy when it comes to you (abilities of sons of Hermes aside) he finds out—but he can’t think of what can convince you to go back to bed today, especially with a temperature of 100.7 F.

He’s been circling you like a hawk this whole morning, not chastising (because clogged sinuses and all you’d probably fight him to your last breath), but rather helping out where he can. He swiftly double-checks counselor assignments once your puffy eyes leave the page, steers you away from walking straight into the fires of the forge instead of the exit at the armory, and waves off any bystanders who dare to get caught in the crosshairs of your bullheadedness.

In times like these, Luke’s almost grateful to be his father’s son (still a hard no, but you get the point). Doing these tasks undetected and mostly through a sleight of hand is better than worrying you even if he’s already at his wit's end; you’re quick in your own right too, body and brain separated today yet working on autopilot through a foggy sick-riddled mind. He hates leaving you like this even for a moment despite your protests of being able to handle yourself, but the two of you are spread thin today with all the work to do.

Luke finds you later after his workshop with your head against the cool stone of the climbing wall. You sniff into your sleeve, a wet sound stifled by the worn-down orange uniform you all wear, though yours looks as exhausted as you are, eyes closed and motionless even with lava slowly trickling from the top.

“Trouble? Are you okay babe? Grover fell off the wall already, you should… restart the mechanism,” he mutters, a big hand clasping at the nape of your neck like someone grabbing a kitten by its scruff.

“He’ll be fine, he’s a big boy,” you mumble with your face still attached to the rocks. “I’ve seen him climb over the Ares table for the last donut at lunchtime, molten lava and boulders should be a piece of cake.”

“At least cake is less painful and more delicious,” the satyr groans, hairs singed down to his hooves. Luke sighs, helping Grover back onto his feet for a well-deserved break.

“Babe…If you don’t move, sooner or later the lava’s gonna smother you.”

He shakes your arm since the controls are wedged between your body and the wall but it’s as if your body is bolted to the floor. A dissonant noise crawls out of your throat, “Dunno, kinda sounds nice. Maybe it’ll clear my sinuses.”

“Maybe it’s time to admit you’re sick.”

Even if he can’t see your face he knows there’s a scowl carved across it, “M’not sick. Just some allergies. I don’t get sick, Lu. Being sick is for the weak!” Lava continues to slide down the wall like molasses, inching you closer to a fate of fire— and your boyfriend watches you try to welcome it with weary arms.

“If you’re not sick, then I’m the best singer at Camp Half-Blood,” Luke drones as he crosses his arms. He can hear Percy laugh from the sidelines at that, silenced quickly by a glare.

“Now that would really clear her sinuses—even better if he dresses up for Theatrics again,” the son of Poseidon sniggers until a stray boulder comes barrelling towards where he and Grover are sitting. Everything’s suddenly less funny.

“It was one time, Jackson, and I wasn’t…” Luke sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Trouble was just mending a costume.”

“It’s okay Luke, not everyone can pull off a corset.”

“Grover, another word out of you man and I’ll make sure your legs are permanently hairless,” Luke grits, finally tired of the chit-chat and more focused on getting you to rest. In one quick movement, he sweeps you off your feet and over his shoulder while his other hand slams on the button to reset the gears of the climbing wall. A delayed reaction falters from your throat, something of a yelp and an exhale.

“Luke! Put me down!”

But he’s already off in the direction of Cabin 12 to get you settled under the covers for at least the rest of the day until you’re up and kicking again. Your protests are scratchy but loud as he takes you away from the two kids and it's as if everything is right in the world again.

“Remind me not to get a girlfriend that stubborn one day,” Percy mumbles, bumping shoulders with his best friend.

[koishua]

i feel like this is going to turn into a mini series, but i can't stop thinking about being on video calls with yeonjun, your closest companion and most beloved person. no matter what kind of relationship, be it platonic or romantic, i just feel like having yeonjun in your life would make it a whole lot more bearable. finding those moments in your day to ring him up and update him on your latest endeavour... he'd shoo his members away and make the time to specifically spend time with you even if he's far away or you're off somewhere else :( it would be so special. at times, you'd refer to him as "healing" and he'd melt and he's just happy to be that person for you :(( no matter what happens in life, he's your priority and he makes sure that you know that you're his priority as well :((

don't want to get too angsty all the damn time, so i'll keep it mellow and nice, but my point is he's just a ball of comfort you can snuggle up against to escape from reality's often harsh reminders. his energy is infectious, frequently bringing life back to you. even on lagging calls, you'd somehow feel replenished and ready to take on the day/night hehe. once, he was forced to rest because of an injury and he'd called you in shambles, feeling the guilt eating him up and he'd sought after your presence next to him, but you were out of country and it was honestly a terribly emotional day for you and him :( so you'd opened a movie and shared your screen to watch it face to face and when the members were back at the dorm, they found him knocked out on his bed with his laptop screen on full brightness haha and they wanted to put it away to let him properly sleep and they saw you doing what seemed like important work on camera, keeping a dozing yeonjun company, so they waved you a hello and left the laptop back in its original place ahahhaha they were so cute like they were struggling not to make any noise bc it's not often they'd get to see you without having a mad yeonjun chasing them away bc how dare they take away your precious time together dhdhdhhs im smitten. this idea rots my brain and comforts me on a daily basis. or should i say nightly.

yeonjun would notice the slightest frown and softest sniffle and the moment he asks what's wrong, you'd break down and all your walls would crumble because it's just him. it's just yeonjun. your healing. your piece of peace. he'd be able to pick up on all of your minute and miniscule cues, letting you know that he's here should you ever need him. not everyone is as lucky as you. you found your soulmate in the body of someone named yeonjun. even in silence, your hearts would converse. knowing that he's there is what keeps you motivated to do your best in life, because he works his absolute hardest every single day as well :(((

[idkfitememate]

I NEED A CONTINUATION OF GOLDEN WEASEL!

Mountain Shaper Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Weasel Reader x Old Man & Mountain Shaper

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 729

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : fluff, more found family

As you sat wrapped around The Old Man’s neck, you watched as the scenery of Liyue passed you both by.

No one stared, looked, or even glanced at him, you guess it was noticeably pissing you off, because he began to gently scratch under your chin. You leaned into the gentle touch, making him chuckle.

The hand he wasn’t using to pet you was gripped around a cane, a basket hanging off his arm as well. Compared to rest of Liyue, he was dressed in extremely traditional clothing, his hair was tied into a traditional top knot with a beautiful guan. He also had a nice little beard. With his looks, you honestly wondered how old the man was, because on top of his… well his beauty, his home - despite it being a house boat - was also decked out in traditional furnishings and decor.

The only accessory you had was an earring made of mora with a dragon modeled after Morax attached to the bottom - it was a hanging earring. When you found out your old man had spent ONE HUNDRED MORA ON IT, you scolded him for an hour. Him kneeling as you stood on your hind legs loudly chittering at him.

The only reasons you wore it was because:

A. He bought it as a thank you for staying by his side, even in old age.

And

B. The damn thing cost a hundred mora why the fuck wouldn’t you

And finally

C. It helped differentiate you from other weasel thieves.

As you continued down the lanes, his little basket began to fill up, though its weight never seemed to bother him. You’d often chirp at him to see if you could carry it - you were strong for a weasel - but he’d just shake off your concerns with another chuckle.

And as you continued, you began to feel sleep with the gently sway of his body slowly walking along the paths, and probably would’ve too, if it weren’t for the fact that he stopped to speak with someone. Wait no that’s red and black bird.

… wait a minute.

“Mountain Shaper, my friend. Why do you walk among the mortals this fine day? To what do we owe the pleasure?” Did you mention The Old Man spoke super fucking eloquently? Because he does.

“Nothing but a stroll. And why are you here, old friend?” Wait Old Man knew an Adeptus? Old friend? What the hell-

“Ah, simply retrieving some items from the merchants. Nothing more. And as much as I’d adore to stay and chat, I must be off, so as to make me and my little friend here’s daily afternoon tea time, hehe!” You noticed that the Adeptus’s eyes were now on you, but only with a hint of curiosity.

“I see… well don’t let me take up more of your time.” The bird mused.

“Well actually… I believe we may have space for one more, if you’d care to join.” You looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this shit, but it seemed like no one else was around.

“Well if you’d allow me…” And with that, you were now walking with an Adeptus towards The Old Man’s houseboat. Feeling a bit bold, you stuck a paw out in the direction of the bird. All he did was glance at you, before chuckling. You smacked your lips before settling down on Old Man’s neck.

Your mind drifted as you thought of what tea he would make today… maybe Mountain Shaper would have something new in mind… perhaps a story awaited you as well… you yawned and closed your eyes, pressing your face into into the crook of your neck.

“You feel it as well, don’t you my friend.” Mountain Shaper asked.

“I do.” The Old Man responded.

“Will you ever tell them-“

“Only when the time is right.” The Old Man interrupted. “Now, they just want to live, and I will allow them that freedom. I have no right to strip that from them.”

“You sound like the God of Freedom.” The bird chuckled, making the Man sigh.

“Be quiet before I tie your beak shut.”

“*GASP* You wouldn’t dare!”

“I may not be as nimble as I was back then, but you and I both know you’d have no chance, especially if I actually tried.~”

“WHY YOU-“

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Uh oh, Old Man had a secret, what ever will it be?~ Anyway, Weasel really just wants to live life. And since we’re doing some past stuff now, I imagine they were a petty thief in their past life, which is why they became a little thieving guy in Genshin ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა!

[moonspirit]

Jealous aruani are fun and all, but...what if it's their friend that's the reason for the jealousy??? No love triangles.

Annie suddenly feels a twinge of irritation when she sees Pieck say something to Armin and they laugh together. Or maybe Armin overhears gossip about how Annie Leonhart and Connie Springer look so cute together. The next time he sees Connie, his stomach twists. And it's terrible!

Considering how Armin and Annie both have self-esteem issues...well, I can see how that could happen. Irritation, doubt, jealousy, and self-loathing for feeling that way about a friend. it's just painful, stupid and awkward. I have no idea how they will solve this😗

Hello jealousy anon! As promised, and thank you for the ask, it made me laugh xD

Because of-fucking-course there's nobody more capable of causing problems for Aruani off more than their very own family xD If you ask me, outsiders don't have the type of talent the other four have in creating misunderstandings and unnecessary chaos xD Plot-required-3rd-party-love-interest who? Move over, here's Connie the Springer man!

At first it's all quite unintentional. Connie spends time with Annie because Circumstances and Coincidence and hardly notices Armin's watery puppy eyes gazing at him from a depressing corner. It's not like Armin ever says anything out loud either because of course, he's happy! He's happy Annie has a silly friend that makes her laugh and forget that she's awkward and possibly frightening around people. He's glad Connie comes prepackaged with a whole lot of shitty jokes that happen to tickle her. He's really fucking glad Connie treats Annie like he treats everyone else!

But. Connie can also... dance. Really well. Like the guy's got those moves and can easily take Annie for a nice spin. He also... makes her laugh, like... a lot? A lot lot? Hm.. has Annie ever laughed like that with me? Uh... yeah, nevermind that, um- oh god, Connie's been looking pretty nice lately in those suits and he's rather good with the whole easy-fashion thing and uh- well shit, it's Connie, he's my friend, he's not- no, I mean, that photo in the newspapers was just an accidental shot, of course Annie was just laughing at his bad joke but well... she did look really happy with him and, oh shit--

Man.

Pieck on the other hand, doesn't fuck with people more than necessary. I don't actually see her getting *too* close with Armin but they do become very good friends! They have a lot in common, (for example music) and vibrate on the same atomic level of "yeah this is wrong and backhanded and probably will get us arrested in 18 countries but lets do it hehe". Hc that they probably get off to a slightly rocky start as Pieck doesn't put much faith in Armin's "naivete" and harbours resentment for his blowing up of Liberio's port, but as time goes by, they grow closer!

Maybe... too much closer for someone's liking 💀

Because okay? Annie gets it, she finds politics too boring and her takes end up being too cynical and skeptical in the room. Technically, she's glad Armin has someone in Pieck who will humour his ideas with a generous (but nice) dash of realism. Also, they enjoy picking out records together and she often finds them nodding their heads to a new tune once home.

She's glad, okay?

She is, she really is-

*sound of a thigh being stabbed followed by sounds of Reiner screaming*

Pieck is a cheerful girl tho 🥲

On a serious note, both Aruani are going to feel like total crap about this jealousy tho. Because as you said, it's their friends, their literal family who they share a lot of time and space with, and if anything could be clear it's that none of them want to see Aruani unhappy. So its not real, it's not anything to worry about, it's all just in their heads-

And yet.

Tbh the extra funny bit about this is gonna be when Connie and Pieck realize what they're doing to their poor lemonheads xD

"What! We're making you jealous?! wHAaT?? ... Hell YEAH, LET'S TURN IT UP!"

🥲🥲🥲🥲

I mean what else did you expect lol, Pieck and Connie are that duo who are going to derive more entertainment from their very own organic, homegrown family-drama than the moving pictures being shown in the town-square.

Suddenly it's all: "HEHE Armin, I bought Annie CAKES, see? FIVE Cakes! FiVE delICIOUS cakes and *I* am going to give it to her! Me!"

and: "Annniieeeeeeee~~ Oh no, why the long face this morning? Btw did you know Armin wants kids? Like a lot of kids? He told me- oh, he didn't tell you? Hehe I thought you'd be the first to know hehehehehe"

Their approaches to fanning this dumpster fire are different 😌

Their solution when things get too Sad?? Lock Aruani up in a room. Always ends well.

[lordofmelancholy]

Arcane: Silent Frontiers: Shades of Blue

Jinx likes the color blue.

It reminds her of the sky, the sea, of flowers and shit like that. Lil things that make her happy.

And Very little makes her happy nowadays.

Isha also likes the color blue as well and the color blue looks nice on her.

It brings out the vibrancy in her eyes, it makes a quiet kid look more lively and at times Isha looks actually happy whenever Jinx does something blue with her, like shows her how to dye her hair or such. And Jinx is happy with Isha around…

Isha and Blue…they go well together

. . . .

She remembers when they tried to fix her.

Fix Isha that night…that night after Jinx had to leave her in that field with Sevika. (she didn't want too. . . god she didn't want too). But she remembers. She remembers Isha's agony. Remembers how gut-wrenching it was to watch her face scrunch up…her teeth grit to the point of chipping… vocalizing only in low hushes or mute whimpers and cries because she cant talk.

Can't yell at them to stop…and for the first time Jinx thinks maybe it would have made her feel better to hear Isha curse her out. . .hehe. . . he

. . .She remembers them being done.

Of Isha being still, silent, still breathing thank god but dead silent. . .having finally cried herself out moments before they were done.

She remembers the blue… the blue still in Isha's hair that caught her eye as she tried to stare at anything else then the direction of the smell of copper in the air. The blue was fading now. She'd nave to do it again, have to dye it again later..it they have tater that is

She remembers when their done and she see's a new blue now…the blue that seemingly left Isha's hair and took up stock in her lips instead when they were all said and done.

She remembers it, because. . .she remembers the exact amount of time down to the milliseconds that she spent rubbing her thumb against them seemingly trying to wipe it away but remembering it refusing to give.

Jinx remembers. Because she see's it now anytime she see's the color blue.

She's not so sure she likes the color blue now.

She knows for a fact she didn't like that shade. The one on Isha's lips…that was for sure… but what she isn't sure of ..is if the color blue makes her happy anymore

No one realizes what Jinx is doing at first.

Touch is important to Jinx after all-it keeps her grounded…keeps her sane…they simply think that maybe she's just touching Isha to remind herself that Isha is alive, as a way to comfort herself and tell herself that despite the fact it nearly went scaways that Isha survived whatever it was they had to do to her…despite the torture they put her through that the kid made it in the end.

They don't realize Jinx's thumb at first…don't realize the slow and. . . thoughtful movements, like she's wiping away a bothersome smudge that just refuses to go away.

They don't realize she's trying to wipe the thin shade of blue away from Isha's lip because it's a slow movement, almost like she's gently stroking the kid, caressing her. but then they realize its also continuous.

To the point someone has to slowly reassure her when they finally do notice what she's doing that "Hey look it's ok.. it's ok...she's alive.. look...see. You don't have to do that. It'll go away...It'll go away..."

. . . .But will it though. . . She's not so sure anymore. . .

[boundlessimaginarium]

A Flower in the Abyss

Note: I wasn't sure what to do with this dialogue prompt at first, but I definitely wanted it to be about Gil and Violet. In the end, I came up with this. If you haven't read Gil's route, be warned. There are spoilers. @theocxcanonweek Fandom: Ikemen Prince Characters: Gilbert von Obsidian, Violet (OC) Prompt: “I’d burn the world for you.” Words: 1,008

Gilbert and Violet were settled on the bed, savoring the peaceful moment together. The room around them was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets and the rhythmic sound of their breathing. Violet had her knees tucked beneath her, her body supporting Gilbert's head as he rested it in her lap. His crimson eye was closed in quiet contentment, his body relaxed.

Violet gazed down at him, a soft smile gracing her lips as she brushed her fingers through his dark hair, her thumb tenderly caressing his cheek.

Gilbert slowly opened his eye, the deep red of it shimmering in the dim light as he met her gaze. His smile deepened, softening his otherwise sharp features. “You look happy.”

“It’s because I’m with you.”

“Is that so? But you were afraid of me at first.”

“That’s true. But even then, a part of me was happy being with you.”

Gilbert’s lips curled into a small smirk, though there was no malice in it. “Even when my kindness had cruel intentions?”

“Yes. Because deep down, I knew you were truly kind.”

An amused hum escaped Gilbert’s lips. He was a villain, a man feared by many, known as the Worldwide Disaster, the Conqueror Beast. Yet, despite all that, Violet, knowing the depths of his darkness, had chosen to stay by his side. There were moments when his villainous nature reared its head, reminding her of the danger that surrounded him, but even so, she never turned away. She knew who he was, and she loved him anyway.

Violet's smile faded, replaced by sadness in her eyes. “I'm scared that you'll disappear one day, and I'll never get to see you again. I don’t want that. I would be lonely.”

Gilbert’s expression softened, a sad smile on his lips and his chest tightening at the thought of her loneliness. He knew, deep down, how much his absence would devastate her. He had always thought that his life would be short-lived, that he would have disappeared long ago. But here he was, alive, breathing, and with her. 

He didn't want her to ever feel the same loneliness he had felt. 

With a small, reassuring smile, he sat up and took her hand gently in his, placing it over his chest, where his heart beat steadily. “It’s okay.” He said softly. “I’m right here. See? My heart is still beating, which means I’m still alive.”

“But…”

“Hm… What can I do to make you smile again?” Gilbert muttered, his face clouding with sorrow before his lips curled into a grin. “Oh, I know. Close your eyes.”

Violet complied without question, and she closed her eyes, awaiting whatever he had in mind. Minutes passed in silence, and then she felt the touch of his fingers in her hair, weaving something gently into the strands near her ear. She stayed still, waiting for the surprise.

When she finally opened her eyes, she saw Gilbert’s familiar smile, his gaze focused entirely on her as he waited for her to notice the gift he had left in her hair. Her fingers instinctively reached up, brushing against the cool surface of whatever it was he had placed there. She gently pulled the item out of her hair and held it carefully in her fingers, examining its intricate design—a violet flower hair clip, its petals intricately woven from lace. A soft gasp escaped her lips as she marveled at the beauty of it, her heart swelling with emotion.

When her gaze finally met Gilbert's, she smiled. "It's beautiful. Did you make this, Gil?"

“Of course. After all, I don't want you to wear something made by someone else. And since you usually wear your hair in a bun, I thought this would be a nice touch.”

"Thank you. I'll cherish it forever."

"Hehe. I'm glad you like it." Gilbert watched her for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering as she admired the gift. Then, he closed his eye briefly, the warmth of the moment settling over him like a gentle embrace. “I love you, Miss Little Sheep. I love you so much that I'd do anything for you. I'd eliminate anyone who dares to make you sad. I'd burn the world for you if you asked."

His words were heavy, dark, and intense, yet Violet wasn’t frightened. Instead, she had come to accept his villainous nature, the fierce protectiveness he held over her. She knew he would go to any lengths to ensure her safety and happiness—even if it meant walking down a dark and violent path. And though she didn’t always agree with his methods, she couldn’t deny that the depth of his love for her was something she cherished.

“I love you too. Please don’t leave me all alone.” She replied quietly. 

Gilbert’s gaze softened as he reached out, cupping her cheek gently in his hand. “Don't worry. I won't. You won't either, right?”

Violet’s heart fluttered at his words, her chest tightening with the weight of the emotion she felt for him. She had always known, deep down, that Gilbert’s devotion to her was absolute, but hearing him say it aloud made her heart ache in a way that was both painful and beautiful. She could see the sincerity in his blood-red eye, the vulnerability hidden beneath his villainous exterior. He, too, was afraid of losing her, just as she feared losing him.

She gently reached up, covering his hand that rested on her cheek with her own. "I won't. I never will."

The smile on Gilbert's face lingered, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone as he leaned in closer, his breath cool against her skin. "No matter what happens, you’re mine. Nothing will ever come between us."

Violet smiled at his words, her heart swelling with the knowledge that he was hers too. No matter how dark his past, how dangerous his nature, she had made her choice. And she would stand by him, through whatever trials awaited them. 

There was no turning back, and, truth be told, she didn’t want to.

[candied-scorpian]

Kulapari Blog Name: Candied Scorpian

I have not watched Rise of the Kings because Hulu is in the US{It is new so I couldn't even pirate it}-

but I sure love Stinger, so even with spoilers I was excited- IS THAT A SNAKE IN THE GIF??? I just noticed that

but anyways, for a small fandom 'Edit for a dead fandom' I can make edits, idk how to get the clips.... Right theirs on clips of stinger in one pirated site that has season 2

I accidentally watches epidose one of season 2 back in lockdown before kipo was uploaded... Oooh the memories of rewatching this before I slept.

Im still gonna make shitty drafts and post it on ao3, idk what happened, but ill just give stinger amnesia and meet some half scorpian half snakes Hehe! <3

Also bit of a headcanon that Their a emperor scorpia(They are in West Africa...) Idk, maybe other scorpians would assume, or another animal incorrectly guessing. I couldn't find a scorpian in austrailio I liked. Emperor sounded cool- and no ones arguing with me... Ik its someones pet peeve, but hey from reddit the show sucked, and I might still enjoy watching it. My work is gonna be as bad as the writing, also how friendly empoerer scorpians are HAH XD

... I kinda added that their was a disease that just never gets talked about, and eveyrones just, monotone, tired, depressed, something with slow mating cycles and infertility and miscarriges.......... From what I learned empowers are usually aggressive after giving birth, so maybe that anger is channeled to fighting, belief of a lord that is survival and nature is cruel. or smth dark, and oc in the makaign for that.

maybe another scorpian thats seen stingers dad, try to cheer them up... A neutral perspective on bandits and such <3 such good writings ideas I am rushing, please send me link or an account <3

Concept writing of my oc with a placeholder name Magma- for volcano room

Magma is self-aware and quiet, easily accepting of failures, and accepts that not everyone will be a good person and do what they're fully capable of, but they understand they should still stand up for others. They like to argue when they fully research a specific topic, and will trauma dump at a moment's notice to keep the conversation going, they are extremely sensitive so any jokes at others' expense, just when it's directed at them – they quit side eyes – but with someone else is also in the butt of the joke they'll sting. They tend to hold grudges rather than holding others' hands out of awkwardness, having a hard time asking for help. They can bottle all their emotions up, and that leads to… More panic attacks and stinging a frog{Fear of water from threatening to be drowned from an accidental party bash, and misses the hot springs gifted from Chinese scorpion} they acted on it from stinging a frog helping them get to the other side{inspired by Tumblr short story{Lost it}.. They struggle with misinformation, everyone knowing the obvious royalty or power core, and the struggle of political disinterest and being the eldest to have to take the crown and responsibility. He can be bitter about others being wrong or not that self-aware, always keeping to themselves, but the inevitable panic of intrusive thoughts of accidentally murdering someone. They Value and adore it when people like them and know their bad, or even stay, to be listened to is nice and they can only be so much. They can come across as sweet, sometimes a bit obvious to their surroundings, or forgetful souls, but on other occasions, they can play the oblivious card. While plating obliviousness has its wins when seen as stupid, they tend to be insecure about the existence of their responsibility, but not exactly knowing how to not be the cause of corruption, assassinated siblings, letting things go bad, or secretly being power-hungry. Despite all of this, their family loves the self-isolating ‘Sun’ Daughter, and the people see them as having humility and being well educated but a person(forgetting, being neutral and self-aware of their bias on their interviews in boarding school.). They put others' needs before themselves, the weaker their friends, but an enemy could just die.

[meowmoew3]

STRANGERS AGAIN - choso kamo

1. - ACTION! ˚⋆⭑:: Kissing In the Car

hehe first chapter very exciting !!

summary - well paparazzi.. word count - 1.1k content warning - none !! masterlist // not proofread

june 1st 10:49 pm

Most nights were spent like this, the backseat of his car, his hands tangled in your hair. You never bothered to push him to take you anywhere else. A date would be nice, wouldn't it?

"Hey, stop moving so much," He paused to catch his breath but continued shortly, whatever it is he had to say didn't seem so important when he slowly pushed you away to look out the window. "You're drawing attention to the car."

"Huh?" You replied, still out of breath. "What are you doing?" You knew he was checking for paparazzi, he was so big on his image. You mentioned it once.

It resulted in an argument of how he couldn't be seen with someone of your status. Questioning him didn't do much when he chose to walk out on you the minute you asked What the hell does that mean?

Your thoughts were cut off when his phone buzzed. "Listen, we should be done for the night. I'll walk you back to your car. No funny business, got it?" He looked irritated, you knew not to push.

"Yeah. Got it."

He slowly pushed the door open, you waited for a second, it would've been nice if he held his hand out for you. Instead of a hand you were welcomed with his fast response of "Hurry up, do you not see the lights?" Right, the cameras.

"Sorry!" You squeaked it out fast as you slid across the seats to get out the car.

"Where'd you park?" He kept his head down as he walked ahead of you.

"Around the corner." His steps were fast and long. There was no need to rush. You slowly realized his reasoning as he turned his head down faster and looked to the side. The long calls of "Gojo!" "Gojo over here!" "Can you answer some questions tonight?"

Of course it never took paparazzi long to spot Satoru Gojo. He'd always been popular, at school, at work, (Not that he ever had to work a day in his life but he'd pick up the occasional shift as your local coffee shop when he was still the sweet boy who never wanted to be away from you.) and he's just as popular now. It's worldwide now, of course a quick few roles got him to the top. Some didn't even care for his acting, a perk of being hot.

He ignored every distant shout as they got closer and continued to usher fast, but irritated groans of "Keep walking."

That was until a camera was shoved right into your face. "Y/n L/n! Can you answer some questions about your upcoming single? What inspired espresso?" For someone who only had a rough couple million followers and few hundred thousand monthly listeners it was rare paparazzi ambushed you like this.

Oh right! you should answer shouldn't you? Be polite. "Hi! Sorry I don't think I'm allowed to speak on that. You know how excited my producer gets to see everyone's reactions when there's no spoilers! But i promise-" He walked away from you. Satoru Gojo walked away and left you to get ambushed by his paparazzi. "Hey! Wait up!"

Damn it. Everyone surrounded him so fast you couldn't catch up. You had a clear path to your car, surely he wouldn't turn it around and say you didn't try to keep up. Quickly spinning around and yelping out a few Sorry!'s and excuse me!'s you were able to reach your car.

"Y/n! When is the single out?! The media wants to know!" Another shout at you, honestly this was not something you could get used to. Entering your car and ignoring them was easy though.

Driving off to a more secluded area to check why your phone was buzzing so much was harder, but still easy!

Gojo's biggest haters

Shoko 😘🥰😅 : Okay where are you?

Utahime bae 💕 : Did he seriously just aalk away from her.

yuki.. 😥 : aalk

Utahime bae 💕 : STOP THIS US IMPORTATN HE JUST LEFT HER

Shoko 😘🥰😅 : She's not answering either

yuki.. 😥 : does she know its live?

Utahime 💕 : Probably not.. but at least they noticed her

Utahime 💕 : ESPRESSO OUT JUNE 3RD LETS GO 🔥🔥💜

Shoko 😘🥰😅 : Does she know this

yuki.. 😥 : Yes Choso confirmed on his story the release date.. GET WITH THE PROGRAM

Y/n 😊 ( Gojo defender 🤢 ) : says hey like that one hey.. hey.. meme 💜

yuki.. 😥 : Never type in third person again.

Utahime 💕 : MY WIFE WHERE ARE YOU

Y/n 😊 ( Gojo defender 🤢 ) : IM IN MY CAR WHAT??

Y/n 😊 ( Gojo Defender 🤢 ) : why is that my name.

Shoko 😘🥰😅 : Smoke break! 😊

yuki.. 😥 : Time to stream The archer bye..!!

Y/n 😊 ( Gojo Defender 🤢 ) : YOU CANT IGNORE MY QUESTION AND STREAM MY MUSIC AT THE SAME TIME💔

Utahime 💕 : Fire Shoko and let me be your manager instead id never ifnore you 🥺

yuki.. 😥 : shut up check twitter

@ POPNEWS UPDATES FOR YOUR FAVORITES!

Satoru Gojo spotted by paparazzi with a pretty young lady who was revealed to be Y/n L/n!

❤️ : 100,000

@ CHOSOKAMOMUSE

Espresso out june 3rd 12 am est.

❤️ : 54,000

@ CHOSOKAMOMUSE

That's so true. The album out June 23rd, happy i got to work with the lovely @ Y/NMUSIC again for this album. She'll be posting the tracklist soon 🤍

❤️ : 60,000

@ POPNEWS UPDATES FOR YOUR FAVORITES!

Choso Kamo confirms our favorite uprising popstar has an album coming out june 23rd! He reveals the first single Espresso is out in 2 days!

❤️ : 94,540

@ Y/NMUSIC

THATS SO TRUE OUT JUNE 23RD

that's so true

espresso

peace

i can fix him (no really i can)

juno

F2F

After midnight

Forever and always

mona lisa

Skin

get him back!

imgonnagetyouback

slim pickins

DELUXE SOON!

❤️ : 74,000

@ UTAHIMEOFFICAL

I keep it UNDERCOVER 💜 Haha I knew abt the album this whole time + i heard half of it ty next 😘😜

❤️: 24,320

-> @ Y/NMUSIC REPLIED: your undercover forehead i hear.. cough cough..

❤️ : 2,432

@ Y/NSDOG 😈😍

New single, new album, utahime and y/n tweets PLUS CHOSOY/N crumbs we are being so fed 😭🙏🙏

❤️ : 194 liked by @ Y/NMUSIC, @ UTAHIMEOFFIAL

-> @ UTAHIMEOFFICIAL REPLIED : utahime mentioned 🥺💜

-> @ Y/NMUSIC REPLIED : never mention her again she sent me this while jumping in circles.. 💔

#BREAK ROOM!⭑─

FIRST CHAPTER GET IYT 🔥 lmk if this sucked pls, i was gonna write more but i got invested in the tweets srry!! next chapter out in the next few days maybe tmrw.. this seems rushed and what not but hopefully if this goes how i want it to everything will come together and make more sense as the story goes on!!

CREDITS ⭑─ 

Inspired by Strangers Again by Olivia Rodrigo

please do not copy, translate, or reupload my work to different platforms. I do not own music, photos, or characters used. Things written in quote ( that isnt a character talking ) does NOT belong to me, I am not claiming to own any of it.

RULES ⭑─ 

Honestly there are no rules.. but try to keep it positive. Idc for mdni but small warning, i am not responsible for what you see on social media. if you see something you dont like please scroll it is not my responsibility to tell you who and what to interact with.

songs mentioned

the archer by taylor swift

that's so true by gracie abrams

espresso by sabrina carpenter

peace by taylor swift

i can fix him (no really i can) by taylor swift

juno by sabrina carpenter

F2F by sza

After midnight by chappell roan

Forever and always by taylor swift

mona lisa by sabrina carpenter

Skin by sabrina carpenter

get him back! by olivia rodrigo

imgonnagetyouback by taylor swift

slim pickins by sabrina carpenter

ETC! ⭑─ 

woohoo not proofread btw.. this will be available on ao3 soon!!>o<

[stormimur]

i wanna talk and ramble about the crochet scene from days gone by and i aint waiting for someone to ask me about it to trigger the nonsense

I LOVE the idea of Moon having a creationist hobby a lot...I feel like we as the dca fandom always assume and assign Sun as the more creative one out of the two for obvious reasons, so the idea that Moon not only finds a hobby first, but ends up with numerous ones tickles me. crochet requires a lot of patience, acceptance of needing to redo all your hard work because you missed a stitch, and its so satisfying when you finally get done with something. it's everything Moon typically isn't!! Moon is impulsive and impatient! Moon does not like change!

the way i write kvei and moon's little crochet nights is always so nice to me too...not only for the routine (kvei for retracking in life, moon because moon just needs one to feel safer, more secure, and to get anything done), but because they end up talking a lot. another thing moon doesnt do a lot of! the rest of the story showcases moon as closed off, blunt, and kinda socially daft for a long while. yet the yarn compels them to blabber. i like it because for me, the way I intended for it to be seen, its a showcase of feeling comfortable and content. its not something obvious to kvei in spite of their time with the two nerds, but to me it is. the subtle signs that in spite of everything, sun and moon still find comfort and a reprieve in their tiny friend.

it makes me hehe when i write the angsty parts. you tiny lesbian. look at you being so stereotypically inept. yes, they like you. yes, they are flirting with you. a lot of human bonding is nonverbal action, things sun and moon have picked up subconsciously from decades of being near people

also also it does make me reflect as i write rn on how this fic is definitely a slow burn, but isnt like the... "oh we gotta get to know each other" type, more the slow pining type. comfortable with what it is that you feel, but discretely eager for more while not knowing what exactly it is that you yearn for. sun and moon discover it first, significantly before kvei will (self sabotage is a bad habit that when ingrained young, becomes so second nature that you never notice its presence) and will spend a STUPID amount of time gently brushing out in the void to find where the boundaries, if any, are. where the lines lay. what you respond to. what they need to do to communicate certain things to you when words are just not enough. the actions they explicitly choose to do, even if they don't feel like you feel. two different ways of experiencing emotions, yet when you do it together, it's addicting.

kinda why i always mentally argue that exploring more nsfw aspects of s/m are inherently FASCINATING and why I anguish that I rarely see people really explore it. if they do, its so brief and easily waived/explained away. i dont like that!! I really dislike the idea that S/M learned sexual attraction. i am so firm in the camp that they don't and can't experience sexual attraction due to how hormone based it is vs romance is so emotion based. that isnt a deterrent though. its forcing a different, less explored path that as an aroace person I REALLY wish I saw more representation of!! I HATE HATE HATE the "oh im aro/ace/etc, i dont find romance/sex appealing. yucky, icky!" rep. its important and it should exist, but its all we get when aromantism and asexuality are fascinating. they inherently change how we approach, react, and feel about a very, very deeply important part of human connection and the human experience. isnt that massive? isn't that worth discussion?

to boil it down to a simple, lukewarm "im not interested" in a character is such a lazy attempt at representation and i dont like settling for it. so i aint. my content is for me and i write and draw what I wish I saw more of because I know nobody else will if we all play the waiting game. the engagement or lack of engagement in these aspects of life does not negate how you feel.

[floral-atom-collective]

HIBDEAREST

I think you already knwo someone else is on my account LMAO

it’s okay I gave them access on my own :D

hehe yeah I noticed <3

They seem nice :3

Its good to see you <3 <3