#and now they dare to ask her about her about him ?

[atomic-waste-of-time]

Daggers and Arrows

A story by me:3

Assailant: ha! I have you bested arrowless archer, with no ammunition, and in such short a distance, you shall surely fall to my bla-

The Assailants chin is held aloft by the archers Dagger, after the Archer used her Dagger to parry the short swords clumsy swing, knocking the blade from the untrained sword womans hands. The Archer smirks, leaning down to look the baffled woman in the eyes.

Archer: One, never monologue to someone within stabbing distance. Two, Never underestimate the Archers close range capabilities. And Three, Long distance units usually carry a form of small arms in case of extremely close quarters. Also, you should've worked a bit more with your blade instead of your tongue. Here's hoping you've learned your lesson. The Arrowless Archer winks, then turns and struts away, leaving the Assailant both confused and incredibly attracted to the strange Archer, and the witch hiding in a nearby bush, who had originally cursed the Archer, has drawn the entire scene, planning to sell it later as the first erotic depiction of a Dagger used in Foreplay. The witch was a genius, thinking that everyone would clumsily kill themselves while trying this new Technique.

Unfortunately for the witch, when she used her pocket mirror to ask the other witches in her coven via what we would call facetiming. Alas, to her dismay, the piece had no potential buyers in other towns, and if she showed the art in Daggersworth (the town in which the Arrowless Archer and the Assailant both live), they'd know who drew it for sure.. She decided to test her luck, and headed into town. She had a devilish idea indeed..

The Assailant (who I've decided is named Arma) was on her porch, she was recently broken up with, and thus used it as a business to cover the cost her gambling ex boyfriend left behind. It was a small smithy, dubbed "Arms and Armor" after her ex Aramor, who was clever with names, but not smart enough to realize dating every girl in town at once was a terrible idea on his part. "At least the hanging went smoothly" she thought to herself.

The Arrowless Archer approached the Smithy, it had been two days since the Assailant attacked, and the Archer knew Arma well enough to be the Assailant, but she was struggling, and the Archer (named Tinara, as I've now decided) was better than to hurt someone already hurting. They sighed, ringing the bell to let Arma know she was here, the girl was always so focused on her work, that she installed a small bell to ensure people could get her attention.

Tinara: Arma, I've an issue you're best at resolving!

Arma: Ah, hello Tinara!! Give me just a moment and I'll be with you!

Arma was, at present, fanning the small forge she used to heat the metals. (For the ones imagining the scene, and who'll know what I'm talking about, think of the blacksmith in Whiterun, except it looks better). She then approached Tinara, happy to see her as always.

Arma: So, what's the problem this time? Someone get too close and break your dagger?

Tinara: No, but a dagger is involved. Look at this.

Tinara held up a picture she had found on sale in the market by a young woman. It was signed with Armas signature, and it was of their brief encounter two days ago.

Arma: Wh.. where did you get this? That's my signature!

Tinara: I know, that's why I'm here. Did you draw these? I like them, but still, having these sold around.. I know times are tough for yo-

Arma: No, not in a hundred years could I draw that well, nor would I dare sell anything so provocative of myself.. Someone is setting the both of us up, but why?

Tinara: Well your ex is dead, so it can't be him. Any enemies aside from them?

Arma: Well, there was a witch, the one who turned all my Iron into Rabbits, ruined me that day because I couldn't be bothered to work the forge, as the same day my dog, Fido, had passed. I should've told her maybe, then she might have felt pity an-

Tinara: Shush, I've heard enough. You needn't belittle yourself for grieving, and it seems we have a common enemy. I propose we find them, and, seeing as the damage has already been done, end her life so she may no longer haunt our people.

Arma: Well, we could also just, I dunno, ask for money, she used our encounter for smut of all things, it's only fair we're paid for that.

Tinara: Hmm.. I suppose, she'll have made some good money from this I presume, we may be able to keep your shop open, hopefully befo-

???: Before I arrived, I presume?

Molly, the towns Debt Collector, had been standing there a while, her left arm under her breasts as she looked at her nails on her right hand. She was always one for dramatics, her parents owned the Theater in Swordston, the neighboring city. They made a lot of money, which was wasted on her drama classes, and very well spent in self defense and sword training, where she thrived. She was then elected the position of the towns Debt Collector after killing the first one in fair combat. Not a soul has beat her yet, and it's been about 7 years.

Molly: I was here to collect the debt your late ex boyfriend brought about with his drinking at the Ironhide Pub, and the property damage, and the-

Arma: Yes yes, get to the point, we've not the whole day to waste away.

Molly: Well, I heard something about Daggers, Smut, and a plan of some kind?~

Molly was also well known to be the towns connoisseur of all things lewd and tasteful, she works with the library to ensure the works of art she admires most remain preserved for all to learn from. Nobody saw any reason to make a fuss of it, and so it's been allowed to persist as one of Daggersworths many oddities.

Tinara: The witch that cursed me and Troubled Arma is the one making this smut all over town, signing it in Arma's signature to sully her na-

Molly: OOOH, Give!

Molly snatched up the piece before either could protest, and studied it close, putting on some small glasses to see more detail.

Arma: I'd would rather you'd ask first Molly, I understand your profession but this is a sensitive matter for I and Tinara.

Molly: That's because you're burdened by shame and such trivial things as the societal normalcy we've grown too accustomed to.

Tinara: Look, the matter is we've a witch to hunt, so w-

Molly: Oh, but look at her Anatomy! She caught both of your forms so well, and the way she made lighting in the scene with so little to work with, splendidly done indeed, I'll have to give this a special spot and ask for a properly signed one, truly a Queen of her craft. No wonder you're so concerned, These pieces are worth a fair bit! I'll have to come with the both of you.

Molly, looked up from the piece, to see a rather cross Arma tapping her foot impatiently.

Arma: If you're only coming for the Pornography, You may as well stay here. I highly doubt your expertise will be of use to us if we're ambushed by a member of their Coven.

Molly: Well, There's an official reason as well! I would be aiding in preserving history, and of course, ensuring you both have the payment by the end of the trip, so you can pay your debt. Plus I'm a great fighter, you know this firsthand Tinara~

Molly and Tinara spar on occasion, it helps them practice their aim, and the two enjoy each others company.

Tinara: Fine, you can come along, but if you so much as peak up a skirt I'll take your hammer and whack you upside the head.

Arma: I'll work on food, and close up the shop, Tinara can you bring some supplies? We'll need blankets and coats in case we encounter snow.

Molly: It's summer! How would it snow in the summer?

Arma: You never know, I try to be prepared. And besides, blankets are comfy, we should bring one each.

Molly: We could all share one?

Arma and Tinara in unison: No!

Molly: Alright alright.. I'll bring my extra large one just in case, and my Precious Biscotti, she'll alert us to danger, she's so talented.

Biscotti was a 6'5 Birch Wolf, a rare and powerful breed, they live in forests dense with birch, and have a similar pattern on their fur to that of a birch tree. They're one of many kinds of Woodland Wolves, a subspecies of wolves that disguise themselves as trees to better hunt skittish prey. Birch wolves are known for being incredibly alert creatures, and their heightened senses make them great guards. It's said that a well trained Birch Wolf can protect you from all harm, and sense the ill intent of others.

Biscotti can definitely sense ill intent in people, they were of old age, and had a lot of experience with bad people. Her previous owner gouged out her eyes, and as such her other senses were elevated, specifically her senses of touch and hearing. She often stamps the ground in order to get an idea of where she is. She also has a little pink bow, a gift from Molly.

Upon hearing her name, Biscotti emerged from behind Armas House, where they were basking in the sun. They nuzzled against Molly, emitting a low growl, a sign of affection.

Tinara: Well, I best get ready, I need to get some more ammunition for my slingshot.

Arma: I'll bring the food!

Molly: I'll bring the hitting sticks!!

The three nodded, and began quickly assembling gear together, in order to find the witch, and.. well, honestly not one of them was sure what they'd do exactly, but they'll come up with something on the road.

End of chapter one. Hope you enjoyed!!! idk where to put this but sometimes you see an idea and just go "yeah we rock with it." yknow?

As the kingdom’s best archer, you were cursed so your arrows would never hit again. But you just started shooting other things—rocks, sticks, shoes—and somehow, it works even better. Folks call you "The Arrowless Archer."

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 10 - charming

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was a long, exhausting night after lucas left. you felt numb, empty, lost. but a part of you felt relief. and you felt so guilty for feeling that.

you didn't let the girls come over straight away, you wanted to deal with it yourself and process it, but you knew you needed to go out tonight to stop yourself from moping.

by the time the evening had had arrived, your chest still felt heavy, but the grief had dulled into something quieter. something you felt able to carry.

you allowed yourself to get dressed up, promising the girls you would meet them there as you just needed to take your time.

you stared at the dress hanging on the back of your chair that sarah had given to you back when you first became roommates. "wear this when you want to feel hot. trust me." she had said to you that night.

this was one of those nights.

you put it on, did a quick once over and decided it was good enough for right now.

the kappa tau house was, as always, buzzing and full of energy by the time you got there.

you found kie and cleo, who both did a quick double-take when they saw you, expressions flashing from surprise to concern to that unspoken thank god you’re here kind of relief.

"you made it,” kie said, immediately pulling you into a hug. "how are you?" she asked with sincerity.

you gave a weak smile. "ask me after drink number three."

cleo handed you a red solo cup like she’d already prepared for that answer. "you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to."

"i know," you said, taking a sip. "i just want to be with my girls tonight."

"speaking of..." cleo nodded towards the corner where john b and sarah were making out. "she's been a little preoccupied."

you laughed, "so they're official huh?"

"apparently so. they're fucking whipped." kie sighed.

"she's never in our dorm anymore. always at his." you smiled softly, glad she had someone like him. "i'm happy for her." they nodded in agreement.

for a little while, it was easy. you laughed, danced, and let the negative thoughts stay hidden. but as the night went on, you felt yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break.

"i'm just gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. you guys carry on." you said to the girls.

"are you okay? do you want us to come with you?" kie rushed, always the first one to worry.

"i'm fine! i promise. just getting a bit sweaty."

"ok, but we're here for you, yeah?" cleo spoke with concern.

"i know i know. i'll be back shortly." you stepped away, slipping through the crowd in the living room and making it out to the garden. it was quieter, darker, with the slight flicker of cigarettes being lit and phone screens.

you exhaled deeply, the cool air hitting your skin like a reset button. you leaned against the wall, letting your head fall back, eyes closed, just trying to feel something besides the dull ache in your chest that comes back as soon as you're alone.

"you always sneak off during our parties?"

the voice startled you, pulling you out your trance.

"i didn’t know you were out here," you said quietly.

"didn’t know you were either. guess we both needed a break."

you glanced at rafe for a moment before returning your gaze to the backyard. "you always this good at finding people when they want to be alone?"

"not really. just tends to always be you." he shrugged, "why do you want to be alone?"

"just not really in a people mood right now."

he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "rough night?"

"lucas and i broke up." you responded bluntly.

rafe didn’t say anything at first, just nodded slowly. no told you so. no smug comment. just a shift in his expression. shock and a hint of sympathy.

"you okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"yeah," you said finally. "i think it wasn't good for a while. he wasn't like, bad or anything. we just grew apart. it felt pretend. and that's exhausting in itself."

he didn’t push you for more. "i get that," voice softer now. "sometimes it’s easier to fake it than admit it's kinda falling apart.”

you looked over at him then, his face barely lit by the glow of the inside, his eyes steady on yours. there was no judgment there. just a weird kind of understanding.

"you always this philosophical at parties?" you let out a small laugh.

he cracked a smile. "only when i run into pretty girls in gardens."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into the faintest smile, "charming"

"you smiled," he said, "that’s gotta count for something."

"we seem to end up together at parties away from everyone else quite a lot." you said, sitting down against the wall.

"is that a problem?" he sat beside you, close but not too close.

"not really," you said after a beat, voice quieter now. "just… interesting."

he hummed in response, resting his arms on his knees, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read between the lines of your words. "maybe it’s a sign."

you looked over at him, brows raised. "a sign? for what?"

"that you secretly like my company," he said, glancing at you with the smallest smirk, but it didn’t come off cocky. "or maybe you just keep ending up in the same places i go when i’m trying to get away."

"away from what?"

"the pressure of being a frat guy."

you both burst into laughter, you swatted his shoulder, but rafe caught your hand before it could hit him. and he didn't let go. holding it before slowly brushing his hand against yours, just gently. just enough for you to decide.

you hesitated, then turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl lightly into his. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t even flirtatious. it was steady. grounding. quiet.

his thumb grazed your knuckles, barely there. "you’re allowed to feel relief," he said softly, his voice low and warm. "even if it hurts. even if it’s messy."

"you always like this when you’re not pretending to be an asshole?"

he let out a small laugh. "don’t tell anyone. ruins the brand."

you smiled again, this time more real.

"i'm glad i keep bumping into you." you whispered after a while.

"yeah." he replied, just as quietly. "me too."

a/n: i hate this chapter wahhhhhhh anyway how much of this is bet rafe and how much is real rafe mwahahha

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[allllium]

Just a Bit of Fun

[ Jack Abbot x Reader ]

~ Fluff, WC: 3749

~ Mostly gender neutral but there is a section using female pronouns, pls let me know if you want another version with other pronouns

-------------- banner coming soon -------------

- Reader is keeping a big secret from Dana, accidentally.

Fortunately, the ER today has been pretty slow. Not that you'll say out loud but only a couple people are left out in chairs. You're struggling to get a snack out of the vending machine. Everyone knows this one is a money thief but it's the only one with your favorite snack.

While you're distracted, Dana uses it as an opportunity to talk to Robby about her newest issue within the ER. It's not a real issue at all, but no one dares to say it to her face.

"Call me old school, but I don't understand it." She says, just directly out of your earshot.

"Well-" He begins, but obviously Dana cuts him off quick.

"Don't you call me anything with the word old in it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." Robby chuckles. "I don't get it either but it's not any of our business." He knows exactly what she's talking about. It's the only thing he's heard from her in a couple days now.

"Of course it is. This is my ER, all of its my business." He doesn't contridict that it's her ER, but he can't stop his grin at her dramatics.

"Stop being a gossip." He lectures her as usual. Of course it's not her fault, she gets bored.

"Hey, you want to know too. Don't even deny it."

"Obviously I want to know but I'm not gonna sneak around behind their backs." That and he knows more than he'll let Dana see. She'll have his head on a silver platter if she finds out you told him before her.

"What are we gossiping about?" You whisper from behind them. Not meaning to sneak up on them but they were standing right in your path.

"You're just as bad as Dana." Robby rolls his eyes at you. He does that a lot.

"Don't be talking shit out in the open if you don't want me to be curious." You tell him in a lecturing tone. "That's on you, Buddy."

"We were not talking shit." He hates when you call him buddy, that's why you do it. Robby isn't usually one to talk shit but on a few occasions you've caught it happening.

"Uh huh, quick defense there." You smile at his dramatic huff. Once you get to him, he's not nearly as intimidating. Now you can poke fun at him all you want.

He doesn't grace with you a verbal response before giving up and walking away.

"He's no fun." Dana mutters under her breath. You look over in her direction, forgetting she was there for a moment. You should know better, she's always there.

"That's okay, we're fun enough for him too." You walk around the counter to sit down and take a breath for a moment, while you can.

"What are you doing here, kid? I barely ever see you in the daylight." She takes a seat in the chair next to you.

"Filling in for Collins. Robby asked me to while she's on vacation. Night shift will do without me for a bit." You fidget by moving back and forth in the chair. You and Collins have bonded a lot through the years. The nature of her vacation isn't a happy one.

"I don't know." She immediately disagrees. "Abbot might fall apart without you by his side."

You can see the mischievous smile forming.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You turn quickly to face her head on.

"You know what I mean, I never see one of you without the other."

"He's not here right now is he? Besides we work different days a lot."

"Not if it's up to the two of you." She shrugs with a laugh.

"We work well together." You deflect in disbelief. What is she getting at right now?

"I bet you'd be good at a lot of other things together too." She keeps her head down as she says it, you know she's struggling to get the words out through her laugh.

"Dana it is way too early in the morning for you to be saying stuff like that." You tell her in astonishment. "Have you no shame?"

It takes her a full moment to stop laughing at her own words. You get the urge to walk away but you know she'd chase you down.

"I'm just saying, you two would be good together."

"Dana. You can't be encouraging me to have sex with my boss."

"Why not? It's never hurt nobody."

"I am walking away from this conversation right now."

"C'mon, hon, just live a little." She calls after you.

You shake your head harshly as you walk away and her laugh echos through the hall.

You know neither you nor Jack have actually told anyone other than Robby that your together, but you didn't think she would still be this oblivious.

You can't explain why you played along instead of coming out with the truth. At this point, you might as well have fun with it.

The next day, Dana seems to be just as determined to get answers as the last. Your reactions to her teasing certainly didn't help.

"I don't see what the big deal is." You and Dana are sitting in the lounge, trying to eat lunch while there's not too much work to be done. Knock on wood this next couple days will follow a similar pattern. "We work together so what? You and Robby work together all the time and I'm not pushing you two into each other." She immediately gives you a look of disgust.

"Don't even try that, it's different and you know that. Robby and I don't look at each other the way you guys do."

"We don't look at each other like anything other than good coworkers." You tell her confidently, perhaps taking the joke too far. Honestly if she hasn't figured it out by now, that's on her.

"You are so full of shit."

"I think the older you get, the crazier you get too."

"Did you seriously just call me old and crazy in the same sentence?"

"Hey I just call it like I see it." You raise your hands in a joking defense.

"Abbot's a good looking guy, I know you see that." She wiggles her eyebrows at you.

"Well I'm not gonna deny that."

"So why not take the chance? It doesn't have to be anything serious."

"I like things how they are." You shrug and pay more attention to your food than necessary.

Whatever she's about to say next is cut off by McKay running in.

You're not paying attention to anything they're saying but Dana rushes out quickly and leaves McKay standing in the doorway. Robby probably needed her help with something.

"Are you fucking with her?" Mckay laughs as she looks at you curiously.

"So I'm guessing you know?"

"You guys are very obvious. Has she not gotten it yet?" You get up to throw away your lunch trash while she talks.

"Apparently not. I guess she figured I was single and Robby didn't tell her otherwise." You shrug and walk with McKay through the hall.

"Strange considering he's such a gossip."

"That's what I'm saying!"

"Oh that's a really pretty ring." You're standing by your locker when Dana appears. It's day three of her pushing for answers and one of those rare times where you get off on time.

"Huh." You look down and see the ring Dana is referring to. It's on a chain around your neck that must've come out while leaning over so much throughout the day. "Oh thanks, I didn't realize it was out." You quickly tuck it back into your shirt, before Dana asks too many questions.

"What kind of stone is that? It doesn't look like diamond." Of course she's gonna ask a lot of questions.

"Oh it's not, I can never remember the exact name of this one but I'm not a huge fan of diamonds." You explain while grabbing your other clothes out so you can get home as quick as possible.

"Why do you wear it on a necklace?" She asks in a knowing manner.

"Cause' knowing this place it would get lost or ruined otherwise. I'd do it with my other ones too but I wear a million of them." No lie in that statement.

"So why wear it instead of keeping it with the rest?"

"It's my favorite. I just like having it so close to me." Also not a lie.

"That makes sense, it is really pretty." She turns to pull stuff out of her own locker.

"Thanks. Uh, you have any plans after this?" You try to change the topic as casual as possible.

"Lots of sleep hopefully."

"I think that's all we can hope for at this point." You also want to go home and sleep. Especially because the house will be empty all night.

"Sleep well kid."

"See you bright and early." As soon as you're changed, you walk out and leave Dana to herself.

You give a quick goodbye to Robby, who of course hasn't even gotten close to finishing up yet. And then make your way outside when you're greeted with a familiar face.

"How was it today?" He asks from his position leaning against the wall.

"Not to bad. I think you should have okay night." You smile at him which shows off just how tired you are.

"I hope so."

"Well, I guess I'll see you in the morning." You say with a saddened tone.

"Goodnight Dr. Abbot." He pulls you in for a swift hug.

"Goodnight- or goodmorning, Dr. Abbot. Whatever it is to you right now."

"Go home and sleep, you need it."

"Sounds good to me." You pull away from him and both go your separate ways.

"I can't believe it." Dana exclaims just moments after you left. She immediately found Robby to talk to about what she just saw.

"What are you on about now?" He sighs as he always does when putting up with the gossips in the ER, especially Dana's.

"She was wearing an engagement ring, oh how did we miss this?" She seems personally offended by this piece of information.

Robby tries as hard as he can to hide his grin. He didn't miss anything, but again, Dana would have his head if she knew.

"That's why she's been so put off by the idea of going out with Abbot."

"Maybe she's just not interested in him. She wears a lot of rings that could pass as engagement rings. You probably just saw it wrong." He tries to offer a reasonable solution. One that doesn't make her even more invested in your romance life.

"No, it was different than the other ones. And she was wearing all day under her shirt. People don't do that with any old ring." She follows behind him as he walks around trying to finish off his work for the night.

"Why didn't you just ask her about it? She has no reason to lie." He comes to your defense.

"I did! Discreetly but the point still stood. She just said it was her favorite." She comes off even more exasperated than before.

"And you don't believe her because?"

"She is not good at coming up with excuses, I can always tell when she's trying to come up with something on the spot."

"Dana, please take this advice I'm about to give you seriously. Calm down a little bit. If she's hiding something it's for a good reason."

"What reason would be good enough to not tell me?"

"Ask her." He practically begs.

She gasps suddenly, "Maybe Abbot knows."

For the ten millionth time that day, Robby rolls his eyes.

"She knows." You resign as he walks in the door.

"Who knows what?" You hear him move around the living room as he puts everything down from the night.

"Dana. I don't know what she knows but it's something."

"Okay? And this is an issue because?" He walks into the kitchen to greet you as he talks.

"You're the one that insisted on hiding this." You lean into him as he puts his arms around your waist.

"At first. If you want to tell Dana go ahead."

"I can't! It would be weird now. It's been years at this point." He chuckles from behind you.

"I don't think it's a big deal."

"So says you. You work the night shift, you don't deal with Dana's craziness like I do."

"You'll be back on night shift soon enough."

"Oh honey, it's funny you think that'll stop her."

He let's go of you to grab something to eat.

"I know it won't. But I'm not the one dealing with it."

"Be nice to me, Jack. I'm struggling here." You're being totally dramatic about it but oh well at this point.

"How dare she care about your life outside of work." He says blankly as he focuses on finding food.

"You're not gonna find anything in there, we need to go shopping."

He shuts the cupboard and focuses more on you. "I think I'll bring you lunch later."

"Honey, you need to sleep longer than a couple hours."

He rolls his eyes, "No I don't."

You head to the living room to grab the rest of your stuff for your shift.

"You don't need to bring me lunch, I'll get something." He follows you into the room and sits down on the couch.

"It might help with your Dana issue."

"Shes gonna hurt me, isn't she? She's a lot stronger than she looks "

"Most likely."

"Good to see how concerned you are."

"I try my best." You laugh at his words and finish grabbing your stuff before pausing for a moment.

"Wait a minute, why are you here so early. You're shift isn't over yet?"

He glances up at you for a second before looking back at the TV.

"Did you clock out early so you wouldn't overlap with Dana coming in?"

"Of course not."

You burst out laughing. He gives you an unimpressed stare.

"Okay sweetie, whatever you say." It's hard to believe this is the most intimidating guy in the ER. "If she wants to get you, she will."

You let out an embarrassing yelp as Dana quickly grabs your arm and pulls you into the empty on call room.

"Was that really necessary?" You exclaim while she shuts the door behind you both.

"Yes, I want the truth." She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at you pointedly.

"Don't we all." You sigh dramatically.

"Seriously, kid. Who gave you that ring? I know it's an engagement ring. I looked it up." You roll your eyes at her. Of course she's still on this.

"I didn't know you knew how to do that." You mumble under your breath and throw your arms across your chest.

"Don't sass me or I'll tell everyone."

"Tell them what? You don't know anything." She squints her eyes as she thinks of what to say next.

"I'm going figure it out. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Dana, I'm not scared of you."

"Yes you are."

"I spend every night working with Abbot. You are not on his level of intimidation." You shake your head with a smile at her reaction to this whole situation.

You're not entirely sure why this is something she's so determined to figure out but it fills your day with a tiny bit of entertainment.

"Just tell me." She demands, staring into your soul.

"Okay fine, I'm married alright. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Her face shows a mixture of confusion and happiness. Clearly she's glad to finally have a good answer.

"To who??"

"I have already given you more than enough." You brush her off and begin to leave the room she pulled you into.

"You're seriously not gonna tell me?

"I am seriously not gonna tell you."

"Wait, how long have you been hiding this?" She opens her mouth in shock.

"I haven't been hiding anything, you never asked. But it's been about three years now."

"You've only been here for two years. No wonder you've been so weird about Jack." She mutters to herself like she's finally putting the pieces together.

"Next time you won't assume I'm single will you?"

"No I will not." She laughs.

You walk off assuming that's the end of this particular conversation. You're not that lucky.

"So how does your husband feel about your relationship with Abbot?" She sounds very concerned. How the fuck is she not getting it right now?

"Well honestly he's not super fond of him." Why do you continue to make things harder for yourself. This would all be over if you didn't listen to Jack in the first place.

You know he was right to suggest it at first. Coming to work in a new place is hard enough without people knowing you're married to your new boss.

You really thought people would figure it out by now. But of course people never wanted to accuse either of you of anything, so they keep conversations quiet and didn't ask any questions loud enough for you to hear.

"I wonder why?" She asks sarcastically. She clearly sees something between you and Jack. What will it take for her to see what that something is?

"You are officially on my shit list!" Dana yells from down the hall.

"Oh yay." You whisper sarcastically. "What'd I do now?" You call back down to her.

"Someone is here to see you." She smiles scarily and pulls you by the arm for the second time today.

"Oh is my food here?" You're excited to finally eat and see Jack during the day. Although he's gonna get a very big earful about the importance of enough sleep, especially with a job as grueling as this.

"Yeah and you'll never believe who brought it to you." Sarcasm drips from her voice.

"The magic food fairy?" She's not impressed. You think it sums him up pretty well.

"Abbot. Dr. Jack Abbot. The man who worked all night and should be sleeping all day is instead here bringing you food. Why is that?"

"Do you need to sit for a minute? You seem a little worked up."

"I do not need to sit, I need to hear the explanation you two have been hiding from me." You accidentally let out a small chuckle at her antics. You don't know why this means so much to her.

"Why do you need an explanation for me to get my lunch?"

"First you hide your marriage-" You interrupt her quickly.

"I didn't hide anything."

"Then you admit your husband isn't real fond of Jack."

"Oh honey, you're getting so close." Will this be the moment she finally puts all the pieces together?

You look up to see Jack standing at the nurses station, smiling softly at you as you walk up. It's not big enough for most people to notice. Dana clearly, is not most people.

She stops walking, causing you to slightly bump into her back.

She turns around slowly to face you.

"Surprise?" You reveal, hoping she's finally figured out what's going on.

While she stands in her surprise, you walk over to your husband.

"I told you not to do this." You immediately reprimand him.

"Dana's glaring daggers at the back of your head." Is his simple response.

"Oh let her. She's having some big feelings and you don't get to change the subject that easily." You grab your food out of his hands.

"We haven't seen each other as much lately. Can't I do something nice?" He asks innocently.

"Don't act like you didn't want to see Dana's reaction." You place the food on the counter next to you so you can cross your arms over your chest. It's your power stance.

"What can I say? Karma for being a gossip."

You laugh aloud. "Says you! You listen to everything the nurses talk about and ask me about it later."

"That's not the same." You scoff at his denial.

"Uh huh, whatever you have to tell yourself sweetie." You smile widely at him. Suddenly feelings just how much you've missed him over these last couple days. "Go home and sleep. It's my last day on day shift for now."

"Good. Night shift goes a lot smoother when you're there."

"Aww are you saying you missed me?" You take a step closer to him and his awkwardness.

"No." What a motherfucker.

"Oh I see how it is." You feel Dana's presence come up beside you. "Get some good sleep so we can spend time together without you being such a grump."

"I am never a grump." He defends, his lip curling up just a smudge.

"Wow you're just full of jokes tonight, I see." He gives you a kiss on your head to hide his smile in your hair.

"Have a good shift." He tells you and gives a small nod to Dana before walking out the door.

"So? Figure it out yet?"

"How in the hell did I not know this?" She exclaims softly almost like she's saying it to herself.

"You never asked. No one did." You shrug with a chuckle.

"How long have you been together? He never mentioned anything." She plops down in a chair to continue the conversation.

"He's protective. He thought it would make things harder if people knew I was married to my new boss." You sit in chair next to her. You look around and see all the other doctors currently occupied.

"So as long as you've been here?" She chuckles quietly realizing all she missed over the years.

"Married for three years, together for six. We met at a bar when he was drinking in his sorrows." You remember the memory fondly. "I was gonna tell you when I realized you didn't know, but for some reason it didn't come out."

She laughs loudly at that. Loud enough that a patient to the left gave her a weird look.

"That makes sense. I'm just glad you're not having some weird affair with Jack."

"It's not an affair but it's definitely weird."

"Ha! Eat your lunch kid. I'm gonna hound you for details later." She stands up and gives you a pat on the shoulder.

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

~ low-key wanna write about how they met 🤔

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xii)

THEOREM OF BECOMING—Transformation is not a moment, but a process.

summary: The journey back to Jackson is full of make-believe of a life that almost feels like it's coming true.

a/n: woohoo, happy AAPI month! I'm sorry this update took so long, I was so indecisive on how I wanted this chapter to end, and what I wanted to depict, especially at the end when it was hard for me to decide where I wanted to place all of them... I just hope it turned out okay! one more chapter left before the epilogue :)

word count: 12,800+ words (dare I say, a short one?)

Joel tried to imagine himself at university. Outlandish things like, what would’ve happened if the world had given him a second door to open?

Because being here—goddamn. It was hard not to wonder what it might’ve felt like, walking into a place like this with a backpack and purpose instead of a rifle and regret.

What kind of kid would Joel have been, sitting in one of those chairs? Twenty years old, maybe. Hell—eighteen if he'd played it straight. No Sarah. No mortgage. No busted-up drywall jobs. No worry about gas bills or whether the AC would hold another summer.

Fuck no, he wouldn't do whatever it was Leela was doing in that lab, with data and diagrams that looked like chicken scratch to him. He would want a degree in something that lets the brain wander. A major in liberal arts, maybe. History. Music theory sounded nice. All that “not real work” crapola folks in his neighbourhood used to scoff at.

He’d always had a good head on him—just never the time or the cash to spend chasing someone else’s definition of smart. See, college wasn’t for men like him. Places like this weren’t made for people like him.

It was a gate you needed a key for, and that key used to cost fuck-ton loans and inevitable debt. More than he ever had or would have.

But that never meant he wasn’t curious. Never meant he didn’t know things.

Truth was, Joel used to like ideas. He liked stories. He read when he could. Listened. Paid attention. Watched old movies with Sarah, sometimes caught the way dialogue turned into meaning. Took in books secondhand, borrowed from neighbours, dog-eared and scribbled in. Kept his head and hands busy. When he worked construction, he could out-measure, out-calculate, and out-plan any of those stiff-collared pricks with their clean hands and degrees nailed to their office walls.

Tommy used to joke that Joel could memorize a script better than a foreman could read a blueprint.

“Man, you ain’t dumb,” his baby brother said once, picking dried cement off his hands. “We’re just poor.”

And he'd agreed. Their whole academic system was a racket, just a way of putting a price tag on knowledge.

Places like Caltech were always for them—it was for the bright ones, the born-lucky, the rich kids with trust funds and internships lined up like bowling pins. Kids like Leela, in fact. He'd never set foot in a real university, let alone one like this. All that prestige and legacy. Hell, even the labs looked like spaceships.

Joel had never even been on a real campus before the world went belly-up, and now here he was, boots echoing in a dead lecture hall, listening to Leela piece together the last remnants of science like she was born for it.

He stood halfway down the sloped aisle, one hand dragging along the edge of a long desk. The laminate was peeling at the corners. He could picture a thousand students slouched here over the decades, bent over laptops or spiral notebooks, yawning, scrawling notes they’d forget the second finals ended.

Behind him, Ellie climbed onto the stage at the bottom of the hall, testing the strength of the lectern like a kid playing teacher. Her voice carried, all grin and gravel.

“Bet you’d sit in the back row. Right, Joel?”

Joel smirked. “Only place I could get away with nappin’.”

“Or so you think. I’d definitely be front row. Raising my hand. Asking annoying questions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t nothin’ changed.”

“Pft, whatever.”

Beyond the doors, down the corridor, he could just make out the faint click-clack of keys—Leela, working in the lab with that same eerie calm she always had when the world dropped away and it was just her and the numbers. Her silhouette had barely shifted in an hour. Her hair was loose, falling over one shoulder, half in the light. She looked like she belonged in there.

“Y’know,” he drawled out to Ellie from somewhere inside his head, “I think she and I… if we’d met like that back then… we’d’ve found each other.”

Ellie didn't tease him about it. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. I’d be the guy just tryin’ to keep up. Probably complainin’ about the campus coffee and the goddamn parking passes.”

She grinned. “She’d dodge you for two whole weeks.”

“Hm. Sounds ‘bout right.”

“Then one day you’d say something too smart that’d make her stop and think. And boom. Now you’re study partners.”

He sighed. “I ain’t smart, kiddo.”

“Nah, you’re smart.”

“Not that kinda smart.”

“Bullshit. You literally remember everything. Details. Faces. The way you describe a guy’s boots, I feel like I was there.”

Joel clucked his tongue. “You learn to read people when your life depends on it.”

She shrugged. “Still counts.”

He didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched—somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Hey, know what else? She’d’ve helped me cheat on a math exam.”

“Ha, no way. Leela would smack you across the face.”

He rubbed his jaw, the beginnings of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “But she’d tutor me. Make me memorise some dumb equation by makin’ it a song or somethin’. She hums that stuff sometimes, y'know? 'Spretty cute.”

Ellie gave him a look—half fond, half exasperated. “Jesus. Jesse was right. You're cuntstruck.”

“Ellie,” he muttered, more warning than scolding, but it didn’t carry much heat.

“Aw, c’mon, Joel. Can you just imagine a life where,” she sighed, “you just live that time-honoured, grey area of life? Be a normal dude with a college sweetheart or some shit?”

“How the hell do you know all that?”

“I'm just that baller.”

“Jesus.”

Now, Joel meant to leave it there, but the thought had already taken root.

He let his eyes drift toward the broken chalkboard at the front of the room, and the lecture hall around them seemed to grow in his mind—less ruin, more memory of something he never had.

He imagined Leela sitting at a desk beside him, in a school that let smart kids like her and dumbasses like him sit together—just one of those big halls with sticky floors and ceiling fans that clicked when they turned, where the smart ones always found the front row and the tired ones sat wherever the sun didn’t hit their eyes. She’d be chewing a pen cap, probably, maybe twirling a strand of hair around her finger, nodding all serious while some professor went off about Gödel or Fermat or one of those names that felt more like hexes than people. Joel wouldn’t understand a lick of it—not even on his best, most caffeinated day.

But maybe—she’d lean in, whisper it in Layman's for him. Not to make him feel dumb, but because she wanted him to know. All sweet, patient, gracious Leela.

He’d pretend to follow along, nodding at the right times, but mostly he’d be watching the way her mouth moved around the words, the way her brows bunched up when she really got into it. Watching the gears turn in her beautiful, brilliant head. Joel still did that, when she went off on a tangent in their living room between her blackboards, he'd just want her to kiss her until she was blue in the face.

He nevertheless would've fallen so damn hard for her. Right on his ass. No question about it.

Wouldn’t have taken him long to ask her out, either—not if they’d met like that. Not if she didn’t already know all the things the world had done to a man like him. He would have acted like his balls had just dropped or something—nervous as hell, but trying to play it cool. Sweaty palms, rehearsed lines in front of his mirror. Something about those big, dark eyes of hers, her fancy shoes, or her mint-condition books. Something along the lines of: I promise I’m more interesting than I look… though I realise the bar’s low since I’ve been standing here staring at you for the last thirty seconds.

And if she’d fold and giggle ‘okay’—and he liked to believe she would—he’d take her out someplace decent. Someplace with candlelight, silverware, suited waiters, cloches and folded napkins. He’d pick her up in front of her building. Show up with a fat bouquet of daisies. Pull her chair out for her at dinner. Hold the door. Call her ma’am without even thinking. He would be flat-broke in that life too, but he was raised right with Texan manners imbued upon him by Mr and Mrs Miller, after all.

Leela would probably tease him a little, maybe make fun of how stiff his shirt collar was or how he kept checking the long-ass bill like it was going to change. But she’d smile through it and offer to go Dutch instead. That rare, toothy smile of hers that made her look so young, unguarded and just a little bit shy.

He imagined them walking back across campus after—quiet, inseparable, arm around his. Maybe it was autumn. Maybe the crimson maple leaves crunched under their feet, and she kept pushing her hands into the sleeves of her coat like she always did when she was cold but didn’t want to say so. Maybe he’d offer his jacket. Maybe she’d take it. Maybe he’d blow into her hands in an attempt to kiss them.

Maybe that night, standing outside her place, she’d look up at him with that same quiet challenge in her eyes she had now—like she was daring him to be gentle.

And he would’ve been. Gentle as fuck. Their first kiss wouldn’t have been some clumsy, rushed thing. No desperation. No fear of the dark coming back. Just... time. Time you don’t know you’re wasting until it’s gone.

He imagined her fingers curled into his coat on maybe their fourth date, maybe he'd just taken her out ice-skating or bowling, and she would push the coat off him, and pull him a little closer. Stay with me tonight. A breath caught between their lips. And maybe—God help him—maybe they’d have stumbled into the fancy elevator of her expensive off-campus apartment, shoes kicked off halfway, giggling when she nearly tripped over her own purse left by the door. He’d catch her waist, steady her, and she’d glance at him with those mischievous eyes that already knew what he wanted. I want all of you.

They’d lock the door behind them, not because they had to, but because they could—because no one was chasing them, nothing was breathing down their necks. Just a night in. Quiet. Private. Theirs.

The desk lamp would still be on, casting light over her math books still open, forgotten now, pages fluttering. Her room would be warm, a little cluttered, with too many books for one person. A corkboard with pinned movie stubs and Post-it reminders. A polaroid of them, maybe, from some campus event—Joel squinting at the lens, Leela mid-laugh as always, her nose scrunched in that way he loved.

They’d peel off layers slowly. Clothes in a trail from the doorway to the bed. His shirt, her dress, his belt, her tights, his boxers. Her bra hanging from the lamp. They’d laugh a little, giggling some, fumbling with the condom in his wallet like it was a joke they’d made earlier in the week—about how just in case that had suddenly become now.

No pressure. No pain. First times. A night they got to have too late. No urgency, no hunger born from grief or fear. Just intimacy. Just plain, affectionate, stumbling, careful sex. Earned. Trusted. Wanted.

He pictured them afterwards, her curled against him beneath tangled sheets, tracing lazy shapes on his chest while the radiator clanked in protest against the cold. Nodding while they discussed their upcoming test, how she’d incentivise him with a kiss for each question he scored, fingers moving through her hair, catching on a tiny braid she must’ve done while studying.

The window would fog up by morning. They’d sleep through their alarms. Maybe skip class like dumb rebels. Maybe make breakfast instead—pancakes from a box, the batter too thick, the frying pan too hot. He’d burn the first one and she’d steal it anyway, kissing him with syrup on her lips. Good fuckin' morning to me.

They’d graduate together, in this life. He’d be in the back row on ceremony day, shoes shined for once, hair swept back neatly, watching his best girl stride across the stage to grab her scroll. Top of her class, honour roll, summa cum laude. Maybe he didn’t get a diploma of his own—maybe he took night classes, taking the slow route out—but he’d be there, standing up before anyone else, clapping like hell, hooting her name with his hands cupped around his lips.

And she’d find him later, tassel on her crooked hat flying, gown wrinkled, eyes shining, leaping into his arms, and he’d spin her about. Kiss her right there in the crowd like he was the luckiest son of a bitch alive.

And in that life—the life he never got—maybe they’d go on like that for years. Their families are all tight-knit, spending holidays together, all of them waiting on hand and foot for Joel to pop the question, but he promised his girl all the time in the world. No muss, no fuss.

Graduation photos in front of some ivy-covered wall. Travel photos of the two of them from roadtrips and weekend escapes—mountains in Telluride, coasts in Monterey, lighthouses in Nantucket. Maybe later they’d rent a shitty apartment together in a big city even if he hated it—New York, or London, or some big German town with a zigzag skyline and a bakery on every corner—while she chased her PhD dreams and he’d just be happy to take care of them. Joel would take on carpentry jobs to keep the lights on and fix things around the building in exchange for rent. He'd play gigs, strum his old guitar, in pubs and bars all night for a good sum of cash. Patch the leaky sink with elbow grease. Assembling furniture that they couldn’t afford to buy. Shelves full of her notes. Coffee rings on the floor. Late-night supermarket runs. Eat dinner for breakfast and fall asleep with her textbooks open between them. The laughter of a life being made from scratch.

And maybe one day, not in a church, not even in a courthouse—but under that oak tree just outside her big, white house in Jackson, they’d say their vows. Soft ones. Barely louder than the wind. Just a handful of people who mattered, a patch of wildflowers in springtime, and the gold ring he’d carried in his pocket for years. Her hand in his, sliding the band into place. Her thumb brushing his knuckles while he tried not to cry. I offer you all I have, my dumbass and beating heart.

And she’d laugh when he picked her up, white dress, veil and all, just to prove he still could, and carry her over the threshold, whilst her sandals dangled from his fingers. They'd make love like it was the first time, on a nice, month-long honeymoon in the Maldives or Bali, on a linen, canopy-frame bed that wobbled by the time they were through.

And one day, he’d come home—sawdust still in his hair, tired to the bone, aching for his long shower—only to find a positive test on the bathroom sink, and they’d smile at each other like they’d just won the lottery. Those soft, teary eyes they’d share. You think we've got room for one more around here?

And from that moment on, Joel would've been all in. No half-measures. No second-guessing. Just him, right in her pocket. He wouldn’t leave her side unless he had to—work, maybe, or some emergency—and even then, she’d be on speed dial (not that she already wasn’t). He’d check in constantly. Make sure she was drinking water, eating enough. Sitting her antsy ass down.

Late at night, he’d press his ear to her belly, grinning when their baby kicked like she already had her mama’s fire. He’d murmur promises against her skin—about giving her the world, about love, about never missing a thing again. And he’d mean every damn word.

He wouldn’t miss a single ultrasound, even if the clinic was across town and the truck was coughing smoke. He’d be there for all of it—Lamaze classes, nausea, mood swings, sleepless nights, midnight drives for god-knows-what. He’d baby-proof every damn inch of the house, stock the cabinets with baby items, triple-check the crib screws, read every parenting book he could find, even the ones with goofy cartoon covers.

Overbearing? For fucking sure. She might threaten to divorce him half a dozen times before the third trimester—but he’d take it, all of it. With a grin and a kiss and a Yes, ma’am.

And when it was time—when the world narrowed to a hospital room and the sound of her hurting wails—he’d be right there, surgical gown and all, holding her hand through every contraction, brushing damp hair from her face, whispering through the panic, through his heart tearing in two: I’m right here, baby. I ain’t going anywhere.

And Maya would come hollering into their lives. Of course, that’s what they’d name her in this life, too. Radiant, beautiful, nascent Maya, looking just like her mama and holding his heart in her tiny fist. All that imagining he’d ever done—every if, every maybe—had somehow led to this little girl he called his.

He pictured Maya clearly in that other life—the one that never got to be. Toddling around their grad-school apartment, leaping onto his stomach in PJs on a lazy Sunday morning, giggling through a mouthful of sugary cereal while Leela chased after their little thief, trying to snatch the box from her sticky hands. One sock is on, and the other is always missing. Her wild curls bouncing as she ran to him when he walked through the door—always early, maybe this time in a stable job which involved him wearing a suit and tie, lugging a briefcase—arms outstretched, shrieking Da-da! like he was some kind of superhero, and without fail, he'd rain at least a hundred kisses on her before letting her go.

She’d throw a fit in the toy aisle over exactly the faulty stuffed animal, with lopsided eyes and a ripped tag, and Joel would fold like wet paper the second she pouted.

And if the bad times did come, the only arguments he and Leela might’ve had were the soft kind, inconsequential—disagreements over something like Joel’s brief, doomed venture into stocks, or Leela being scatterbrained with the grocery runs, or whether Maya should go to that elite preschool an hour away with the long waitlist and sterling reputation. Joel would’ve wanted the best for her, the kind of start he never had. But Leela would just want to keep Maya close a little longer, probably even attempt to homeschool her if she could swing it.

They’d make up over pizza on the couch—Maya asleep between them, still clutching that faulty toy, cartoons flickering on the TV. Their fingers would find each other over the back of her blanket, apology and forgiveness exchanged without a single word spoken.

And thereafter, the mornings were ones where he'd juggle coffee cups, lunch bags and backpacks, dropping Leela off at her university, her hair still wet from a rushed shower, pencil skirt on a tight ass that waited for it's morning squeeze, a thick binder clutched to her chest, a soft lingering kisses shared over the console; and then Maya in the backseat, singing along to the radio, squealing when he pulled up to her school next. She’d barely get her backpack on before she tore across the pavement to her friends, flashing Joel a quick flying kiss and a grin that damn near knocked the wind out of him every time.

And at night—the three of them crammed around a too-small kitchen table, Leela would sit, drafting her research papers or scribbling in a notebook, Maya in her lap, doodling in the margins, asking about black holes and dinosaurs in the same breath. Leela would answer every question like it was the most important one she’d ever been asked. Joel would just listen, smiling into his beer, tuck the moment away somewhere safe inside him, like a man who knew exactly how fragile good things could be.

And Maya would believe everything her mama told her. Because why wouldn’t she?

Joel blinked, staring at the cracked chalkboard. The room was silent, save for Ellie’s soft humming and the hum of distant power from the lab down the hall.

But that life—that life—wasn’t the one they got.

But maybe... maybe it wasn’t too late for some piece of it. Not the degrees or the papers.

But the love part. The quiet part.

Maybe that kind of life still had a place in this one. Maybe that was still real. Maybe it was standing just down the hall, surrounded by equations, stubborn as ever.

He smiled to himself, soft and stupid, like a man who’d just lived a whole other life in three minutes.

A loud metallic clatter broke the spell.

Joel turned—slow, blinking like he'd just woken from a dream—and found Ellie grinning at him, holding up a dusty diploma frame like she’d just pulled a sword from a stone. The glass was cracked in one corner, the name beneath faded and half-eaten by sun and decay. But scrawled across the middle in thick, unapologetic black marker was something brand new:

Dr. Leela Miller.

“Well,” Ellie said, lifting it higher like a trophy, “I didn’t know her last name, so…”

Joel stared. His breath caught on something warm.

“Reed,” he said, slow and quiet, like the name had weight. Affection weaved through it like a thread. “But this… this is fine.”

He could almost see it—this on the wall of that little apartment they never had. Over a desk cluttered with paper and empty mugs and one tiny sock, someone still hadn’t found the match for.

Ellie held it out to him like a kid offering a crayon drawing. “It’s probably not, y’know, technically accredited,” she said with a crooked smile. “D'you think she'll feel a little better?”

He snorted, folding his arms. “That's a ten-dollar word from a dollar-sized person.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

He gave her a look, soft and knowing. “Well, Leela won’t say it right now, but yeah. She will.”

Then he glanced across the hall.

There she was—his smartass, hunched on a table littered with papers and old, curling printouts. Leela had one hand braced against the edge, the other pressed over her mouth like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her fingers moved through a page, tracing lines of ink like a woman touching scripture. Like she was holding a piece of a language she'd thought was long dead.

Joel brought two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp, low whistle.

Across the hall, Leela jolted a little—more like a reflex than real surprise—blinking over at him with a stunned, empty look. It cracked after a second, softening into something small and sheepish, but Joel didn’t miss the way she moved, like she was dragging herself up from somewhere far away.

He tipped his head toward her, half a smirk pulling at his mouth, trying to keep it easy, light.

“Weather’s turnin’,” he called, voice carrying across the dusty floorboards. “We oughta get movin’ along before it gets any worse.”

“Um...”

Leela hesitated, staring back at the whirring, flickering monitor like it was something alive she’d been charged with keeping breathing. Her hand lifted slowly, clumsily, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist.

She gave a stiff little nod—obedient, automatic, like she wasn’t even aware of doing it.

Joel opened his mouth—half-ready to tell her it was fine if she needed more time—but Ellie piped up behind him.

“Ooh, we gotta head down to the coast first. Ay, you promised the beach, old man!”

Joel felt the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes. He turned slightly, cutting a look back at Leela for silent backup.

And Leela just shrugged. Just the barest hitch of her shoulders, like even the decision didn’t mean much anymore. Her mouth twitched at the corners, a hint of old amusement surfacing and dying again all at once.

“I've almost finished the upload,” she said, tapping the corner of the monitor, where some ancient progress bar crawled along painfully slow. “Just... eleven more minutes.”

Eleven minutes.

It used to drive Joel a little crazy, if he was honest. He’d thought it was grief or obsession. Maybe denial. He’d even thought as much, once—there wasn’t anyone left who cared about prime numbers and proof sheets. Leela's long nights hunched over scavenged paper, her fingers smudged with graphite and ash, scribbling until her wrist cramped. A fucking waste indeed.

No one needed the big hypothesis solved when there were clickers on the road and medicine running thin.

And now he saw it.

She wasn’t trying to bring the old world back. She was trying to make sure some vestige of it survived.

Not the comforts. Not its power grids or grocery stores, or monuments. But it's thinking. It's questions. The bones of the mind that had once built bridges and satellites and figured out how to split atoms. She was keeping that, preserving hope for the world that would eventually look back.

And she was sending it forward like a time capsule in the shape of code—across a patchy uplink, through battered infrastructure, to a settlement that might not even know what to do with it.

One day, someone would.

Someone with a mind like hers. Someone with less blood on their hands and more time. A student, a child, a generation down the line who’d never seen the world fall and might still wonder how it once stood.

She was sending it all to Jackson—not as salvation, maybe, but as seed.

Something to plant. Something to grow if they ever got a spring again.

And if that someone asked, if they searched—she’d be there. In the pages, in the math. In the margins, scrawled with her restless handwriting. A woman who had no lab, no colleagues, no safety, but still sat down and thought.

Joel rubbed his thumb over a dent in the metal of the desk. It was humbling, what she was doing. Quiet and unadorned, the way most real things were.

And for the first time, he didn’t feel far from her work. He didn’t feel like it belonged to a world he couldn’t touch. He was somehow a part of it, too.

He exhaled through his nose, scratching the back of his neck. Eleven minutes. Seemed like a small enough thing after everything they'd been through.

He shifted his weight, the old floor creaking under his boots, and his gaze caught on the diploma again—still cradled in Ellie’s hands, the cracked glass catching the faint grey light.

Dr. Leela Miller.

Miller.

His name. His... wife.

He hadn't expected it to hit him like that. The word sitting there plain and heavy, stitched onto her like it had always belonged. The beginning of his other life.

His name stitched there so plainly, so firmly, like it had always been meant to sit against her like that. A jolt went through him—sharp and unexpected—settling low in his gut like a stone thrown into deep water.

He could almost see it, just for a second—clearer than any dream he ever allowed himself to linger on: Leela standing beside him at some clean, sun-warmed courthouse, signing her new name across the marriage license with a little grimace, muttering about how bureaucratic nonsense would outlive them all. Joel, laughing under his breath, taking the pen after her, signing his name next to hers. The flash of a cheap camera. The clap of a judge’s hand on his back. Her grinning face turned up to his, awaiting a congratulatory kiss. And he would make it linger, pressing two, three, four kisses before he murmured against her lips: You alright there, Mrs Miller?

Yes, Joel didn’t feel the press of the world closing in.

He just stood there, hands planted firm on his hips, heart too big for his ribs, and thought, Maybe it ain’t the life I thought I'd have.

When he was young—back before the world cracked open—he thought he understood what a good life was supposed to look like. Steady work. A home. A little backyard for Sarah to tear around in. A dog, one of those loud mutts that drove the neighbours crazy. Bills paid on time. Supper on the table by six. Simple. Straightforward. A line you followed if you kept your head down and your hands busy.

He’d built toward that life once. Brick by brick. Sweat and sacrifice and stubbornness. And he’d watched it all turn to ash in a single night, leaving nothing but the brutal math of survival behind.

Wake up. Choke down rations. Shoot. Kill without a thought. Stay alive. Sleep with one eye open. Repeat.

Hope had been a dangerous thing after that, an unaffordable luxury. Like college.

But standing here now, and Leela hunkered over that blinking screen like she was fighting the universe itself to save what little good was left in it—Joel realised he’d been wrong about what makes a life and what was worth holding onto.

It wasn’t about clean houses or paid-off trucks or picture-perfect little towns.

It was about this.

It was about watching the woman he loved refuse to give up on the world, even when the world had given up on her. It was about Ellie clutching a battered diploma like it was the goddamn Declaration of Independence, blinking out the window like a daydreaming college kid who still believed she’d make it here. It was about Maya somewhere back home, waiting, safe, growing up in a place that hadn’t been paved over by fear.

It was about them.

So, why not... breathe life into that other reality?

Joel shifted slightly, his hand drifting to his pocket—more out of habit than thought. His fingers closed around the small thing he’d stashed there weeks ago, careful not to draw attention to it.

Rolled it between his fingers sometimes, in replacement for the brass button that Maya had bestowed on him—in quiet moments, when no one was looking. Like maybe if he kept turning it long enough, the edges would smooth out, the crack in the band would seal, and time would forget whatever broke it.

It wasn’t much to look at. Just a beat-up old ring he’d pocketed back in Vegas, half-buried in dust beneath a shattered display case. The stone was gone. The band was thin and cracked, barely holding together. Still, he’d kept it. Couldn’t say why at first. Just felt right in his hand—small, broken, stubborn. Reminded him of someone.

Lately, he’d been thinking about what he might do with it. How he could fix it, in his own way. Maybe shave a sliver of intricate wood into the place where the diamond used to be. Not anything fancy, maybe a flower. She liked sunflowers. Just something honest. Pine, maybe—she always smelled like pine sometimes. Or walnut, strong and durable, like him. Something alive, something that wouldn’t shine too bright, but would still catch the amalgam of Leela.

He didn’t know if he’d ever give it to her. Or when. Or if she’d even want it.

Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d say.

But he carried it with hope anyway.

That was the strange part. It wasn’t really the ring that mattered—it was the idea. That someday, there might be room for something like that between them. Not as some big gesture. Not to fix anything. Just to say: this is still yours if you want it. Just to prove he still believed in what could come next.

Maybe sometimes love looked like a broken ring in a calloused hand, waiting for a world soft enough to give it back.

The sharp things—the grief, the anger, the failure—they were still there, rooted deep under his skin like old thorns. They always would be. But for once, Joel could see something else threading through it. A quieter kind of ache. Not the pain of losing, but the ache of wanting.

He wanted the kind of life that didn’t just survive the world’s ending—but stubbornly, stupidly, beautifully outlived it.

He wanted her, and Ellie, and Maya, and every goddamn scraped-together piece of a future he never thought he'd deserve.

And in this dead place, in the flicker of failing light and old dreams burned onto curling paper, Joel believed—just a little—that maybe this had all been for something. After all, maybe they hadn't come all this way just to bury what was lost. Perhaps they were here to carry it forward.

Maybe they were the ones meant to build what came next.

His throat felt tight, but he welcomed it. A man could learn to carry that feeling. He should carry it. Get used to it. All these good things he was doing.

He slipped the ring back into his pocket, careful, like it might bruise. Gave the pocket a small, reassuring pat.

He glanced at Leela, at the way she leaned into the light like a plant aching for the sun, and felt that wild, wordless thing rise again inside him.

Ours, he thought. Not just hers. Not just his.

Ours.

X

The ocean resembled a busted mirror.

Not glittering or big or blue. Just slabs of grey and darker grey, churning slow under the breadth of a sky that didn’t give a damn. The wind came off the water in lazy fits, carrying salt and rot and the memory of heat that had long since packed up and gone.

Wind tugged at what was left of the boardwalk nearby, a few slats still clinging on like they didn’t know how to fall properly. Rusted carnival lights hung in strips. Booths were gutted. A souvenir shack had collapsed into itself, hurling faded postcards and cracked plastic mugs across the ground. He saw a cracked one half-buried in the dune: I Survived Santa Monica Pier. Bit fucking ironic.

The sea had taken it all back. The joy. The noise. The crowds. It felt biblical, in a way. Like the tide was the big guy's long exhale.

Joel stood at the edge of it all—boots half-buried in wet sand, stepping over a tangled snarl of sea-bleached fishing net fibres, arms crossed against the cold that kept slipping under his jacket. The pier beyond was a half-collapsed skeleton, stripped bare, its spine curling out into the surf with broken ribs of wood jutting upward. Boats still rocked gently in the distance—untouched, paint peeling, sails long since devoured by saline winds, hulls soft with barnacles and time. No lights. No squalling. Not even of birds.

Funny. He used to think that if they ever made it to the coast, something would change. That maybe it’d feel like the end of the road—or the start of something. No, this was just another place the world forgot.

Ellie was already out near the waterline, her boots discarded in a heap beside a tide pool. She’d rolled up her jeans and waded ankle-deep into the cold muck, laughing as she scratched her name into the sand with a busted piece of driftwood. She looked so small like that. Innocent. Her shoulders loose, grin so secretive. He didn't get to see that often.

He watched her kneel, tongue poking slightly out in concentration, and for a moment—just a flicker—it wasn’t Ellie crouched in the sand.

It was Sarah.

Not imagined, not hoped. Saw. Not older, not younger—just as she was the day he lost her.

Kneeling beside her, seaweed looped over her wrist like bracelets, giggling about how it was going to get washed away but doing it anyway. He could see her—clearer than anything. Her head of sunlit curls, tossed by the wind. Making a heart out of the seaweed. Lining the letters with broken shells. Elbowing Ellie with that half-teasing grin she used to have, the one that always said, Do not mess this up for me, Dad.

He clenched his jaw. Swallowed hard. Blinked until the double image snapped apart again, rattled the thought loose from his head, and it was just Ellie again, whistling tunelessly, digging up dead coral to decorate her crude scrawl in the sand.

Goddamn, was this what it was going to be now?

Visions. Ghosts. Fantasies of another life. Wishing, wanting. His mind folding over itself. Losing the thread.

Or was it just the many extremities of grief? The accumulation of too many years? Or was this the beginning of something slower and crueller? Alzheimer’s or some shit. Some fucking cordyceps variation they didn’t have a name for yet. Maybe he’d start forgetting the way back to Jackson. Maybe he already had.

He rubbed a hand across his face, dragging grit from his cheek. The salt clung to his stubble, and the ocean made his eyes sting even when the wind didn’t hit them.

A little ways off, Leela sat cross-legged on the sand, her back to the surf, little haphazard strands from her long braid slapping at her cheeks. A neat little pile of small seashells sat beside her, most of them dull with age and wear—but one, a tiny conch, recently vacated by some poor creature that hadn’t made it. It was still freshly pink inside, gleaming, faintly iridescent.

She had a needle gripped between her fingers, her brow furrowed as she carefully worked it through the shell’s spire. Every movement was methodical, like she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing, like it was all buried muscle memory. When she threaded the bit of twine through and tied a knot, she held the shell up between two fingers, inspecting, squinting at it like it was some precious thing instead of beach trash.

“For Maya,” she said quietly, flashing him a smile—small, lopsided, but real.

Joel let out a soft grunt of recognition. Awful lot of jewellery to be taking back to Jackson.

“Cute.”

He remembered that story—the one he hadn’t meant to overhear, but things stuck. Something about her old life, before Jackson, before her parents, before a child of her own. How she used to make little shell necklaces just like that one and sell them to dumb tourists along the coast back in her hometown. Overpriced junk, she’d said. That weird, lonely kind of pride people have when they remember who they used to be.

Maybe this was her way of passing it on. A sliver of childhood she could carve off and give to Maya. A small thing that said I was here. I was whole once.

He took a step closer, boots sinking into the sand, hands in his jacket pockets. “Still remember how to rip folks off, huh?”

She glanced up at him, just barely. “Who says this one’s not priceless?”

Joel smirked. “Better be. Our baby girl’s got high standards.”

That got a laugh. A real one—small, scratchy, but it cracked the stillness in a way nothing else had all day. Leela shook her head, still smiling, eyes on the necklace, watching the shell sway from its string.

A beat passed. Wind was threading through the bare bones of the city. Maybe this place had once been paradise. Joel didn’t know. All he saw now was wreckage. Absence. A ghost town choking on salt.

Behind them, far away, Ellie whooped, triumphant. “I told you, little bastard! Joel, look, that’s a motherfucking crab!”

Joel glanced over. She was crouched in the wet sand, a long stick in one hand, something small and wriggling and furious in the other. Her sleeves were shoved to her elbows, knees soaked through, hair wild in the wind. She grinned like she was twelve again. Like the world hadn’t burned down.

Another shriek from Ellie. “Holy shit—there’s more of them! A whole Jackson community!”

“Well, don’t just play with ’em. Grab a few. Might be good eatin’.”

Ellie wrinkled her nose, poking one with the tip of her stick. “Eat this? Dude, it’s got, like—claws. And it’s hard as shit.”

“That’s how you know it’s good,” Joel called back, deadpan. “Hard shell means there’s somethin’ sweet inside.”

Ellie gave him a look. “Oh, hear, hear—Wordsworth over here.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Just get a few, kiddo. We’ll see what we can do.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if it kills me, I’m haunting your lying ass.”

Then she dropped the crab anyway, watched it scuttle sideways into the surf with all the drama of a jail break, and burst out laughing—real, unguarded. Her laugh rippled across the beach like it didn’t know how rare it was. Like it didn’t think it was a goddamn miracle.

Joel turned back to Leela. His voice dropped, not meaning to get soft but unable to help it.

“So, is this what you pictured?”

He didn’t say the beach. He didn’t mean California. Didn’t mean the long road behind them—full of blood and breath and quiet, feral hope. Didn’t even mean the life they’d clawed together with broken fingernails and dogged luck.

Leela didn’t answer right away. She just looked out toward the horizon, the sharp line where grey sea met grey skies. Where the world used to open up into possibility, into summer vacations and shipping routes and postcards with skipping dolphins. Now it looked more like an ending. A sentence with no period.

Then she shook her head, just once. “Not even close.”

But she was still holding the shell in her hand. Still tying another knot in the twine. Still smiling, just barely. And somehow, that answer—quiet, and unfinished—was more honest than anything else she could’ve said.

Joel sat down beside her, his knees cracking like firewood. The cold bled through the seat of his jeans, but he didn’t flinch. Just sat. Facing the water.

Leela didn’t.

She was turned slightly away, angled toward the sand, toward the ground, like she’d taken some quiet oath never to look at the sea again. As if it had taken something and she wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of her eyes.

Joel laid his hand over hers, careful.

She stilled.

His palm was unpolished against hers, but he could still feel the tiny shape of the shell necklace beneath it. Warm from her skin. Light as a breath.

“Joel.”

Before she could ask him to get the fuck off her, he said, “Look, I just—”

“What do you think Maya’s going to be when she grows up?”

Leela’s voice was soft, half-swallowed by the sea wind. Not wistful, not dreamy. Just plain and curious, like she was asking about the tide.

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes slid back on the water—on the slow, thick roll of it, the lazy collapse of each wave as it dragged itself onto the sand. This landed hard—not because it was tragic, but because it was so normal.

And yet that question hung there. He rubbed his jaw in deep thought. That wasn’t a question people dared to ask anymore, not seriously.

Honey, what do you want to be when you grow up?

He'd asked Sarah that plenty of times. And her answer had been no-bullshit: a rockstar. He used to joke to her about it, how maybe she'd take her old man backstage one day and sign T-shirts with her primped face on it.

The world was too fucked-up now, no rulebook to follow. See, back in the old world, kids had answers ready. Doctor. Firefighter. Astronaut. Singer. Shit like that. You dreamed, you planned. You had options. Only now, the world didn’t want anything from its kids but survival. To grow up at all was a feat. To grow up and become something? That felt like a pipe dream.

Joel breathed out through his nose. He shifted in the sand, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched against the wind.

“I dunno,” he said finally. “Ain’t somethin’ I let myself think about too much. We used to imagine the future. Now we’re just glad to get through the day.”

Leela said nothing. Just waited, steady, patient, the way she always did when she knew he wasn’t finished.

A bitter little smile curled the corner of his mouth. “Baby girl’d probably be a scavenger. Some real slick trader. Hustler like her mama used to be.”

Leela huffed softly.

“Maybe a sharpshooter,” Joel added. “Takes after Ellie. Bossy as hell.”

That made her laugh again—just a little. Joel felt it in his chest like the thinnest crack of sun through stormcloud.

He kept talking, quieter now. “Could be she ends up one of those quiet ones. People listen when she speaks. Not ‘cause she’s loud—but ‘cause she means her shit. Maybe that makes her a leader. Or a target.”

He hated that last part. But it was true.

The truth was—he didn’t really care what Maya became. He just wanted her to have the space to choose between gentleness and survival. To live long, safe, and full enough to even ask that question. And he hated the world for making him think all this shit.

“And maybe she’s just alive long enough for it to matter,” he finished. “It’s enough for me.”

Leela’s fingers paused at the shell’s knot.

Joel looked over at her, and she still wasn’t looking at the sea. Her face was turned away a little, but her eyes were distant—thinking hard, probably thinking too much.

“Does it scare you?” he asked.

She blinked slowly. “What does?”

“The future,” he stated. “What she might become.”

Leela was quiet for a long time. She pulled the twine taut, tied another knot. Maybe the third one in the same place.

Then she nodded, but it wasn’t sharp. As if something she’d carried for years, only just now saying out loud.

“I just can’t have Maya become like me, Joel,” she said.

Joel didn’t say anything because he knew what she meant. And she was fucking right.

Not just Leela's impossible intellect that she carried like a blade. Not Joel's desiccating anger. Not the endless spinning logic or the obsessive calculations that had driven her across the country in a haze of grief and purpose. Not the math or the memory or the way she could see ten steps ahead while the rest of them were still tripping over the first one.

No—she meant the burden. The self-blame. The detachment. The constant need to understand everything instead of just feeling it. The survival that looked like a function but was really just a retreat.

The way Joel disconnected. The guilt that never left. The way he didn’t flinch at corpses anymore because somewhere along the way, his empathy had learned to ration itself. The way he lived in his head because that was the only place he could guarantee no one would hurt him.

And because of all the ways they taught themselves to cope—none of them were life. They were pauses. Contractions. Damage control.

She sighed. “I thought I wanted that. I did. But after everything back there…”

She nodded toward the road that led back to the university. Toward where she'd left her hopes and regrets. A whole piece of her past.

“I realised that…” She tapped her temple, fingers light, like she was knocking on the side of something hollow. “She doesn’t need this.”

He didn’t press or fill the space like he normally would with some muttered acknowledgement, because this wasn’t a moment for patch jobs.

“This saved me,” she murmured. “The logic. The focus. It’s how I kept going after—after what happened. If I could just understand enough… if I could predict things, calculate the worst-case scenario, I could keep her safe.”

Her voice tightened. Just a bit. Joel heard it.

“She deserves more than that.”

Joel’s throat was dry. He swallowed hard, barely managing. “And now?”

Leela let out a long breath. Not weary. Just… stripped bare.

“Now I just want her to scream,” Leela said. “To run fast. To fall hard. To be loud, and wrong, and stupid—and free. I want her to feel so much that she doesn’t know where to put it. I want her to hit back, punch hard, when someone corners her. Not stand there frozen, plotting some clever escape like that’s gonna save her.”

Joel’s eyes flicked toward her.

She wasn’t looking at him. Still had her gaze fixed on the necklace in her lap, the shell swinging gently as she tied and re-tied the same knot like it was muscle memory. Like if she stopped moving, she’d splinter.

And goddamn.

That’s when it landed. What she was really saying.

He’d seen people go quiet in the worst moments of their lives—seen them freeze, let it happen, disappear behind their own eyes. Not because they were weak, but because someone, somewhere, had taught them that silence was safer than screaming. That survival meant outthinking, not resisting. That pain was something to calculate your way around.

Leela had been that sort of survivor.

“I couldn’t even save myself,” she said, bitter, flat, after a beat.

The fuck kind of thing was that to say? Making it seem like it just made sense?

Joel’s fingers tightened gently around hers, unable to unclench his jaw. “That ain’t your fault,” he reassured to an extent, teeth gritting. “You sayin’ that like it was your choice.”

She said nothing. But the silence was answer enough. And Joel couldn’t sit with that.

“I don’t give a damn what you think you didn’t do,” he muttered, heat rising in his throat like bile. “Someone took... somethin’. They did that. You think being smart, or planning a way out—fuckin’ hell—none of that would’ve mattered.”

She shook her head once. Not in argument—just acknowledgement. “No. But it still happened. And I did nothing.”

Then, finally, she looked at him.

There was no shame in her eyes. Just a brutal clarity. The kind that only came from staring something dead in the face for years and deciding to live anyway.

“I know what I am, Joel. I know what it took to survive. I know what it turned me into. And I don’t want that for her.”

Joel didn’t speak right away. There was nothing to fix. Nothing to deny. He understood her too well for that. She wasn’t afraid Maya wouldn’t make it.

She was afraid Maya would—by becoming someone like her.

“Baby, she’s gonna carry us,” he said, a promise in his voice. “But she ain’t gonna be us.”

Then he reached out, covered her hand with his—rough skin on hers, grounding her.

“She’s got us, Leela,” he added, more quietly.

And he meant every word. He knew what it was to survive through retreat. To mistake numbness for control. To wear grief like armour and call it strength.

Leela didn’t flinch. But she didn’t smile either. Her face softened—like she wanted to believe him, that she was someone worth having.

“I hope so,” she said.

They sat there a while longer, the tide crawling up toward their boots whilst Ellie shouted at them about a jellyfish. Joel felt the sting in his joints when the winds picked up, faster, saltier, sharper.

He looked down at the shell again, their hands twined around it. Small. Pink. Still shining faintly inside. Something you’d pick up on a beach day with a little girl who didn’t know the world yet.

They couldn’t offer Maya that clean world they had lived in. But they could hand her a few pieces worth carrying. And she’d figure out what to build.

For one brief moment, he let himself believe his baby girl would have the chance to answer that question one day—for real.

What do you want to be when you grow up, Maya?

X

The fire had sunk lower to the forest floor, just embers now, red, pulsing like a heartbeat under ash. Shadows lean long against the trees. Night smells like salt and old leaves, smoke in cloth, and distant sea. Boots scuffed quietly on dirt. The silence that only came late, when everyone else was asleep, or pretending to be.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“No.”

“You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

“Night too loud? I've got headphones.”

A pause. Then: “Thanks... I'm missing home.”

“Oh. Me, too..”

“Hm. It's the longest I've been away from it.”

Another pause. “Yeah?”

“I keep wondering if I’d feel different if I got back. Things just magically change.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Fabric creaks. One of them tugs their sleeves down.

“Still mad at him?”

Pause.

“…He just left. You saw how bad it got.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And he didn’t tell me a word about the Fireflies. Or Caltech.”

“He thought he was protecting you. You know how he is.”

“That’s the problem.”

Another pause. “He said nothing. Just packed up and left. Like I’d only get in the way.”

“I know.”

“You think I meant it?”

“You sounded like you did.”

“I think I did, too. Then. I was just... so angry.”

“But now?”

A defeated sigh. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“Maya watches the world like he does, too. I noticed.”

“She does that because she learns from him. You can’t raise a kid halfway in, halfway out. You can’t teach them to trust and then disappear when it counts.”

“Yeah, but—” Someone exhales sharply. Tosses a pebble into the fire pit. It hisses. “He came back, didn’t he?”

“Only because we followed him.”

“He came back because he’s never gonna stop coming back. That’s the whole point of him.”

Silence. A reckoning in the dark.

“You know what he told me once?”

“What?”

“He said—he didn’t think people like us got second chances. That we ruin too much. And still, every time he looks at Maya, it’s like he believes she’s the one thing he didn’t fuck up.”

Silence.

“He loves her more than he knows how to say. But he shows it. In everything. That’s the closest someone like him gets to a promise.”

“…he still left.”

“I didn't say he's good at it. He's a goddamn dick. And he was wrong.”

The voice is calm, blunt. Not trying to win. Just telling it as it was.

“But so were you. Saying you’d take her. Like she’s a thing you can lift out of him.”

Quiet again. Then: “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“I just—she’s all I have. Everything good in me went to her. I had to follow him, and I have to keep her safe. Where do I win?”

“Jesus, she is safe.”

“No, I mean... he’ll break her heart someday, I know it.”

“Fuck no. Never Joel.”

“Hmph. You sound sure.”

“He didn’t break me. And the world gave him every reason to.”

Silence again. A longer moment, this time.

“Maya asks about you when you’re not there, right? She misses you. She asks for you. But when Joel’s gone? She watches the door. She won't leave it. That’s the difference.”

A breath.

“You take her away, and you’ll still have her. But she’ll never stop watching that door.”

Then the fire popped. A shift of posture. The brush of hair against cloth.

“He didn’t get to do all that before, you know. The whole marriage and two-parent household thing. Not with…”

Another breath.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And you’re still thinking about kicking his ass out.”

A creaking silence.

“I’m not good at staying.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why do you?”

A small sound. Could be a laugh or a sigh. “Because he’s good at making me think I can. I’ve seen what that man does when he loves someone.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“No.”

A beat. “It really should.”

“I guess that’s the difference. I'm not scared of him. Not like you are.”

“I'm not scared of Joel.”

“Bite me.”

“It’s more about what he’d give up. For us. For her. What it would turn him into.”

“A dead man.”

No response. But from the dark—

“You think you’re protecting him?”

“I think I’m trying to keep us all breathing.”

“Well. That’s one stupid way to live.”

A rustle. Someone folding their arms. “Do you hate me?”

“What?”

“For saying all this. For thinking it.”

“Of course not. If anything, it makes you more real to me.”

“…But?”

“But if you take her from him—really take her—it’ll kill him.”

“I’m not trying to hurt him.”

The silence after that settles deeper. One of them pokes at the embers with a stick, ash dancing up like fireflies.

Then, softer: “I know. That’s why it would.”

X

As if into the mouth of some ancient beast, the Jackson gates shut behind them with a final clank, steel locking steel, rusting, slow, a reluctant welcome, and for a second, it sounded like a cell door closing.

Joel walked under the shadow of it and didn’t say a word.

The sun hung low on the horizon, flooding the snow-melted streets of Jackson with a weary saffron. Familiar smells maundered through the air—woodsmoke, cattle, hay, pine needles thawing on the wind. There was boisterous laughter somewhere. Hammers. And it all felt just close enough to touch, but not quite real. Like something playing behind a looking glass.

He was back.

Somehow, again, he was still standing. Luck—or stubbornness, someone up there still not ready to let him rest—was still with him. He’d gone to California half-dead and half-stupid, and still made it out. And more than that—they had come for him. Ellie. Leela. They’d followed. Chosen to come after him.

Because he was worth saving. Because someone out there still cared if he lived or died.

That part stuck like a splinter in his chest.

He barely had time to register the weight of it before Tommy was on him, hauling him into a rib-crushing hug, laughing through a wet voice.

“Goddamn, you tough bastard. You just don’t die, huh?”

“Too much to live for, baby brother.”

Joel didn’t hug back. Not at first. Then he did—hands slow, uncooperative, gripping Tommy’s shoulders like he had to feel the bones to believe this was real.

Joel pulled back from Tommy’s grip like he’d just come up for air.

The noise of Jackson started to creep back in—the call of someone on a ladder, boots on pavement, a dog yapping in the distance. All the moving pieces of life.

He turned to his brother, voice low. “Maya?”

Tommy smiled, but it was tight around the edges.

“She’s doin’ just fine,” he said. “Caught the sniffles crying her eyes out, but she’s fine.”

Joel stiffened. “She sick?”

“I said she’s fine, Joel,” Tommy said, firmer this time. “She… she just missed her daddy, is all.”

Joel looked away.

Of course she did. And he hadn’t been there. Not for her fever. Not for the nights she cried herself hoarse. Not for the mornings when she didn’t understand why he hadn’t come back. He’d walked out with nothing but a note and the ghost of an apology, like that would hold up in a house full of silence.

They passed through the main square, Joel’s boots heavy on the stone. It all looked the same; that was what struck him most. The tedium. The cruel, gutting way the world carried on like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t nearly drowned. Like Ellie hadn’t pulled him back from the brink. Like Leela hadn’t followed him into hell and back.

Like Maya hadn’t cried herself sick.

Then, they turned the corner. And there it was.

The big, white house.

For a moment, Joel took it in. How much he missed this place.

Its porch was half-shadowed, steps dusted with snow. The gate creaked in the wind. He used to hear it from the bedroom. Used to fix it every two weeks, he could never find the right hinges. Used to—

He swallowed.

It used to be a shape in the distance. Something he’d catch through the branches of the old oak tree on mornings, sitting like a clean dream against the sky. Back then, it was just a house. Then it was her house. Then his. A home that was anchored in history and laughter, and Leela’s quiet hum as she flipped a page in her notebook. Full of Maya’s shrieks, toy horses skittering across the floor, her squeaky boots thumping against the wood.

Now, it just looked... tall. Unreachable. Like he’d have to climb back up the whole goddamn mountain to get inside again.

He had left something whole and returned to find it grown in his absence, evolved without him—carved deeper, tighter, stronger. Or maybe that was just him. His fear of losing.

Tommy called out, “Maria’s up ahead—she brought baby girl down the block to get some fresh air. Cranky all goddamn morning. She won't listen to anyone unless it's me.”

“Why's that?”

He sighed. “Guess I remind her of her old man.”

Jesus Christ, this was going to hurt like a bitch.

Joel’s head lifted.

And then he saw her.

A small figure on the porch.

Standing just like she used to, on the top step—like she always did when she waited for him after patrol. One mittened hand resting on the railing, the other clutching that old stuffed horse, ears chewed and fur matted from love.

She was watching the path. Waiting. Lips trembling like her whole world had been breaking every hour they were gone.

His feet wouldn’t move.

Her curls were a little softer now, matted, darker. Her coat was buttoned crooked, boots mismatched, nose splotchy from a recovering fever and maybe something else—like she knew something was coming. Some part of her did.

He took a half-step forward and stopped himself.

Then—

“Mama!”

The word left her like a crack splitting open. Her eyes widened. Her whole body leaned forward as if pulled. Arms out. Little hands grabbing at the air.

“Mama, mama—ha—come—Mama—”

It was the kind of sound only babies could make. Too raw to fake, too loud for their size.

And she teetered on the step, wailing.

Not to him. Not even a glance.

Just attempting to barrel forward to her mother, stubby legs churning, the toy horse flopping from her hand.

Joel felt it like a bullet.

Every effort she took—away from him, toward Leela—landed heavy in his gut. It was instinct. Pure. Unforgiving. She had learned that when someone disappears, you hold tighter to the one who doesn’t. The one who stayed.

Joel barely noticed Leela rush past him, knees bending, a ghost trying to reassemble a body—and didn’t even register the blur of movement until she was halfway to the porch, arms already outstretched. Her eyes were wet but unshed, her mouth twitching like she was keeping herself stitched shut by force.

Maya crashed into her, as if her mother made her real.

“Mama, Mama…”

No trembling. No collapse.

And the sound she made then—Joel had never heard it before. Not from her. Not from any baby. It was half-relief, half-fury, all heartbreak. Like something in her had cracked wide open from the waiting.

He staggered, stopped walking altogether.

Leela lifted her, spreading kisses on her cheeks, nose and hair, rocking her like she was trying to put every second of the last few days back inside her arms. Maya’s sobs were hiccuping now, her face buried in Leela’s neck, her whole body trembling.

She pulled Maya in like she meant to disappear with her. Pressed her face into her curls, kissed the top of her head and closed her eyes like that was where all the warmth lived now, shushed her with slow, circular bounces, murmuring nonsense in that gentle, rhythmic tone only mothers had.

“It’s okay, Maya. Shh, Mama’s here now. Mama’s here.”

While Joel stood frozen on the road.

He didn’t know when his hand had clenched into a fist or when his breath had left him.

He didn’t feel anger. Not at Leela. Not even to himself. It was something deeper. Older. Like watching a life he’d dreamed of grow old without him. A desolation.

And Maya—was still crying. Still hiccupping. Her fists balled into Leela’s coat. She hadn’t even looked at him. Or maybe she had, but didn’t know what she was looking for.

He wanted to step closer. Just one more step. Reach out. Soothe her. Say something. But his feet might as well have been nailed to the frozen earth.

He had nothing in his hands. Not even the strength to say her name.

Ellie moved up beside Leela, brushing Maya’s curls back from her sticky, tear-wet face. She said something. Leela nodded. And they all began to walk up the porch steps together.

Joel didn’t follow. Not yet.

He just watched.

Watched how tightly Leela held their daughter. Watched Ellie glance back at him once, her face unreadable, before she jogged past him and followed Maria and Tommy down the road, and away.

Watched his whole life move ahead of him, step by step, without turning around.

Leela’s arms were tight around Maya’s little body, the baby’s sobs quieter now but still hiccupping against her mother’s shoulder.

All he knew was that he’d left all of this behind with nothing but a note and a mission and the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could do something that mattered. Maybe he could fix something.

He eventually trailed behind them like a ghost.

They reached the porch. Leela didn’t pause. Just hitched Maya higher on her hip, the little girl whimpering against her shoulder, and stepped inside.

Maya twisted as they crossed the threshold, her arms flailing, her cries rising in volume. A shrill pleading screech.

“Da-da! Come, come!”

“Maya,” Leela tried to shush.

“No, no! Da-da, pease!”

Her voice punched through him, sharp and high and raw.

“Da-da-da-da—...”

The door closed with a soft, final click. Over.

Somewhere inside, the baby girl's cries still carried over in fresh pricks at his pummeled heart.

Joel stood there, one foot still planted on the step below, like a man halfway to salvation and halfway to hell. He hadn’t moved. His hand—useless at his side—twitched, searching for something it had forgotten how to reach.

The latch echoed louder than any gunshot he’d heard these past weeks.

He stared at the wood grain of the door, the same one he'd walked through a hundred times before, and now couldn’t seem to approach. A stupid part of him still thought maybe it’d open again. That she’d come back, that she’d say—something. Let him hold Maya just once.

But the house stayed still.

So Joel sat. Dropped like a felled thing onto the top step, legs spreading, elbows propped on his knees, fingers pressed to his lips. Because where else did he have to go?

He stared at the dirt packed under the railings, at the porch slats he’d helped mend last summer. He wasn’t sure he had the right to look at any of this anymore.

It hurt to breathe. Not from the bruised ribs or the deep-healing wound in his side. The knowing. The understanding that he’d done this. The rot. The shame. The guilt. The want to fight Leela, argue, and bash against the door.

And when he rubbed a hand over his face, he felt it—wet.

Tears. Real fucking ones.

He stared down at the shine on his fingertips like it was a new language he didn’t speak.

Crying. Goddamn. So he was still capable of that.

After all this time. After the blood. After the fear. After the killing.

It wasn’t the pain of the trip. Not the near-drowning, not the way his ribs still clicked when he breathed too deep. Not even the damage done to Leela’s precious math notebook, still folded at the bottom of his pack like a prayer he couldn’t read.

It was this silence that used to be his favourite harmony. This porch. This big white house across the street, standing like a lighthouse in the middle of the Wyoming snow.

His big, white house.

Or maybe it never had been his. Maybe he’d only been borrowing this life. A thief in someone else’s dream.

In this big dream, he might not be welcome anymore. He’d left thinking he could prove something. That there was still good he could do. That it mattered if he bled for it. That the sacrifice would mean some shit when he brought it back.

Only now—he was just a man sitting on the porch, hands empty, spine bent like a penitent.

He was still the loser. Always had been, hadn't he? A man who couldn't hold onto what mattered, even when it was pressed into his hands. Slipping through his callused fingers, sand in an hourglass.

“Da-da.”

A tiny voice. Raw. Exhausted from crying.

He blinked. Looked down.

Two tiny fists rested against his knee, barely covering them.

She stood there—his baby girl—in her yellow footie pyjamas, curls plastered to her forehead with sweat and tears, her cheeks flushed and snotty, a fist now halfway to her mouth. A warrior, somehow. She looked like she'd marched out here on stubbornness alone.

“Up, up, Da-da,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath, lips rounded to an 'O'.

He didn’t move. His hands stayed clenched on his knees, like he wasn’t sure if they were still allowed to touch her.

He just looked at her—like he was seeing a miracle and wasn’t sure he deserved to touch it. This small miracle with her tangled hair and her crooked little mouth, trying to be brave. Her big brown eyes stared straight through him, full of a deep, solemn thing children shouldn’t carry but sometimes did.

Maya wobbled slightly, off balance, still reaching. Her coat sleeve bunched at the elbow, her fingers finding a fold of his jacket and tugging. It wasn’t strong. It wasn’t a demand. Just a little pull. A tiny act of faith.

“Pease, da-da.”

That was it.

That was all it took.

He broke. Open like a thundercloud. A dam giving way after too many winters.

No big sound. No shudder. Just a quiet, helpless noise from the back of his throat, a beam giving out in a storm, as he leaned forward, reached for her with hands that shook, that had pulled triggers and choked men and now dared to try and lift someone so little and innocent. Someone still his.

He drew her in like she was the only warmth left in the world.

She wrapped her arms around him, little boots stomping onto his ribs, one arm locked around his neck, her fingers fisting the collar of his shirt, and burrowed in like she’d never left him. Like there’d been no time apart. Like he hadn’t abandoned her.

She just clung. The way babies always do. She didn’t care about the mess. Her dainty love hadn’t learned conditions yet.

His throat narrowed, his chest hitched once, sharp—then again, then again. He dropped his face into the crook of her neck and let it come, loosening that lock in him that had been latched since Sarah died. The kind of crying that doesn’t make sound, that just happens. Tears soaking into the fabric of her coat, into her hair, into his beard. He breathed her in like it might fix something, might make him whole.

“I got you, baby girl,” he sniffed.

She smelled like cinnamon. Like sleep. Like their kitchen in the mornings when Leela was fresh from her shower, Maya would toddle in and reach for a bite of breakfast with both hands.

She smelled like everything he’d fought for. Everything he might’ve lost.

Maya leaned back slowly, the softest untangling of her arms, her tiny body still half-draped over his chest. She blinked at him, her brows drawn close in a look far too serious for her little face. Her mouth tugged slightly downward, curious and concerned all at once.

Joel tried to smile for her. Tried to smooth his face. “I'm okay, it's okay.”

But she saw it anyway. The tears, still clinging to his lashes, streaked into his beard.

She stared, her little hand floating uncertainly in the air between them, fingers flexing like she knew there was something she was supposed to do but wasn’t quite sure how.

Then—clumsily, earnestly—she reached up and touched him, just one little hand against his cheek.

Joel looked from her eyes to her palm.

So small, it barely registered, but he felt the gentle tap, the warm pressure. He felt her try to wipe it—like she’d seen done before—dragging her palm across his stubble, awkward, too hard, leaving a streak of baby drool behind.

She sniffed. Then tried again, this time gentler. The way her mama would do it.

“Mm-mm, no,” she told him.

And then—her other hand went to his hair.

A soft, patting motion. Adorable, pure toddler comfort. No finesse, no words.

She looked at him like she was waiting for him to stop crying. Like she believed he could. That he should. Because Mama always did, when she wiped Maya’s tears. Because after the tears came warm arms. And sometimes applesauce.

Joel let out a sound that wasn’t a laugh, wasn’t a sob—just breath. Cracked, quiet. “You takin' care of me?”

His hand cupped the back of her head. His forehead rested against hers, their noses nearly touching. Her fingers were still in his hair.

“Da-da, no, no,” she resonated.

Joel’s heart clenched again—but differently this time. More like remembering what it was for. Beating for her. Alive for this.

He kissed her temple, the warmth of her skin soaking through his bones.

For a moment, the world held still.

No howling wind. No boots on snow. No years of silence pressing down between now and what he’d lost. Just this: the tiny weight of her heart against his chest. Her trust, folded into his jacket like a brass button or her mama's ring in his pocket.

The floorboard behind him creaked.

Joel didn’t lift his head. He felt her before he saw her. The air changed when Leela entered a space—like some internal pressure recalibrated. Softer, but tighter. She didn’t take up more room than she needed, never had. But somehow, her presence always rearranged it.

She stepped to the railing beside him and leaned, arms resting along the wood. The porch light behind her cast a low, golden ring along her dark, frizzed-out hair on her shoulders. The fire inside flickered behind the curtains.

She said nothing at first. Just looked at him. Looked at them.

Like she was trying to map it out—this man, this child, this picture she couldn’t quite trust yet, this picture that didn’t match the one she’d carried around for too long—of absence, of damage, of a man who left too much behind.

Joel didn’t look at her straight on. His eyes stayed on the horizon past the railing, that dim stretch of pine and powder blue, mountains against the dusk that bled into dark. He could feel her gaze, though. The questions in it. The ache. The absence they were both pretending didn’t sit between them like a third body.

“Joel,” she murmured, the first ripple on still water.

He swallowed. His arms tightened almost instinctively around Maya, who shifted with a faint hum, fist tucked against her mouth once more.

“Just let me hold her for a bit,” he said. It came out low, like an apology, or a prayer through gritted teeth.

A breath passed. Then, quietly—

“You can hold her as long as you want.”

He finally looked at her. Her face was turned to the dark, but he could see the fine edge of exhaustion there. Not the kind that came from no sleep—but from too many nights spent enduring what no one saw.

Her voice was softer when she added, “Do you want to shower first?”

Joel blinked, the words hitting him sideways. What a normal fucking thing to say. So regular.

His mind fumbled with it—like she'd offered him a cup of coffee in a warzone. Like there hadn’t been a canyon gaping between them only days ago, carved out by silence and anger and too many things said too late.

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. Almost. But the sound got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled with something older and harder.

The wind stirred again, tugging at the hem of her sweater. She didn’t smooth it down. Just let it flutter around her thighs like she didn’t feel the cold.

“Leela,” he said, low, worn, like gravel under tired boots.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak right away. Just leaned a little further into the porch railing, her fingers curled loose around the wood. Shoulders rising. Falling.

Quieter this time—less like she believed it, more like she needed to—“Come inside, Joel.”

Not an invitation. Not a plea. Just something said because it had to be. Like muscle memory. Like faith said out loud.

“You don’t belong anywhere else.” A beat. Then, “And it’s cold outside.”

Joel looked down at the little girl in his arms. Maya’s cheek was pressed to his chest, her lips parted, her breath warm through his shirt. Her small hand clung to the collar of his jacket like she thought he might still disappear if she let go.

He felt it again—his daughter. His reminder. His consequence.

She came to me, he thought. She still comes to me.

Even now. After everything.

He shifted his weight and rose, careful not to jostle Maya. His knees ached. That old pain in his spine flared, but he barely felt it. She was heavier than he remembered. That, too, was a gift.

Across from him, Leela didn’t move. She didn’t offer him a hand. Didn’t clear the way. But she didn’t block it, either.

The door behind her stayed open.

Oh, here they were again.

Same porch. Same house. Same damn man, more or less.

But different. He wasn’t pounding on the door this time. Wasn’t driven half-mad by a baby that wouldn’t stop crying. He wasn’t walking in blind and bitter and ready to do a good thing just to silence a bad one.

Now he carried that baby in his arms. His baby. His girl.

And Leela—she was the one with the door now. Not just the one behind him. The one she kept closed for years, locked and latched and bolted from the inside, because too many people had barged through without asking.

Joel stepped forward.

Not past her. Not through her. To her.

The space between them was close. Intimate. He stopped just short of touching her, close enough to feel her breath ghosting warm in the cold.

She turned her head, finally. Just enough to see him.

Their eyes met. A half-second. A heartbeat.

There was no forgiveness in that look. Only recognition. And maybe—God help them both—want. A bit of love. Still there, under the rubble and the ruin.

He didn’t say, Thank you. Couldn’t. Didn’t think they’d be enough if he did. And she didn’t say, Welcome home.

When he stepped through the door beside her, the warmth met him like a memory.

As he crossed the threshold, this time he came to carry it all. To be part of it.

Maya stirred in his arms, murmuring something soft and wordless. Her thumb found her mouth again. Her head dropped against his shoulder like she knew this place of hers. Like her little body remembered what his mind kept trying to forget.

Joel blinked hard, the air in his lungs thick.

It was the same spot he’d once stood when he almost didn’t come back. When he’d looked at Leela in that doorway and thought about forgetting this ever happened.

Now she stood just behind him. A quiet key turning in an old, rusted lock.

And he thought: This is how it happens. Not with a grand gesture. Not with a reckoning or a flood of apologies. Not with big dreams of another life coming crashing down.

But like this.

A door not closed in anger. A man not barging in. A home not yet reclaimed, but not lost either.

Step by step. Word by word. Warmth bleeding slowly into cold skin.

Not a finish line or a full repair.

A place to start again.

One last time.

X

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[ekkkkey]

vestal (chapter V)

summary: Livia, a young Vestal Virgin, is bound to Vesta's eternal flame and the vow of sacred duty. In Rome, it's common knowledge; touch a Vestal, and the wrath of the gods will descend upon you. But what if someone dares to defy that rule?

chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV

warnings: 18+ minors dni, dub-con, non-con, blood

tags: darkfic, sibling rivalry, no softboys here, religious guilt, mommy issues, Caracalla's a whole damn goblin and Geta's just as cursed

Geta

He’d never imagined he would one day fear his own brother, never thought he’d sit trembling in his chambers, waiting for his twin to descend upon him like the wrath of the gods.

And yet here he was: barefoot, disheveled, on edge. He tossed back another cup of wine, tasting nothing, then hurled it against the wall in a burst of rage, making the already-shaking slave flinch.

When had it all begun? Childhood? Their youth? No… it started the moment Antoninus laid eyes on that dark-haired, quiet, defenseless senator’s wife. And he, Geta, had given his blessing to his brother’s twisted games.

If only he had stopped him then, planted a thought in his clouded mind that this was wrong, would it have changed anything? Would he still have mattered to his brother? Would he have remained the one in control, the driving force behind their alliance?

He would never know now. That girl was dead, and Caracalla had spiraled even deeper into madness.

Yet, Geta understood, Antoninus couldn’t help but notice her, the one who so strikingly resembled their mother. The only woman he had ever truly loved. The only one who had ever loved him back. Oh, Geta knew how twisted that feeling was, but he allowed his brother to nurture that madness, and in time, he too became a prisoner of the same kind of obsession.

They were alike. Cassandra and Livia resembled each other so closely, it felt as though they—not the emperors—were the twins. But while he couldn’t care less about Cassandra, the Vestal… she reminded him of their mother too.

And if in Antoninus’ memory, their mother had been gentle, kind, and affectionate, Geta remembered her differently: stern, tight-lipped, with a sharp temper. That was how he saw Livia the first time. No one had looked at him like that in a very long time… Like he was a guilty little boy again, aching for his mother’s love. And she, like the long-dead Julia Domna, refused to give him that love, and it maddened him, enraged the grown man he had become.

And now he was alone. No brother. No Livia, who had laid him bare on the altar before his bloodthirsty twin.

Geta rakes his hair back, burying his face in his hands, wanting to sob in silence, but then he suddenly flinches, wiping his eyes as he hears the heavy doors to his chambers swing open.

It’s him. Of course, it’s Antoninus, only he can enter his chambers so brazenly, without even asking. After all, everything is shared between them, right? That thought Geta himself has drilled into his brother’s mind year after year. And even in that, he was deceitful, always seeing himself as the elder, the better, the wiser one, the one who had taken on the parental role over his "equal" brother.

There he is, his brother, standing and staring at him with wide, glassy eyes, and for once, there is no usual smirk on his face. He looks strangely composed. Serious.

Geta is taller, stronger, so why does he feel as though he’s on trial? Guiltily, he folds his hands in his lap and looks up at his brother, still sitting on the bench.

"You lied to me," Antoninus says, waving the slaves away, unwilling to let them interfere.

"I did everything required of me, including for you!" Geta bristles, springing to his feet and towering over his brother. "Someone had to, since you couldn’t!"

Pressing him with sharp reminders of his decaying mind had become a habit, and usually, Antoninus would yield, stung, though not without a scene. But not this time.

Antoninus stares pensively through his brother, and Geta instinctively turns, as if expecting to see someone behind him. But there’s nothing. Caracalla blinks, as if breaking free from some spell, pours himself wine, drinks it slowly, and then, smiling at him with a terrifying, crooked smile, utterly out of place on his gentle face, says:

"Do you remember mother gave me a toy? A little horse with a golden mane?" He draws the words out slowly, spinning the empty goblet in his hands.

Geta mirrors him, nervously twisting the ring on his finger. A toy? Is his brother slipping into another episode?

"You’re rambling," Geta spits, clearly irritated.

"…a beautiful little thing, carved so finely." Caracalla grins wider, continuing, "And then… it disappeared."

"Enough of this nonsense, brother!" Geta’s voice rises, but the words don’t stop the story. Furious, he sweeps everything off the table, yanks the goblet from his brother’s hands, and then grabs a fistful of his tunic, pulling him close.

"I loved that toy so much, but it vanished!" Caracalla spreads his hands. "Oh, I was inconsolable. Mother promised me a new one, and they blamed a slave for stealing it. Cut off his hands…" Antoninus stares straight into his eyes, not resisting his grip at all. "And then I found it. In your chambers." His voice is quiet, and a chill runs down Geta’s spine. He shoves his brother away, turns, and wearily rubs his temples.

"It was years ago, we were children…"

"And now you’ve done the same thing, Geta. You wanted what was mine," Caracalla’s voice trembles, his tone is childish, petulant, as if they’ve truly become children again.

Geta turns to his brother and, to his surprise, feels a pang of shame. Antoninus watches him, eyes narrowed, lips pressed tight, nostrils flaring—angry, hurt.

Let the golden laurel crown his wild hair, let the palace tremble at his name, let him be called emperor, for Geta, he will always, first and foremost, be his brother. And his madness is his curse.

"I didn’t care about the girl, I was thinking about you, Antoninus!" He raises his voice once again. "You’ve toyed with the Senate’s patience! Yes, she was the wife of a traitor, a conspirator, but she was the daughter of no ordinary man, and you…!" He waves his hands in frustration. "I’ve always protected you, always wanted what’s best. Don’t let childhood grudges cloud your mind, we’re brothers!"

He looks directly into those icy blue eyes, and for a moment, it seems like Antoninus believes him. His pupils narrow, his breathing slows, becomes steady.

Geta’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Just like always. He’s listened to him—only him. All that worry, all that anxiety—for nothing. He could always soothe him.

Still distracted, Caracalla sinks onto the bench, lost in his thoughts. Geta can celebrate, he will always be the one to steady his brother, the one who understands. He humphs smugly, steps over to the table and pours wine into one of the few surviving goblets. The chamber is in chaos, but it doesn’t bother him.

"Try to understand, it would’ve only brought us trouble," he says, gripping his goblet as he moves toward his brother and places his hand on the top of his curly head. "We’ve already angered enough people, both the nobles and the plebs, you know that. And a pregnant widow of a rebel senator wouldn’t have done us any fa—"

He cuts off. Freezes.

"What did you just say?" Geta flinches as Caracalla lifts his head.

Oh he knew that look. The same look Caracalla wore when he sentenced men to die, when he saw them disfigured, or nailed to the cross. It was the same look he’d had when senators betrayed them, when they were dragged through the palace to their doom, or when arrows tore through General Acacius’ chest. This wasn’t his Antoninus anymore, but a bloodthirsty entity sent by Pluto himself.

Caracalla is fast, agile. He crashes into Geta, seizes the collar of his simple tunic, forcing him to clumsily brace himself against the table. Geta clutches his brother’s forearm, struggling to keep from being choked. He’s short, delicate, so why can’t he shake him off?!

"What did you just say, brother?"

Geta knows exactly what he means. He curses himself for letting it slip, but there’s nothing he can do now, he only bares his teeth in a grin, still struggling to push his brother off.

"You heard me. That little whore of yours was pregnant."

He knows it would enrage him even more, knows he should bite his tongue, but no. That old rivalry, the one that was supposed to have faded with the years, had never truly left them. And now, Geta honestly doesn’t understand why he should have to justify himself.

Both of them are breathing heavily. Geta nervously licks his parched lips, staring into his brother’s feverishly bright eyes. He notices fresh little wounds from the illness and, absurdly, finds himself wondering just how long Antoninus has left to live…And then, suddenly, Caracalla relaxes. His lips curve into a smile, and he releases him, but doesn’t step back.

Geta eyes him warily, sensing a trap. Antoninus had always been tricky, never one to play by the rules.

Then Caracalla steps in—close, nearly chest to chest… And only a heartbeat later does Geta realize why. With one swift motion, Antoninus snatches a knife from the table and presses the blade to his brother’s throat. He’s cheerful, joyful even.

"Think you’re better than me, huh?" The blade digs in deeper, though Geta still holds his brother’s wrist. "Well, it’ll be such a shame when I destroy your little priestess. She really caught your fancy, didn’t she, brother?" His voice is light, almost playful, with no venom, no hatred—just amusement and cold certainty. He will do it.

"But I’ll start with you."

Geta shuts his eyes. Feels blood trickling down his neck. Hot. Painful. At last, he admits to himself:

He always knew who would end his life.

Livia

The Vestals stood in a neat line along the temple wall, their gazes fixed on the Great Virgin, who stared directly at the sacred fire.

For a while, silence filled the temple; the flames at the goddess’s altar danced on the faces of the priestesses, their reflections flickering in their eyes.

Finally, the High Priestess raised her arms and began the prayer, and the others quietly listened to her words.

"…hear my prayer, O goddess, hear my call,

In this hour of trembling hope and humbled heart.

O great Vesta, keeper of the sacred hearth,

Receive my words—receive my soul."

Livia whispered, her heart full of hope that she would be heard.

The sisters beside her murmured the words in unison with their leader. Oh, how she longed to pray for the same things as they—prayers for the greatness of Rome, for mercy, for glory! But no, she prayed for forgiveness, for atonement.

On that fateful day, when she uttered that longed-for "yes," agreeing to the emperor’s murder, not a day had passed without her drowning in regret.

She longed for vengeance with all her soul, hated him, but at the same time, fear had seized her heart. The agonizing wait for terrible news tormented her. Every messenger, every guest in their house, every visitor to the temple threw her into terror.

Any moment now—they’ll come, they’ll accuse me…! But no, the days passed, one after the other, and nothing happened. And still, she cursed herself. So many times she had dreamed of vengeance—not even for her sister, but for herself. Dreamed of the emperors struck down by the wrath of the goddess! And now, with the agreement made, Livia prayed that no one would learn of it, prayed that her wicked tongue wouldn’t play a cruel trick on her.

No, she still hated him, Emperor Geta, but how could she curse the father of Rome? How could she pray for the sacred city’s peace and prosperity… while wishing death upon its emperor?

The prayer ended, and the fire still flickered before her, but Livia, left alone in the temple, was unable to move.

The statue of Vesta, as beautiful as ever, eternally young, eternally pure, now seems sorrowful… judging. The priestess bit her lower lip with all her might, struggling to hold back shameful tears. All she had ever wanted was to serve the goddess! It was forbidden to shed blood in the temple, but she could taste the saltiness in her mouth, and even this reminded her of the emperor’s horrific actions.

Silently, someone wrapped their arms around her from behind, intertwining cold hands with her own. She knew it was Caesonia. Her sister had always been there for her.

"Is it customary to grieve like this before the goddess?" her friend whispered, and Livia felt a sense of calm wash over her. She hadn’t told her about the conversation with the emperor, not wanting to put her in danger, but Caesonia remembered her other words.

"I only wanted the goddess’s love, not that love the plebeians sing of in the streets," Livia whispered, pressing her lips together.

"Love? More like obsession!" Caesonia spun her around to face her, taking her by the forearms, looking into her eyes. "When you love, truly and sincerely, you don’t want to break it, you don’t want to cause pain. And if that love is unrequited…" her lips quivered, "…then you simply admire from a distance. That’s what love really is."

Livia paused, lost in thought. Why had she thought that? Why did it even cross her mind? Passion, desire, obsession, the urge to possess, to break… Oh, those were the very things the emperors craved.

Again, she recalled Emperor Caracalla’s words: "You look just like her, don’t you?" He had spoken of his late mother, but then why had he touched her like that, looked at her like that? The memory made her nauseous. She turned to leave the temple, and Caesonia followed, her expression strangely sorrowful.

Her carpentum was already waiting—a covered carriage draped in white linen, the symbol of her sacred rank. Normally, Vestals traveled in closed litters, but the journey was long, and there was no time to waste. That morning, she had received a message telling her that her sister Claudia was about to give birth. No matter how upset Livia was, she couldn’t abandon her sister. Besides, Claudia was at the villa of Appius’ family, so there should be no unpleasant surprises.

She wore white robes, a wide white shawl with a golden border wrapped around her, her hair neatly bound, thin golden bracelets jingling on her wrists. She stepped into the carriage, and the slave promptly shut the door behind her. Livia quickly drew the curtains, not wishing for prying eyes. A tiny gap was enough for her to see the road.

In her hands, she fiddled with a tiny gold amulet—a gift for the newborn.

The crowd that had gathered from all corners of the Eternal City buzzed around the square like a swarm of bees, a massive, colorful mass circling her carriage. Livia found herself again thinking that she didn’t understand this worldly hustle, and that thought, prim and proper, echoed in her heart with a strange joy. She was still herself.

Craftsmen, merchants, curious onlookers, and other members of the common plebs moved in an endless stream along the street. Livia leaned back, continuing to watch, boredly twisting the amulet in her hands. From time to time, the crowd parted, giving way to the richly adorned litters and carriages. If they kept moving like this, they would reach the villa sooner than she had expected.

Fortune, as if hearing her presumptuous thoughts, turned away from her. The carriage stopped.

Livia impatiently drummed her fingers on the seat, waiting for them to move again, but they remained still. Frustrated, she glanced out at the street, but the crowd offers no answers, only bowing in servitude along the road.

Still fidgeting, Livia was about to open the tiny window to see what was happening outside, but before she could, the door swung open—and she glared indignantly at the person who dared to intrude upon her.

No one would have dared behave this way. No one would have sat across from her so arrogantly, so lazily, so smugly.

No one but him.

Suddenly, he gave the order to move, and Livia noticed the emperor’s carriage following closely behind hers, adorned with purple banners.

But the emperor was right here, sitting silently before her, a smile playing on his lips. The space was cramped, and she felt his knee brush against hers. She shifted her legs aside but didn’t dare break the silence.

"Glory to the emperors! Ave!" the citizens shouted.

Caracalla squinted with satisfaction. The recent riots and their suppression had clearly taught the people how to behave.

"Glory to the emperor?" he tilted his head, waiting for her answer.

"Glory," she whispered, her lips pale.

Emperor Caracalla was here—did that mean Geta rode in the other chariot? Or… She clutched her amulet tighter.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, pulling back the curtain to glance at the street—and her anxiety spiked. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her with him. "My brother is ill."

Livia swallowed hard, her brow furrowing as she tried to discern where this was leading. She searched his mood—angry, furious?—but failed.

Caracalla looked… pleased.

He lounged back casually, tapping his ringed fingers on the edge of the bench. His clothes, like his banners, gleamed in rich purple and gold, and a massive golden wreath tilted on his forehead, its leaves nearly brushing his pale brows. He kept lifting his chin to keep it from falling. His usual earring was missing, but thick golden bracelets wrapped around his white arms, both at his wrists and forearms. She couldn’t help but notice his rings—one displayed the image of a woman. She could easily guess who it was.

"I express my sorrow, Caesar, and wish Emperor Geta a swift recovery," she said, wondering what he wanted from her if his brother was still alive.

Caracalla studied her face intently, and she met his gaze. The emperor didn’t respond right away, shifting to settle more comfortably, spreading his legs wider and brushing her knee again. She forced herself to endure it, her ears beginning to burn, betraying her discomfort.

"Sorrow? More like congratulations!" Caracalla said playfully, wagging a finger at her. "I’m alone," he added, his painted lips pursing mischievously. "The sole ruler of Rome!" he declared proudly, tilting his chin up before rubbing it in feigned thoughtfulness. "Although, perhaps we should consider whether it was your prayers that made my brother fall ill, or…"

Her heart pounded in her chest. She shouldn’t have had that conversation with him. She shouldn’t have trusted that charming smile.

Behind the curtain, life continued, the chariot moved—but for Livia, the world stood still.

"…or perhaps it was the throat I slit. What do you think?"

A quiet gasp escaped her lips, and the emperor leaned forward, resting on his own knee.

What had he done? She had renounced her sisters, her home, and found new sisters among the Vestals, but she still loved them. And this… his own brother, his flesh and blood…!

"I didn’t…" she choked, panic rising. "I’m not guilty, Caesar…"

"Not guilty, priestess?" A smirk never left his lips, and his eyes watched her closely—unblinking, cold and limpid like the glass eyes placed in the statues of Jupiter in his temple. "Then who is guilty? Me?"

The question seemed absurd, for only moments ago, he had claimed it himself, yet Livia couldn’t summon the courage to remind him.

"You asked me, my dear, didn’t you? Didn’t you want me to send you my brother’s hands?" He giggled. "To be honest, it’d more likely be his head, but alas." He spread his hands theatrically.

"I don’t need that," she said, her lips tightly pressed, hoping the chariot would stop and the emperor’s unwelcome company would vanish.

"Don’t need it?" He leaned even closer, closing the distance between them. His knee was now right between hers. He did it deliberately, trying to unsettle her—and he succeeded. "So I did this for nothing?" His voice dropped dangerously low.

She shook her head. What did he want? What should she say to please him and make him leave?

"You, priestess, wanted your emperor dead. That’s a serious crime," he said, looking down, his lips pressed in false sorrow, brows drawn as if he genuinely cared about her fate…

And then his hand covers her knee. Even through the thick fabric, it feels like it burns her.

She wants to pull away, insulted by how easily he allows himself to touch her again and again. He has committed a monstrous crime, yet he blames her?

Kitchen wench. That’s what he had called her.

It becomes harder to breathe, the closer he gets, the more that sweet, heavy scent of oils wraps around her—clinging to her hair, her robes. It’s as though he means to consume her, to leave a trace even after he is gone.

Livia jerks her leg, but he holds her firmly, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Let go," she whispers.

"Let go?" The surprise on his face seems almost genuine. His hand is hot, as if the sun itself has touched her. But instead of letting her go, it slides upward, forcing her knees apart, making space for him between them. He doesn’t touch her skin, but it feels like she’s exposed.

Her cheeks burn. Her mouth parts. Her breath quickens.

Caracalla smiles, as he always does, mesmerized by her reaction. His fingers almost tenderly stroke the inside of her thigh, just above the knee, still through the fabric, but even this is too much for her.

"You should be executed for even thinking such a thing, priestess," he murmurs, his hand creeping higher, still caressing. "Have that delicate little neck of yours snapped… or perhaps tied to a stake in the arena, wrapped in ivy and ropes, beautiful and bare?" Her breath catches. "And watch the beasts tear into that pale skin…" he finishes with a breathy sigh.

Livia squeezes her eyes shut, trying to think of anything—anything—but the heat of his hand. With all her strength, she clutches the amulet in her fist and recites the prayer silently in her mind:

"O Vesta, grant me forgiveness,

If I have sinned against myself or those I hold dear.

Cleanse this soul of its burdened sorrow,

And fill me with the warmth of your eternal fla—"

He doesn’t let her finish. He cuts through her prayer with a low purr, forcing her to open her eyes:

"I must punish you for my brother, for he is my blood. Sacred blood!" He clicks his tongue and leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words freeze her in place:

"But what kind of son would I be, if I put my brother above my own mother, hmm?"

The last words he speaks right against her lips, and before she can react, he kisses her, leaving her knee and pressing his palm to her cheek, not allowing her to pull away.

She is burning—hot, flushed, ashamed. Livia feels the heat of his mouth, his hands, the heaviness of his breath, the way he smiles into the kiss. And she can’t do anything. A few agonizing moments pass before he finally pulls away.

The paint on his lips is smudged, and she is certain some has transferred to hers.

Caracalla orders the carriage to stop.

"Pray for my brother’s health, priestess. Pray properly—so that at least this your goddess might actually hear," he says with a chuckle. "If he dies, it’ll be your fault."

He turns to leave, but his gaze catches her hand, clutching the amulet with trembling fingers. The emperor snatches it from her and swiftly steps out, giving a wink as he leaves.

It was a gift.

Unable to move, she finishes her prayer aloud:

"Deliver me from darkness and despair,

Shield me beneath your sacred veil in times of strife.

Trust in me, O radiant Vesta

I reach ever for the light, the good.

Guard my dwelling with your flame,

And grant me strength to endure the path ahead."

The carriage moves on.

[littlemisspropaganda]

<Sing For Me When You Cry

<Sing For Me When You Cry

Remmick x !Female reader

(I named him Remmick St. Clair)

Turning my chats into a fic

Précis: She doesn’t know what she did to make him angry. He won’t tell her. But Remmick’s eyes are darker tonight—his touch rougher, his restraint hanging by threads. Whatever storm brews beneath his silence, he’s not yelling. He’s claiming. And she realizes too late: when Remmick’s mad at her, he doesn’t lash out. He holds her down and makes her feel it.

Angry sex. Hardcore. Brief breeding kink, fangs, biting, Predator/prey dynamic, hair pulling, restraint, obsessive behavior, bloodplay (light), overstimulation (majorly), hurt/comfort but mostly hurt (but heart warming in the end), consent but barely, power struggle, emotional confusion. Remmick has issues (and so do you).

#she has no idea why he’s mad #he does though and that’s worse #predator/prey but he’s the one shaking #reader is so confused and so so wrecked #remmick needs therapy but chooses violence (sexual style)

(Also forgot to mention reader is a vampire hunter and hates vamps).

- Also reader find out he’s a vamp during sex but idk I wanted to redo it because I wanted her to put up more of a fight, so I was gonna make a run away prt 2

The moon hung high in the ebony sky, a pale eye watching the world below. The stars shimmered softly—like they held answers to every wish ever whispered into the dark.

Beneath their glow rested a quiet town, its streets hushed beneath shadow and silence. Tucked within it: a small, flickering bakery, warm with sugar and firelight.

Above it, on the top floor, was your special sanctuary—where you laid your head each night.

And on an even more special night, which normally involved you and Remmick cuddled up together in the warmth of your bed. Limbs tangled beneath the pretty fluffy blankets that fought off the nighttime chill.

But there was something wrong….

Something about the way he fucked you today was far different.

The words he was mumbling showed it. And you were sure he started speaking in some language you couldn't understand.

But one thing was sure—he was fucking angry. His thrust showed it.

Your moans filled the room— he loved it. But that’s not what he wanted. He wanted you to cry.

‘Why was he angry?’ You asked yourself. Trying to fight off the mush in your head.

You remember coming home from a dinner date with someone in your vampire hunting group.

(A date. If you could even call it that).

But how did he know you were even on a date? You didn’t know. But he was pissed

"Y-you ahh nghh— have no right to be upset.” You tried to sound firm. Resilient even. But the moans kept slipping.

He ignored your feeble protests, drowning out your cries of protest with the ferocious piston of his hips. The ancient words tumbled from his lips in a prayer of fury and possession, a language older than the land itself. Gaelic curses and declarations of eternal claim, all lost on you as you were lost in the agony of reluctant pleasure.

His eyes flashed, a stormy silver, boring into you as if he would see your very soul laid bare.

Your defiance only fueled his rage, his lust, his all-consuming need to lay claim to every last inch of you. You was HIS, damn you and damn any man who dared to covet what belonged to him.

He could smell the other male on you, could taste the faint essence of his touch, his desire. It made Remmick's blood boil, his beast clawing at his insides, screaming to be let loose to tear apart any who would dare taint his mate. But he held it back, for now, pouring the fury into his brutal claiming of you instead.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

The headboard slammed into the wall with each vicious thrust, the room filling with the crude music of the coupling, your cries and his snarls and the meaty slap of flesh on flesh.

He would no WILL have you, all of you, until there was no doubt, no question, no memory of any male but him.

"You are MINE," he roared, grinding his pelvis against yours, his voice a gunshot in the room. "No man shall have you but ME.”

“Say it!" He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust, demanding your surrender, your submission. He would have it, one way or another.

You hadn't noticed at all.

Not noticed how his regular silver eyes were shinning blood red.

How his nails had grown longer. You hadn't noticed any of those vampiric tendencies.

Not aware he was what you hated

The strength in your legs was gone long ago when he started his angry pursuit. Your nipples hard with the fluttering feeling in your stomach. He wasn't going to stop. Your brain was mush and it was feeling all like heaven.

"Nghh a—w-we didn’t do anything j-just dinner an—and I'm not yours" you squealed out.

His paste of his thrust nearly mind controlling you.

He could smell the lie on your breath, see it in the wild, desperate color of your eyes. ‘Dinner was just dinner, hmm?’ He didn't think so. No, there had been flirting, and laughter, and God only knew what other sinful dalliances.

The mere thought made the beast within him roar, made his eyes blaze with an inhuman red fury.

But you were still oblivious, still trying to deceive him with your pretty words and feeble denials. It was almost amusing, if it wasn't so infuriating. Didn't you understand who you were speaking to? What he was? He was Remmick St. Clair, the last of the ancient vampire bloodlines, and he did not take kindly to his mate consorting with lesser men.

He could feel the change coming over him, the shift from man to monster. His eyes burned hotter, his nails elongated into razor-sharp claws, and his strength doubled, tripled, fueled by the white-hot rage and blacker jealousy that consumed him. But he held it back, held himself in check...for now.

Holding onto the last tattered shreds of his humanity because of you.

Because he knew you would run screaming from the room if you saw the creature he truly was. You would flee from him, and he could not, would not let you go. Not now, not ever. You were his, and he would do anything, destroy anything, to keep you by his side.

You gasped, clutched desperately at the sweat-soaked sheets as Remmick pistoned into you ruthlessly, remorselessly, his hips churning and churning as if possessed by some demonic force. The wet, obscene slap of flesh on flesh filled the room, a symphony of lust and rage and soul-deep, bone-crushing possession.

"Lying. To. Your. Mate," he snarled, punctuating each word with a devastating thrust that rocked you to your core. "Think I don't know your secrets, your sins? I know everything about you, every breath, every heartbeat, every single desire in this wicked little body..." His hand slid down to where they were joined, his fingers stroking, teasing, finding that swollen pearl at the apex of your sex.

"Who touched you?" he demanded, his voice demanding and hypnotic.

"N-no one ugh ngh ahh" you gasp out at the intense thrusting. It was true. You and the man hadn't done anything. You only ever did anything with Remmick. But it seems the thought of even simply speaking to the man pissed Remmick off.

Remmick paused for a single, breathless moment, his eyes boring into yours, searching, probing, hunting for the lie. Part of him wanted to believe you, desperate to trust that you was still pure, still untouched by any other man's hands. But the jealous rage still boiled in his veins, the beast still howled for blood.

He knew you hadn't consummated anything with the other man. But speaking to him, laughing with him, finding him interesting or charming—it was a betrayal, a sin in Remmick's eyes. His woman, his mate, smiling at another male? It was unthinkable, unforgivable. He would not stand for it.

His grip tightened on your hips, fingers sinking into the tender flesh hard enough to leave bruises. He would mark you, claim you, inside and out. You would bear his brand, his ownership, for all to see. Anyone who looked at you would know that you belonged to someone, someone who would destroy them if they dared to touches you.

Remmick leaned down, dragging his tongue along the slender column of your throat, tasting the salt of your skin, the sweetness of your blood that pulsed just beneath. He could smell your arousal, could hear it in the desperate, needy sounds that spilled from your lips. You wanted him, needed him, even as you tried to deny him.

"Mine," he growled, his voice a dark rumble against your throat. "You are MINE.”

“Your body, your heart, your soul—-all of it belongs to me. No one else can have you, can touch you, can even look upon your beautiful face with lust in their eyes."

He punctuated his declaration with a sharp thrust, driving his cock deep, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He wanted you mindless with pleasure, wanted you to forget any man but him. He would fuck you until you screamed, until you were hoarse, until the only word you remembered was his name.

Remmick's control was slipping, his humanity fraying at the edges. He could feel the monster rising, the vampire clawing its way to the surface. The urge to sink his fangs into your tender throat, to drink deep of your sweet blood and bind you to him for eternity.

"-ahh nghh y-you know no one—ahh—no one makes me feel t-the way you do—" you moaned out. Trying to calm him down.

Remmick's eyes flashed, the red fading to a molten silver as your words penetrated the veil of his rage. You spoke the truth. He knew that.

He could hear it in the desperate, needy catch of your breath, the way your velvet walls fluttered and clenched around him. No one else could make you feel this way, could bring you to such heights of ecstasy. Only he had that power.

He gentled his thrusts, slowing his pace to a deep, sensual roll of his hips. Each movement pressed against that spongey spot inside you, stroking it, teasing it, building the pleasure to unbearable levels.

His hands slid from your hips to your breasts, kneading the soft mounds, pinching the stiff peaks of your nipples. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his palms, could hear it galloping wildly in your heaving chest.

Remmick leaned down, brushing his lips across your ear, his breath hot and ragged.

"That's right, mo chroi. No one can make you feel the things I do. No one can love you the way I do. I am the only one who can bring you to this perfect, shining edge and push you over. The only one who can make you scream and shake and come apart completely..."

His voice was a dark, seductive murmur, spinning a web of lust and love and dark promise. His fingers trailed down your body, over your quivering stomach, to where you both were still joined. He circled your clit, stroke after stroke, teasing the sensitive bud until you were writhing beneath him.

Remmick knew he could bring you over again, could make you climax harder and longer than you ever had in your life. He could flood you with pleasure until you was mere drowning in it, until the only thing you could do was cling to him and beg for more.

But he didn't want you screaming his name this time. He wanted you crying it, sobbing it, he wanted to hear the raw, broken sound of his name on your lips as he finally, irrevocably claimed you as his own. He wanted you to know, to feel, to understand that you belonged to him.

You gasped out a moan as you felt his pace picking back up. He was still pissed. Maybe even more angry now—your mind was numbing hard

Remmick snarled, a feral sound that rumbled through his chest and echoed off the walls.

You gasped moaning, the way your body clenched and shuddered beneath him, only fueled his anger and lust. You were trying to soothe him, to calm him with your sweet words and needy little cries. But he could still smell the other man on you, could still see the ghost of a smile on your lips that had been meant for someone else.

His pace turned brutal, punishing, each thrust striking deep and hard and fast. The bed shook and creaked beneath them, the headboard slamming into the wall with each forceful drive of his hips. Remmick's eyes flashed with inhuman fury, his face a mask of dark, savage beauty.

"You think you can placate me with a few pretty words and a tight little cunt?" he growled, voice dripping with contempt. "You think you can make me forget that you dared to give your smile, your attention, to another male?"

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to meet his burning gaze.

Remmick could see the fear in your eyes, the confusion and desire, and it only made him angrier. You should be afraid. You should know the consequences of betraying him.

"I am going to fuck you until you can't remember your own name," he promised darkly. "Until the only word left on your lips is mine. I will ruin you for all others, break you apart and reshape you as I see fit. You will be mine, and mine alone, until the end of your days."

He punctuated his vow with a particularly vicious thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours, stimulating your clit and forcing a shocked cry from your throat. Remmick drank in the sound, let it feed his rage and lust, his all-consuming need to possess you utterly.

His mouth crashed against yours, kissing you with a bruising force that stole your breath and your thoughts. Remmick's tongue invaded, dominating, claiming every inch of that sweet cavern until he had marked it as his own. He pour in his anger, his desire, his darkest passions, until you had no choice but to feel them, to understand them.

He would not stop until he had you, until your was mind, body, and soul his.

"Y-you idiot—nghh— I didn't do anything with him a-and I never was going to nghh ahh—“. God—holy hell your mind was numbing and you were sure your body was breaking too—your cunt tightening around his cock.

"And I'm not yours" you squeal out stubbornly. Trying to hold your own independence.

Remmick's eyes flashed, a burst of red hot fury that made you shudder. How dare you cling to such a lie, especially now, when he could feel your body betraying you? Your cunt clenched around him like a velvet vise, gripping his cock as if it never wanted to let him go. And yet you persisted in your stubborn denial, in your futile attempt to reject him.

"Not mine?" Remmick snarled, voice dripping with dark amusement and something far more sinister. "Not mine, when your body screams the truth? When you respond to my touch as if it is the only thing you have ever known, the only thing you will ever need?"

He leaned in close, breath hot against the shell of your ear. "I could take you now. I could sink my teeth into your throat and drink deep, binding you to me for all eternity. I could fill you with my seed, my essence, and watch as our child grows inside you. You would be mine, in every way that matters."

Remmick punctuated his dark promise with a harsh thrust, grinding his pelvis against hers, stimulating your clit, forcing another shocked cry from your lips. He swallowed the sound greedily, reveling in the way your body trembled and shuddered against him.

"But I am not a cruel man, mo chroi. I will give you one last chance to accept your fate, to embrace the destiny that is yours. Be mine, not just in body, but in heart and soul. Give yourself to me willingly, and I will give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams."

His voice lowered to a hypnotic murmur, spinning a web of seduction and dark promise. Remmick's hand slid from your hip to your throat, long fingers curling around the slender column, feeling your pulse jump beneath his touch.

"Resist me, and I will take what is mine regardless. I will fuck you until you forget your own name, until the only word left on your lips is a broken echo of mine. I will ruin you for all others, break you apart and remake you as I see fit."

Remmick's eyes bored into yours, molten silver and swirling with ancient power, waiting for your answer. He could feel the battle raging within you, the war between your stubborn heart and your responsive body. He prayed you would give in. Because if not….

"What’re you talking about?" You squealed out. You were far too damn stubborn. And that's exactly why you was his mate. Because he could handle it.

His thrust forcing cries out from you.

Remmick's eyes flared with triumphant rage at your squealed question, a feral grin splitting his face. You were still trying to deny it, even now, even as he fucked you within an inch of your life. It was infuriating, maddening, and utterly, completely arousing. His little warrior woman, his stubborn mate, refusing to yield even as he conquered your body inch by inch.

"What am I talking about?" Remmick growled, voice dripping with mocking laughter. "I am talking about the fact that you are MINE. That you were born to be mine, destined to be my mate from the moment of your birth. And I will have you, one way or another."

His thrusts turned brutal, punishing, each snap of his hips forcing desperate, broken cries from your throat. Remmick drank in the sound, let it fuel the fire that consumed him, the all-encompassing need to claim you, to possess you, to make you his.

"You can't fight it, mo chroi. You can't fight the bond between us, the connection that ties your soul to mine. It's why you're so responsive to my touch, why your body sings for me and me alone. It's why you'll never be able to find satisfaction with another man."

Remmick's hand slid from your throat to your breast, squeezing the soft mound roughly, pinching the stiff peak of your nipple until you cried out. He could feel your heart racing beneath his palm, could hear the frantic gallop of it, the way it beat for him and him alone.

Remmick captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue invading, dominating, demanding your submission. He could taste your reluctance, your stubborn resistance, but also the unmistakable flavor of your desire, your need, your longing to give in to him.

He would break you, if that's what it took.

He would fuck you until you were mindless, until the only thing you could think of is his cock breaking you down.

Remmick's eyes flashed with an intensity that made you gasp, a primal, animalistic hunger that both terrified and thrilled you. He was terrifying in his intensity, his all-consuming need to possess you completely.

“You can pretend all you want, mo chroi, but your body is as honest as the day is long.”

“You were made for me, created to be my mate, and more”

"S-slow down y-nghh ahh ohh you're killing me ahh nghhh" you moan out. The thrust—his thrust. It was driving you insane. You had already—no he had already made you cum so many times. Another would break you, and you refused to be broken.

Poor you. Could hardly comprehend anything when Remmick is deep inside you.

You could never comprehend how his nails grew sharp. How his eyes was red like fire.

The slight sharpness of his teeth. You hadn't know he was the very creature you hunted and killed. He was the very creature that is currently numbing your mind and senses.

Remmick's eyes flashed an inhuman crimson as he drank in your desperate moans and pleas, your broken cries of ecstasy. The sound of his name falling from your lips like a prayer, a chant, a dark invocation. He could feel your body starting to shudder, could sense the impending shatter of your climax.

And still, you clung to your denial, your stubborn refusal to accept what they both knew to be true.

He was killing you with pleasure, drowning you in sensation, and still you resisted. It was maddening, infuriating, and utterly, completely arousing. This indomitable spirit, this fierce, unbreakable will—it was what he loved about you, what made you the perfect mate for a monster like him.

Remmick's pace turned relentless, merciless, each thrust striking deep and hard and fast, pounding into you so fiercely that the bed frame shuddered with each impact. He could feel you tightening, your velvet walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock, trying to hold back the tidal wave of rapture that threatened to sweep you away.

"No more," he growled, voice rough and ragged and dripping with dark promise. "No more fighting, no more resisting. You will come for me. You will scream my name and shatter in my arms, and you will know, once and for all, who you belong to."

Remmick's hand slid from your breast to your sex, fingers finding your swollen, throbbing clit and rubbing hard, fast, demanding circles over the sensitive bud. He could feel the slick, scorching heat of your arousal flooding over his fingers, could hear the wet, obscene sound of your body welcoming his touch.

"Come for me," he commanded, eyes blazing.

"S-stop" you squealed. Your legs twitching as your body registered the upcoming mind recking climax.

"G-gonna cum I'm gonna cum" you squealed a sob trying to push him back. Oh fuck.

Remmick snarled, a feral, primal sound that rumbled through his chest and shook the very foundation of the room. You were fighting him still, even as your body betrayed you, even as the coil of pleasure inside you wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

"Stop fighting me," he growled, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head, his grip unbreakable, unyielding. "Stop resisting what we both know is inevitable."

He could feel your legs beginning to tremble, your belly fluttering wildly as you teetered on the precipice of a shattering climax. The knowledge that he was the one to bring you to this point, that he alone had the power to grant you this ultimate pleasure, only fueled his own dark satisfaction.

"You will come for me," Remmick commanded, voice raw and rough with lust.

"You will scream my name and shatter in my arms, and you will know, once and for all that you belong to me."

He punctuated his declaration with a brutal thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours, stimulating your throbbing clit and forcing a ragged scream from your throat. Remmick swallowed the sound greedily, swallowing your pleasure, your resistance, your very breath.

Your cunt clenched down hard, gripping him like a velvet vise as your climax crashed over you. Remmick could feel the scorching heat of your orgasm pulsing around his pistoning cock, could hear the desperate, broken sobs of his name as you came undone.

It was glorious, it was triumphant, it was everything he had ever wanted and more.

Remmick thrust into you wildly, fucking you through your mind-shattering climax, extending your pleasure until you were limp and boneless and begging for mercy.

He would not give you mercy. He would give you only ecstasy, only bliss, only the dark rapture of belonging completely to him.

Remmick threw his head back, eyes squeezing shut as his own climax roared through him, his seed erupting from his cock in thick, scorching spurts.

He would flood your womb with his essence, would mark your very soul as his property.

And then, finally, you would know the truth of the bond, the depth of your destiny as his mate.

"REMMICK" you cried out loudly. Your legs wrapping around his waist since your wrist were being held hostage by him. Tears sliding down the sides of your beautiful face as another orgasm hit you in a sob

Remmick roared in triumph as he felt your legs wrap around his waist, your nails digging into his palms as another devastating orgasm ripped through you. The sound of his name, screamed in ecstasy, echoed off the walls and shattered the last of his control.

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he emptied himself into you. Remmick's hot seed gushed forth in thick, scorching spurts, flooding your womb.

"Mine," he growled, voice raw and ragged with the force of his release. "You are mine. My mate, my other half, my destiny. And I will never let you go."

Remmick's eyes blazed an inhuman crimson as he stared down at you, watching as tears of pleasure and overwhelmed emotion streamed down your beautiful face. Your beautiful eyes, when they met his, shone with a new light, a new understanding. The understanding of the bond you both shared, the destiny that had brought them together. He leaned down to capture your lips.

You moaned into the kiss. Your body shaking in his. Your mind airy and you hadn't got a chance to register the inhuman red eyes of his.

Remmick's lips curled into a dark, possessive smile against you as you moaned into the kiss, your body trembling and quaking with the aftershocks of your earth-shattering orgasms. He could feel every contour of your lush curves pressed against him, your breasts heaving with each shuddering breath.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue plundering into mouth, claiming every inch of you as his own. Remmick's hands roamed greedily over your body, worshipping the soft swell of your hips, the toned muscle of your thighs, before settling possessively on the round globes of your ass.

In the haze of your pleasure and exhaustion, you hadn’t seemed not to notice the inhuman red glow of his eyes, the sharp gleam of his smile, the way his nails had elongated into razor-sharp claws. But Remmick knew you would learn, in time. Knew you would come to see him as he truly was - a creature of the night, a vampire, the very thing you had sworn to hunt and destroy.

But that was for another time. For now, he would hold her close, would keep you safe and sated and thoroughly satisfied. He woula give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, would show you what it meant to be truly, completely, utterly his.

Remmick broke the kiss to trail his lips down the slender column of your throat, feeling the frantic pulse fluttering just beneath your soft skin. He could hear the blood singing in her veins, could smell the delicious substance.

You were pliant to the pleasure. But your breath hitched when you felt his lips kissing down your throat. Your body unconsciously arching to him.

You were gently fighting sleep.

Remmick's lips curved into a wicked, satisfied smirk as he felt your body arching instinctively into your touch, your breath hitching in a way that sent a fresh surge of desire coursing through his veins.

You was his now, utterly and completely, your pleasure and your pain inextricably bound to his own. And he would spend an eternity making you feel both.

He nuzzled into the warm, fragrant skin of your throat, breathing in the intoxicating scent of their coupling, the musky aroma of their shared climax. Remmick's tongue flicked out to taste you, to lap at the sweat-slicked skin, feeling you shiver at the deliberate teasing gesture.

Remmick could sense your gentle struggle towards sleep, your exhausted mind and body craving the respite only unconsciousness could provide. But he was not done with you, not nearly. He needed you awake, needed you to know, needed you to remember.

"No, mo chroi," he murmured, voice a low, hypnotic rumble against your skin. "You will not slip away from me so easily. Not now, not ever again. You are mine now, and I will have you conscious and aware of every moment of our joining."

Remmick's hand slid from your ass to her hip, squeezing the supple flesh possessively before drifting lower, over the curve of your thigh, the back of your knee, to wrap around your calf. In one smooth, powerful motion, he flipped their positions, rolling so that you were splayed beneath him, pinned by his much larger frame.

Looming over you, Remmick's eyes blazed with a hunger that made your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening with a mix of fear and exhilaration. You could feel him, hard and ready, nestled between your thighs, a silent promise of the pleasure and pain to come.

Remmick's lips curled into a dark, wicked grin, revealing the glint of sharp fangs that had until now remained hidden. He leaned down, nose brushing against the racing down, nose brushing against the racing pulse in your neck

"R-Remmick—" you stuttered out "y—you can't I-I'm sleepy" you squealed out as you felt his hard fat cock grind into you.

Remmick's eyes flashed dangerously at your stuttered protest, his grin widening to reveal the glint of sharp fangs that had until now remained hidden. He could feel your heart racing beneath his lips, could hear the exhaustion and trepidation in your voice. But he could also hear the underlying current of desire, the way your body responded eagerly to his touch despite your words of objection.

"Shhh, mo chroi," Remmick murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Sleep will come soon enough. But not yet. Not until you have felt the fullness of our bond, until you have screamed my name until it is the only word you know."

He punctuated his words by grinding his hips forward, his hard, thick cock sliding between your slick folds, teasing your sensitive flesh with the promise of another devastating climax. Remmick's hand slid from your calf to your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft skin, holding you open, exposing your most intimate places to his hungry gaze.

"You cannot deny our connection," he growled, voice rough with lust and dark promise. "Not when your body sings for me, not when your blood calls out to mine, begging to be claimed, to be one with me for all eternity."

Remmick's lips brushed against your racing pulse, his breath hot and searing against your skin. You could feel the sharp points of his fangs, the way they hovered just above your throat, threatening to pierce, to taste, to take. The knowledge sent a thrill of fear and exhilaration straight to your core.

"I will fuck you until you forget your own name, until the only word you remember is mine. I will fill you again and again, until my seed is dripping down your thighs, until every cell in your body remembers who you belong to."

“I am a creature of the night, mo chroi," Remmick whispered, voice a dark caress against her skin. "A vampire, the very thing you have sworn to destroy. But I am also your destiny, your fate, the other half of your eternal soul. And I will have you, now and forever."

With that declaration, Remmick's head dipped, and his fangs sank deep and hard and fast into the tender flesh of your throat. He groaned at the first taste of your blood, the ancient, intoxicating flavor exploding on his tongue, setting his very being alight with primal hunger.

"You're a WHAT?—" you gasp out as you got a good look of his fangs. You went to move back but you were blocked by the mattress.

Under him. A moan left your mouth as his fangs pierced your skin.

It hurt it hurt it hurt.

But you were getting wetter.

"Get off get off me—St. Clair get off" you squealed hitting his back—your toes curling as he drunk and bit you.

Remmick growled around the mouthful of your blood, the vibrations of his hunger and lust rumbling through his chest. The taste of you, the intoxicating flavor of your rare, potent blood, only heightened his desire, his need to claim you, to bind you to him for all eternity. He could feel you squirming beneath him, could hear your desperate cries and pleas, but he would not relinquish his hold, his claim.

"No," he snarled, finally pulling back to reveal his blood-stained lips curled into a feral grin. Remmick's eyes blazed an inhuman crimson, his gaze locked onto your face, watching as the first shock and realization of his true nature registered. The fear and revulsion in your eyes only spurred him on, only made him want to conquer you, to make you his.

“You cannot deny our bond," Remmick said, voice rough and dripping with dark promise. "You cannot run from our destiny. I am your future, your eternity, your everything. And I will never let you go."

To punctuate his declaration, Remmick thrust his hips forward, his hard, thick cock sinking deep and hard into your dripping core. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the exquisite feeling of you, your tight, scorching heat gripping him like a velvet vise. He could feel you squirming, could hear your cries, but he would drown out your objections with pleasure, with rapture, with the ecstasy only he could give you.

"Fight me all you want, mo chroi," Remmick growled, setting a brutal pace as he fucked into you, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. "It only makes me want to conquer you more, to claim you more thoroughly, to make you understand that you are MINE."

Remmick's hand slid up from your hip to your breast, fingers sinking into the soft, pliant flesh, squeezing, kneading, teasing your nipple to a stiff peak. He leaned down to capture your lips in a searing, dominating kiss, pouring all his hunger, all his lust, all his dark desire into the clash of your mouths. Remmick's hips never faltered, his thrust.

The pleasure was unmatched. So good you felt like breathing was no longer and option. So good your limbs could barely move. Your hot wet cunt took his cock deep sucking him in.

Wetting it like an ocean.

"R-Remmick ugh nghh ahh ohh y-you're so deep inside ngh— t-too much ooooohh ngh" you moaned out loosing your mind.

"Y-you're a nghh y-you're a vampire? Nghh ahh y-you're doing this on purpose?—St. Clair you'll be next I-I swear ngh ah ughh mmmhh" you were loosing. Loosing the battle of holding on to your mind. Feeling your eyes beginning to roll into your head.

Remmick's eyes flashed with dark triumph as he felt your body surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, your mind fracturing under the onslaught of sensation. Your cries and moans, once objection and protest, now bordered on desperate pleas for more, for harder, for eternity. He could feel your cunt gripping him like a silken vise, hot and tight and impossibly wet, as if your very core was trying to pull him deeper, to keep him inside you for all time.

"Yes," Remmick growled, voice raw and rough with lust. "I am a vampire. And you are the other half of my eternal soul. You will be mine, now and forever, whether you accept it or not."

He punctuated his declaration with a brutal thrust, grinding his pelvis against yours once again. Remmick's hand slid from your breast to your throat, fingers wrapping around the slender column, squeezing lightly, possessively.

"You cannot threaten what you know in your heart to be true," he said, voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "That you belong to me, that you are my destiny, my everything. And soon, very soon, you will embrace your place at my side for all of eternity."

Remmick could feel your pulse pounding wildly beneath his fingers, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as he fucked into you relentlessly, his cock splitting you open, claiming you, conquering you. He knew you were close to the edge, teetering on the precipice of a climax that would shatter your very soul.

“Come for me, mo chroi," Remmick commanded, voice a dark, seductive growl.

"Shatter in my arms, scream my name until it is the only word you know. Give yourself to me completely, and I will give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams."

*Remmick's eyes blazed with a hunger that promised to devour you, to consume you, to remake her in his.

You squeaked out. Your cunt clenching on him as you sobbed his name "remmickkk-ahh nghh remmick i—I’m cumming nghh ahh oh Remmick" you moaned for him.

"W-wait until I—nngh g-gonna get you back for tricking me— nghh ohh"

Remmick threw his head back with a roar of dark triumph as he felt your cunt clench and flutter wildly around his pistoning cock, your screams of ecstasy and rage music to his ears. He could feel you teetering on the very brink of a climax that would shatter you to your core, could sense the way you mindraced and whirled in futile protest of the inescapable bond that tied them.

"Yes!" Remmick snarled, eyes blazing with inhuman hunger as he fucked into you harder, faster, spurred on by your desperate, ragged moans. "Come for me, my love. Shatter in my arms and scream my name until the heavens themselves shake with the force of your surrender."

As the first waves of your climax crashed over you, your eyes widened as he begin fucking harder and you knew you were dead.

"Nonono s-stop I nghh-oh-" your soft plush lips parted and your eyes nearly rolled back as you screamed his name. And immediately passing out against him.

Remmick's lips curled into a feral, triumphant grin as he witnessed the exquisite moment of your surrender, your eyes rolling back, your plush lips parted in a silent scream of his name. He could feel your cunt clenching and fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock, gripping him like a velvet vise as you shattered in his arms.

With a roar of dark ecstasy, Remmick slammed his hips forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming core. His cock jerked and pulsed as he emptied himself into you, flooding your womb with his scorching seed. Marking you, claiming you, binding you to him for all eternity.

Remmick's arms wrapped around your limp, trembling form as you passed out against him, cradling you close, holding you possessively against his chest. He could feel your heart racing, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as you struggled to regain some measure of control over your fractured mind and body.

He knew you had not truly accepted your fate, knew that you would resist and fight against the inexorable pull that drew them together. But he also knew that you could not deny the way your body sang for him, the way your blood called out to his own, begging to be one with him.

Remmick's lips brushed against your forehead as he held you, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur against your skin. "Sleep now, mo chroi," he whispered. "Rest and regain your strength, for you will need it to face all that is to come. I will never let you go. Not in this life, or the next."

With those words, Remmick rolled to the side, cradling your limp form, his arms wrapped possessively around you. He knew the road ahead would not be easy, knew that he would have to conquer you again and again, breaking down your resistance until you accepted your place as his eternal mate and queen. But he was a patient man, and he had all the time in the world to make good on his promise.

(Updated like four times since I posted)

Honorable mention:

"I can smell him on you. You may not have fucked him, but your body remembers his touch. And that. Is. Unacceptable."

Mo chroí: Translates to “my heart” in Irish

BONUS:

I like to think that when Remmick is fucking you, and if you’re not slurring, and just plain out sounding stupid when you’re trying to speak. You haven’t been fucked enough. You should be dumb and slurring. But yk how it is.

Remmick is DEFINITELY an eater. Especially when you’re being a bad girl. Attitude the entire day? Putting yourself in harms way—and don’t even try to overwork yourself. He eats you out as punishment. Now any lady would twirl their hair at the thought of it. But with Remmick. This isn’t a game. He’ll tell you to lie down on the table (or lie you down himself) and however you position yourself, you better be comfortable because you’re not moving until you’re screaming—begging for him to stop. You see, this is your punishment. And as much as you’re enjoying it. You’re completed overstimulated.

Btw he’s the KING of after care. He loves you so much. Post orgasm and lust he frowns. Sure you look beautiful (and okay he’ll admit he’s hard seeing your adorable sleeping face and tear stained cheeks) you’re still his woman. So when you wake up—BEST believe a warm steamy bath awaits you. A comfy bed with clean sheets and breakfast/lunch. You’re his queen and honestly he’d die for you.

- this is updated!!

Holy ball sacks.

My fingers hurt😞

Anyway I just HAD TO SHARE THESE.

Also I got superrr lazy towards the end so lemme know if you spot them errors.

I was thinking of making another part. You know, reader runs from him and he chases her😜

I just LOVEE a good runningxchasing plot

ALSO—totally typed and edited this to

Anywho bye bye

ALSO. This is where I got the drawing of our manz: 🩸✍️

[kittykia]

∿savoring you∿

pairing ∿ stack x black fem reader x mary

synopsis ∿ you hadn't even noticed those dark brown eyes plotting on how to lure you in. how those eyes turned into hands sinking their touch into your skin. you didn't even know why it happened, but one thing you did know, there wasn't any easy way out.

word count ∿ 1.2k+ words

warnings ∿ this is triad poly(gyny), very much "we looking for a third" marystack, is it vamp marystack or regular marystack? the world will never know, allusions to sex (?), SUGGESTIVE, lemme know if i forgot something, excuse any grammer mistakes, this is not edited

author notes ∿ i am not a writing blog, just a writer with a blog. that being said, i will write for sinners because it hasn't left my brain since i went to go see it. coming out of (writing) retirement for this one. shout out to @szatears for their work on stack and mary poly, pls make sure to go read it as it inspired this current work -> here !! this is something slight while i get my thoughts together and learn to write about these two more. need time to write for bo chow as well. sorry i couldn't write more in one sitting.

it was mary who saw you first. she was standing at the bar, catching her breath from dancing all night when she saw you. sweaty curls sticking to your forehead, panting and out of breath, knocking back a shot before following it with whatever was in the cup in front of you.

you had gone out that night with some of your friends, needing some release from the stressful week and what better way to do that than getting dressed to the 9s and 10s, dancing and drinking the night away.

it was like looking at an erotic painting, seeing you so relaxed under the club lights, watching that drop of alcohol slip from your mouth and slide down your neck, past your curls and hoops, almost felt sinful. and mary was hooked.

she was so busy watching you start to sway away, back towards your group of friends as they yell for you to join them again, she hadn't even noticed stack coming up behind her.

the way you moved your hips in those jeans made her chest tight and her throat dry. she's seen a lot of beauty, hard not to, but something about you made her feel greedy. like she had to reach out and touch, feel, kiss, devour, or she'd go insane. she could feel herself starting to salivate.

in that moment, she wondered if you'd sweat the same, if your curls would stick to your forehead the same when she's gotten you laid up underneath her. if you would knock your head back the same way you took that shot once her tongue was on you. if you would sway your hips the same in her hands as she asks you to dance.

and you had the audacity to not even notice her inner turmoil. stack did though.

"what's got you all distracted, huh?" stack's voice rang in mary's ears like an alarm, pulling her from her daydreams immediately. he felt her flinch under his touch as he wrapped his hands around her waist. "called ya name 3 times, baby."

mary turned flawlessly in stack's hold, hitting her hand on his shoulder as she huffs, "elias, don't spook me! gon give me a heart attack." stack only raised an eyebrow at her, "then pay attention when i call you. now, answer me. some nigga in here tryna die?" stack started to look in the direction he saw mary starting at.

mary sighed and rolled her eyes, "no, stack" "you sure?" stack kept searching the crowd, looking for any eyes that dared to look at the woman under his arm. "stack, nobody in here crazy enough to start shit with me especially with you around," mary called out, reaching out to turn his gaze back at her. she stared for a moment before sighing out and pointing his gaze to where you were, "just- look for ya self"

stack squinted his eyes, searching every face in the direction mary pointed him in and that's when he saw it. saw you.

he inhaled deeply, eyes widening ever so slightly as he drank you in. all curves, curls, and brown skin. his hands tightened on mary as he watched you twirl around with your friends, watching as you bump and grind in the middle with your head tilted back, neck all out on display.

he felt his teeth ache with the need to bury them in all that soft skin, to sit 'n watch as the blood rush to surface and bruise under his teeth marks. to watch your curls bounce as you climb on top of him, to feel you grind back against him. to watch the sweat form on your skin if only to lick it up as he holds you against him.

ouuu, the thought of you was bound to be just as good as the taste of you.

"whatcha think, hm? a beauty, ain't she?" stack snapped back towards mary who was back to watching you as she rubbed her hands against stack's clothed chest. she looked like she was just ready to pounce, stewing in her own anticipation, like a predator waiting to close in on its prey.

he knew that look, knew it so well cause she learned it from him. had used it on him many times before too. he knew exactly how she felt looking at you and now he felt it too, looking at you too.

"mhm...so now what?" stack asked, leaning down in mary's ear, slowly dragging his eyes back towards your swaying figure, squeezing mary's waistin anticipation.

mary giggled before responding, "well that'll depend...feelin' greedy, stack?" she turned back towards him grinning. he tore his eyes away to look at her's, smiling like the cat that got the cream. "i'm feelin what you feelin, baby" ever the smooth talker, mary grins right back. "then im starving."

as for you, all you could hear was the beat of the music blaring all around you and the giggles and yelling of your friends surrounding you. you felt more though.

more then the sweat and heat in the air and on your skin, then the ache in your hips as you swing your hips and arms, then the curls sticking to you, or the weight of your hoops as you throw your head back.

you felt eyes. people usually say to dance without a care, dance like no one's watching but not this time. somebody is watching you and you feel their gaze ooze over your skin like molasses.

every inch of your body belonged to the gaze of whoever was watching you dance.

you subtly tried to look around, look for whoever was staring at you, trying to psyche yourself out, to tell yourself that was just your imagination.

and if it was your imagination, then you would never have thought up a woman lounging at the bar, drinking your body in like she had been walking in the Mississippi heat all day and you were her first mirage in miles.

you caught her eyes but she held your eyes. she almost looked excited, giggly, with a soft smile to finally have your eyes looking back at her. but it was something about those eyes that didn't seem all too innocent.

she was petite, small but curvy, wavy brown hair, pale skin reflecting all the lights, and brown eyes flitting all across your body as she undressed you slowly, right there from the bar.

and it only got worse when you looked at the man behind her, intense eyes staring right down to your soul as he smirked.

he tipped his head towards you, shamelessly looking up and down as you saw his arms flex around the woman. like looking at you made him tense and impatient, like he was just itching to touch you. and she was too if the grip she had on his clothes were anything to go by.

he was strong, built, and tall. thick with muscle and strength under those clothes. you could just imagine those arms wrapping around you tight, holding you nice and steady. his hair was cut short but his line up was as sharp as his jawline that he flexed. exhaling as he smiled even bigger watching you check him and her out.

and without noticing, you had turned towards them, dancing in their direction. feeling drunk on their heady gazes as you moved. mary felt her breathe hitch as you turned, not even thinking for a second as she slipped away from stack, their hands lingering before she made it to the dance floor, stack leaning against the bar and watching her go.

you could feel exhilaration rising as you dance between all the bodies to get closer to her, reaching out for her. you don't even know this damn girl, but you would be lying if you weren't on the edge of your seat to get her in your grasp. your friends hadn't even noticed you abandoned them.

once she finally touched you, you felt a pleasant shiver run down your spine. she curled right into your space, chest to chest, her soft skin and smile taking up all of your attention as you leaned into her.

she slinked her arms around your neck as you wrapped yours around her waist, her following your moves perfectly. you met her eyes dead on, feeling a knot in your stomach begin to form while looking into a pool of desire.

you leaned towards her ear, her eyes following you as her swayed and grinded against you, "what's your name?"

you spoke loud enough over the music. you swore you heard her groan at the sound of your voice so close, felt her twitch feeling your breath on her ear and cheek before she tucked it away and answered, "name's mary." she answered in a sweet yet husky voice that made your legs tremble ever so slightly.

"you gonna tell me yours?" mary teased as she spun you around, pulling you closer to her, hands moving to grip them as you move to the beat of the music.

you melt into her embrace with your eyes closed like you were meant to, resting your head on her shoulder as she nuzzles yours, resisting putting her lips to it, taking in your scent as it wafts towards her nose.

you open your eyes to catch stack, still at the bar, no longer smiling. his arms are crossed as he watches you two dance together, clenching his jaw and body twitching as he shifts his hips, pants getting tighter and tighter with every passing second, but staying put.

he isn't much a vouyer but watching you two might just make him one. he can't bring himself to join but feels the tension from not having a body on his.

you see him power struggle as you finally turn your head to mary, distracted in feeling you up, hands gliding up and down your torso stopping right before you chest and right under your belly button.

"i'm y/n," you whisper back, revealing in the way mary groans under her breathe in response to your sultry tone.

©2025KITTYKIA ━ all rights reserved. any works on this blog belong to kittykia and should remain on this blog only. refrain from copying, stealing, profiting off my works, or using my works for asmr related work. refrain from sharing my works to any another app, if only as references. do not adapt or alter my works. just enjoy them y'all.

[sangunary]

BatFam x Batsis Reader.

SYPNOSIS: Batsis is us.

The Whole Family Sitting Together To Discuss About Damian's Problem Of Chocking Criminals.

Dick: "It's against our moral to restrict their airflow... You're not going to listen huh."

Dick: "Reader, tell him why we don't chock people"

*Reader Standing Dramatically Near The Window Looking Out Into The Forest.*

Reader: "I once was just like you Dami... Chocking people out like it was a side hobbie"

Reader: "But... Damian, I realised that..."

*long pause.*

Reader: "That some people liked being choked"

Reader: "I learn it the hard way, he told me to chock him harder and ever since that day I haven't even have the gut to stare at anyone's neck for even a minute."

Dick: "You're just traumatizing him!"

*Damian haven't tried to chock out any person from that day... due to disgust.*

*Dick checking out the new upgrade Bruce made for the batmobile.*

Dick: "I don't see much change... It's just the belt is made from better leather and alot wider... Why is that?"

Bruce: "I've noticed that Reader like to rest their head on the belt and sleep, I assume it must be uncomfortable for her to sleep on so I've improved it."

Dick: "You couldn't add more seat but can improve the belt so that it would be more comfortable?. Your favouritism is showing clear as day, B!"

Bruce: "Priority."

*Superman Decided(Begged) to babysit you and now you're stuck with Luthor for some reason.*

Luthor: "What is so funny?"

*Reader on the ground laughing so hard that they are literally crying.*

Reader: "You got... the second sun on your head!"

Reader: "Ha! Is your ultimate power your baldness?!"

Luthor: "That isn't funny kid"

Reader: "How could you ever ambush anyone? Your shiny head is a dead giveaway!"

Reader: "I can see my reflection on your head!"

*Luthor always wear a hyper realistic wig near you to protect his ego.*

*Reader Got kidnapped by deathstroke.*

Reader: "Too scared to show your true face? How ugly are you?"

Deathstroke: "Im not here to entertain you, but I supposed I rather have you see my face before you die."

*Deathstroke taking off his mask.*

Reader: "HOLY SHIT... you're atrocious! Put that shit back... You should put trigger warning next time my PTSD almost activated!".

*Reader trying to show Tim how the mission should be done."

Reader: "See ain't that hard... Just following the plan invade, destroy, put away for the popo and explode"

*Tim reading the plan.*

Tim: "There is no explosion here... it's leave. The last step is leave."

Reader: "Oh, im dyslexic-"

*The villain hideout exploding on the background."

Tim: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Reader: "Can't a girl be dyslexic in peace?"

*Jason introducing Reader to his (gang) members.*

Jason: "This is my rat, sell drugs to her and I'll have your hands for decoration"

Reader: "Isn't that abit too much?"

Jason: "If you dare ask for drugs I will personally hang you from that celling."

Reader: "... Okay"

*Few days later. Reader being hang from the very celling.*

Reader: "I only did it to see if you actually would! I would never do drugs and you know that! Please take me down from here! I think there's cockroaches up here!"

Jason: "Well, you're going to be part of the celling unless you rethink about your life decisions!"

Roy: "How can a mere human hang another human that high up?"

Jason: "Raw Disappointment".

[mydearzero]

It's Not Just About The Hair | Dark!Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: You were only meant to dye one guy's hair and get out. How'd you get tangled into this mess? The shadows are creeping and taking over his body, while he is slowly taking over yours.

Contents: NON/DUB-CON, NO Y/N, afab!Reader, reader has hair that is long enough to grip, smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, filming, exhibitionism, sex against the window, choking, coming inside, no aftercare, if I missed any warnings please let me know!

3.3K words

uhm so this is not really for the faint hearted sorry not sorry I needed this off my chest. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION PLEASE!!

You should’ve left as soon as your job was done. You should’ve stayed out of Val’s way after she was done with you. Why had you lingered?? 

Okay, maybe you were curious. Could anybody blame you? It’s not every day you get called out to the former Stark/Avengers Tower to dye one dude’s hair for a ridiculous amount of money. Hey, maybe she’d want a touch-up, herself? 

So here you were, hiding under the counter of a bar, waiting for the fighting to be over. The big red guy had already been thrown against the wall you were opposite of. It would only be a matter of time before somebody discovered your hiding place. You were peeking through the crack between the counter and the base of the bar to find a good time to run. 

You saw the young blonde run at Sentry, wrapping her legs around him and tasing his neck. Sentry flew himself to the roof, crushing her against it and dropping her to the floor. Sentry was attacked by the masked woman, along with the knockoff Captain America. 

Red Guardian picked up a barstool, preparing to throw it at Sentry, who’s name was apparently Bob, short for Robert. The guy who’s hair you’d just dyed. So not worth the money. Alexei ran to throw the stool, but was cut off when Sentry ripped the entirety of the bar off the floor and threw it against him. 

Fuck. The countertop had been ripped straight from your fingertips. Parts of the base had cut your fingers, neck and face where it had been roughly yanked out of the floor. 

While the others were distracted, still fighting, you ran behind the next best thing, the column of the stairs. You tried to catch your breath and prayed to whichever god would listen that nobody had seen you. You didn’t dare look at the sound of more commotion. You heard several punches, before they were interrupted by the sound of a mechanical malfunction and bending of metal. Bucky’s metal arm had been ripped straight off him, hit him in his own face and thrown behind him like a piece of garbage. 

The vigilante’s quickly went for the elevator, but not before Val came back from wherever she’d been hiding to give them a monologue. “I’m so glad you were able to catch a glimpse before your, uh, retirement.” 

“Camera crews are assembling. Finish the job, Robert.” Val instructs. You hear the elevator doors close. 

“Finish the job? No.” Robert replied. 

“What?” 

“They’re not a threat to me, so, why do I need to kill them?” 

“You need to do what I say, Robert.” Val’s tone was threatening. 

“Why?” 

“WHY?” Val sounded appalled that he’d even dare ask. 

They argued some more. You looked around for an exit, but besides the elevator, your only hope would be the very open stairs they’d no doubt see you on. You could only hope they’d leave sometime soon so you could get the hell out of there. 

“It needs to be more of a collaboration. The hair for example. Maybe I should’ve had more say.” 

“Don’t let those idiots get in your head. The blonde is great.” Thank you, Val, I did the best I could. 

“You sure? I don’t know, I thought I liked it but now I’m not so sure.” 

“That’s enough about the hair.” 

“It’s not just about the hair.” 

“Well you keep talking about the hair.” 

“No it’s everything! My suit, my name, my missions, I mean.. Why would a god take orders from anyone at all?” 

“I think you’re throwing around the word ‘god’ a bit loosely there.” 

“No, no, because you said I was all powerful, invincible and stronger than a whole team of Avengers, which includes at least one god, so..” Robert trailed off, letting Val fill in the blanks. 

“But I’m starting to think, maybe, you don’t know what I am,” he spoke when she didn’t reply. His words were laced with an underlying tone of malice. 

“Oh, goddamnit” Val spoke under her breath. 

“Or what I’m capable of. Maybe I need to show you.” 

“This is SO… irritating.” Val clicks something behind her back, but it doesn’t seem to work. Sentry grabs her by the throat and flies her against the wall. You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp. 

“You were gonna turn on me. Just like the rest of them.” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Robert.” 

You see Mel creeping towards them. She sees you, too. She looks confused at your presence, but doesn’t have time to worry about it right now. 

“It’s not Robert you need to be afraid of.” Sentry says as he starts choking Val tighter. Mel picks up whatever Val was holding and points it to the man basked in gold, clicking it in desperation. Sentry immediately falls to the floor, in turn dropping Val. 

“Good girl.” Val says as she sees Mel. “ You came to your senses. Come here help me up.” Mel helps Val off the floor and they scurry away. Mel sends you one last look before deciding it’s not worth her time to worry about you. 

“I want a raise,” Mel says as they walk to the elevator. “Okay, fine. Get cleanup on the body and tell Holt it’s finally time to go lethal on these losers.” The elevator leaves and suddenly, the penthouse is awfully quiet. 

You count to 10 before deciding it’s safe to leave. Cleanup would be here soon and you did not want to be stuck here any longer. You crept towards the elevator, hoping Val and Mel had gone down far enough you wouldn’t run into them again. 

Just as you’re about to press the button for the elevator, your phone buzzes with a notification. 

Bought you some time to get out. Cleanup won’t be there for at least 20 minutes. Get out NOW. 

It was Mel. Fucking Mel who’d roped you into this in the first place. It’s easy money, she’d said. One bleach job + I’ll owe you, her texts had read. Yeah, right. 

Before you’d had the chance to put your phone away there was a deathly grip on your shoulder. You tensed and slowly turned to look at its owner, who you’d up until now presumed to be dead. 

  You gave him a quick once over. His eyes were glowing. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Shadows seemed to be gathering at his feet, ever so slowly creeping up his skin. He brought his other hand up to your other shoulder, turning you to face him. Your knees trembled as you tried to stand still, every nerve in your body yelling at you to RUN. There was something wrong with him. You weren’t a threat. Hadn’t he just used that excuse to not go after the others? 

His right hand slowly went down to your waist, his left traced your shoulder up to your neck. As soon as his bare hand made contact with your skin, no longer on your shirt, you were doused in a memory.  A horrible memory from your past that rattled you to your bones, leaving you breathless. 

No time seemed to have passed as he held you tightly, grip likely bruising. “Where is she?” Sentry spoke for the first time. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I’m not even supposed to be here,” you stammered. 

“Don’t LIE to me,” Robert yelled, making you flinch. “You work for her. For Val. Now tell me where she went.” 

“I promise, I don’t work for her. It was just a one off thing. I don’t know where she went!” His fingers slowly traced to the other side of your neck, encircling it with his hand. He brought his face closer to yours, inhaling deeply. He let go of your waist to brush your hair away from your face and leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“You’re gonna regret lying to me. Val might’ve gotten away, but I’ll show her, show you exactly what I can do.” His grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your air supply. Your hands shot up to his wrist, clawing at it to get it off. 

A dark chuckle left his lips, the shadows still slowly creeping up his thighs. You tried kicking at him to get him to let go, but it was useless. “I’m not… with… Val…” you managed to choke out. 

“Did she or did she not pay you to change up my look? I think that’s the basic definition of working for someone, don’t you?” He loosened his grip on your throat, moving to hold your chin and run his thumb over your bottom lip as you tried to catch your breath. There was a hunger in his gaze that hadn’t been there before. 

“I wasn’t this strong before,” he mumbled. He fisted your hair and tugged it your head backwards harshly. 

“I like how it feels. The strength, I mean. I can see why people get addicted to power.” You had no choice but to look him in the eyes, his grip on your hair unrelenting. His other hand went back to your waist as he tugged your body against his. The hard metal of his belt dug into your skin. He brought his lips to your neck, mouthing at your jugular. You squeezed your eyes shut, begging for someone to come in and save you. 

He was losing himself, losing control. The shadow had made its way to his waist, creeping higher and higher the longer he held you. You could only help it stopped once it had consumed him, leaving you be. It couldn’t be anything good.

He let go of your hair, bringing both hands to your hips and sliding them up your shirt. You froze, holding your breath and waiting for his next move. Surely, he wouldn’t. 

His hands moved higher. He started peppering kisses on your neck, feeling your heightened pulse under his lips. You tried putting your hands on his chest and pushing him away. “Stop, please.” 

“I don’t think I will,” he groaned into your skin. With a flash your back met the wall harshly, head hitting the concrete. His hands cupped your breasts over your bra, his mouth kissing up to your chin. The shadow had reached his chest now. It wouldn’t be long before it would take over his entire body. 

For a second you felt relieved as Robert pulled away, only for it to disappear when you realised he’d done it to rip your shirt from your body. “Robert.. It’s Robert right? Or do you prefer Bob? Please let’s just talk about this.”

He ignored your pleas and went back to ravaging your neck, leaving bruises down to your chest. His hands fumbled with your bottoms, but he quickly lost patience and ripped those, too. You were only left in your shoes and underwear, pleading with him to just talk. 

“I’m not going to talk. I’ll show you. Prove to the world that I’m a god.” He held you close as he flew to the wall of windows overlooking the city. He pushed you against the window, breasts squishing against the glass with the force he was using. 

“Stop, Bob, STOP! Somebody is gonna see!” You tried pulling your body away from the glass. 

“Sweetheart… That’s the point,” he laughed darkly. “Let them see. Let them see what I can do to anybody who gets in my way, who dares to tell me what to do.” He unclasped your bra and pulled it from between your body and the glass. You tried putting your hands in front of your chest, but his hands grabbed your wrists and tugged them behind your back. 

Your mind was reeling with confusion as both of his hands returned to your body, yet you were unable to move yours away from your back. He put his fingers down your underwear and you thrashed your legs to try and get them out. He kicked your legs apart, placing his feet besides yours so you couldn’t close them. He took your hands and placed them above your head against the glass. You wanted to close your eyes, but something was holding you back. You could only watch through the window and see the slight reflection of his golden suit behind you. If you could be glad for only one thing in that moment, it was the fact you were at the top of the tallest building in New York. The likelihood of someone actually seeing was small. 

He tugged at your underwear and you could feel them strain against your hips. He was playing with you. He could’ve easily ripped them, but he wanted you to feel them rub against you before he did so. He tugged them up, the seam putting pressure against your clit. You let out a surprised whimper. “Robert, please. Stop this.” 

The only response you got was the eventual ripping of your underwear, relieving you of the pressure, but leaving you completely naked between his body and the window. He moved behind you, the noise of fabric rustling meeting your ears.

His hands roamed over your trembling body freely, making himself familiar with every dip and curve. They settled on your hips, pulling them backwards and arching your back. You flushed impossibly redder as it made your boobs press against the window even more, obscenely on display for anybody high up enough to witness. 

You felt it, then. His length settled between the cheeks of your ass. He took it in his hand and slowly slid it between your folds. 

“So afraid… Yet so, so wet for me.” 

You wanted to deny it. Tell him to get off and leave you be. But he wouldn’t, anyway. He was right. You were somehow soaked. 

The invisible grip on your hands disappeared, allowing you to lower them and put them flat against the window. You tried pushing off the window once again, even when you knew he wouldn’t budge. 

“Don’t move,” Robert threatened. You turned your face on instinct to look at him. You could only catch a glimpse of total darkness over your shoulder before his hand forced your head to face the window once more. 

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he mumbled incoherently. 

He took himself in his hand and slowly pushed his cock inside. Without any preparation, the intrusion was tight. You winced as he didn’t pause but took his time stretching you on every inch. He exhaled loudly and chuckled when you gasped as he bottomed out. 

He put his hands on your hips and tugged you back against him as far as you could, skin against skin. He pushed you back against the window slowly, his length leaving you as he pulled his hips back. He went so slow it drove you insane. He pulled out fully, stepping back to look at you shaking against the window, not daring to step away or look back. It was only then you’d noticed all the lights in the penthouse had gone out. 

As his hands returned to your body, so did his dick. He set a gruelling pace, pulling your hips against his own. Heat burned in your core. 

“So good. See how good it can be when I’m the one in charge?”

You didn’t know how to answer, so you kept quiet. A slap to your ass informed you that was the wrong choice. “Answer me,” he groaned. 

You yelped at the impact before nodding. He grabbed your hair again, bending your neck as far as it could go without snapping. He continued thrusting as he corrected your behaviour. “I said answer me. Now with your words.” 

“Yes!” you managed to get past your lips. Now actual vocal sounds had left your throat, you couldn’t seem to stop. Moans slowly escaped, even when you tried to hold them in. 

“There you go, attagirl.” He released his grip on your hair, choosing to squeeze his hands between the glass to grasp your tits as he fucked you. He used this hold on you as leverage to move faster. He pulled your back against him and pushed both of your bodies against the window. His fingers were cold, so cold as they toyed with your nipples. Must be a side effect of the shadow. 

A low, breathy laugh hit your ears. Your eyes darted around to see why. You looked down at one of the other buildings and saw why he was laughing. Two guys, pointing, one of them recording the whole ordeal. You came back to your senses, once more struggling against his grip and fighting the pleasure. 

“Stop! They’re recording, let me go!” you whined, but even to your own ears it somehow didn’t sound as convincing as it had in your head. The breathless and whiny tone of your voice was contradicting whatever you said. 

“Good, soon the whole world will know about me. And nobody will tell me what to do,” Robert moaned. “Not anymore.” 

You were mortified to find you were getting close. Your fingers clawed at the window, trying to find anything to grip tight as your body was slowly overtaken with pleasure. You bit your lip and felt your eyes well up with tears. 

“Fuck… Maybe I should keep you around…” Bob moaned. “Show you off like a token of my power.” 

You wanted to come up with an answer, to defy him. “Ah- Please,” was all that would come out. What you were pleading for? Even you weren’t sure. 

One of his hands wrapped around your throat, cutting off the oxygen as he held it tight. Your ears rang as you struggled to breathe, blood rushing to your head. 

“Tell me I’m your god,” he grunted. His cock hit the right place again, and again and again. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as your orgasm approached. 

“Say. It.” He emphasised the words with sharp thrusts. 

“God,” you stumbled. “You… You’re my god… Fuck.” 

“One more time, like you mean it,” he teased. “Hmm and I know you mean it by the way you’re clenching on my cock.”��

You couldn’t utter the words, your mind jumbled as he toyed with your breath and pleasure. 

“Too stupid on my cock to even speak,” The Void laughed. He moved his other hand down your front, moving down until he found the missing piece to make you break. 

“Come for me, come for your god,” he demanded as he matched the rhythm of his fingers on your clit to that of his dick. Your hips moved of their own volition, chasing the high. 

His pace stuttered, his thrust going impossibly deep as he came inside of you. It sent you over the edge, all your muscles tightening and knees sinking as pleasure overtook your body. You’d never come so hard in your life. The only thing keeping you standing was him as the aftershocks of your orgasm worked their way through your body. 

He slowly pulled out and you were finally able to turn around and take him in. His features were mostly invisible, except for the eyes. They were still glowing. 

“You should thank me, you know. For allowing you to feel what true power feels like.” 

“Thank you,” you sobbed out, defeatedly sinking to the floor. The Void flew through the broken window he’d sent one of the ‘Thunderbolts’ through, flying above the city to slowly spread his shadows. All the while you could still feel the warm liquid spilling from inside you and dripping onto the floor. 

You only had a few seconds to make yourself scarce before a team of men clad in black with guns stormed out of the elevator. You’d scrambled together the remnants of your clothes and locked yourself in a bathroom, before suddenly you were dipped back into the darkness of your worst memories, just like the rest of New York would soon be. 

[earlgreylatte]

The Weak Link

Kids and dogs always know who to direct the puppy dog eyes to.

While on the way back to Earth, laying on the floor of the ship, you had insisted that you would pass your new younger brother as your own and take him with you on your travels across the globe as the public school, suburban route you and Mark lived wouldn’t be possible for a purple baby with accelerated aging. Mark had scoffed, expressing his skepticism at your child rearing skills and how feasible your plan even was. You accused him of just being mad that you made him change baby grape’s diapers. He told you to stop calling him that. Maybe you would if baby ube cheesecake would stop reminding you of how long it’s been since you’ve had any Earth food.

Stupid conversations and predictions filled the air as you both looked at the endlessness of space, as the still unnamed baby babbled. It was fun imagining the person your baby brother would become, especially when you wouldn’t have to wait too long to see it. You said he’d probably end up streaming Minecraft or whatever kids were into. Mark insisted he’d be much more cultured and would enjoy something as nuanced as Seance Dog. Maybe he’d be a better artist than you two and create something of his own.

Like comics were actually going to last.

Cradling your baby brother closer to your chest, you look down at his face, round, drowsy eyes staring up at you calmly as you finally reached Earth’s atmosphere, you found yourself feeling something besides dread when thinking about tomorrow for once.

(Slumped against the kitchen island, you watch your mom scrub the counters, the now named baby Oliver asleep in a crib your mom brought up from the basement. Mark had rushed back to his university, you could only wince at the thought of missing nearly a whole semester. Yes, life as a freelancer was much easier.

“Okay, what is it?” She finally asks, turning around to face you.

“What makes you think I want something? I’m just hanging around,” You deflect.

“Because you’re spending time with your mother rather than flying out to the wilderness or staying cooped up in your room,” she smirks, placing a hand on her hip, eyebrow raised, daring you to challenge her.

You hum, readily accepting defeat. You knew better than to enter a verbal duel with her of all people.

“Well,” you start off, somewhat awkwardly, your mom staring at you encouragingly, “Uh, just wanted to make sure you actually want to do…this. Raise Oliver. That isn’t really something people do when their spouses start another family. I mean, I could figure something out, release some travel guides like he did. Stick around in one spot for…however long it takes for a half bug baby to be old enough for college.”

You avoid making eye contact, mostly out of shame for whatever blob of words you just spat out.

You feel a hand rub your head, and glancing up, she’s smiling at you, “My baby looking after a baby? That’s something I’d rather wait to see happen.”

“I’m not going to be a teen mom or anything, I’m old enough to drink now,” you scoff, playfully.

“You’d certainly pass as one! And sooner or later, you’d be dragging around a moody preteen!” She laughs, before her eyes soften, “Oliver is my family too, not because of your father but because you and Mark are connected him in a way unique to only you three. And if you really want to step up, then you can do it from here, write what you want and go off when you want, I won’t interfere with that, but it’d be nice to have you back home.”

“I mean, your cooking might beat living off protein shakes and fast food…” you acquiesce and a moment of comfortable silence passes as you both smile at each other.

“I was looking through some of your father’s travel guides recently, actually. He was so proud when he was able to use your pictures for it,” she speaks up, suddenly, “You two were always going off, seeing what Earth had to offer…I’m sure you’ll pass on that trait to Oliver too before long.

You sniff, blinking a bit as your mom places an hand on your arm before she returns back to the kitchen counter.

“So, I’m guessing you’ll be taking your room back rather than turning it into Oliver’s nursery?” She asks.

You shake your head, getting up to go check on Oliver, “Nah, he’ll need the space. I’ll just take the guest room.”

“Very mature of you.”

“Yup, that’s me, the Mature Grayson, especially apparent when placed next to an actual infant.”

She calls your name, causing you to pause by the staircase, “If Oliver’s going to take your room, at least take down your little video game men posters. And don’t just play with Oliver! I’m going to feed you an actual meal!”

“…okay.”)

It was hard to believe that it hasn’t even been half a year since you first brought Oliver home, the once infant, now a walking, talking kid with the energy levels of a border collie.

Besides being purple, he’s just like any other boy in the neighbourhood. He likes playing on your old PSP and Mark’s old NDS to the point he plays it past his bedtime, he loves to play outside, and he eats all your snacks without asking. Mark calls you out for being unfair, considering you stranded him high up a tree in the backyard when you two were in middle school. He claims you’ve mellowed out, as if you were some raging dog before.

In actuality, your dynamic with Oliver was something new. You’ve always been an older sister, but you and Mark were always at the same point in life, going to school together and living the same experiences. You looked out for him, played video games with him, and microwaved pizza pockets for dinner when your parents were running late, but you also nearly knocked him out in a pillow fight and laughed at his humiliating moments. You couldn’t do that to Oliver. He’s a baby! You’re an adult!

…Technically.

You knew Mark felt the same way, knowing that you were responsible for shaping Oliver into a functional person, one that knows how to control himself, has manners and is courteous, all while keeping him cooped up. Oliver’s world is small, and it’s up to you that he becomes the best version of himself possible.

Better than you.

Better than Nolan Grayson.

But with that said, you find it a tab bit difficult to be…stern with him.

Something that causes Mark to stare at you in shock and Oliver to know to take advantage of.

In Oliver’s eyes, it’s not ‘your dessert’, it’s ‘our dessert’, always asking you to bring him something whenever you go out and barging into your room while you’re asleep to urge you to play with him.

And when faced with your mom’s sharp glare or Mark’s attempt at a stern face, he knows who to hide behind or shoot a pleading look.

You’ve had to bail Oliver out of a lecture more than once.

(“Seriously?” Mark groans, watching Oliver hook his arms around your stomach, sticking his tongue out at him as you pat his head comfortingly. “He ate the last slice of cake! That I bought!”

“Like you weren’t doing the same every time I brought back anything before you got your powers,” you retort as Oliver giggles.

“And you beat me up for it! You literally slapped me just last week!”

“That was for training, Cecil wants us in top form,” you dismiss with a shrug of your shoulders.

“You could have punched me? That slap was way too personal!”

“That self centred train of thought is what happens when you don’t drink enough water,” you loudly whisper to Oliver, who nods back at you seriously.

Mark throws up his hands in exasperation, stalking away, his place as the middle child apparently too much for him.)

So, when you come home after a quick trip to the Canadian Rockies, aiding a geologist who wanted some pictures for a book he was in the midst of publishing, you’re armed with maple candy and rare rocks to share with your family, you excitedly land in the backyard, only to see Oliver hovering in the air near the glass door, clearly eavesdropping on a conversation between your mom and Mark.

He looks at you like a deer in headlights, but you only gesture for him to move towards you, leading him back to his room through his window. The pictures you took of his Mother and Thraxa decorating his walls, your old room now unrecognizable.

“So, someone got their powers,” you comment, sitting on his bed.

He shrugs, avoiding looking at you.

“They’re not against you having powers. They’re just worried they kicked in so early. Especially since Mark was a late bloomer. It’s not everyday a kid gets the ability to fly whenever and wherever, you know.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “I thought it’d be different. I didn’t know—“

“Didn’t know?” You urge.

“Didn’t know keeping secrets was bad. I didn’t mean to make mom sad,” he admits.

“Secrets aren’t always bad. I mean, it depends,” you try to explain, “Mom’s just worried about you going off and getting into fights like, me and Mark. It’s just not something a parent wants their kid doing. She wants you to be safe, and for you to be safe you need to keep us in the loop. Power like ours is…heavy. You need control and judgement before you even think of doing anything with them. You need to prove you can be responsible, that you won’t end up hurting yourself or others. That means telling at least one of us if anything as big as this happens.“

“You got your powers pretty young though, you were out with dad all the time! April told me!” He blurts out, and you jolt. She did!?

“Ah, right, I guess we were seen together for a while back then. Everyone thought I was his sidekick for a while,” you muse. “Well, I might be exactly why they’re so worried about you.”

“Huh? How does that work? You’re Singularity! You’re so…! Well, you’re kind of cool!”

“That’s because I’m grown up now, things used to be different. Honestly, back then, I was constantly getting my…behind handed to me. And I was a bit of a crybaby, so that made things worse, haha.” You recall neutrally, “It wasn’t all bad. I learnt a lot of things, from dad and my own experiences. But when it was, I never told anyone. And that hurt mom. Things are even more different now. We need to look after each other, to trust each other. And, sadly that means talking about ourselves, whether it has to do with powers, or just how we’re feeling.”

Oliver stares up at you, pensively, before brightening when you pull out your wallet. “Are we—!?”

“Now, us going out to get some midnight milkshakes? Well, that’s the good kind of secret, one between just us,” you two exchange twin grins.

“This is why you’re way cooler and nicer than Mark!” Oliver cheers, shooting up and grabbing a hoodie from his closet, before rushing back to you and tugging you off the bed and towards the window with his new strength.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s—“

Maybe you were getting soft.

Oliver: I’m going to be a kid hero!

Mark and Debbie, looking at Singularity: Not in a million years——

*

Cecil: Debbie why didn’t you tell me Oliver got his powers

Debbie: why didn’t you tell me about my then underage daughter’s various injuries and mission turned disasters where both guardians should have been notified?

Cecil: …she told me not to?

*

Singularity: I mean, despite dad, we turned out pretty okay

Mark: um!?

Singularity: what

Mark: you literally threw up two hours ago because you accidentally broke someone’s nose??

Singularity: must be an off day

Mark: your brain damage is catching up to you, and if it’s not that, then it has to be that hole dad punched through you

Singularity: saiyan rules mark, near death experiences make us stronger, it’s like exp, that’s why you’re underleveled

Mark: oh, god you actually have brain damage

Oliver haters dni

Series Masterlist, Masterlist

[tinylilacbun]

can you write one where little! reader is being extra bratty and fussy today and rafe has had enough and puts her in time out and threatens with another punishment or something but then sofia notices that the readers cheeks are all flushed and she’s curling up like she’s cold and sofia takes her temperature and she’s like “that’s why you’ve been fussy, you’re sick” and then rafe feels awful about punishing little! reader?

i love your stuff!

You already woke up with an attitude and a slight pounding head, not wanting to change out of your jammies at first, then you didn't want to eat breakfast, later on as you're relaxing on the couch you whine when Rafe turns the TV off and claims that you should go find some other kind of entertainment because you've been watching cartoons for a while now.

"Don' wanna." You huff, moving onto your stomach to hide your face in the cushions. "Wanna watch movie."

"And I want you to go do something else." He says, placing the remote on a high surface you can't reach. "Or I'll take you upstairs to nap, your choice."

"Noooo!" You whine, kicking your legs in frustration as your body starts to heat up again.

"Listen, I've been real patient with you today, so if you don't change your attitude right now I'll-" He warns you, pointing a finger at you as you suddenly say something he never thought you would dare to, especially while being little.

"Shut up..." You mumble but Rafe heard you crystal clear.

"What did you just say?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes a few steps closer to where you're laying. "Care to repeat that, young lady?"

You sit up on the couch, glaring at him defiantly. "I saids shut-"

Before you can even finish Rafe's hand shoots out to grab your wrist, pulling you up to stand in front of him, towering over you. "If you're not sitting in the corner in the next ten seconds, I'll make sure you won't be able to sit for a damn week."

You gulp, quickly regretting your choice of words even though you can't help it with how you're feeling right now.

Rafe doesn't even notice your flushed cheeks or how warm your skin feels, too infuriated with your behavior to catch onto it.

When he lets go, you pad over to the corner, plopping down on the ground and face the wall, only hearing Rafe's footsteps disappear to what you can only assume must be the kitchen.

On his way there he crosses paths with Sofia who just finished taking a shower, her hair still slightly damp as she places her hand on his bicep to stop him. "What happened?" She asks, nodding towards you sitting in time out.

"What's been going on the whole day and I'm tired of it. She's in time out for how long I see fit." He explains, almost relaxing when she stands up on her toes to kiss his jaw.

"Okay, I'll try and talk to her." She says, making her way to where you are leaning with your side against the wall, your body shivering as she kneels on the ground beside you. "Angel?"

You don't respond, feeling too nauseous to even move a muscle and only answer with a quiet whimper.

"Hey..." She coos, taking a better look at your face, her brows furrowing with concern as she notices how flushed your face is and the way your eyes flutter close from time to time. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

She reaches out to feel your forehead, then moves her hand to your cheek and the back of your neck, frowning as she realizes why you've been behaving differently all day.

"Oh, baby, that's why you're so fussy, hm? You have a fever." She observes, moving some of your hair from your face, calling out for Rafe.

"What?" He asks with slight irritation, entering the living room again and sees how Sofia helps you to stand up on rather shaky legs. "Babe, I just told-"

"She's sick." She quickly retorts, leading you back over to the couch and makes sure you lay down comfortably, grabbing a blanket and drapes it over your shivering body.

Rafe's whole mood shifts from frustrated to slight guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he finally sees in what state you're actually in, watching Sofia tucking you in and standing up again. "Mama is getting you some medicine, okay?"

You just nod in response, wrapping the blanket more around yourself as she walks off to get everything you might need right now.

Rafe eventually moves over to you, sitting down next to you he lets out a sigh as you shuffle to snuggle against his side, wrapping an arm around your body to keep you close.

"I should've noticed sooner..." He mutters mostly to himself, feeling your forehead with his other hand.

You only hum, closing your eyes as your cheek is smushed on his stomach. A few minutes later Sofia returns, carrying a tray with medicine, some soup, your favorite stuffie, and a pacifier in case you regress even smaller.

She smiles at the sight of you and Rafe cuddling, knowing how sorry he must feel, he doesn't even need to say it as his actions speak volumes, the way he holds you and rubs your back, whispering sweet nothings to you.

[narxcisse]

Can you please do an express their love with the legendaries? Sea fairy, Fire Spirit, etc etc? :3

— How they express their love.

– With: Sea Fairy, Moonlight, Fire Spirit, Wind Archer, Frost Queen, Stormbringer and Black Pearl.

– CW: implicit(? past SeaMoon mentioned.

— A/N: Remember, requests are open! You can read my pinned post for more information. (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

— English isn't my native language.

— Sea Fairy

She shows her love through quiet, constant presence—always there beside you when you need her, even if you never ask.

She often gazes at you with that same longing she once reserved only for the moon, eyes full of soft sorrow and hope.

Her voice is rarely raised, but when she speaks to you, there’s a softness even the tides don’t hear.

When she holds your hand, it feels like waves brushing the shore: patient, cool, and always returning.

“I have known eternity in solitude… but your presence feels like something I was always meant to find.”

— Moonlight

She often pulls you into dreams with her, where you drift among stars and forgotten spells in peaceful quiet.

Her love appears in gentle touches—brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, resting her head on your shoulder, watching you as you sleep.

She still dreams often, but now she looks forward to waking up—because you’re there.

Sometimes she reaches out in her sleep, fingers brushing yours, murmuring your name like a lullaby.

“I see you, even in dreams. Especially in dreams.”

— Fire Spirit

He shows his love loudly—boasting about how lucky you are to be with someone as amazing as him... while clinging to you like wildfire.

Playfully teases you until you laugh, then gives you a wink like he’s just conquered the world.

He gets weirdly possessive whenever another Cookie flirts with you—but he’d rather explode than admit it bothers him.

When you’re upset, he’ll burn down the problem... or at least threaten to. He's not great with feelings, but he'll try, for you.

“You’re the only one I’ll turn the heat down for... don’t tell anyone.”

— Wind Archer

He watches you quietly from the treetops and always lands softly at your side when you’re alone.

He rarely says the words, but his actions are constant: shielding you from harm, gifting you wildflowers, bringing you spring air on hard days.

His voice, usually so formal, softens when he speaks to you.

Offers his loyalty silently—sits beside you in stillness, just to exist together.

“You are the only place the wind longs to return to.”

— Frost Queen

She may seem cold, but she always notices when you’re cold too—and she’s silently placing her cloak around your shoulders.

When she trusts you, she lets her icy guard down—revealing small smiles, shared silences, and soft words.

Her touch is rare but meaningful: a hand to your cheek, a brief embrace, the warmth shocking in contrast to her chill.

She protects you not with warmth, but with presence—she will never let anything take you from her cycle.

“In this endless frost, your warmth is what I never knew I needed.”

— Stormbringer

She teases you constantly—calling you her “little cloud,” even when she's secretly smitten.

She summons lightning to impress you... and maybe flex a little. Okay, a lot.

Tries (and fails) to be subtle about watching over you, usually hidden among the clouds.

She acts like cuddling is beneath her... but falls asleep on you mid-storm, snoring like distant thunder.

“You’ve grounded me, storm and all.”

— Black Pearl

Her love is dangerous and deep—she pulls you into the sea when no one else is looking, where you can be alone together.

She warns you not to trust her... but she’s always there to protect you, her trident poised against anything that dares approach.

She shares ancient sea secrets with you—things she’s never said to anyone else.

She’s sharp to everyone else, but when you touch her face, she leans into it like it’s the only warmth left.

“I’ve lost everything once. I will not lose you. I cannot.”

[chaos-in-shibuya]

An appointment at 4 18+

Toji x afab/fem reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Toji Fushiguro walks into your doctor's office with a minor injury, but it’s clear he’s got other intentions. What begins as a simple check up quickly turns into a dangerous game of attraction and teasing, leaving you both caught in a tense, irresistible pull.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: nsfw, teasing, doctor/ kinda mafia au, descriptions of an injury, mild gore, playful banter, sexual tension, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), intense chemistry, power dynamics, slow burn (with quick escalation)

𝐖.𝐂: 4.8K

Tokyo’s underground scene was a mess of blood, crime, and desperate men who needed someone to stitch them back together.

That’s where you came in.

A faceless helper, no real name on record, just a reputation that spread from mouth to mouth in quiet whispers.

The best of the best.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t flinch at the sight of mangled bodies, and didn’t bite the hands that fed you.

In return, you were untouchable.

Protected by the very criminals who ran the city, the ones who needed you most.

The Yakuza, mercenaries, mafia families.

Your patient list was like a police officer’s worst nightmare.

They paid well.

And they made sure no one dared to come after you.

For that, you kept their blood off the streets and inside their bodies.

Right now, though, your world was a lot quieter.

Your office smelled like antiseptic and cigarette smoke from the last idiot who thought he could sneak a quick puff before you told him to put it out.

You sat behind your desk, notebook open, absentmindedly scribbling down notes between bites of a crisp apple.

The sweet crunch filled the silence, the only sound aside from the faint hum of the city outside.

A rare break.

Then, you heard three knocks at the door.

Firm, professional.

Your assistant, Megan.

"Doctor?" Her muffled voice called out from outside, cautious.

“There’s a man outside,” she said as she opened the door to your office, her voice careful. “He says he wants to be seen. Quickly.”

You don’t bother looking up from your notebook. “I’m on break.”

You take another bite of your apple, chewing slowly.

“I know,” she said, a little bit hesitant. “I told him to leave, but he’s not taking no for an answer.”

She paused.

Then resumed speaking, more carefully, “He mentioned something about being a part of the Zen’in Clan.”

That got your attention.

You exhaled through your nose, already regretting what you were about to say.

The Zen’in were powerful.

One of the last people you could afford to ignore.

“Fine. Send him in,” you reluctantly accepted.

The door opened again, and in walked a man you didn’t recognize.

Broad shouldered, extremely muscular, tall and moving like he owned the space despite the fact that he was the one bleeding, not you.

His dark hair was messy, strands falling into sharp dark eyes that flicked around your office before landing on you.

You glanced at his arm, and spotted a deep gash across his shoulder, still fresh.

Probably hurt like hell, though he didn’t seem bothered.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone.

You push your chair back and stand, straightening your doctor’s coat.

Your heels clicked against the tiled floor as you gestured toward the gurney in the corner.

“Sit,” you said, tone flat.

He did, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

You walked over, barely sparing him a glance as you reached for a pair of gloves.

Your fingers brushed the edge of his shirt, and he watched as you pulled it up and over his head, exposing the wound fully.

He kept his head lowered, jaw tight, hands resting at his sides.

When you pulled his shirt off, his muscles went stiff beneath your touch.

Just for a second, quick enough to be barely noticeable.

You didn’t react, just grabbed what you needed from the tray beside you.

"How’d this happen?" You asked dryly, pressing a sterile compress to the wound, absorbing the excess blood.

Your focus stayed on the injury, your grip steady, professional.

You didn’t care that much about the details, only that it got patched up.

He shrugged.

“Just another job gone wrong,” he muttered, voice low and dismissive.

You hummed dryly. “That happens.”

You had seen worse.

You had treated worse.

His wound wasn't special.

Just another gash on another man who thinks he’s untouchable until reality proves otherwise.

You removed the compress, peeling away the blood soaked material to get a closer look.

The cut was deep but clean, nothing you couldn’t handle.

You reached for the alcohol, pressing it against the raw skin without warning.

He didn’t even flinch.

Silent type, then.

You grabbed a needle and some surgical thread, pushing it through the hole.

A quick application of local anesthesia followed before you began stitching him up with practiced ease.

Your hands were steady, ypur movements precise.

Each stitch pulled the wound closed, sealing away the damage he refused to pay attention to.

Once you were done, you pressed a fresh bandage against the wound, wrapping gauze around his shoulder to protect it from anything that could tear it open again.

“You can put your shirt back on,” you said, grabbing the discarded fabric and handing it back to him without another look.

You turned away, walking back to your desk.

The chair creaked slightly as you sat, flipping open your notebook.

Pen in hand, you scribbled down some notes.

The supplies used, the treatment given, nothing more.

No details beyond what was necessary.

The job was done.

If he had nothing else to say, he was meant to see himself out.

The man took the shirt from your hand, putting it on with the ease of someone who was used to pushing through pain.

His motions were steady, controlled, but you noticed how his muscles were tensing, and how his gaze lingered on you like he was waiting for something.

He was quiet, but his eyes were somehow talking back to you.

You didn’t acknowledge it though.

You kept your focus on your notes, flipping to a fresh page and scribbling down the final details of his treatment.

“So, how much do I owe you?” he asked.

His voice was steady, but slightly fast paced.

Like he was already thinking about his next move, already planning how soon he could get back to whatever job left him in that condition.

You didn’t bother looking up at him.

“You can sort that out with my assistant,” you said dismissively, resting the pencil between your lips, your mind wandering for a second.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him nod, his features hard to decipher.

“Fine.”

Flat.

Unbothered.

As if the idea of owing you something was an inconvenience more than anything else.

The way he acted was intriguing, and you somehow found yourself wanting to learn more about him.

But how, when you didn’t even know his name?

You realised then, a strange curiosity was starting to creep up inside you.

He turned towards the door, reaching for the knob, but that’s when you spoke again.

“What’s your last name?”

He paused.

You finally met his gaze.

The room was silent except for the faint tapping of your pencil against the desk, rhythmic and steady.

You saw a faint furrow of his eyebrows but they quickly went back to normal before you could make any assumptions about his reaction.

“I need it for the patient file,” You added.

That was a lie.

You didn’t keep patient files.

His hand lingered on the doorknob, but he didn't turn it.

Instead, he glanced over at you, an eyebrow raising slightly.

“Patient files, huh?” His voice was smooth, laced with mild amusement.

His smirk was subtle, but it was there, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know illegal underground doctors kept records.”

You tapped your pencil against the desk again, unfazed. “I like to keep things organized.”

“Right.” He turned his body fully towards you, leaning slightly against the doorframe.

His gaze dragged over you. “Is that a new policy? Or just for me?”

You held his stare, unbothered by the suspicion in his tone. “You’re not special.”

His smirk deepeed, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes. “I asked you a question.”

You exhaled through your nose, unimpressed.“So did I. Your name?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he tilted his head, like he was debating whether or not to give it to you.

You could tell he didn’t trust people easily.

But neither did you.

“Toji,” he finally said.

A beat of silence.

“Fushiguro.”

You stored the name in the back of your mind, no actual need to write it down.

That last name carried a lot of weight, but you didn't react.

Instead, you just nodded once, dismissing him without another word, already turning your attention back to your notes.

Toji held his gaze on you for a moment longer, like he was expecting a reaction.

When you refuse to entertain him, he chuckled, low and smug, before finally stepping out the door.

You kept your eyes down towards your notes as he exited, not bothering to watch him leave.

But you felt his presence lingering even after he was gone.

Days passed, and Toji’s presence lingered in the back of your mind like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

It was odd.

You weren’t the type to get distracted, especially not by someone like him.

Quiet, cold, and distant.

A man who had done nothing particularly remarkable, yet somehow left an impression you couldn’t shake.

There was something about him.

A pull you didn’t want to acknowledge.

He carried a presence that was impossible to ignore.

Effortless, magnetic, like gravity itself shifted when he was near.

Every now and then, you caught yourself hoping that when the door opened, it was him standing there.

Of course, you quickly pushed those irritating thoughts aside.

You didn’t have the luxury of being distracted.

You had work to do, people to patch up.

But no matter how many times you shoved the thought away, it always crept back in.

Unwelcome, persistent, and far too tempting to ignore.

Then, just as you were starting to forget about him, it happened.

Your assistant knocked at the door.

“Someone’s here to see you,” she announced, her voice light but with that tone of hesitation she always got when the patient was... interesting.

“His name is Toji. Said he’s got an appointment at 4.”

You stopped mid scribble, your pen hovering over the page.

Your mind froze to process the words for a moment before it finally clicked.

You didn’t take appointments.

You smirked, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed.

“Send him in.”

The door swung open a few moments later, and there he was.

Toji Fushiguro.

His presence filled the room before he even spoke, and you felt that familiar mix of irritation

and intrigue.

He stood there, relaxed and unbothered, as if he had all the time in the world and your indifference only amused him.

You kept your smirk, folding your arms over your chest as you glanced at the clock.

It was barely a minute past four.

“You’ve got an appointment?” You asked, voice dry.

He stepped in without answering, closing the door behind him, eyes scanning the room as if he was taking it all in for the first time.

The way his gaze lingered on the medical supplies, the equipment, the space was like he was trying to size you up all over again.

“I do,” he said, like it was nothing.

His voice carried a sense of authority, as if the concept of appointment scheduling was beneath him.

You raised an eyebrow. “Funny. I don’t take appointments.”

He tilted his head, giving you that same amused look from before.

"Well, I didn’t think a little formality would bother you when there’s a serious injury at stake." He pulled his hand out from his jacket pocket, extending his finger towards you.

You couldn’t hold in the chuckle that escaped your lips. “Serious injury?”

It was paper cut.

Barely even worth a second glance.

The tiny slice across his fingertip was almost comical, but he watched you closely, as if he expected you to approach it like it was a life or death situation.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone completely flat. "It’s terrible. I might die from it."

His expression remained perfectly straight, but you could see the tiniest sign of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blinked slowly. “Are you serious?”

"Dead serious." He said, moving his finger closer to your face like it was a critical emergency. "Wouldn’t want to risk getting it infected. You know how it is."

You held back a laugh, suddenly realizing what that was all about.

The cut was nothing.

He was the problem.

“You’re just using this as an excuse to be here.”

Toji raised an eyebrow, his smirk fully formed now. “Maybe.”

He leaned casually against the gurney, crossing his arms, not a hint of guilt in his posture. "But I’d argue this is exactly where I need to be right now, don’t you think?"

You rolled your eyes, walking towards him with slow steps, already annoyed by the whole situation.

You picked up a small spray bottle of alcohol and sprayed it directly onto a gauze pad, not looking at him as you started cleaning his finger.

“You’re lucky I’m not charging you for wasting my time,” you muttered, pressing the gauze to the cut and watching him wince slightly at the sting.

The same man that was sitting in this gurney not even letting out something like a deep exhale as you stitched closed his open shoulder, was now complaining about the barely visible wound on his finger.

He hissed but didn't pull away, still watching you with that unreadable gaze. “What? You don’t like company?”

You flicked your eyes up to meet him, your hands steady as you prepared a fresh bandage. "You’re not exactly the kind of person I would call to keep me company."

He chuckled, low and amused. "I thought a little chaos might brighten your otherwise boring work day."

You finished cleaning the cut, wrapping it cleanly with the bandage.

His finger seemed too perfect now, the minuscule cut patched up in a way that made the effort seem almost unnecessary.

But you weren’t done.

You stepped back slightly, leaning against the desk and looking him up and down.

“You know, you could’ve just stayed away after our last encounter,” you remarked, arms crossed, your voice teasing yet sharp. “It would’ve saved us both the trouble… but then you wouldn’t get to see me again, would you?”

Toji chuckled, his eyes scanning you, lingering for a moment too long.

He stepped forward, closing the distance just enough that you could feel the heat from his body, the scent of his cologne filling up your nose.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

His words echoed in the silence, and the atmosphere thickened with intensity.

You held his gaze.

You couldn't decide if you were irritated or intrigued.

Maybe both.

“Fun, huh?” You replied, almost too quickly. "Is that what you think this is? Fun?"

“Of course." He grinned, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “You seem like someone who could use a little fun.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you turned your back towards him, walking over to the trash can to discard the used gauze.

You didn’t know why you were still playing this game.

Neither did you know why that spark of irritation between you was starting to feel like something else entirely.

“You’re all set,” You said, dropping the gauze into the trash without turning around. “No more excuses to stay. You’re free to leave.”

Toji didn’t leave.

He stepped closer again, his presence enveloping me. “What if I don’t want to leave?.”

You froze, acutely aware of how close he was.

For a brief moment, you debated whether he was trying to provoke a reaction or if he found amusement in your unease.

Either way, he was close enough now that you could almost feel the pulse of his heartbeat through the air.

You fought the urge to walk away, your body betraying you as it locked in place.

“Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “if you're going to stick around, you might as well put yourself to good use.”

You turned to face him, tilting your head up slightly, meeting his gaze with an edge of challenge. “Any ideas, Fushiguro? Another little 'injury' to keep me busy?”

His lips curved into a smirk, and the way he looked at you sent a thrill down your spine, like a hunter sizing up its prey.

It was too much.

Too close.

And yet you didn’t pull away.

“I bet you could come up with plenty of ways to keep me occupied,” he said, his voice low and suggestive, igniting a thrill of anticipation in you.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, half amused and half annoyed by how easily he navigated the conversation.

It felt like he was the one steering the ship while you were left struggling to stay afloat.

You tried to stay composed, reminding yourself it was just a lighthearted exchange, just harmless banter.

But the closer he got, the harder it was to keep up the act.

You sighed softly, a hint of sarcasm creeping into your tone. “You’d be surprised with how quickly I can get bored.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a chuckle leaving his lips.

He stood firm, taking in the way you tried to maintain your composure in the charged atmosphere.

“You’re not fooling anyone with that ‘I’m bored’ line. I can see right through it. You know, it’s funny. You act like you’re above all this. Like you’re too busy, too focused, too ‘professional’ for anything else. But I see how you’ve been looking at me when you think I’m not paying attention. You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you’re just as intrigued by me as I am by you. I can’t tell if you’re scared or just trying to keep control, but the harder you try to shut it down, the more obvious it becomes.”

That was it.

There was no more denying it.

His presence was overwhelming, and the way he looked at you, like he knew exactly what was going through your mind, made it impossible to stay detached.

Without thinking, you inched your face upwards, closing the distance between you until there was nothing but a breath separating you.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, your voice more hushed than you intended.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could think through the consequences, you kiss him.

It was sudden.

Urgent.

A release of everything that had been building up between the btwo of you in the span of minutes.

Or maybe longer than that.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t care.

His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, his breath quickening as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Toji's eyes darkened with lust as he pressed you up against the wall of your sterile office, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead.

The room was cold, but the heat of his body against yours was enough to keep you warm.

His hands roamed your curves, squeezing your breasts through your thin shirt before slipping underneath to caress the bare skin.

He pressed both of your lips together, his tongue tangling with yours as he backed you towards the gurney in the corner.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin.

His hands slid down to grip your ass, lifting you up and setting you on the edge of the gurney.

“Just look at you,’’ he rasped, pushing your shirt up and exposing your breasts to the cool air, taking in the sight of your naked body.

He leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking the hardened bud with his tongue.

His hands slid down your thighs, pushing your panties aside.

Calloused fingers brushed against your clothed sex, feeling the dampness that had already gathered there.

“Already like this for me, Doc? Can’t say I’m surprised.’’ He teased, that damn smirk plastered over his lips.

You tried to roll your eyes, but before you could a gasp inadvertently exited your lips as his fingers slowly rubbed circles over your underwear.

Toji chuckled softly at your reaction, his fingers slipping under the fabric of your panties to rub against your core.

“Fuck, you're dripping wet,’’ he murmured, his finger teasing your entrance. “I bet you want me to slide my fingers inside this tight little pussy, don't you?’’

Without waiting for a response, he pushed a finger inside you, pumping it slowly.

Then a second finger joined the first, thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace.

All you could do was whimper softly, your hips bucking slightly to meet his thrusts.

You could feel every ridge and vein of his fingers as they pumped in and out of you.

Toji's eyes were dark and intense as he watched you, taking in every little reaction.

He loved seeing you like this.

Desperate and completely at his mercy.

“That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty little moans,’’ he encouraged, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive spot.

His fingers never stopped their pace, sliding inside you again and again.

You could only moan in response, your head thrown back and your chest heaving with each breath.

“Please... please don't stop…’’ You begged, your voice high and needy.

You didn't care how pathetic you sounded.

All you knew was that you needed more.

More of him.

Toji smirked at your desperate plea, his eyes glinting with wicked intent.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered:

“Stop? I'm just getting started, Doc.’’

To prove his point, he withdrew his fingers from your heat, only to immediately replace them with his mouth.

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he buried his face between your legs.

His tongue delved into you, lapping up your arousal and moaning at the taste.

He focused on your clit, sucking and flicking the bundle of nerves with the skill of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he ate you out with fervor.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,’’ he murmured against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your body.

He felt you trembling.

Heard your cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of the room.

Felt your fingers tightening around his hair as he devoured you.

Your thighs clenched around his head, holding him in place as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breath hitched as Toji explored every inch of you with his tongue, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you held him close.

“Oh god, Toji that feels so good…’’ you panted, your hips rocking against his face.

You could feel the pleasure building up tighter and tighter in your core.

He groaned against your sex, the sound sending delicious vibrations through you.

He sucked your clit hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud.

One hand released your thigh to slide a finger back inside you pumping in time with the strokes of his tongue.

“There you go baby. Come for me,’’ he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your flesh.

He could feel you getting close, your body trembling and tensing.

You couldn't hold back any longer.

With a sharp cry, you came undone, your walls clenching rhythmically around Toji's finger as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Your juices flooded his mouth and chin, but he didn't stop, continuing to lick you through your climax, helping you ride out the intense pleasure until you collapsed back onto the gurney, chest heaving and skin flushed.

Toji sat up, licking his lips with a satisfied smirk.

He took in the sight of you sprawled out before him, utterly wrecked and beautiful in your post-orgasmic bliss.

Toji wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still grinning like the smug bastard he was. He leaned in close again, his voice low and teasing.

“You look real professional now, Doc,” he murmured, eyes trailing down your wrecked form.

“Bet this wasn’t how you thought your shift would end.”

You let out a soft breath, chest still heaving, trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shaken you still were.

He was too close, too cocky, and way too pleased with himself.

He tilted his head, that wolfish grin never fading. “Gonna be hard to keep pretending you’re not into me after this.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless but not broken. “You’re seriously still talking?”

Toji chuckled, brushing a thumb over your swollen bottom lip. “Yeah. And I’m not done.”

He leaned in, pressing a slow, maddening kiss to your mouth.

Just enough to make your stomach backflip again.

Then he pulled back with that same cocky look, already stepping away like he hadn’t just unraveled you.

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll let you pretend you’re in charge… next time.”

You sat up, still flushed but managing a wicked smirk of your own as you adjusted your shirt.

“Next time,” you echoed, your tone dry, “I’m locking the fucking door.”

He paused in the doorway, laughing under his breath. “Is that supposed to stop me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “No. It’s supposed to stop anyone else from witnessing your performance issues.”

That wiped the smirk off his face for a second.

He shot you a look, jaw ticking, eyebrow arching. “Careful, Doc. If you keep running your mouth like that, I’m not gonna wait for next time.”

You smirked, leaning back against the gurney and propping your upper body up with your elbows. “Maybe I want you to wait. Guess you’ll just have to work a little harder next time.”

His smirk faded and he gave you a slow, measured look before turning to leave.

"Don’t keep me waiting too long, Doc," he chuckled.

You watched him walk out, feeling the tension linger in the air.

Oh, he’d be back.

You were sure of it.

[joelmillerssugarbaby24]

Joel’s girl- part five

BUCKLE UP FOR THIS ONE LADIES. We get to see jealous Joel ;)

Chapter 5- JEALOUS

You lay motionless in bed long after the sun has risen, staring at the ceiling. Your body is humming and in between your thighs is slightly sore from where Joel’s rough fingers had been. You couldn’t shake the look on his face as he touched you. The longing. The image flits across your mind and sinks straight to your core with liquid heat. You miss him. Already. And you know you’re being pathetic, laying there waiting for him to come with your breakfast so you could see him again. But you simply didn’t care anymore. Let him see how desperate you were for him. For more.

You perk up when you hear footsteps outside the door, but frown when you realize they are lighter than Joel’s. The door cracks open and Ellie pokes her head inside. Your stomach sinks but you smile anyway.

“Hi there.”

She smiles and enters cautiously.

“Hey there, Gimpy. How’s the leg?”

You giggle and slide towards the edge of the bed and shakily stand in response. She squeals and rushes to your side.

“You’re standing??? Finally!!! I can show you around now!! Ah!”

You squeal with her and your heart rushes with warmth at the thought of going outside, smelling the crisp air, walking without assistance and exploring. It’s almost too much to bear.

The heavy clomping of footsteps outside the door is your only warning before Joel pops his head in, trademark scowl on full display.

“What’s all that noise?”

Ellie points to you with a huge grin. “She’s walking, Joel!!! Can you believe it?”

He turns his piercing, dark gaze to you and drags it slowly up your body- starting at your toes, pausing for a minute at your breasts before meeting your eyes. You’re melting inside but you attempt to stay composed. Cool.

“Wow. Would ya look at that.” He says with a half smile, crossing his arms.

“Joel?” I squeak, wringing my hands. “Can I please go out today? I think I’ll die if I have to lay in this bed one more minute.”

He rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face, seemingly thinking it over.

“Come on, Joel. Let her go. Just for a short walk?” Ellie pleads. Both of you have your doe eyes turned to him, pleading. He huffs

“All right now that ain’t fair. Enough of that two against one shit.”

“Pleasssseeeee??” You say in unison, and you quirk a smile as you watch him shift uncomfortably. He slips his hand in the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pocket watch- checks the time. Then he looks up at you with a scowl, although you could see the smile dancing in his eyes.

“All right. Just a little.”

You both squeal and grab each others hands, elated. Joel scoffs muttering something about “women” before turning to leave the room.

“Ive got a cane to help you get around and I don’t want to hear no complaining about it you hear me?”

You huff and cross your arms over your chest.

“A cane? Seriously?” He looks over his shoulder at you with a fierce expression that dares you to argue. You decide to let him have this one.

“All right…” you grumble as he returns with a rough wooden walking stick with a curve for your hand to rest in at the top. You bite back a smile.

“Did you make this?”

He shrugs and his cheeks grow red as he stares at the ground, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Weren’t nothin” he mutters.

You lean in and kiss his cheek before taking the stick and testing your weight on it. He watches you but doesn’t move, scared to come closer and even more scared to move further away. He inhales deeply. You smell like his soap and the realization stirs something primal in him. He resists the urge to grab you and finish what he started that morning. Shaking himself, he takes your other arm- so small in his big hand- and guides you toward the door. Ellie shuffles behind you, clearly impatient to show you off.

“Where to first?” You ask beaming up at Joel. He suppresses a smirk at your excitement, something tightening in his chest. He clears his throat.

“Anywhere you want, ba- he catches himself, coughing, glancing at Ellie.

“Anywhere you want.”

You blush and look toward the front door then back to him.

His hair is tousled, soft curls tumbling down his forehead. He smells clean with a hint of pine and something undefinable- Something masculine. You want to kiss him so badly. Instead you loop your arm in his and gesture to the door.

“Lead the way, cowboy”

The walk is slow as you’re still getting the hang of balancing your weight on the cane Joel so sweetly made for you. The temperature is perfect- not too cold but crisp. You stop and breathe in the fresh air, turning your face to the sky. It feels so good you don’t notice Joel staring at you with a look so intense you could almost feel its burn on your exposed skin. You glance at him embarrassed, before turning to reach for Ellie.

“Come on girl we ain’t got all day.”

She laughs, teasing you back and Joel watches, transfixed. Something was happening that was starting to scare the hell out of him. It felt like his heart was defrosting, blooming like a flower in the first days of spring- and he wasn’t sure he liked it. It was only then that he realized that you were still in your nightgown, nipples pebbling in the cold. He resists the overwhelming urge to suck one in his mouth and shrugs off his jacket, placing it on your shoulder. You mouth a thank you with a smile so sweet it makes his teeth hurt. He just grunts and leads you along, rubbing at his traitorous chest with his free hand.

Joel and Ellie lead you to what appears to be the dining hall where a scattered group of people seem to be finishing their breakfast. You smile at the sight, relieved at how normal it all felt. How special to be a part of a place like this. To be welcomed in. You hear a gasp and turn to find Maria, rushing towards you, arms outstretched.

“Look at you honey!! It’s so good to see you looking better? How’s the leg?”

You smile and accept her quick hug.

“I feel great! It’s slow going for now I can’t get very far before it starts to pain me, but I’m too excited to be up and around to care.” You reply, smiling so big your cheeks hurt. You feel Joel glance down at you questioningly while Maria pulls you gently towards an open table. There’s a few men sitting there and you smile politely at them before sitting down. One of them grins and nudges his friend earning a scowl from Joel. You don’t notice.

Joel and Ellie sit on either side of you and you’re painfully aware of his big thigh brushing yours ever so slightly. It sends a twinge of awareness licking down your spine and you straighten.

Maria gestures to the men. “This is Tommy, my husband. And also incidentally Joel’s brother.”

You head whips to Joel in surprise but he doesn’t meet your eyes. A brother? You quickly compose yourself before turning once again to greet Tommy with a winning smile.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. How’s Joel treating ya? Minding his manners I hope.”

You smirk, flashing Joel a knowing look.

“Oh don’t worry. He’s been a perfect gentleman.” Your hand brushes his thigh as you say it and you see his scruffy jaw tick. You loved riling him up. It was quickly becoming your favorite pastime.

Tommy laughs and returns to his food.

“Im Jimmy.” A voice pipes up. You look at the man beside Tommy and nod politely. He’s handsome in a boyish way. His green eyes sparkle beneath strong brows and his full lips are curled to reveal perfect white teeth. He’s clean shaven, sporting a fitted black tshirt, and you can’t help but admire his body. This is who you should be pursuing, you think to yourself. Unfortunately….

You jump imperceptibly as a large hand grips your thigh. It’s warm and rough on your bare skin and you bite your lip at the contact.

Unfortunately you’re quickly falling for the grumpy old man sitting next to you and just his hand on your leg is enough to trigger an ache in your core that only grows as his thumb traces small circles on your inner thigh. You clench your teeth together.

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy.” You say in your sweetest most saccharine voice and Joel’s hand tightens its grip as you tell him your name. This feels dangerous, teasing Joel this way. But damn it feels so good to have his attention. You need more.

You shrug off Joel’s jacket, revealing the white straps of your nightgown. Jimmys eyes slide down, down, before they meet yours again. You smile, feigning nonchalance. Joel’s grip is bruising. He leans down to whisper harshly in your ear.

“Put the fucking jacket back on.”

You look up at him innocently, eyes wide.

“But I’m hot, Joel.” You breathe unaware of anyone else around you in that moment. Arrested by his dangerous gaze, those chocolate eyes that can hold such warmth and tenderness one minute and be stony cold the next. He grunts quietly and removes his hand from your leg. You stifle a whimper at the loss of contact. He stands.

“Im gonna get somethin to eat. You hungry?”

You nod slowly, perplexed by his behavior.

“Sure. You know what I like.”

Joels intense eyes flash to Jimmy when you say that, his gaze almost cocky at your admission before he nods and turns to get your breakfast.

“And coffee please!” You call after his broad back before turning back to face your companions. Ellie seems to be completely unaware of the tension between you and Joel, as she happily tears into her breakfast like it’s the first meal she’s had in weeks. Jimmy is still looking at you.

Painfully aware of his appraisal you turn to her.

“Hey. Do you think we could stop by the stables before we go back?” You ask, eager to meet the horse she talks so much about.

She nods, mouth full. “Yeah! That would be fun! I’ve gotta meet my friends in about an hour but we should have time.”

You smile politely at her in response as Joel returns to the table with your food. You smile up at him, hoping he can read your expression. He places the plate in front of you gently alongside a steaming cup of black coffee. You clasp your hands around the mug, the warmth seeping into your fingers and making you shiver.

“Thank you.” You murmur as you sip it slowly, heat scalding your tongue but too turned on at Joel taking care of you to give a shit. He nods in your direction before plopping down next to you.

“So” Jimmy begins again, eyes locked on yours “we got a get together this Friday in the main hall. Music, drinks all that fun stuff. You should come.” Your eyes brighten and you nod vigorously.

“I would love that! Joel can we?”

He casts a sidelong glance at you and you already know what he’ll say.

“Don’t wanna push it too far.” He grunts in response.

“Joelllll” you whine. You turn back to Jimmy.

“Well be there. Don’t worry about him. He could use some loosening up anyway.” Jimmy chuckles and Joel scoffs, shaking his head. You nudge Joel playfully and start to eat. A party?? Drinks and dancing? You could hardly contain your excitement. Also it wasn’t lost on you, that you would have a reason to dress up. And maybe, just maybe get Joel’s attention and keep it this time.

Friday came before you knew it. You were walking more every day and even though Joel insists you use the cane, your excitement to be up and around again is all-consuming. Ellie has been spending more time with you, hanging out in your room, listening to music and laughing at your stupid jokes. You felt yourself beginning to like her company, look forward to it in fact. Your first real friend. Well, other than Joel.

You and Ellie were currently rummaging through her friends drawers in search of a dress that would fit you for the party later. Luckily she was about your size and you gasped when you came upon a sea green strapless dress that stopped mid thigh. The neckline was low enough to be tantalizing but not slutty and it hugged your curves in all the right ways when you tried it on.

“Fuck you’re wearing that dress!” Ellie says, demanding you spin around so she can see it at all angles. You giggle and oblige, feeling so girlish and carefree. You couldn’t believe this was your reality. You had friends and safety. You didn’t have to rummage through trash and dead people’s clothes for food and supplies. Jackson was starting to feel like home. And Joel. Well. If you were honest with yourself, he was beginning to be home to you. He didn’t feel the same way clearly. He hadn’t so much as touched you since that early morning when he had made you cum, when he had kissed you and held you so tenderly it made your heart flip to think of it. All he did was stare at you in dark unreadable way, and you knew his walls were back up. Well. You weren’t going to let that stop you from enjoying the first party you’d ever been to. Maybe you’d get laid. A smile touched your lips when you admired yourself in the mirror. See if Joel likes that.

You’re in your room, putting the finishing touches on your makeup when you hear a knock at the door.

“Come in” you say, applying your borrowed bright red lipstick painstakingly. Ellie waltzes in in her trademark flannel and jeans. You laugh.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

“Oh fuck off. “ she says collapsing onto your bed with a huff.

“You know I don’t like all that shit.”

You giggle and take one last look in the mirror. Your hair is down and you’d taken the time to tease your brown curls to give it more volume. You had kept it simple, applying some mascara, blush, then lipstick. You felt…. Pretty. Beautiful. Like a woman.

Ellie groans.

“Come on stop preening, Joel’s waiting downstairs. We’re gonna be late.”

You flick your hand at her and stand, smoothing down your dress. You were starting to second guess your choice as you glanced at your reflection. Maybe you shouldn’t have dressed so…flashy. The dress was tight. Tighter than you was used to and your breasts were all but spilling out of the top. You huffed. Well too late to turn back now.

“Finally!” Ellie says dramatically and you shove her laughing. “Oh shut up.”

Your heart flips in your chest when you see Joel’s broad back at the bottom of the stairs. He’s looking out the window, giving you a chance to admire his form. He’s wearing a white button up shirt and clean blue jeans over black shiny boots. You bite your full lip and clench your legs together. Keep it together girl

At the sound of your footsteps, Joel turns and his jaw falls open. His eyes scan your body with as much intimacy as if you were naked. Realizing he is gawking he quickly snaps it shut and his eyes burn into your skin as you slowly ascend the stairs. His stare is intense, so intense you wonder if he’s going to take you upstairs right now. You decide to play coy.

“Im ready.” You say innocently, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You can’t go out in that.” He says firmly, hands fisting at his sides.

“She can go out in whatever she wants, Joel, shit. You’re not her father.” Ellie exclaims before brushing past both of you out the door.

You lift your chin and meet his stare, trying not to look as intimidated as you felt.

“Well?” You breath, watching as he clenches and unclenches his jaw, as his breathing quickens to the point where it sounds labored.

“Fuck. All right. But you’re not leaving my side.”

You roll your eyes and grab the cane standing by the door.

“Whatever you say, daddy”

He grips your bicep hard, and pulls you back into him your chest flush to his.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why” you ask innocently, peering at him beneath your lashes.

He glares down at you for a moment, eyes dropping to your lips then to your face before releasing you.

“Fucking trouble.” He mumbles and you smile sweetly as he opens the door for you.

“You love it.” You say as you brush past him into the street.

People are milling around outside of the barn the party is being held in and excitement clamps your chest. You grab Joel’s strong bicep without thinking, wrapping your fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

“Joel look! Look at the fairy lights! And the music!!”

You giggled and skipped to the door, heart racing.

“Take it easy.” He warns, but there’s an affectionate smile playing on his lips as he watches you practically vibrate with awe and excitement. His eyes drop to your ass as you pull the door open and he feels a stirring low in his groin. He grimaces and adjusts his cock as he feels it starting to grow, tucking it in the waistband of his boxers. This is going to be a long night, he thinks to himself.

You immediately sidle up to the bar and smile at the man behind it. He has tattoos covering every inch of his skin and a wide grin revealing crooked teeth playing on his lips.

“What can I getcha?” He drawls, pulling out a glass and setting it on the bar top.

“Water” Joel says from behind you before leaning against the bar, turning to face you. You laugh.

“Fuck no. I’ll have a whiskey.” The bartender raises his brows before nodding and obliging your request.

“I thought we agreed you’d take it easy.” Joel hisses into your ear through gritted teeth.

“I will.” You said turning to face him and putting a hand on his broad chest. It was warm and solid as a rock and you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm.

“Promise.”

He shakes his head and orders the same as you before turning to lean against the bar casually. You seize the moment to admire him fully. his shirt is unbuttoned at the top revealing a tuft of chest hair and he’s pulled his sleeves to his elbows revealing strong, tanned forearms. You were imagining tracing the veins with your tongue when you heard someone call your name.

You turned to wave at Ellie, sitting at a nearby table with a group of girls. You took your whiskey and shot Joel a glance “I’m gonna say hi. Be right back.” He grunts in reply and you make your way to Ellie’s table feeling his searing gaze on your back the whole way. You take a seat and tip the glass taking the whiskey in one shot. Ellie whistles.

“Ok so it’s gonna be that kind of night.” She says laughing. You laugh with her reveling in the warmth of the alcohol quickly spreading in your stomach.

“Why isn’t anyone dancing?” You ask turning to find only a few stragglers on the dance floor. She shrugs and motions around. “These people ain’t the partying type if you know what I mean.”

You grab her hand and pull her up.

“Well let’s show them how to party, then shall we?” She laughs, a blush gathering on her cheeks as you tug her to the dance floor. “Genie in a bottle” is playing. One of your favorites. You felt the music thrum through you, igniting a fire in your veins and you began to swing your hips, lifting your arms. Ellie is stiff. “I dont..” she begins hesitantly “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Neither do I.” You respond lifting her hand above her head and giving her a twirl. “That’s not the point. The point is to have fun!” She laughs when you twirl her again and you dance together, quickly joined by the rest of her friends. You dance in the carefree way only girls can- laughing, giggling, swaying your hips and belting out the lyrics with abandon. It’s more fun then you could ever remember having in your life. You’re lifting your arms above your head and running your hands down your body when you spot Joel at the bar. He looks frozen, his whiskey halfway to his lips, his mouth parted. His knuckles are white as his free hand grips the bar top. His eyes are black, and you know that look. You’ve seen it before.

Knowing his eyes are on you causes your heart to stutter in your chest, and you move deliberately now, tracing your body with explorative hands, tilting your head back and swaying with the music. That is until you feel a strong hand grip your shoulder. You turn to find Jimmy standing behind you with a stupid grin on his face.

“Hi!” He shouts over the music.

“Hey there!” You yell back laughing when one of Ellie’s friends bumps into you.

“You sure know how to party, don’t you?” He asks running his appreciative gaze down your body. You fidget a little beneath his appraisal all too aware of who is watching this whole scene. He takes your wrist and gently tugs you to him. You can’t help but sigh as you fall into his broad chest. It feels so good to be held. Even if it wasn’t by who you would choose.

“Dance with me?” He asks against the shell of your ear.

“Ok.” You breathe, as he twirls you around and around.

Then you jump when you feel a calloused hand on your bare shoulder and turn to find a stony faced Joel a breath away from you.

“Thought you said you was gonna take it easy.” He hisses eyes flicking between you and Jimmy.

“Oh relax Joel.” You say forgetting about Jimmy completely and tugging at his wrists.

“Have a little fun for once.”

“I don’t dance.” He says through gritted teeth when his chest brushes yours.

“But you will.” You whisper in his ear, hands tangling into the curls at the back of his neck.

“You’d do anything for me.”

He groans so quietly you almost don’t catch it. “You’re drunk.” He says but he doesn’t move to pull away. You giggle and sway, forcing him closer as you take his hand and twirl yourself under it.

“Just a little.”

He chuckles then, against his better judgement and lets you pull him against your chest. His hands wander, tracing your arms then your hips, and he breathes raggedly against the shell of your ear.

“I want you.”

He whispers it so quietly that you are sure you imagined it.

“I want you so bad, baby.”

You stifle a groan at his confession and pull back to meet his gaze.

“Im right here.” You reply, only loud enough for him to hear.

“Want you for myself.” He grunts tugging you back into him by the wrist.

“Don’t want another man’s hands on ya.”

You stare into his eyes, marveling at his confession. Is he drunk too?

“Only want your hands on me, Joel.” You breathe into his ear before taking his wrist and tugging him towards the bar. He’s transfixed by you, utterly starved and he can’t tear his eyes from your face. This is dangerous, dangerous ground, he thinks to himself. But the way you look in that dress, the way your hips sway and you dance with complete and utter abandon, the way you pull Ellie out of her shell… the absolute fucking ray of sunshine you’ve become in his life… It’s all too much. He’s falling hard and at this point he’s not sure he can stop it. Or that he wants to.

————————-

Ahhhhh im obsessed with this chapter!! Let me know if you like it in the comments ;))))

[archivegyu]

masterlist

tailored for you

The Manhattan skyline glittered against the evening sky as she gazed out of the penthouse suite window. The sun was setting, casting golden hues across the city that never sleeps. In a few hours, the Metropolitan Museum of Art would be hosting the most prestigious fashion event of the year—the Met Gala—and her childhood sweetheart, now the love of her life, would be making his debut on the iconic steps.

She turned away from the window to look at Choi Seungcheol, better known to his fans as S.Coups, leader of the globally acclaimed K-pop group SEVENTEEN. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his custom-made BOSS suit for what must have been the twentieth time in the past hour.

"Is it too much?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "Maybe I should have gone with something more... conventional?"

She smiled, walking over to stand behind him. Her hands reached up to smooth down the shoulders of his impeccably tailored jacket. The designer had created something truly special—a modern interpretation of this year's theme, "Superfine: Tailoring Black Style" (or "Tailored for You"), fashioning an elegant gray suit with elements inspired by traditional Korean hanbok. The clean lines, and subtle asymmetrical closure evoked his heritage while the refined tailoring showcased Seungcheol's strong frame and commanding presence.

"It's perfect," she assured him, her voice soft but certain. "You look incredible."

Seungcheol's reflection offered a shy smile, but she could see the anxiety swimming in his eyes. This was different from performing on stage with his members. Tonight, he would be representing BOSS as one of their global ambassadors, walking the Met Gala carpet solo, surrounded by Hollywood A-listers and fashion royalty.

"I keep thinking I'm going to trip on the stairs," he admitted, turning to face her. His hand reached up to ruffle his perfectly styled hair—a nervous habit he'd had since they were children—but she caught his wrist just in time.

"Don't you dare," she laughed. "Your stylist will have a meltdown."

Seungcheol pouted, and for a moment, she saw the same boy who had climbed the tree outside her childhood home in Daegu to leave little notes on her window sill. The boy who had promised, at just thirteen years old, that one day they would see the world together.

"How is it that twenty years later, you still get that same look when you're nervous?" she asked, cupping his face with her hands. "The same pout from when you were about to perform at the school talent show and thought no one would like your rap."

His expression softened into a genuine smile. "And you're still the only one who can calm me down."

The sound of his phone ringing interrupted the moment. Seungcheol glanced at the screen and chuckled. "It's the guys," he said, using his affectionate term for his fellow members. "Probably calling to wish me luck... or to make fun of me."

He answered the video call, and immediately the room filled with the chaotic energy of nine excited voices.

"HYUNG!" Seungkwan's voice dominated initially. "Show us the outfit! We've been dying to see the final look!"

Seungcheol laughed, some of his nervousness visibly melting away as he propped the phone up against a vase and stepped back to give them a full view of his ensemble.

"Wah, as expected of our leader!" Mingyu exclaimed, his handsome face filling most of the screen as he apparently leaned too close to the camera.

"Ya, move back, we can only see your nostrils," Soonyoung's voice commented, pulling Mingyu away.

"Hyung looks like James Bond," Hansol added appreciatively.

"Better than James Bond," Joshua corrected with his signature smile. "Our Cheollie is going to be the best-dressed man there."

She watched from the side, heart full as she observed the genuine brotherhood between these men who had spent their youth chasing dreams together. Now in their thirties, SEVENTEEN had achieved more than they had ever imagined—multiple world tours, numerous awards, and global recognition that extended well beyond the music industry into fashion, film, and philanthropy.

"Noona!" Chan, the youngest member, spotted her hovering at the edge of the frame. "You have to send us pictures! We know Seungcheol-hyung won't because he'll be too nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Seungcheol protested unconvincingly.

"Your left eye is twitching," Joshua pointed out in English before switching back to Korean. "It always does that before big events."

"Make sure he doesn't drink too much champagne," Jihoon added with a mischievous grin.

She stepped closer to the screen, smiling at the faces of the men who had become like family to her over the years. "I promise I'll keep him in line and send plenty of photos."

After a few more minutes of teasing and sincere well-wishes, they ended the call. Seungcheol's shoulders seemed lighter, his stance more relaxed.

"Better?" she asked, knowing how much strength he drew from his members, even from thousands of miles away.

"Better," he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing the top of her head. "Though I'm still not convinced I belong at something like the Met Gala."

She pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Choi Seungcheol, you've performed in stadiums in front of tens of thousands of people. You've spoken at the United Nations. Your group's music has broken cultural and language barriers that people thought were impenetrable. If anyone belongs on that carpet tonight, it's you."

He gazed at her with such tenderness that her heart fluttered, just as it had when they were teenagers and he first told her he liked her more than just a friend.

"How do you always know the right thing to say?" he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers.

"Twenty years of practice" she replied with a soft smile.

[sillylilsquid]

better with a girl

pairing - hyun-ju x reader summary - it started with a match on a dating app and the belief that you were straight. but hyun-ju—with her soft hands, patient smile, and every kiss that left you needing more—teaches you what it really means to want. warnings - au!hyun-ju, no squid game, afab!reader, sexuality exploration, explicit sexual content, 18+, minors dni!! 9.7k words - your text is bold, hyunnie's is italics!

Honestly, you weren’t looking for anything serious.

Not after the last guy cheated on you with someone from his gym–and the one before that who ghosted you after you told him you like to cook for the people you love, like it was some kind of red flag. You weren’t bitter exactly. Just…tired.

Tired of being the one who cared. Tired of begging for affection like it was some kind of reward. Tired of holding your breath around people who never really saw you.

So, no. You weren’t looking for anything. And definitely not anyone. But your friends wouldn’t let it go.

“You’re too wound tight,” one of them told you over drinks. “You need to get laid, babe. Or fall in love. Preferably both.”

“You say that like they’re easy to find,” you muttered, half into your wine glass.

“You’re not even trying. When’s the last night you went on a date?”

You didn’t answer. 

So a week later, tipsy and half daring yourself, you downloaded the app.

You hesitated when it asked about your preferences. Men. Women. Both. 

You hovered over ‘men’ like always. But then your thumb slid over to ‘both.’ Just for balance, you told yourself. Just in case. You weren’t gay or anything. You were just…curious. And exhausted. And maybe a little too bored.

The app was chaos. A blur of overly filtered selfies and bio quotes like “CEO of making you smile” and “looking for my player 2.”

Her pictures weren’t trying too hard. One of her at a bookstore with glasses on, one lounging on a couch in a leather jacket and bare-faced confidence. Her profile said: “Better in person. Or worse, depending on your taste.”

You swiped right before you could overthink it. 

And then–match. Your stomach dropped a little. And then she messaged you first.

so you’re the one with the pretty eyes and nervous smile?

You read it five times before you replied.

pretty bold opening line

i’m just observant. bold would’ve been asking if you taste as sweet as you look.

Your breath caught, your pulse picking up.

(kidding. mostly)

you can tell me to chill and i will

i don’t want you to chill. just maybe…don’t go full chaos on the first message?

deal. half chaos. full charm 😉

you always this hesitant or am i just special?

maybe both.

i’ve never really talked to…a girl on here before.

There was a pause before she replied. Not long. Just enough to make you worry she’d vanished.

hey, that’s okay.

no pressure. no expectations. i’m just here to get to know you.

unless you want pressure. but like, the fun kind

lol.

are you always like this?

a little. 

but i’m also respectful, attentive, and excellent at ordering takeout.

if you ever wanted to find out.

You hesitate before replying. Your stomach already in knots and you couldn’t stop smiling.

i mean…coffee might be safer than takeout. for now.

for now🤭

send me your schedule. i’ll pick the spot. first date’s on me

first date?

you think i’m this charming just for small talk?

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just coffee. Just a date. Just…with a girl.

A really pretty girl with perfect eyeliner and flirty texts and a voice you could practically hear through the screen. But still. Just a date.

Nothing worth getting nervous over.

You stood in the mirror, staring at the mess of clothes scattered on your bed, muttering to yourself like a lunatic. “Why are you freaking out? She’s just a girl.”

You tugged off your third shirt and grabbed another. “She’s a girl, not a rockstar.”

But your hands were shaking. And your heart was pounding. And the lipstick you picked–soft, not too bold, not too try hard–was already smudged from the way you kept pressing your lips together.

You reapplied it, again. And stared at yourself. “She’s just a girl,” you repeated, whispering this time. “You’re straight.”

But the way your stomach twisted said otherwise.

The coffee shop was one of those cozy, indie spots tucked on a quiet street–exposed brick walls, hanging plants, and warm lighting. You spotted Hyun-ju immediately.

She was already sitting by the window, one leg crossed over the other, black turtleneck, jacket slung over the back of her chair. Her hair was pinned back loosely, a few strands falling to frame her face.

She looked up just as you stepped in–and smiled. And your brain short circuited. She stood as you approached, standing much taller than you thought she’d be, and you hated how much your pulse jumped when she reached out and touched your arm gently, just a soft brush of her fingers.

“Hey,” she said, voice like honey. “You look good.”

You laughed, breathless. “Thanks. You too.”

“You nervous?”

“Terrified.”

She grinned. “Good. Me too.”

The date was easy. Infuriatingly so.

She made you laugh. She asked questions and actually listened to the answers. She tilted her head when she talked, smiled at you like you were the only person in the room, and touched your hand once–just to make a point about something dumb–but it lingered. Just a little too long.

And when it was over, and you both stepped outside, the sky soft and fading into gold, she looked at you like she was deciding whether to kiss you.

She didn’t.

She just walked you to your car, winked, and said, “Text me when you get home safe, yeah?”

You nodded. You couldn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

Your phone buzzed ten minutes later.

so… that was better than a date with a guy, huh?😉

Your heart plummeted. Because it was.

You didn’t tell your friends much. Just that you went on a date. Just that it was…nice. You dodged every follow up question like your life depended on it.

“Who was it?” “No one you know.”

“What’s he do?” “He’s–uh. They. Work in creative stuff.”

“Are you seeing him again?” “Maybe.”

They knew you were hiding something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not yet. You weren’t ready to open that box. Because once you did, it was real. And it already felt too real.

Hyun-ju didn’t text you all day the next day. Not in a mean way. Just gave you space. It made you restless. Until, just before bed, your phone buzzed.

you didn’t forget about me already, did you?

Attached was a mirror selfie–no makeup, oversized tee, hair tied back, and still somehow so beautiful it made your stomach flip. You stared at it way too long before answering.

not yet. you checking in on your competition?

nah. i just wanted to be the face in your head before you fell asleep😇

You didn’t answer that one. But you stared at the photo again before bed. And again when you woke up.

The texting got easier after that. Casual. Fun. But there were moments where her charm slipped into something sharper–playful, but deliberate.

what are you doing friday?

nothing. why?

you’re coming to dinner with me. i want to see how you look in candlelight.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

you always this smooth?

no. just with you.

Friday comes faster than you expect. 

You spend over an hour getting ready, yelling at your closet, changing your outfit over and over again and regretting every choice.

When you arrive at the restaurant, she’s already there. It’s upscale, the kind of place you need a reservation for. The kind where soft jazz hums under the clatter of silverware.

And fuck. She’s wearing a sleek dark blouse tucked into tailored trousers, gold rings on her fingers, and just a touch of mascara. Her hair is down, brushing elegantly over her shoulders.

She stands when you approach. Her eyes trail over you slowly. “Wow,” she says, soft and sincere. “You’re stunning.”

You don’t know what to say, so you laugh, awkward and shy. “You clean up okay too.”

She grins. “Flattery and a compliment? Careful, you’ll make me fall for you.”

You sit across from her, trying to slow your heartbeat. She pours you a glass of wine. Her fingers brush yours.

And as the night unfolds, between courses and soft laughter and the brush of her knee against yours under the table, that voice inside you starts whispering again.

You’re not into women, right?

Then why can’t you stop looking at her mouth? Why do you keep leaning in when she speaks? Why do you want her to reach for your hand and not let go?

You reached for the check the second the waiter dropped it off. “I’ve got it,” you said quickly, already pulling out your card.

But Hyun-ju was faster. She slid the black booklet toward her without even glancing down. “Nope.”

You blinked. “What? Why not?”

“Because I asked you out,” she said simply, pulling her wallet from her coat. “And because I want to.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t–”

“Don’t make me fight you over this in front of everyone,” she warned, but her tone was playful. Her eyes sparkled as she handed over her card.

You sat back in your seat, flustered. “You’re very stubborn.”

She smirked. “And you’re very cute when you’re trying to be polite.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing. Just stared at your wine glass while your pulse thundered in your ears.

The walk back to your car was quiet–but not awkward. The kind of quiet that buzzes with unspoken things. 

You walked side by side down the cobbled sidewalk, streetlights washing the pavement in pale gold. Her hand brushes yours once. Then again. You didn’t pull away.

When you reached your car, you hesitated with your keys in hand. She leaned against the door, watching you. “Well?” she said softly. “Was I worth dressing up for?”

You laughed, breathless. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Do I need to convince you?”

You didn’t back away–but your chest was tight and your stomach was tangled in knots. 

Hyun-ju leaned in, slow and deliberate, her lips just inches from yours. And then…she stopped. Her breath was warm against your cheek, her voice a murmur. “I want to kiss you.”

Your mouth parted. You couldn’t speak. “But I won’t,” she spoke softer now. “Not until you want me to.”

You felt your heart split clean down the middle. Because part of you was begging for her to do it. And part of you still didn’t know who you were if you let her.

She stepped back. “Drive safe, pretty girl,” she murmured, and turned to walk away. 

You sat in your car for ten minutes before starting it, heart pounding, throat thigh, and eyes burning. Because you wanted her. And you didn’t know what that made you.

You lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, quiet–except for the loud, humiliating echo of your thoughts. 

You hadn’t even kissed her. And yet here you were, chest tight, legs tangled in your sheets, your mouth still tingling from the ghost of a kiss that never happened.

You groaned and rolled over, unlocking your phone.

Twitter: no.

Instagram: worse.

Messages: 3 unread. None from her.

Google:...maybe 

You opened the browser. Then, with a subtle grace of a woman having a minor identity crisis, you typed: “am i gay if i like one girl”

Delete. Too desperate.

“signs you’re into women”

Delete. Too obvious.

“can straight girls like girls sometime”

You stared at the screen, jaw clenched, heart racing. Then you opened Notes and started typing to yourself, because texting your friends would mean explaining, and you weren’t ready for that.

okay but it’s not like i want to marry her or anything.

i just like her smile

and her voice

and her hands

and the way she looks at me

and the way she almost kissed me

okay 

maybe it’s something

maybe i like her

maybe i want her to kiss me

fuck 

You slammed your phone face down and groaned into your pillow. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But all you could think about was her voice in your ear, her mouth inches from yours, saying: “Not until you want me to.”

And the worst part? You already did.

The next morning, you were trying to act normal. Just a little grocery shopping. Laundry. Scrolling aimlessly on your phone and definitely not thinking about almost being kissed again in your car.

That’s when she texted.

morning💪

Attached: a gym mirror selfie. She was in a black sports bra and high waisted leggings, headphones around her neck, a smirk tugging at her lips. Hair pulled into a mess pony. Skin glowing. Abs unfair.

You dropped your phone on your chest and let out a noise that can only be described as internal combustion.

you okay?

literally no

that bad, huh?

you’re annoying

and hot

stop this

😌

come over tonight. i’ll feed you and put on a movie. sweatpants encouraged

what are we watching?

something gay. obviosuly.

  😐

bring wine or your nervous energy. whichever is easier to carry

You showed up two hours later with both.

Hyun-ju opened the door in a t-shirt and sweatpants, glasses on, makeup free and still somehow hotter than anyone had a right to be.

Her place was warm and inviting–soft lighting, a lived-in couch, scented candles burning something vanilla and cozy. You sat side by side under a throw blanket, legs touching. She let you pick the movie.

Twenty minutes later, you weren’t even watching it.

You were hyper aware of her every breath. Every time her hand moved. Every shift of her thigh against yours. And when she leaned over to grab the remote from the coffee table, her body brushing yours–

“I don’t know how to do it,” you blurted out.

She paused. “Do what?”

“I mean–any of it. With a woman. Like…” You stared at the screen, horrified at yourself but too far gone now. “Kissing. Touching. Sex. I don’t know how to have sex with a woman. I don’t even know what that looks like. Is it, like–scissoring? Is that even real? And what if I mess it up? What if you want me to touch you and I just, like, poke something wrong and kill the vibe?”

You finally turned to look at her. She was just sitting there. Silent and smiling. Her chin in her hand. Eyes soft and so amused.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

She tilted her head. “Because I’ve never seen anyone talk themselves into a meltdown this adorably before.”

You groaned, burning your face in the blanket. “I’m gonna die.”

“No you’re not.”

I might! I’m a straight girl who got wine drunk and accidently fell into a queer panic spiral in your living room.”

“Baby,” she murmured, reaching out to gently tug the blanket down and uncover your face. “You’re not straight.” You blinked up at her, lips parted. She smiled–soft and certain. “But you’re very cute when you’re trying to fight it.”

You’re still half under the blanket, your face burning, staring at Hyun-ju like she’d just uncovered every secret you’d been hiding.

She hadn’t stopped smiling. Her eyes glittered with something between affection and straight up amusement.

“I’m serious,” you muttered, barely able to hold eye contact. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t even know what it looks like. I’ve only ever—like, watched–guy stuff.”

Hyun-ju leaned back on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the cushion behind your shoulders. “You know there’s porn, right?”

Your entire body locked up. “I–what?” 

“There’s porn. Lesbian porn. Gay porn. Real stuff, ethical stuff. It’s pretty easy to find.”

“I’m not gonna watch porn just to figure out how to sleep with you!”

She raised a brow. “Is that what you’re worried about? Sleeping with me?”

“I didn’t mean–I’m not planning to–not like that–I don’t know what I meant–” You were spiraling. Full meltdown mode.

Hyun-ju let you go on for a few more seconds, just watching you with that infuriating calm like she was thoroughly enjoying this.

And then, gently, “Hey.”

You froze. She leaned in just a little closer, her voice low. “You don’t have to learn anything for me. I’m not expecting you to show up with a skill set.”

You blinked at her, breathing hard.

“I don’t care if you’ve never kissed a girl,” she said. “Or touched one. Or even thought about it before me.”

You stared. “But I have thought about it.”

“I know,” she said, smiling again. “That’s why you’re sitting on my couch, clutching a throw blanket and looking like your brain is on fire.”

You let out a noise between a laugh and a sob. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not,” she assured. “It’s honest. And kind of hot, if I’m being honest.”

You whipped your head toward her. “Hot?!” 

“Baby,” she said, barely biting back a grin, “you rambling about how clueless and flustered you are? While blushing and squirming next to me like that?” She shrugged. “Kind of ridiculously hot.”

You let out a broken, strangled sound and buried your face again. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You stayed hidden under the blanket, your voice muffled. “I can’t believe you said porn.”

She laughed–low, rich, teasing. “What? It’s educational!” You were still hiding under the blanket when Hyun-ju tilted her head and said, casual as ever, “We can watch some together, if you want.”

You froze. “What.”

She blinked. “Porn. You said you’ve never seen–”

“I know what you said,” you hissed, peeking out from behind the blanket with your entire face on fire. “And excuse me, I can watch porn by myself, thank you very much.”

Hyun-ju just smirked, like that was the answer she’d been hoping for. “I’m just saying,” she murmured, “sometimes it’s more fun to learn with supervision.”

You launched a throw pillow at her face.

You didn’t say much after that. You put on another movie. Something safe. Something very not gay. 

But Hyun-ju kept brushing her fingers against yours under the blanket. And you kept pretending not to notice. And your brain kept looping back to what she’d said.

Porn. Together. Supervision.

You weren’t sleeping tonight.

Hours later, back in your own apartment, you lay on your stomach in bed, phone glowing too bright in the dark, anxiety buzzing in your fingertips.

You stared at the search bar. You typed slowly.

“lesbian sex real”

Delete. You weren’t a serial killer.

“lesbian porn”

Okay. You clicked one of the links. The first few thumbnails made your stomach twist. Not because it was gross–because it was…a lot.

But then you clicked on one that looked softer. Realer. Two women kissing slowly, their hands tentative and warm.

Your breath caught. You watched. They touched like they meant it. They kissed like they'd missed each other. You felt heat rush between your legs before you even realized it.

And then–one of them moaned. And it hit you. Sharp and low. You clamped your thighs together, heart pounding, and slammed your laptop shut. You laid there in the dark, breathless, your pulse racing, your whole body tingling.

“Holy shit.”

Because you liked it. You really, really liked it. And suddenly, it wasn’t just about Hyun-ju anymore.

It was a Saturday night, and your phone buzzed just as you were debating whether to eat dinner or cry under a blanket for the rest of the weekend.

going to a club with a friend. you should come

no pressure btw. just vibes

i don’t club

i don’t either. but i do wear tight clothes and look hot under colored lights.

and i think you’d enjoy that

You stared at the phone for a full minute. Then you threw on the best outfit you could pull together in under ten minutes.

The club wasn’t a packed, sweaty disaster like you’d feared. It was dark and moody and glowy–neon reds and blues painting every surface, bass pulsing low in your chest.

Hyun-ju spotted you at the door and waved you over. You nearly choked. She was in black slacks and a cropped mesh top layered over a strappy bralette, all gold jewelry and smoky eyes and smug smiles. Her nails were painted wine red, one hand around a soda glass, the other casually resting on her hip.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” you mumbled when she pulled you into a hug.

Her arms wrapped around your waist. “You wore this,” she murmured, eyes raking over you. “And that’s all I care about.”

You didn’t drink. Neither did she. But it didn’t matter. The music was loud, the lights were low, and her hand stayed on the small of your back whenever you moved. You couldn’t stop thinking about it. The video. The way those women had touched each other. The sounds. The want. And now Hyun-ju was right here–pressed close to your body, her breath warm against your ear every time she leaned in to talk.

You were sober. And still, you felt drunk.

It was almost 1am when the crowd thinned and the music dulled into background haze. You were standing beside her near the exit, blinking slowly, heart crawling up your neck form how close she was.

“You look tired,” she said softly, brushing a hair out of your face.

You nodded barely.

“You don’t have to Uber back, you know.”

You looked up. She shrugged one shoulder. “You can crash at my place. It’s closer. And I’ve got extra clothes.”

You swallowed. “Oh.”

“Unless you’d rather go home.”

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean–I can come over. That’s fine. If it’s okay.”

She smiled. “It’s more than okay.”

The car ride to her place was quiet. Her music low. Her hand rested casually on the gearshift, fingers tapping, rings glinting under the streetlights.

You stared out the window, but your brain wouldn’t shut up.

She’s so close. Her hands. That mouth. What would she sound like?

By the time she parked and let you inside, you were a silent, shaky mess. And the night was just beginning.

Like before, her apartment was warm and quiet, a contrast to the thumping bass still echoing faintly in your chest. She kicked her shoes off by the door and flicked on a lamp–low, amber light casting soft shadows across the room.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, tugging her jacket off and hanging it neatly. “You want water or anything?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m good.”

You stood awkwardly by the couch while she padded off to her bedroom, calling back, “I’ll grab you something to sleep in.”

Your heart was pounding. You stared at the record player tucked in the corner. The plant by the window. The jacket slung over the back of the armchair. It all smelled like her–clean and woodsy, warm and sharp.

She returned a moment later and handed you a fold shirt and some loose cotton shorts. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Take your time.”

You muttered a thanks and practically sprinted out of the room.

By the time you emerged, changed and clean faced, your nerves had officially gone nuclear. 

Hyun-ju was sitting cross legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, now in sleep shorts and a sweatshirt, her hair loose on her shoulders. She looked…unfairly good. Comfortable. Effortless.

You hesitated in the doorway. Her eyes flickered up, slow and soft. And then she smiled. “You look cute.”

You fiddled with the hem of the oversized shirt she gave you. “It’s literally yours.”

“Exactly.”

You crossed the room slowly and sat behind her, tucking your legs under you. She turned the TV on, scrolled half heartedly through the options.

Neither of you were really watching. Your arm brushed hers. You could feel the heat of her skin. Her thigh close to yours. The hum of tension that had been building since you walked through the door.

She glanced over. “You okay?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. just–tired. Long day. Loud music. You know. I’m not really a club person. You could probably tell. Not that I hated it. It was actually kind of fun. Mostly because you were there. Which I guess makes sense. Since I like being around you.”

You were spiraling again. Hyun-ju didn’t say anything.

You hesitated.

Your heart pounded in your throat. You looked at her mouth. Then back to the screen. Then to her eyes. And then you chickened out.

“Anyway,” you mumbled, pulling the blanket over your lap. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

She leaned her head back on the couch, still watching you. Her voice was teasingly low. “Was that supposed to be a kiss?”

Your eyes went wide. “What?! No!”

Her smile grew. “Are you sure?”

You flushed all the way to your ears. “I wasn’t–I mean, I thought maybe–but then I didn’t–I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Hyun-ju tilted her head, her voice softening. “Baby,” she said gently, “you don’t have to know what you’re doing. You just have to want it.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t move away either. You were frozen. Her words echoed in your chest: ‘you just have to want it.’ And god, you did.

You just didn’t know how to ask. 

She shifted beside you, slow and smooth, like she was giving you time to back away. You didn’t. Her hand came up to your cheek, gentle and grounding. Her thumb brushed softly under your eye, then down to the curve of your jaw.

“You’ve kissed guys before, right?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded nervously. “Yeah.”

She smiled. “It’s the same idea…just way better when it’s another girl.”

Your breath caught. She leaned in slowly, her voice like velvet. “It’s not about technique. Or pressure. Or anything you’ve seen in movies.”

Her nose brushed yours, barely there contact that made your stomach twist. “It’s about attention,” she whispered. “Letting it build. Following what feels good.”

Her lips touched yours–just once. A soft press. A question. You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

She kissed you again–slightly deeper now, slow and sure. Her lips warm. Soft. She let you feel the shape of her mouth, the gentle tug and press. No rush. No demand. “Just like that,” she whispered against your lips. “You’re doing perfect.”

You whimpered without meaning to. She pulled back just enough to look at you. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Can I… can we do that again?”

That smile. That smile.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” And then she kissed you again–longer, guiding her lips with hers, her hand still cradling your cheek. You followed her lead–tentative, shy, but hungry. Your hands found her waist. She let out a soft hum of approval.

“There you go,” she murmured, lips brushing yours between words. “See? You’re already learning.”

She kissed you again–slightly deeper, a bit slower. “You’re a natural, baby,” she whispered.

You gasped softly, dizzy from praise, from the heart blooming in your chest. “I didn’t think–kissing a girl would feel like–”

Her fingers threaded gently through your hair. “Like that?”

“Like…this.”

Hyun-ju smiled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Like something you want to do again?” You nodded. “Good.” She kissed your jaw. “Because I’m not done showing you.”

You didn’t go any further that night. Just kissing. Soft, slow, and gentle. When it got too much–when your hands trembled or your breath caught in that panicky way–Hyun-ju pulled back, tucked your hair behind your ear, and whispered, “that’s enough for tonight, baby. You did so good.” And you melted.

A few days later, she picked you up in the late afternoon with a picnic basket and a blanket thrown in the back seat like it was nothing. “You’re so domestic,” you teased as she opened the passenger door for you.

She just smirked. “Only for girls who wear nervous smiles and make me drive across town for the good strawberries.”

She took you to a quiet park, a little hill shaded with trees, far enough from anyone else to feel like it was just the two of you.

You helped her lay out the blanket. She unpacked sandwiches, fruit, two glass bottles of soda, and a pack of cookies she’d clearly bought last minute.

You both sat down, sunlight streaking through the trees, laughter soft and easy between bites. And you couldn’t stop looking at her. The way her hair caught in the light. The stretch of her legs where she lounged beside you. The little smirk she gave you when she caught you staring and didn’t say a word.

Your stomach flipped. You’d been thinking about kissing her again for days. The memory of it was still warm in your chest–her mouth, her hands, the way she’d held you like you were something fragile and precious.

And now, sitting beside her on a blanket in the fading sun, you wanted it again. You ached for it. But you didn’t know how to say it. Instead you said, “This is nice.”

She glanced at you, one brow lifted softly. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart in your throat. “I like spending time with you.”

Hyun-ju leaned back on one arm, eyes gentle. “I like spending time with you too.”

You hesitated. Then leaned over, just a little. Her gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes. She didn’t move. Didn’t rush you. “Can I kiss you?” you whispered.

And god, the way she looked at you then–like you’d just handed her the sun. “You don’t ever have to ask,” she said softly. “But I love it when you do.”

You leaned in, hands shaking just a little, and kissed her. Slow. Lingering. Sunlight on your skin, her fingers brushing your knee like a promise. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to explain yourself. You just felt.

That evening after the picnic, she brought you back to her place. You didn’t want to go home–not yet. Not when everything inside you was still buzzing. Not when the quiet between you felt so full.

You both curled up on her couch under a blanket, a random movie playing low in the background. You were tucked into her side, your head on her shoulder, her arm around you like it had always belonged there.

You didn’t speak for a while. But eventually, you whispered, “I still don’t know what I am.”

Hyun-ju didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift. Just kept stroking her fingers through your hair like your words didn’t scare you.

You swallowed hard. “I mean, I like you. I really like you. But I still get scared sometimes. Like, I think about kissing you and I get excited and nervous at the same time. I don’t know what that means. If I’m…gay. Or bi. Or just confused. I feel like I should know.”

Her hand paused for a second–just long enough for you to notice. Then it moved again. “You don’t have to label it right now,” she said quietly. “Or ever, if you don’t want to.”

You pressed your cheek into her chest, listening to the slow thud of her heartbeat.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered. “You’ve been so good to me.”

“You’re not going to mess anything up,” she murmured, her voice low and certain. “You’re allowed to be figuring things out.”

You blinked hard, your throat felt thick. “And what if I just…stay confused?”

Her hand slid under your chin, tilting your face up gently. Her eyes met yours–steady, warm, so full. “Then we stay confused together,” she said. “As long as you want me around.”

You let out a breath tha felt like a release. And she leaned in, kissing your forehead, and whispered: “I’m not going anywhere.” 

A few weeks later things have changed, in soft, quiet ways.

You and hyun-ju were still texting every day–little things at first: good morning, good night, updates about your day. But somewhere along the way, your texts got…flirtier. Playful and teasing.

She started sending mirror selfies when she got dressed for work. You started sending emojis you wouldn’t have dared to use before. And sometimes, late at  night, the conversation drifted into gentle, breathless places.

Still, nothing more than kissing. But everything building. One night you invited her over. Not because she offered. Not because she insisted. Because you wanted to.

you’ve never been to my place

you should come over sometime

tell me when, baby. i’ll be there

And just like that, she was.

You had tried to clean. Really tried. But you still felt a flush of embarrassment when she stepped inside, eyes sweeping the cluttered counter, the unfolded laundry on a chair, the half dead plant in the window.

“It’s not–sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you said quickly, tossing a sock into your bedroom.

But she just smiled, slow and fond. “It looks like you live here. I like that.”

You gave her a look. “You would say that.”

“I meant it.”

She toed off her boots and padded toward the couch like she’d been there a hundred times. You followed, still a little flustered, and sat beside her with a sigh. You’d picked up chocolate from that corner store she liked, and she grinned when you brought it out.

“I love that you remembered this,” she said, unwrapping one and popping it into her mouth.

You shrugged, smiling. “You said it was your favorite.”

She leaned back on the couch, ankles crossed. “You’re learning me.”

“Trying to,” you responded. Your voice came out smaller than you meant. Her eyes shifted to you, something softer behind them now. And your heart picked up. There was something you’d been meaning to ask. You just didn’t know how. You fiddled with the corner of the chocolate wrapper. “Can I ask you something?”

Hyun-ju nodded. “Anything.”

You hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about…us,” you started slowly. “And about going further. Eventually.”

Her expression didn’t change–still calm, open, listening.

You took a breath. “I just–I don’t really know how anything works. With two women. Like, really works. And I know I could Google it, and I have a little, but it’s not the same as talking to someone who…” Your cheeks were burning now. “Who knows. Who had done things.”

Hyun-ju didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease. She leaned in, her voice quiet but full of warmth. “You can ask me anything, baby. I’ll tell you the truth.”

You were blushing so hard you thought you might catch fire. But Hyun-ju didn’t look surprised. Or uncomfortable. Just soft and steady. She turned on the couch, facing you fully now, her knee brushing yours. “Okay,” she said quietly. “What do you want to know?”

You hesitated, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Everything?”

That made her smile. Not teasing–fond. “Alright, let’s start simple.”

She reached for your hand, lacing her fingers gently through yours, her thumb brushing the top of your knuckles. It grounded you. Slowed your breath.

“There’s no one right way,” she started. “Some women like fingers. Some like mouths. Some like toys. Some don’t want penetration at all.” You nodded slowly. “And all of that’s okay. What matters is listening. To your partner, to yourself. Asking what feels good. Paying attention.”

Then she asked, “Have you had sex with guys before?”

You nodded. “Yeah. A few.”

Her head tilted. “Did you like it?”

You opened your mouth then closed it. Hyun-ju just waited. You shifted, cheeks burning. “I thought I did? Or I thought I was supposed to? I don’t know. It always just kind of felt…like it was happening at me.”

She hummed softly. “Did you even cum?”

You blinked at her. Didn’t say a word. Her brows lifted, and the tiniest smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “Ah.”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands. “This is so humiliating.”

“Baby,” she said, tugging your hand gently down so she could see your face again. “No, it’s not. It’s not. It’s honest. And it makes me want to take my time with you even more.”

You looked at her–really looked at her–and your chest squeezed. “I want to try,” you whispered. “Not tonight. But sometime. With you.”

“I’d love that, whenever you’re ready.”

You swallowed hard. “Would you…show me? What it’s supposed to feel like?”

Her hand slid gently up your arm, fingers brushing your jaw, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll show you everything,” she said. “Exactly how good it gets. And I’ll go slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for. But when you are–I want to ruin you for anything else.”

Your breath caught. And then–so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself say it: “Do you want to stay over?” 

Her smile was instant. And so, so soft. “I thought you’d never ask.”

It had taken you weeks to work up to it, but you finally told someone. One of your closest friends, mid coffee run and panic spill, when you blurted out, “I’ve been seeing someone…kind of. A girl.”

They didn’t even blink. “Is she hot?”

You nearly dropped your drink. “Yes?! That’s not the point!”

They laughed. “It’s very much the point.”

And after that, it got a little easier. You started doing research. Quietly. Privately. Watching videos, reading articles, letting yourself imagine. You even bought a toy–nothing major, just something small and safe to test the waters. And after all that…you still wanted her. No confusion. No doubt. Just want.

So when one of your friends invited you and Hyun-ju out to a club, you said yes. You texted her first.

i wanna go out with you tonight. like properly…dancing and all

that sounds dangerously like a date

maybe it is

i’ll wear something slutty

You nearly combusted. The club was loud, neon-lit, crowded–but it didn’t matter. Because she was there. In a cropped top and tailored pants, hair sleek, skin glowing under the lights. Your friends met her, exchanged looks you pretended not to notice, and she handled it like she always did–cool, calm, absolutely magnetic.

You stuck close to her the entire night. And for the first time, you didn’t hide it. You let your fingers trail down her arm when you leaned in to talk. You pressed your hand to her waist when the bass got too loud and the crowd swelled. You even kissed her cheek once, lingering longer than you ever had before.

Her hand found yours and squeezed. Adn when you pulled her onto the dance floor, she came willingly–one hand on your hip, the other sliding low, slow, possessive. You couldn’t stop touching her. You didn’t want to.

Back at your apartment, the air was different. Charged and quiet. You let her in and closed the door behind you with a shaky breath. Hyun-ju turned to face you, eyes dark, searching. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I want to,” you said. “Tonight.”

She stepped closer. “You sure?”

You nodded again, heart pounding. “I’ve thought about it. A lot. And I’m scared, but I…I want it. With you.”

She crossed the room slowly, closing the space between you. “Okay,” she murmured. “Then I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to tell me everything you like. If you want me to stop, I stop. If anything doesn’t feel good, you say the word.”

You nodded again, eyes wide. “Okay.”

Her hand slid up your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ready?”

“Yes…” you whispered. 

She smiled. “Good girl.”

She kissed you slowly–no rush, no hunger, just warmth. Gentle lips and the slow slide of her hands around your waist like she was holding something sacred. When she deepened the kiss, you gasped softly, and she took it like a promise.

You let her guide you to the bed, her mouth never leaving yours. “You nervous?” she whispered against your lips. You nodded. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

Her hand stroked down your back. “Okay.” 

Hyun-ju helped you out of your clothes piece by piece, pausing between every step. “You’re doing so good,” she whispered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, the curve of your collarbone. “So beautiful, baby. You’re okay.”

When you were bare in front of her, you instinctively went to cover your chest with your arms–but she caught your wrists, softly. “Don’t hide,” she said. “You’re perfect. I want to see all of you.”

And god, the way she looked at you–like you were art, like you were something holy–made you want to cry.

She undressed too, letting you see her at her own pace, and kissed you again as she gently guided you onto the bed.

She started with her hands. Slow strokes along your thighs, your stomach, your chest–never rushing, never groping. Just learning you. Letting you feel how much she wanted to be there.

“Tell me if anything feels weird, okay?” she said as her fingers slid between your legs, featherlight. “I’m going to start slow.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers dipped lower, circling your clit in the softest, slowest motion. Your hips twitched, and she immediately paused.

“Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “No–just surprised.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled. “We’re not in a hurry.”

When she found the right rhythm–gentle, steady, maddening–you couldn’t stop the sound that left you. A gasp. A whimper. 

“Just like that,” she murmured. “Let go. Don’t think. Let it feel good.”

Her lips found your neck, warm kisses as her fingers coaxed you further, deeper into the feeling. You were panting now. Hands tangled in the sheets. Her name on your lips. “I’m gonna–” you gasped. “I think I’m–”

“That’s it,” she whispered, mouth brushing your ear. “Let me see you, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you did. With her name caught in your throat, your body arching into her hand, you unraveled completely. And when it was over–when your body went soft and trembling beneath her–she kissed your cheek, then your shoulder, and pulled the blanket up over you both. “You okay?” she whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You nodded, breath still catching. “I’ve never…nothing’s ever felt like that before.” 

She kissed your forehead. “That’s because no one’s ever taken the time to learn you.”

You laughed, breathless. “So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Hyun-ju smirked, tucking you into her arms. “Mhm. told you it was better with a girl.”

You buried your face in her neck, smiling. “Stay?”

She wrapped her arms around you like she already belonged there. “Always.”

The room was quiet, warm, lit only by the soft glow from your hallway light. You were curled in Hyun-ju’s side, tangled under your blanket, your body still humming from what she’d just done to you. Your fingers played lazily along her stomach, tracing the hem of her tank top. 

She had one arm behind her head, hair a little messy, face flushed but smug. “You still breathing?” she teased.

“Barely,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“Good.”

You laughed, and tilted your face up toward hers. Then kissed her. Softly. Slowly. A little longer than before. Her lips curved against yours. “Hey,” she warned between kisses. “You keep doing that and you’re gonna turn me on again.”

You smiled sweetly. “That’s the plan.”

Her eyes darkened instantly. “Oh, really?”

You nodded, blushing. “I feel…braver now.”

She pulled you into her lap, her hands sliding to your waist. “Mm. That so?”

You nodded again, but there was still a flicker of nerves in your eyes. She saw it–of course she did. But instead of pushing, she leaned forward and kissed your collarbone. “Then let me return the favor,” she whispered. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She took her time with you again–slower, even, than before. This time, you were laid out completely, her lips trailing kisses down your stomach, her hands spreading your thighs like they were hers to keep. “Let me show you what my mouth can do,” she murmured as she kissed the soft skin of your inner thigh. 

You whimpered. And then–oh god. Her tongue was gentle at first. Careful. Drawing slow circles around your clit without ever quite pressing into it. She flicked, teased, tasted you like she was starving–and you couldn’t stop moving. “H-hyun-ju–”

“Shh, I know,” she said between kisses. “You’re doing so good. You taste so fucking sweet.”

When you started getting close, her tongue would slow. Pull back. Kiss along your thighs again until you were gasping. “Please,” you whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

She smirked against your skin. “Not yet.”

“Hyun–” You tried to move your hips, chase her mouth, but her hands pinned your thighs open with gentle strength.

“You’ll cum when I say,” she murmured. “And not a second before.”

You were panting now, eyes glassy, voice cracking. “But–what about you?” you asked, nearly sobbing. “You said I was turning you on. Don’t you want–”

She looked up at you from between your thighs, mouth wet, eyes half lidded with hunger. “Oh, I do, baby. But tonight’s for you. And I’m not stopping until you cum so hard you forget your own name.” 

You moaned, legs trembling, body arching off the bed. And this time, when she sucked your clit between her lips and moaned into you…you broke. You came with a cry, your whole body trembling, hands gripping the sheets, hips stuttering as she licked you through it, slower now, softer, until your body collapsed back into the mattress.

She crawled up beside you, kissed your forehead, and whispered, “that’s two.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “You’re keeping score?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

You didn’t fall asleep right away. Your body was too full of warmth. Your chest still fluttering from what she’d just done to you. You were curled up in her arms, your face tucked into the space where her neck met her shoulder, her hand brushing slow circles across your back.

Hyun-ju kissed the top of your head and exhaled softly. “That was really special to me,” she said. You blinked up at her. “Tonight,” she added. “You. Trusting me. Wanting me.”

Your heart tightened. “Of course I trust you.”

“I know. But…still. You didn’t have to let me in like that. And I know it wasn’t just about sex for you.”

You nodded, quietly. Her hand kept moving across your back. “I’ve had hookups,” she continued. “Casual stuff. Things that didn’t mean anything. But tonight–this meant something. Because it was you. And because I know how hard it is to be brave when your whole body’s screaming that you’re new to this.”

You pressed your lips to her shoulder. “You make it feel easy.”

She kissed your hair in return. “That’s the goal.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time after that. Just stayed there, tangled together, your hand resting over her heart.

It didn’t stop after that. If anything, it became impossible to stay away. You craved her. Her mouth. Her hands. Her laugh. Her steadiness. You started spending more time with her than without her–half your clothes in her closet, a toothbrush at her sink, a mug she kept just for you in her cabinet.

When you had to work, you texted her all day. About everything and nothing. About how bored you were. About how hot she looked in the selfie she sent at lunch. About how badly you wanted to crawl into her lap when she called you baby in a voice memo.

And Hyun-ju? She was insatiable. Not in a demanding way–but in that way where all it took was a look. One look from you and she was on her knees. On the floor. Behind the door. Wherever she could have you.

Once, she had her mouth on you in the backseat of her car. Thirty minutes before you were due to meet her friends for dinner. She made you cum twice, then fixed your hair like nothing happened, kissed your flushed cheek, and said, “You look even prettier like this.”

And you let her. Every time.

But lately, something had been tugging at your chest. A kind of guilt. A kind of ache. You loved the way she touched you. The way she cared for you, praised you, took you apart like it was her favorite thing.

But she hadn’t asked for anything. She never even hinted. And you wanted to give her something back.

So one night–warm lights, soft music, your body tangled with hers on the couch–you kissed her. Not tentative. Not testing. Just…wanting.

She kissed you back, gentle but a little surprised at how eager you were. You straddled her lap, fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. She pulled back slightly. “Baby–”

“I want to,” you whispered. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Her eyes ghosted over your face, searching. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Please. I want to learn. I want you.”

Seh let you tug off her shirt, your hands shaking slightly. You kissed down her neck, fingertips brushing her ribs. You slid off her pants next, leaving her in just her bra and panties–so beautiful you forgot to breathe.

But then–you froze. Not because you didn’t want her. Because you did. So much it scared you.

Hyun-ju noticed instantly. Her hands came to rest gently on your hips. “Hey,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

You did. She was calm. Beautiful. Patient. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You shook your head quickly. “No–I want to. I just…I don’t want to do it wrong.”

Her hand slid up to cup your face. “You won’t,” she said softly. “I’ll help you. I’ll tell you what feels good. We go slow. We go together.”

You swallowed. “Okay.”

And when she kissed you again, it was like falling into warmth you already knew by heart.

The kiss is deeper now. Slow, lingering kisses that tasted like trust and nerves and something more. Smoothing warm blooming between your ribs. Her hands stayed on your hips, grounding you. You pulled back just enough to whisper, “Tell me what to do.”

Hyun-ju smiled softly. “Start with touching. Explore. You don’t have to rush.”

Your fingers drifted down her sides, mesmerizing the curve of her waist, the slope of her thigh, the softness of skin beneath cotton. She was laid out beneath you, eyes never leaving yours.

Your fingers hit a spot on her stomach that made her jump slightly and giggle, your eyes snapped up but she just assured you it was because you tickled her.

So you continue.. Your hand hovered near the waistband of her underwear. Your mouth was on her neck now, and you sucked on her skin briefly. But then you stopped moving, pulling away so you could sit up. Breath shallow. Pulse fluttering in your throat.

Hyun-ju cupped the back of your head, voice warm and low. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m not–I just…” you swallowed. “I’ve never–”

“I know. I know you haven’t.” She kissed the side of your face. “Let me help, yeah?”

You nodded, and she gently took your hand, guiding it over the soft skin of her stomach, down– “You don’t have to go inside,” she murmured, “unless you want to. Just touch me the way you like being touched.”

Your fingers brushed the front of her panties and she sighed, hips shifting slightly beneath you. The sound shot straight through you, a bolt of nervous desire sparking low in your belly. You pressed more firmly, rubbing gentle, clumsy circles.

She gasped softly. “Yes. Just like that.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Really,” she said, breathless now. “Feels so fucking good, baby.”

Your face flushed. You kept going. Tentative at first. Still unsure. But the more she moaned for you, the more her hips lifted to meet your hand, the more your nerves twisted into something bold.

You kissed her chest, her collarbone. Nuzzled into the space above her bra, lips brushing the swell of one breast. 

She arched into your touch. “I love watching you learn,” she murmured. “You’re so careful. So sweet.”

You whimpered. “I want to be good for you.”

“You are,” she said. “You already are.”

Her praise made your head spin. You slipped your hand into her panties, heart hammering as you finally touched her. She was wet. So wet. And warm. And soft. “Fuck,” she moaned, clenching around nothing. “You’re making me crazy.”

Your fingers moved slowly, spreading her open, rubbing gentle circles around her clit. “Like that?” you whispered. 

“Exactly like that,” she breathed. You couldn’t stop looking at her. Her mouth slightly open. Her eyes fluttering. Her thighs tensing under your body as you moved. She was so responsive. So vocal. And still, so focused on you.

“You’re doing everything right,” she said. “I want you to feel how much I want you.”

“I do,” you whispered. “I want to make you cum.”

She groaned. “Keep going, baby. You’re almost there.”

And when her body finally shook–when she moaned your name and clenched around your fingers and pulled you down for a kiss–you felt more powerful and wanted than you ever had in your life.

You held her until her breathing slowed, until her hands relaxed against your spine. You whispered, “Did I really do okay?”

She smiled, eyes half lidded. “You didn’t just do okay. You wrecked me.”

You giggled, your face buried in her neck. “I want to do it again. Soon.”

“Then we’ll do it again. As many times as you want.”

Time passed. Not in a loud, dramatic way. But in soft little shifts. In the quiet turning of pages. In the way your heart stopped feeling like a question every time you looked at her.

You started holding her hand in public. At first, it was small. Just pinkies brushing on the subway, or you knuckles resting against hers in a cafe line. But then it was real. Linking your arms when walking through the park. Reaching for her hand across a dinner table. Sitting her lap during a game night at a friend’s place without flinching when someone raised an eyebrow.

She noticed every time. Not with a smirk, not with a joke–but with a quiet squeeze of your hand. A kiss to your temple. The smallest smile that said I see you. I know how far you’ve come.

You told your parents. You practice in the mirror for three days. Rehearsed every line. Anticipated every question. And when you finally said the words out loud–”I’m dating a woman. Her name is Hyun-ju.”–your mom just blinked.

Then said, “Is she nice?” 

And when you brought her home for dinner, she was more than nice. She helped wash dishes after. Told your dad his bad jokes were genuinely funny. Complemented the food like it was five-star dining. Your mom said she hoped Hyun-ju would come back soon.

You nearly cried in the bathroom after. Hyun-ju waited until you were curled in bed that night to kiss your forehead and whisper, “You did that. I’m proud of you.”

She introduced you to her brother next. He greeted you with a skeptical squint and a sarcastic, “So you’re the reason she’s been smiling like a Disney princess lately.”

You wanted to crawl into the floor. But by the end of the night, you were all laughing over drinks, and he sent Hyun-ju a selfie of the two of you with the caption: she’s way too sweet for your scary ass.

She grumbled, but you caught her saving the photo anyway.

And behind closed doors, you kept learning. You kept asking. And Hyun-ju kept giving.

You ate her out for the first time–nervous, shaking, trying to remember everything she’d taught you. She guided you with soft sighs and patient praise. Held your hair back. Moaned your name. “Just like that,” she whispered. “You’re making me fall apart.”

You learned her body in pieces. The curve of her hips. The sounds she made when you kissed her inner thigh. The way her voice dropped when she was close.

Eventually, she let you use toys–slowly at first, testing sizes and shapes, her hands always on your wrists, her eyes always watching yours. You’d never felt so trusted. So empowered. So wanted. And every time you touched her, every time you made her gasp or cry out or come undone, you couldn’t help but think–this is what love feels like.

The first time you said I love you…wasn’t when you meant to.

It wasn’t after a grand romantic gesture. It wasn’t in the middle of sex, or during an anniversary dinner, or while watching a sunset hand-in-hand.

It was on a Tuesday. You’d both had a long day. Work had sucked. The trains were late. You were grumpy, cold, and tired, and all you wanted was food and warmth and her.

You got to her apartment half an hour late, kicking your shoes off with a groan and dropping your bag like it had offended you personally.

“I bought dumplings,” you muttered, voice flat, “but they’re probably lukewarm at best and if I don’t sit down in the next five seconds I’m going to cry.”

Hyun-ju didn’t say anything. She just walked over, took your coat off for you, cupped your face in her hands, and kissed your forehead. And that was it. That was the moment. That moment you realized it had already happened. 

You were already in love with her. You had been for a while. You just hadn’t said it yet. So you stood there, with your arms still half in your sleeves, heart wide open and raw, and blurted it, “I love you.”

The air stopped. Hyun-ju blinked. You blinked. Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean–wait, no, I did mean it, I just–fuck.”

She smiled. Not big. Not dramatic. Just soft. Quiet. Like the words had been sitting on the tip of her own tongue too. “Good,” she said. “Because I love you too.” You stared at her, wide-eyed and overwhelmed. She kissed you again. Slower this time. With the kind of love that said I’ve been waiting for you to say it. Then she grabbed the bag of dumplings, pulled you toward the couch, and said, “Now sit down before you.”

author's note - hope you all enjoy! this was so special for me to write, and so much fun. i hope you love it as much as I do!!