#but like???? he's still worried about HIS CAREER?????

[nicsnort]

Sweet Cream

NSFW 18+ male minotaur (Tyrus) x female reader

Contains: lactation, milking, hucow, overstimulation, romantic Valentine's date, size difference, and physical transformations

Word Count: 3927

Lore/World-building prompt

Today is Lover's Day, and you wanted to do something special for your minotaur boyfriend. He loves the idea of milking you, but since you aren't ready for calves yet, you find a witch's potion to help you in making his fantasies come true.

Same minotaur character and reader found in After Party but it isn't necessary to read that one first

~

You had been seeing Tyrus for nearly three months. The relationship was going well by your standards. He was as sweet as cream despite his imposing minotaur figure. After he learned how attracted you were to monsters, he was a bit overprotective while on dates if other monsters were around, but he felt no threat from humans. However, Tyrus still snorted at any human men he caught staring at you to scare them off. Human or monster, Tyrus did not need to worry about you breaking up with him to explore your options. The two of you got along well, and you found yourself catching feelings for this minotaur who could have been a one-night stand. Not to mention the sex. The sex with him continued to be as amazing as the first night - even more so as your body adjusted to the magical effect of his minotaur essence so you could actually participate instead of just letting him use you as a sex toy. Though that was still fun to do sometimes.

After every night together, he took such good care of you. But Lover’s Day was approaching, and you wanted to do something for him.

Tyrus loved to talk about milking you during sex. It was one of his biggest fantasies. But to milk you, Tyrus would have to get you pregnant. A three-month relationship was not long enough to consider something as permanent as a calf, and both of you were busy building your careers either way. 

Then you saw it on the corner of the internet where Teratosexuals discussed their stigmatized desires but also solutions to problems they faced in their relationships with monsters. A link to a witch’s webshop that provided various potions and remedies of a sexual nature. And for sale - Moo-duce. 

The lame attempt at coming up with a clever name aside, it was exactly what you needed. A potion that would cause anyone with mammary tissue and nipples to produce milk.

You ordered the potion immediately, and it mysteriously appeared on your kitchen counter the next day. Magic was great. The potion would take 24-36 hours to produce the first milk, and the results would fade after three days or so. You drank the potion a day and a half before your Lover’s Day date with Tyrus. You wanted to make sure your jugs were full of milk for him. There had been a warning that the mammary tissue and nipples would likely be uncomfortable during the 24-36 hours of growth and milk production, especially for first-time users. Tyrus was worth it, though.

After a couple of hours, your breasts started to feel tender. A few hours later, you noticed the first signs of swelling, indicated by your breasts continuously popping out of your bra when you moved too much. By the time you went to bed twelve hours after ingestion, your breasts felt like pins and needles.

The users had recommended massaging your breasts to alleviate the feeling. So, lying there in bed, you cupped your breasts, imagining Tyrus’ hands as you massaged them. You could feel the increased weight already. They had to have swelled a cup in size. Pulling on your nipples, you imagined how it would feel to have milk pouring from them. Tyrus’ lips already felt amazing when he sucked on them, but to have pressure released when that happened? A few reviews said their nipples felt as sensitive as clits.

You couldn’t wait.

In the morning, the pins and needles had faded, but now your breasts felt hot. You walked around your home with your shirt and bra off. Luckily, you had the day off. Sometime after lunch, you suddenly felt a cool tingle around your nipples. A wave of excitement crashed over you. Biting your lower lip, you slowly looked down with anticipation. Leaking out of your areolas were several white droplets of milk.

You danced excitedly. It had worked! 

Raising a hand to your breasts, you wiped the droplets away. Your fingers lingered over your nipple. You wanted to tug on it. You wanted to feel the release. Breathing out slowly, you fought down the urge. No, Tyrus would have the honor of being the first to milk you. You wanted to save it all for him. You were meeting him for dinner tonight.

A few hours later, you started to ready yourself for your date. As you walked, you swore you could feel the milk sloshing around inside of you, yearning to be released. You had pre-bought a larger bra for this evening, but as you put it on, you realized it was too small! The instructions said to expect a growth of one to two cup sizes, but as you quickly measured yourself, you realized you had gone up three and a half!

Fuck. There wasn’t time to go out and buy another. Unless you paid the exorbitant costs of InstantImp, there was no chance to get one that fit. You weighed the options in your head. You had bought a cute but baggy sweater for a top. Despite it being baggy, people would definitely be able to tell you weren’t wearing a bra…damn it.

Opening up InstantImp, you managed to find the same bra in your new size. Of course, there was an increase in fees due to the holiday. At least you could return the other one you bought. Putting in your order, it took ten minutes for the delivery Imp to knock on your door. In your straining bathrobe, you answered the door.

The imp’s wings kept him at human eye level. He wore a bored expression, but his eyes perked up at the sight of you. His flat bat-like nose flared. “Mmmm, moo moo,” he commented, “Thirsty. Give tip?”

“I’ll report you,” you told him shortly, taking your package. The imp pouted and muttered something under his breath in its natural language before teleporting away to pick up its next delivery.

Imps were useful creatures, but their grasp of manners was as lacking as their grasp of the mortal spoken word. It didn’t help that the Imps bound to InstantImp had been created during the Great Incursion by the Demon Lords. At least, this way, they served some purpose instead of wandering in hordes, spreading corruption, assaulting people, and causing chaos. However, you were unsure if, as one of the last corporations, InstantImp was any less evil than the Demon Lords. Was it still the exploitation of labor if the creatures were literally created to serve others?

Finally, you were able to get dressed. The baggy sweater was less baggy than you had wanted, but as you examined yourself in the mirror, it was hard to tell any difference. If anything, it looked like you were wearing a padded bra.

At six, there was a knock on your apartment door. Opening it, you saw Tyrus, his big black-furred form filling the doorway, his horns barely missing the hallway's ceiling. “Omorfia mou,” he greeted, holding out a bouquet of red flowers - gallic roses, traditional for minotaurs, or so you’ve read.

“Tyrus, my handsome bull,” you replied, taking the roses and inhaling their scent. They were lovely.

“They are enchanted; they will stay fresh for over a month even without water.”

Your smile grew wider as you set them on the kitchen counter. You will find a vase for them later. Locking your door, you took Tyrus’ arm and headed outside. “So, are you doing to tell me where you are taking me yet,” you asked as he led you down the street.

“No,” he replied with a devious expression. “A surprise means a surprise. Perhaps I should blindfold you and simply carry you there.”

“A tempting thought, but I shall pass for tonight.”

“Are you sure? I could put you on my shoulders. I know how much you love to hold on to my horns with my head between your legs.”

“I believe I would be the wrong way around for the position I enjoy.”

“True. Then I could hold you in my arms, princess carry?” The two of you continued to make sexually charged banter back and forth. While Tyrus never did carry you, you completely lost track of where the two of you were going. All according to Tyrus’ plan.

“And here we are,” he announced after a ten-minute walk after getting off the tram. He gestured to a brickwork building with a large ornate wooden door that looked like it belonged in a castle. Old World was inscribed in iron-wrought letters above the door. You had heard of this place. It was a restaurant that catered to monsters and those from beyond the Rift, or the Old World as they called it. It was hard, if not impossible, for those from this plane to gain access.

You gasped and hugged Tyrus as tightly as you could. Your milk-filled breasts leaked slightly from the pressure. “Really? Are you sure it's okay? I mean - I’m allowed in?”

“No, this is just for me; eat elsewhere,” he said, barely hiding a smile as he spoke. Then, he could not keep a straight expression. His ears twitched with delight as he chuckled. “Yes, it is alright, Omorfia mou. They are doing a Lover’s Day special for those with human partners here.”

While plenty of food from beyond the Rift had shown up in restaurants, those recipes used ingredients from this plane and were changed to fit the norms here. This was as true to Old World food as you could get in this plane. 

You danced excitedly, only collecting yourself as Tyrus led you through the front doors. A kitsune welcomed you, its tails swishing majestically, before leading you to the reserved table. It seemed they knew the sizes of those who would be eating at the table as Tyrus had a sturdier chair with his size, and you had a taller one to put you at near equal height to the table. Looking around, you saw all sorts of accommodations for various monstrous bodies. Unlike the human world, those beyond the Rift were used to adjusting for a variety of needs.

The dinner was a whirlwind of new experiences. The restaurant had created a tasting arrangement for the humans in the restaurant to give them the full experience. You tried roasted mimic, braised sunroots, fermented ooze noodles, and a whole variety of other things that you quickly forgot the names of in your excitement. You washed the food down with samples of Oakengleam Stout, Glowing Mushroom Wine, and Cinder Cider, the last of which caused you to breathe out a bit of smoke with each exhale. Finally, the tour of foods ended with a slice of heart apple pie.

“They say that those who share heart apple pie on Lover’s Day will have a passionate and happy year together,” Tyrus told you, offering a bite off his fork. 

“Oh, that is very romantic,” you cooed, a blush on your face. Around the restaurant, several other people were making similar comments, as their lovers had probably told them the same thing.

You wrapped your lips around the bite he offered you, a bit more sensually than needed, then offered him a piece of your own slice. A romantic year you hoped for indeed. 

Once dessert was finished and the bill paid, the two of you began heading to Tyrus’ apartment. It was a twenty-minute walk or so, but during that time, you noticed something. Your breasts were beginning to hurt. You could feel the pressure inside of them building up, needing release. By the gods, you needed to be milked.

“Are you alright, Omorfia mou,” Tyrus asked as you reached his apartment building. “Did a dish not sit well with you?”

“No, it was all delicious,” you replied. You leaned into him as you entered the elevator. “It was the most wonderful surprise…Under my clothes, I have a surprise for you, too; it has just gotten a bit uncomfortable…”

Tyrus snorted with anticipation, his tail lifting and curving to show excitement. “Well, then, let us get it off you soon.”

You giggled to yourself. He thought it was lingerie.

In his apartment, your excitement only grew. Your nipples ached, longing to be touched, pulled, and suckled on. Tyrus wrapped his arms around you from the back, pulling you against his firm body. His fingers played with the hem of your sweater, slowly pulling it up. “Can I have my surprise now,” he asked.

You hummed in anticipation, turning around in his arms, your aching breasts brushing against his firm chest. “Oh, yes, you may.”

Tyrus’ thick, calloused fingers dragged along your sensitive sides as he pulled the sweater up and over your head, revealing your plain blue bra. You saw his brow furrow and ears flick with confusion. “Uh, it is a very pretty color, Omorfia. A push-up bra?” 

You laughed aloud. “That isn’t the surprise, silly. I never said it was something I was wearing. You see, I bought a potion from a verified witch to help make your fantasies, our fantasies, come true.”

As you spoke, you reached back and undid the strap to your bra. Pulling it away, you revealed your milky tits. “As you asked me on the night we met, can I get you a drink?”

The bull went silent as he took in your leaking nipples. You watched as his pants tented, his member growing rock hard at the sight of your milk-filled breasts. “Nomízo óti eímai erotevménos mazí sou,” he said in his native language as quietly as a prayer.

His hooves scraped against the floor as he kneeled before you. Usually, he would lift you up on the table or counter, but now he got down on your level. His large hands cupped your breasts. Your breasts had grown so large that they now overflowed his grasp instead of being engulfed by it. Tyrus snorted with pleasure as he lifted your heavy globes. His hot breath made your nipples stand at attention, milk dripping from their pores.

“Please, Tyrus. I need you to milk me.”

That broke him.

His broad tongue swept out across your right breast, licking up every leaking drop before finally wrapping his hot lips around your nipple. With a mighty suck, you felt the milk rush out of your breast, through your nipple, and pour into his eager mouth.

Your eyes closed, and your head tipped back as you moaned with pleasure. Gripping his horns, you held him in place. This was ecstatic. Each strong suck sent a jolt down your spine to your pussy. Soon your cunt was dripping as fast as your milk.

After a long suck, Tyrus broke off from your right breast and switched to the left one. You gasped with pleasure. With each strong pull of your tit, you felt your pussy clench like a slow, extended orgasm. “Fuck, Tyrus. I feel like I’m gonna cum just from this.”

He snorted, the speed of his suckling quickening. He took your words as a challenge. 

The muscles of your cunt clenched faster and faster. Gods, you were getting close. Your hands tightened on his horns. Your hips rolled, desperate for that little bit of extra to push you over the edge. You were so close. You were gonna--

Then Tyrus broke his mouth off again, leaving you at the edge of your orgasm. “Noooo,” you whined, tears forming at the corner of your eyes in frustration.

His hands held your breasts up, and he pressed them together. Lowering his head, he captured both of your leaking nipples in his mouth and sucked. Twin streams of milk shot out of your breasts and down his throat. You screamed. Your eyes rolled back in your head. Your hips shook violently as you came hard. He continued to gulp down your milk, extending your orgasm.

Finally, your body couldn’t handle it anymore. Your hands released his horns as your legs gave out from the pleasure. Tyrus caught you, releasing your breasts to hold you up. Lifting your feet off the ground, he carried you over to the sex swing he had installed a couple of weeks ago. With surprising strength, even for being a minotaur, he tore your pants off you, but the sound of ripping cloth didn’t even phase you. Your cunt was still twitching with aftershocks as he placed you in the harness face down so your breasts hung like a pair of udders.

“Look at you, agápi,” he praised, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “just like a cow. My little hucow with milk leaking from your tits.”

Another rip of fabric, and you felt his heavy cock rest between your swollen needy lower lips. You could smell his precum. The heady scent alone caused you to moan. His hot member rubbed against your pussy as he reached around you. Tyrus’ strong hands cupped your breasts once more, his thumbs and forefingers sliding down to pinch your nipples. Then he tugged.

Milk sprayed out of your tits. You threw your head back as your back arched with pleasure. Rhythmically, Tyrus began to milk your tits. First, the right nipple was pulled, then the left, repeat. Each tug on your nipples sent a stream of milk to the floor. You felt like a cow, and you loved it.

Your hips rocked, grinding against his cock. You wanted it in you. You wanted to milk his cock with your cunt as he milked your breasts. Your clit dragged across the silky skin of his dick. So soon after your first orgasm, it was already driving you back toward the edge. 

“Tyrus, Tyrus,” you began to chant in sync with your milking. “More, I need. Mo-mo-moooooo.”

You came once again, your juice gushing over his shaft. Tyrus relented his stimulation. His callused hands slid across your skin and held your hips. He pulled his cock back and began lining it up with your unused but soaking hole. “Listen to that, just like a real cow. Usually, it takes my cum down your throat to do that.”

The flared head of his weeping dick pressed against your pussy, slowly sinking in. Each glorious inch sent you further towards the edge of sanity. It was too much, but even so, you wanted more. Through the mind-numbing pleasure, you tried to ask for more again. Still, all that came out was a series of soft moos and moans.

He began to move your hips back and forth using the swing instead of thrusting.“But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be my breeding cow. Just think how much milk you’ll make when you are heavy with my calf. I’ll keep you bred just so you are always full of milk.”

All you could do was hang there in the swing and let Tyrus use you like a toy. Each time he snapped your hips back to hilt his cock inside of you, the force caused milk to drip from your tits. As he spoke, his pace sped up. “You’ll be hooked up to a milking machine. Spending hours on end cumming from your tits alone. Then, when I got home, I’d breed you over and over and over and over and - gah - Moooooooo!”

Tyrus mooed himself as he came deep within you. You could feel his hot, creamy seed filling you up, pouring into your womb in search of an egg to fertilize. Once more, your inner walls clenched, milking his cock. You wanted it all. He was right; you just wanted to be a cow. His breeding cow.

With his cock still rock hard within you, Tyrus lifted you out of the sex swing and deposited you on the bed. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

You awoke to the bright afternoon light seeping into the apartment through the windows. Tyrus’ chest rose and fell steadily underneath you, his half-hard cock still deep within your pussy. Tyrus was already a beast in bed, but perhaps it was true that fresh milk was an aphrodisiac for minotaurs because he had fucked you for an hour straight, fell asleep, then woke up and fucked you some more.

Your body was so relaxed and delightfully heavy. Tyrus had drained your breasts of milk last night, but you already felt them filling up again. You were starving, though, and extremely thirsty. Carefully, you lifted yourself off of Tyrus, your sore but sensitive pussy twitching as his cock was freed from inside of you. Sliding off of him, your body felt heavy; your head, in particular, felt like there was more weight on it. Strange.

The movement woke him. “Mmmm, kaliméra agápi mou,” he muttered sleepily.

You recognized the first word, good morning. “It is far past morning, I think, but it is a very, very good afternoon.”

“It's Time for breakfast, still,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “Perhaps some fresh milk?”

He grinned and cracked his eyes open to look at you. A sudden look of confusion crossed his face, and he blinked rapidly. Sitting up to look at you properly, he stared. “Am I still dreaming?”

“No?” Your ears flicked with curiosity. Tyrus’ tail brushed against your leg. You looked down and saw that his tail was firmly on the opposite side, far from you. Turning your head further, you saw another cow’s tail, the same color as your hair, sweeping back and forth against your leg. Reaching down, a growing look of horror on your face, you followed it up…right to the base of your spine.

All tiredness in your limbs was forgotten as you bolted off the bed to the full-length mirror. Reflected at you, you saw your milk-swollen breasts, your normal body, but three very unexpected things: a swishing cow’s tail, a set of cattle’s ears in place of your human ones, and a pair of small shiny black bovine horns sticking out the sides of your head.

You screamed.

It took several minutes for Tyrus to calm you down. You sat at his kitchen table on his lap, sipping tea while he stroked your back calmingly. “The reviews and warnings never said anything like this,” you bemoaned.

“You are sure it was a verified witch? Not someone trying to make quick coin?”

“Yes, I mean, I am pretty sure…so many said she was trustworthy, people who are big names in the community…I followed the instructions precisely. I mean, my breasts grew more than expected, but that’s it.”

Tyrus thought for a moment. “Did anything else weird happen yesterday? Anything unexpected?”

You shook your head. “I just did housework and caught up on a few shows. The only unexpected thing was that my bigger bra didn’t fit, and I had to order a new one at the last minute.”

Tyrus hmmed in contemplation. “Wait, how did you get a new bra?”

“I used InstantImp.”

“Fuck. Tell me, did you anger the imp somehow? Did it say or do anything strange?”

You furrowed your brow, trying to recall. “The imp smelt my milk and asked for a drink as a tip…I told him I would report him…he…fuck. He muttered something in that demonic language of theirs and disappeared.”

Tyrus snorted with anger. “That little fucking Imp cast a spell on you. Their magic is supposed to be bound.” He sighed and pressed his snout to the top of your head. “Don’t worry. Until we figure this out, at least you will get to be the cutest cow I have ever seen.”

_____________________________________________________________

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

Sex Therapist - m!Incubus x f!reader, hypnotism, dubious consent, teratophilia, blow jobs. Part 1.

For other works see my masterlist

[beomiracles]

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 TAPE 04

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. Though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder. ⸝⸝

𝓹airings criminal!beomgyu x detective!reader 𝔀arnings drinking, kissing, vaginal fingering, public sex, creampie, biting? (lol how tf do I tag that), tiny bit of hair pulling (beomgyu receiving), smoking, references to blood but nothing detailed !

📼 THE TAPE RECORDINGS

𝓣𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝓢𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 contains dark themes portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships and substance abuse. reader discretion is advised ! — this story is partly told in flashbacks, beware of timestamps as past/present are mixed throughout the story.

#serene adds ✎.. SQUEE GUYS!! all of the tapes have officially been re-released! from here forward it will only be entirely new tapes !! I hope you guys are as excited as I am for this :3

[ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။| TAPE 04 ] — I Don't Smoke — recording length; 6.1k + PLAYLIST

📼 — PRESENT TIME ; February 20th 2024

You could not sleep that night. No matter how hard you tossed and turned, you couldn’t pull the images of him from your mind. Your conversation rings in your head, replaying itself over and over until every last word was engraved in your heart. The warmth of his breath against your face hovers above you, a ghost-like memory, an almost lucid one. 

With a tired groan you roll over on your stomach, burying your face in the pillow as you prepare to go through the evening’s events once more. 

“Yet you’re here.” — “But you shouldn’t be.” 

No. You shouldn’t be here. Seeing detained suspects outside of office hours, with no surveillance, it was most prohibited. Your mere presence here could quite frankly cost you your job, the one you had worked so hard for. But this was different. This wasn’t about now, it was about then. You weren’t a detective tonight, and he wasn’t a suspect. You were you and he was him. Just like it had been ten months ago. 

Beomgyu catches your inner struggle, the already present smirk on his lips stretching wider. “So why are you?” He lets his head fall to the side, the question echoing down the vacant hallway. You knew why, yet you had hoped he wouldn’t ask. But of course, Beomgyu saw right through you, and he’d always known exactly where to push in order for you to finally crack. 

Patience was not something he lacked and so he waited patiently when you fiddled with the back of your earring, twiddled with the hem of your sleeve, glanced down the corridor and then back up. Without the files in your hand, without his hands chained in front of him, and without the large metal table parting you, he somehow felt closer. This was far more intimate than any of your previous encounters since his arrival yesterday night. And you hate it. 

“I need answers.” Your voice is thick, laced with a hint of worry, constantly aware of the dangers of your situation. You were gambling with both your heart and your position here. — Beomgyu huffs, the sound coming out as a quiet chuckle when he shakes his head. 

“I thought that was what our sessions were for, no? He quirks a brow, but you know better than to fall for it. He knew that it wasn’t why you had come. — You shake your head firmly, “It’s not the kind of answers I want.”

His lip twitches, his smirk not faltering one bit. 

“Something you can’t share with that colleague of yours?” 

You frown, hands balling into fists by your sides. “Something that doesn’t concern him”, you state as you press your lips into a thin line. Your heart is beating loudly against your chest, its persistent thump playing in your ears akin to a heavy drum; a constant reminder of the power he still holds over you, even as he sits inside a small cell. 

Beomgyu hums, his fingers trailing the outline of the small window. You find your gaze lingering by the metal rings adorning them as they glint in the soft light coming from behind him. “Well go on then”, he pauses, dark eyes flickering from the dust on his finger and over to yours as they narrow, “You’ve never been one to shy away from asking questions, dollface.” 

You swallow. 

For the past ten months you had wondered what it would be like to come face to face with him once more. What would you tell him? Part of you wanted to blatantly ignore him, to act as if he had never even existed in your life. That was a satisfactory thought, one you allowed yourself to imagine in order to feel better. 

You knew that you wouldn’t be able to refrain from indulging as soon as your eyes landed on him though. There were at least a thousand questions soaring through your mind, questions you had longed to ask for what felt like forever. — But as you stand before him, with your heart beating out of your chest and sweat pooling on your forehead, you suddenly find yourself at loss for words. 

“That night”, you slowly begin, drawing your speech out as you try your hardest to gauge his reaction. He isn’t interrupting you, instead he waits patiently as ever for you to finish. “You did not come after me.” His eyes narrow. — “Why didn’t you?” 

He remains silent. And for a moment you worry that he might not give you an answer at all, it wouldn’t be the first he did. His brow twitches, and for a moment he looks almost confused. But that quickly fades and is soon replaced by his ever stoic expression. “Did you want me to?” He returns your question with one of his own. 

Did you want him to? Back then you had feared that he would.. But when he hadn’t.. When you had been left all alone with your own thoughts, the ones that had been chained under his presence, you suddenly found yourself lost. — “It doesn’t matter if I wanted you to or not.” You fold your arms across your chest, “Why didn’t you?” 

He exhales, the smirk on his face falling as his features twist into something gloomy. “I read your note.” The following silence is deafening, despite his words coming out a mere breath. You feel your blood go cold. — The note. You remember the small and wrinkly piece of paper all too well, the blurry lines you had so quickly scribbled down, the ink ruined by your own tears. You didn’t think that he had actually read it. It had merely existed to dull the ache of your own wounds, never had you imagined him actually… 

Suddenly the memories all come crashing down on you in picture perfect quality, the memories you had longed to forget. The blood, the blood on his hands. There had been so much blood. The red crimson had mixed with the rain, heavy and hard as it poured over you. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you pull your gaze from his. 

It had been a bad idea to come here. You should have stayed away. 

The cold metal of his rings startle you when Beomgyu’s hand suddenly reaches for your chin. You hadn’t realized just how close you were standing to the door. Close enough for his hand to reach through the small window, for his fingers to lock your head in place as they grasped your jaw. 

“Leaving so soon, dollface? — I thought you wanted answers.” His voice is low as he studies your frightened expression with a taunting one. Your wide eyes dart down the hallway before returning back to him. “Let me go”, you seethe as you try to shrug him off. 

His grip tightens before it eases, and with a quiet hum his knuckles caress your cheek, the action makes you shudder. “I am many things, dollface”, he murmurs as he lets you go, his hand slipping back through the small window as he takes a step back, the darkness of his cell immediately consuming half his face. — “But I am not that.” 

Then he turns away from you, and you can just about make out his figure in the dark as he heads for the small bed provided. He sits down on it, his elbows on his knees as he turns the rings on his fingers. — Everything is quiet, even the beating of your own heart has dulled into faint background noise. 

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding in. You knew that you weren’t going to get another word out of him, and with a defeated sigh you reached for the hatch on the window. But as your fingers grasp the small lock, he suddenly speaks up. — “You haven’t told them what you saw.” The statement sends a chill down your spine, because you knew exactly what he was referring to. You knew all too well. 

Beomgyu lifts his head, the dark strands of his long hair falling from his face. He turns your way, his dark eyes finding yours in an instant. “If you did, I wouldn’t be here right now.” The truth is harsh and bitter, it makes you feel guilty, ashamed even. But Beomgyu smirks, a small chuckle passing his lips. “Perhaps I was wrong about you, dollface.” 

His gaze zeroes on your hand, hesitating by the window hatch. — “Just how deep does your loyalty still run?” 

⸝⸝

📼 — April 29th 2022

“Oh please”, Kayla pleads, her voice sounds near desperate on the other line. You push your phone to your ear, balancing it on your shoulder as you continue to wipe down the table you had just cleared. “I don’t know, there’s just so much coursework and then I’m working again tomorrow afternoon.” 

You tried to swiftly avoid a blunt ‘no’ as you worked around your answer. Kayla had been pestering you to go out with her for days since it ‘had been so long’ since last. You knew better, it was just another excuse since she and her so-called ‘boyfriend’ were on yet another break and your friend longed to rebound with the first suitable candidate. 

Though you would admit that you had been neglecting your duties as her friend. From the dismissed texts to the unreturned calls. Suppose you felt guilty for going behind her back like this, you knew that Beomgyu was the last person she’d want to see you acquainted with, and you were doing just that. So you had distanced yourself. 

The right thing would be to go out with her, but tonight… It wasn’t like your excuses weren’t valid. You were busy, still, a small part of you wanted to keep your calendar clear, just in case Beomgyu would text. It was pathetic really, seeing as you hadn’t heard from him in nearly two weeks. — You bit your lip as you thought about what could possibly be keeping him from you. Work? You had no clue of what he did for a living for Beomgyu was very vague about his private life. He didn’t tell you much, then again, you never asked. 

“Fine”, you groan as you set the cloth aside to move over to the next table. Kayla squeals on the phone as she promises that the two of you are going to have a blast. Though your amusement didn’t quite reach her levels, you still agreed as you settled on details. — When the call ends you shove your phone back into your pocket to resume working. 

You’re about halfway done clearing the table, with plates stacked on both your arms as you maneuver around the chairs, when a voice from behind startles you. “Here, let me help you with these”, Soobin says as he takes a handful of plates from you. — “O-Oh! Thank you.” You give him a sheepish smile as you allow him to walk you back toward the kitchen doors. 

Soobin’s parents ran the restaurant you were working at, and despite him being a couple years your senior, the two of you got along well as he often stopped by to help his mom and dad out. — “How have you been?” He asks when holding the door open for you. Giving him a thankful nod, you shrug, “Tired, overworked and exhausted? – I’m just glad this semester is coming to an end in a month or so.” 

Soobin nods as he follows you over to the countertop, setting the plates down on it. “Fairs, you work hard.” He grins, “But it’s paying off well! Just imagine when you get your degree.” You hum as you pick up a plate and run it under the faucet, “You’re right.” One thing about Soobin was that he always seemed to get your mind off of things, whether it be school or work, or even Beomgyu.. His abilities to see things on the bright side seemed to lighten your own mood tenfold. 

He leans against the countertop, his arms folded across his chest as he watches you clean the dirty plates. “Got any plans for summer?” He asks and you purse your lips as you pick up a sponge and drench it in dish soap. “Dunno… I’ll probably pick up a few extra shifts around here, so don’t think you’ll see less of me.” You send him a small smile before your attention returns to the dishes in front of you. 

Soobin chuckles as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “I wouldn’t want it any other way”, he mumbles. “My parents love you”, he then adds, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at the sudden compliment. “I’m sure they’re more than thrilled to have you here all summer.. Just don’t forget to take some time for yourself as well”, he then adds. 

You raise a brow as you shoot him a side glance. “Are you trying to rid yourself of me?” you tease, expecting nothing more but a laugh in return. Soobin however, shakes his head. “Certainly not”, he says as he takes the now clean plate from your hands in order to dry it. — “On the contrary”, he clears his throat, “I was going to ask if you could somehow fit me somewhere in your hectic calendar.” 

Your hand misses the glass you were aiming for and instead your fingers fumble against the bubbles that had formed due to the soap as you blink up at him. Sure you and Soobin spent a great deal of time together, and you considered him a good friend, but that was all thanks to your job at his parent’s restaurant. You never saw each other outside, yet here he was openly asking for such a fact to change? 

He’s quick to note your hesitation and hurriedly adds, “Only if you’re up for it of course!” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Me and a couple of friends are renting this place not far from the city, I would love for you to join us..” — You watch as he fiddles with the cloth in his hands, anxiously awaiting his response. 

You hadn’t thought of Soobin much that way, but as you regard the soft tint to his cheeks, the way his gaze flickers between the floor and you nervously, you can’t help but find him cute. “I would like that a lot”, you send him an equally shy smile and Soobin’s face immediately lights up. 

He looks like he’s about to say something else but before he gets the chance to, a hoarse voice breaks the silence. “Young man!” You immediately recognize it as none other than your own boss. Soobin cowers behind you as the elderly lady approaches the two of you with rapid steps. Though his attempts at seeking refuge prove futile as she grabs ahold of his ear, yanking down on it hard. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Waltzing in here and distracting my best employee from her duties!” Her harsh tone makes your eyes widen and you almost drop the plate still in your grasp. Soobin winces as he puts his hands up in surrender, “Mom, please! We were just..” — “Just what?” She retorts as she gives his ear another pull. 

Baffled, you bite back a smile, “It’s no trouble Mrs Choi. He’s been helping me out with the dishes.” Your attempt at soothing her fragile nerves seemed successful as the old woman let go of her son and straightened her back, even then, she just barely reached your chest. 

“Hmpf, as long as he makes use of himself I suppose..” She mutters as she sends Soobin a glare, one he returns with a frown as he cradles his ear. — “But I don’t even work her-” He cuts himself short with a small cough when his mom raises a threatening fist his way, “Alright! Alright!” 

Mrs Choi turns her attention to you as she flattens out the apron over her legs. “Very well. Are you staying for dinner, dear?” She asks, her once bitter expression replaced with a warm one. You quickly nod before politely accepting her offer, “I would be delighted to.” 

Your throat burns as you down your third shot of the night. Upon setting the empty glass down, you lean against the bar top as your eyes wander across the crowded dance floor. People were pushed up against one another, their bodies moving uncoordinatedly yet somehow beautifully. — “You wanna dance?” Kayla asks as she sets her own empty shot glass down. 

True to her word, she had stuck by you the entire night, the main reason being the fact that she had yet to scour out a worthy candidate to accompany her home. Still, you couldn’t deny the sense of comfort her chaotic presence brought your tense nerves. “Sure”, you grin as you allow her to take your hand in hers.

The floor moves in rhythm with the beat, your knees feel wobbly but you manage to remain standing through it all. Even as Kayla twirls you in her arms, just barely catching you again as she giggles. Some songs are familiar, others aren't, that didn’t matter much. You found yourself having a lot more fun than you had originally anticipated. And as the night went on the guilt you had been carrying seemed to lessen. 

Perhaps this had been just what you needed, an escape from your otherwise mundane reality. The one where you waited on someone to call, like a lost puppy astray without its owner. Only that someone hardly seemed to care for your longing touch. 

Beomgyu was always on your mind, so much so that sometimes you thought you saw him in other people. In class, at work, even on your way home, you thought you could catch a glimpse of him through the corner of your eye. But as you turned around, you found yourself disappointed yet again. 

So when you’d seen his dark shadow moving across the outskirts of the dancefloor you had brushed it off as another trick of your mind, nothing but the alcohol and your insatiable need for him speaking. But then as Kayla twirls you around once more and your gaze falls on his figure, leaning against the wall, you knew that this wasn’t another of your hallucinations. 

It was undeniably him. Dressed in all black, he nearly blended with the dark wall behind him. The moment is over before you can as much as blink and then you’re back in Kayla’s arms. But for that short second you could’ve sworn that your eyes had met. Your heart nearly stopped. — He quickly disappears from your line of sight as the crowd around you presses closer and you helplessly search from you, completely forgetting about Kayla who was watching you with a frown. 

Fate was cruel. It seemed to know exactly when you craved him the most. Then it would taunt you by flaunting him before your very eyes, close enough to just barely send your mind spiraling, but far enough to remain out of reach for your desperate hands. 

Then, your eyes fall on her. She looks no different from the women he’d been surrounded by that night, the night when you had first met. Her smile is deceiving, her nails sharp as they trail his chest. He leans closer, an arm snaking around her waist, dark hair tickling her face when goes to whisper something in her ear. You can’t hear her laugh but you can see it. And it fucking hurts. 

The rings on his fingers glint under the flashing lights as they brush against her naked thigh, inching closer to where her short skirt ends. He was… You turn your head away in disgust, swallowing the lump in your throat when your gaze meets Kayla’s. 

Your hand is sweaty as you grab hers, and before you know it you’re pulling her along as you push your way through the crowded dance floor. Her protests go over your head, and your grip only grows harsher when she tries to break free. It felt as though you were walking through quicksand. You were sinking faster than you were running. 

It’s not until the cold night air hits your scorching hot face that you finally let her go. The back door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing off the vacant alleway. “What’s gotten into you?” Kayla shrieks as she jerks her hand back, cradling her wrist to her chest with a deep frown on her face. — You don’t answer her as you allow your body to slump against the rough brick wall. 

You breathe in through your nose, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you trap it there. When you exhale through parted lips you let your eyes flutter closed. “Just needed some air”, you murmur. 

Kayla huffs, sounding deflated as she, too, leans against the side of the building. “You okay?” She whispers, this time her voice is laced with concern. You can feel her gaze on you as she studies your absent expression. “Yes”, you nod. — She pauses, “Do you want to get out of here?” 

You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine.” You’d be damned to let something as simple as this ruin your night out. Except, Beomgyu was anything but simple. The thought of leaving was tempting, but you told yourself that you had run away for the last time. This wouldn’t change anything. 

“Go on back inside, I’ll join you in a few.” Cracking an eye open, you give your find a reassuring smile. And though she seems far from convinced she nods. “Text me if you change your mind”, Kayla says as he places a quick kiss to your cheek. 

You wait until the door closes behind her before resting your head against the hard brick. Taking the quiet moment to glance around the desolate alley, you find nothing but overcrowded trash cans and empty beer bottles littering the streets. You were all alone, at last. — With a content exhale you close your eyes, basking in the comforting silence that had enveloped you. 

Perhaps it had been rather childish to make such a dramatic exit, but in that very moment, it had been your only escape. You hadn’t seen him like that since.. Since you first met. And after almost two weeks of not seeing one another once, he seemed to be doing just fine, acting as though the whole world laid at his feet. — All the while you struggled to even go a day without him, desperately waiting on a single text in his name. God, when did you allow yourself to stoop to such a level. 

Why was it so easy for him? It was all games and fun in his world. Why could you not share his carefree ways? Why did you have to be the only one suffering from a seemingly pleasure filled agreement? It was unfair. 

Was he not as addicted to you as you were to him? 

Fine. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. He was off doing god knows what with that chick and you were… here. No, not anymore. You inhale, preparing to put on the strongest of fronts and go back inside. — But before you’re able to let said breath go, the door next to you opens. 

You remain still, completely unmoving as you wait for whoever has come to pass again. They never do. And soon you feel another warm body join you as they, too, lean against the cold brick wall. Everything is quiet, everything is still, time is frozen. 

Carefully you listen as they shuffle about, likely rummaging through their pockets in search of something. Then a click, the one a lighter makes. The smell of thick black smoke hits you not long after and you nearly turn your nose up in disgust. — Next to you, the person exhales, a long and heavy breath. 

“Not even a hello?” 

Beomgyu’s relaxed voice sends a chill down your spine and your eyes snap open. You had known that it was him from the moment he’d stepped outside. Still, you had allowed yourself to blissfully ignore his presence until he decided to make it known. — You keep your eyes on the messy graffiti covering the brick wall opposite you. Following the scribbly lines, you draw in a short breath. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to.” 

Through the corner of your eye you could see him bring a cigarette to his lips. The end lights up when he inhales slowly, his hand returning to his side once more. He exhales the thick smoke, almost as poisonous as himself. “No?” He hums and even though you refuse to turn his way you can still feel his piercing gaze on you. 

“No.” You firmly agree as you fold your arms across your chest. “You looked… Busy.” With the subtle clearing of your throat you avoid directly targeting the fact that he’d had both eyes and hands on another woman just moments prior. 

But your vague answers didn’t discourage him in the slightest as Beomgyu scoffs. “Does that matter to you?” He asks the question as if you were the one in the wrong, making you out to be a fool for thinking otherwise. You bite your lip, your arms pulling tighter around yourself as you keep your gaze set ahead. 

“Why wouldn’t it?” 

You were being truthful, as honest as you could be. It took everything in you to lay your insecurities bare, and even then you were unable to hide the jealous sting in your voice. The thought of that woman, of all the others.. It made your face twist into a scowl without you even registering it, making your chest contract and your stomach hurt. 

And while Beomgyu had made it clear that what you had was purely sexual, you couldn’t help but find yourself doubting his actions. Things just didn’t add up. He treated you so differently, yet like nothing at all. — Why did it bother you so much that he could so easily venture off with another woman whilst you struggled to even think of a man that wasn’t him. 

Beomgyu hums, the sound low and eerily calm as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “And if I wasn’t busy?” He asks as he twirls the cigarette between his fingers. His questions leaves you unprepared, catching you completely off guard and you purse your lips as your gaze drops to the pavement in front of you. 

Would you have approached him if he was by himself? Would you have asked him to dance, would you have let his hands wander in front of everyone? Perhaps you would’ve asked him to take you somewhere private, maybe you wouldn’t have had to ask at all. 

“I don’t know.” You finally state as you turn your head in his direction, getting your first proper look at him that night. His head is tilted down, causing his dark hair to shield his expression from your curious eyes. Though you could tell that his attention was fixed to the cigarette between his fingers. His lips were slightly parted, his tongue swiping across his bottom one absentmindedly. 

“It’s hard to know when you’re available..” You quietly add and Beomgyu’s eyes flicker toward you. Feeling yourself tense up under his gaze, you shift against the wall as you avoid making direct eye contact. 

“If I was available right now?” He holds out the cigarette for you to take. Eyeing it with disdain for a moment, you decline by shaking your head, “I don’t smoke.” — Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, “You’d be the first to decline.” He studies you for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching into a faint smirk. “But you’re the first of many things, dollface”, he says as he brings the cigarette to his lips. 

You regard his relaxed posture with a frown. First of what? Sometimes it felt as though you and Beomgyu were playing an endless maze-like game, where every twist and turn led you into further confusion, forging new paths that didn’t make half as much sense as the previous one had. He, on the other hand, seemed to be holding all the cards, and you just aimlessly wandered. 

The brief conversation only served to frustrate you further and with a small sigh you push yourself off the wall as you make a move to go around him and back inside. But as your fingers brush the cool handle of the door, his hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, effectively freezing you in place. 

Confused, you try to pull away from his harsh grip. “Don’t you have someone waiting for you in there?” You retort, unable to hide the snappy tone you used. — Beomgyu drops the cigarette, crushing it under the sole of his shoe before shoving you back against the brick wall, easily pinning you against it. 

“No.” He simply states as his dark eyes rake over your stunned expression and down to your skimpily dressed figure. “Told you I was available right now, didn’t I?” He drawls, his hot breath mere inches from your already heated face. 

“But what if I’m not available?” You counter, only to watch the once faint smirk on his lips widen tenfold. “You wouldn’t have ran out here if you were.” Fuck, so he did see you. You’re certain that he can feel the warmth on your face when his thumb brushes over your cheek, threatening to ruin your neat makeup. 

“Fuck, do you always look this dolled up? Even when it’s not for me?” He murmurs, a small almost unnoticeable frown tugging on his brows. His gaze drops to your lips, coated in a shiny gloss. — His mouth is on yours before you can even think, much less form a coherent response. He wastes no time as his rough hands cup your face, pulling you impossibly close only to push his tongue inside your waiting mouth. 

You gasp against his lips, eyes wide as your hands frantically push at his chest. “Wait! Not here- What if someone sees?” 

Beomgyu chuckles, a low and raspy laugh that vibrates on your tongue. His hands leave your face, eagerly descending down your chest, brushing over your already hardened nipples, concealed only by the thin fabric of your dress. — You let out a startled yelp when the cold metal of his rings make contact with the back of your thighs as Beomgyu hikes your legs around his waist; his lips moving down your jaw as he presses hungry kisses to your skin. 

His urgent and almost feverish demeanor confused you. He could go weeks without as much as asking to see you, but when he did it was like he’d been starved of you for years. It didn’t make sense. However you find yourself both unable and unwilling to question his strange behaviour further when his hands suddenly push your already short dress up above your hips. 

“Beomgyu I’m serious!” You whine, yet you find yourself pulling him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders. No matter how hesitant the public display made you feel, you were unable to hold back from satiating the craving you’d been trying to feed for so long.

He scoffs when he sees you throw an anxious glance down the empty alley, your gaze lingering by the door he’d emerged from not long ago. “C’mon dollface, don’t go shy on me now”, he taunts against your neck before pulling your skin between his teeth, making you cry out. 

Fuck it. At least he was here with you and not the woman he’d been feeling up not even an hour prior. You were all that mattered to him. Right? That’s why he’d gone after you, only you. It’s what you tell yourself, it’s the only truth you’re willing to swallow, the only thing that would make you feel better about this. Knowing that you were special. 

Your eager hands move along his shoulders, past his neck and through his dark hair as you yank his face back up to yours, reconnecting your lips in a feverish kiss. You can feel his smirk, stretching wide across his lips when you push your tongue inside his mouth, not bothering to care for the taste of smoke that still lingered there. Pleasantly surprised by your demanding ministrations, Beomgyu lets you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, groaning when you bite down. 

His expression is smug when you pull back for air, his fingers slipping beneath your panties to drag across your throbbing cunt. — Your cunt that had craved him almost as much as your restless mind. 

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Your voice is unstable and threatens to betray you when he pushes two fingers inside of you, almost immediately curling them as he makes your back arch off the wall. Beomgyu’s lips return to your neck as he kisses his way to the shell of your ears. “Don’t be greedy, dollface”, he murmurs as he sucks your lobe into his mouth, rolling the silver of your earring against his tongue. “You already have so much.” 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You frown, wanting to object but quickly losing all your composure when the tip of his cock prods against your aching cunt. Your head hits the brick behind you as Beomgyu eases himself inside of you, a muffled groan passing his lips. — With an anxious gulp you glance toward the door, eyeing it nervously. 

Setting a quick and rough pace, Beomgyu’s fingers clasp around your face, digging into your cheeks as he shifts your attention back to him. “If they see, they see”, he grunts as his hips snap against yours. Meekly nodding, your hands fall back onto his shoulders as your moans fill the empty alleway. Even if no one saw you, they were bound to hear you. For some reason that thought thrilled you more than you ever imagined it would. 

The thought of everyone knowing what he was doing to you. That he was doing it to you and no one else. Only you. 

You knew that your attachment to him was becoming increasingly worrying. You should have probably distanced yourself a long time ago. Because you knew that this wasn’t just about the sex for you. Everything about Beomgyu drew you in. He was intoxicating, almost like a drug. That’s what made him so difficult to leave. Once you tried him, everything else seemed bland. Most of all, you could never seem to get enough of him, for he always left you craving more. 

And you would do anything to get him. 

Even now, as you smell the perfume of that woman all over him, you still crave him. All you can think about is him, all you can breathe is him and all you need is him. 

“Have you fucked her?” The question slips before you can stop it. Your nails claw at his shoulders, pulling a strained groan from him. You didn’t care if he had, not anymore. All that mattered was the fact that he was here with you right now. You desperately told yourself that his answer wouldn’t matter, that you could take it. 

“No.” 

Wait, he didn’t? Your jaw falls open, completely ignorant of the fact that his cock was still buried deep inside of you as your mind spiraled. A smug feeling bloomed within your chest, and it should have been a worrying one, but you could only relish in the fact that he had chosen you over her. He’d chosen you over all of them. You were special, right? 

When he finishes inside of you is when you’re certain that you are. You moan at the feeling of being filled to the brim with everything that was Beomgyu; letting him shove his fingers inside your sore cunt as he pushes his cum back inside, mixing it with your own orgasm before he brings his drenched fingers to your face. 

Your lips part as he smears the mess all over them, glancing up at him with a dazed and almost blissful expression. — “You really are a doll, aren’t you?” He murmurs as he watches your tongue dart out ti swipe across your wet lips, a small groan being pulled from his throat. 

If spending almost two weeks desperately longing for him was what it would take for something like this to happen, you would do it all over again, for as many times as you would have to. Because that’s what addiction was like. And oh how you were addicted to Choi Beomgyu.

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[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 20

MASTERLIST

WARNING: Heavy themes, Please proceed with caution.

For the first time in weeks, the world around Delilah seemed at peace. Floating was a serene sensation, the weightlessness carrying her to a place of quiet tranquility. Free from worry, free from doubt, her mistakes drifted out of reach, dissolving into nothingness. Her mind emptied, her body unburdened. It was as if nothing else existed—nothing beyond the water, nothing beyond the surface. Here, she could not be touched. She could not be harmed. She could not be corrupted. She felt like a child again, safely protected in her mother’s womb, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat as Delilah bolted upright, air stabbing through her lungs like a blade. Her chest rose and fell in uneven, frantic breaths. For a few disorienting seconds, she couldn’t recognize where she was. Her eyes darted around the dim room, her surroundings coming into focus—the soft lavender walls, the dresser lined with Simone’s carefully placed candles, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

She was back in Simone’s house. Back in the guest bedroom.

Not floating. Not peaceful. Not safe.

The reality of it all sank into her bones like lead. The weight that had been lifted in her dream crashed back down, crushing her under its familiar heaviness.

She had gone through with it.

The tiny life that had once been inside of her was gone.

She curled into herself, pulling the blanket tighter around her body. She had known this would happen, had prepared herself, had gone to that clinic with her decision already made. Yet, it still hit her like a train. The finality of it. The silence in her body where something had been growing. Would she ever get the chance to be a mother again? Did she even deserve to?

A bitter scoff left her lips. She had sacrificed her unborn child at the altar of her wrestling career, right next to her failed relationship with Andre. She had made a choice. So why did it still feel like something had been ripped from her?

And Josh…

She squeezed her eyes shut.

She shouldn’t even be thinking about him. He didn’t deserve to be thought about. He had made it abundantly clear that this wasn’t his problem. That he wasn’t going to guide her, support her, or even pretend to care.

“I just want you to do what’s best for you.”

Bullshit.

He didn’t care. Didn’t care enough to have an actual opinion, to step up like a real man. He had been so sure when he kept having sex with her without protection, but when the consequences of that recklessness came knocking, he had nothing to say. To her, he had washed his hands clean of it, as if he hadn’t been the one to get her pregnant in the first place.

She blocked him the second she walked out of that clinic.

She wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

All she wanted was to get out of Pensacola, leave this chapter behind, and start over. She was counting down the days until she could be medically cleared and head out to Orlando. A fresh start. A new beginning.

But first, she had to get through this pain. Physical and emotional. She didn’t know how, but she knew she just had to.

--------------------

The afternoon sun was creeping in through the blinds when Delilah finally reached for her phone. She had ignored it for the past two days, but now, as she sat curled up in bed, she knew she owed one person an explanation.

Tank.

She Facetimed him, and after a few rings, his face appeared on her screen. The concern in his expression hit her immediately.

“Delilah,” he greeted, voice heavy. “Been wonderin’ when you was gonna call me back.”

She swallowed, her throat dry. “Yeah…sorry.”

Tank studied her through the screen, his jaw tightening. “You look like hell, girl.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “I feel like it too.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Talk to me.”

Delilah hesitated, her fingers gripping the blanket draped over her lap. Then, before she could second-guess herself, the words spilled out.

“I was pregnant,” she admitted, her voice a hoarse whisper as she gauged the look of complete shock on his face. “I found out after I came back from Vegas.”

Tank remained silent, though the slight widening of his eyes gave his thoughts away. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t say anything, just listened.

She forced herself to continue. “It was Josh’s.”

His nostrils flared. “You said, was.”

“Yes. Was.” She glanced down at her fingernails, suddenly realizing she needed a manicure. “I…I didn’t keep it,” she confessed, her voice breaking at the end. “I couldn’t. Not with everything that's...not with the way he—he just didn’t care, Tank. He acted like it wasn’t even his problem.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Tank spoke again, his voice low and laced with disappointment.

“That boy done lost his damn mind.”

Delilah’s throat tightened.

“I been knowin’ Josh for damn near two decades, but I ain’t never seen him be this much of a coward,” Tank muttered, shaking his head. “You ain’t deserve that, Dee. You hear me?”

She swallowed hard, nodding. “I had the procedure two days ago, that’s why you didn’t hear from me.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tank said firmly. “Ain’t nobody got the right to judge you for it. Least of all him.”

Delilah bit her lip, fighting the lump in her throat. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that.

Later that evening, Simone tried her best to cheer her up.

“Come on, girl, you need to get out of this damn room,” she said, dragging Delilah into the living room. “CJ been askin’ for you all day.”

True to her words, her five-year-old nephew beamed when he saw her. “Auntie ‘Lilahl!” he squealed, launching himself at her.

Delilah managed a small smile as she scooped him up. “Hey, little man.”

CJ chattered away about his day, his excitement infectious. Even Clay, Simone’s husband, threw in a few encouraging words.

It helped. For a little while.

But the moment she was alone again, the weight returned.

----------------

The next morning, Delilah was ripped from sleep by the sound of shouting.

Her heart lurched.

She stumbled out of bed, moving towards the window. The second she saw who was on the front porch, her stomach dropped.

Josh.

He was standing there, his hands pressed together like he was praying, looking desperate.

“Man, I just need to see her!” he pleaded.

Simone was in the doorway, arms crossed, face twisted in disgust. “You got some fuckin’ nerve showin’ up here!.”

“Simone, please—”

“Nah, hell nah,” she snapped. “You ain’t got shit to say to my sister now, just like you ain’t have shit to say when she needed you!”

Delilah’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

She didn’t know what pissed her off more—the fact that Josh had the audacity to show up here, or the fact that he suddenly gave a damn now that it was too late.

“You don’t get to do this,” Simone hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to be the fuckin’ victim when you was the one actin’ like this wasn’t your problem!”

Josh ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I ain’t—I ain’t mean for it to be like this, man. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah? Well, too fuckin’ bad,” Simone shot back. “You shoulda thought about that before you left my sister to deal with this shit alone!”

Delilah took a deep breath, then stepped forward, pushing the door open wider.

Josh’s head snapped up at the sight of her. His eyes—damn those eyes—were filled with something she couldn’t quite place.

Guilt? Regret?

It didn’t matter.

“Delilah,” he started with that deep, gruff voice of his, “I tried to reach you, but you blocked me—”

“You need to leave,” she said, her tone cold.

Josh swallowed. “Baby, please, just let me—”

“There ain’t nothing to say,” she interrupted. “It’s done.”

His face twisted. “Delilah—”

“Leave,” she repeated, steel in her voice.

But Josh was stubborn. It was in his blood, in his bones, in the way he carried himself like he never took no for an answer. That Samoan pride, that relentless need to fix what was broken—he wasn’t the type to just walk away.

So, he didn’t.

“Delilah,” he tried again, stepping forward. “Please, man. Just…just come to my place. Let’s talk.”

She stiffened. “I got nothing to say to you, Josh.”

“Then don’t say nothin’,” he pleaded. “Just let me be there for you.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Now? Now you wanna be there? After I already—” Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard, her nails digging into her palms. “It’s done, Josh.”

Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or something darker, something unreadable—but he nodded, slow and deliberate. “Aight,” he murmured. “I hear you.”

For a second, she thought he might finally let it go. That he’d turn around and leave like he should.

But of course, he didn’t.

“I still wanna see you,” he said. “I know you leavin’ next week. I know I fucked up, baby girl. But let me fix somethin’. Let me take care of you.”

She exhaled sharply, willing herself not to fold.

She hated him.

She hated that he had the nerve to show up now, that he thought he could just throw those eyes at her, all soft and sorry, and she’d melt.

But most of all, she hated that some part of her still wanted to go.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, torn.

Josh stepped closer, voice low. “One night, baby. That’s all I’m askin’.”

She closed her eyes. She should say no. She needed to say no.

But she never had been able to resist him.

Not then.

And not now.

Simone stared at her like she had lost her damn mind.

“Are you serious right now?” Her sister’s voice was sharp, edged with disbelief. “After everything? After what he did, what he didn’t do—you really gon’ go with him?”

Delilah opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t sure. She really wasn’t. Every logical part of her screamed to tell him no, to turn around and go back inside, to stop letting him have this kind of power over her.

But there was another part of her. A part that was tired. A part that, despite everything, just wanted him. Not to argue, not to rehash every shitty moment of the last few weeks. Just to exist with him for a little while.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Simone exhaled, hands on her hips. “Wow, Delilah.” She shook her head. “You can’t be for real.”

Josh didn’t say anything, just stood there waiting, his dark eyes locked on Delilah’s. He could probably tell she was already breaking, that whatever resolve she’d had was slipping through her fingers. He always did know exactly how to pull her back in.

“You don’t even gotta pack much,” he said, voice low, coaxing. “I got you set up. Everything you need. Just come with me.”

Delilah swallowed hard. He had prepared for her?

She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

“You really left Raw just to come here?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Josh nodded once. “Soon as I realized you wasn’t gonna answer me, yeah.”

Simone let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, so now he gives a fuck? Now he wanna be here? You ain’t even call her back when she told you she was pregnant, but now you movin’ mountains to see her?”

Josh’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t take the bait. He kept his focus on Delilah.

“Baby, please,” he begged.

And that was it. That one word. The way it rolled off his tongue, deep and familiar, warm in a way she hated to admit she missed.

Delilah sucked in a breath.

She wasn’t ready to forgive him. Probably never would be.

But right now?

Right now, she just wanted to feel something other than empty.

Delilah exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. “Fine,” she murmured, barely believing the words leaving her mouth.

Simone sucked her teeth in frustration. “You really—” She cut herself off, shaking her head like she couldn’t even find the words. “You know what? Do what you want. But he—” she jabbed a finger toward Josh, “—can wait his ass in the car. Don’t bring your sorry ass near my house again.”

Josh held up his hands. “Aight, I hear you,” he said evenly. He didn’t argue, didn’t push back. Instead, he turned to Delilah. “I’ll be outside. Take your time, baby.”

Delilah ignored the way her stomach twisted yet again at that last word. She watched him retreat to his car, the door slamming shut behind him, before she turned and headed inside.

Simone was right on her heels. “You know this is stupid, right?”

Delilah sighed. “I don’t know what this is.”

“You just had surgery, Delilah. You need to be resting, not running off with the same man who left you to deal with this shit on your own.”

“I wasn’t on my own,” Delilah shot back, feeling defensive. “I had you.”

“Yeah, but was he there?” Simone’s eyes burned into hers. “Did he show up when it mattered?”

Delilah clenched her jaw. She didn’t have an answer for that.

Simone scoffed. “Exactly.”

Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she moved toward her room, her footsteps slow and heavy. She grabbed her duffle bag from the closet, tossing in a few essentials—leggings, hoodies, travel toiletries. She wasn’t even sure what she was packing for. She had no real plans, no real expectations.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, fingers gripping the fabric of her bag.

Was she doing the right thing?

Probably not.

But for reasons she couldn’t explain, she was doing it anyway.

--------------------

The near-hour-long drive to Josh’s house was thick with tension, suffocating and inescapable. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable—it was sharp-edged, bristling with everything unsaid. The highway stretched ahead endlessly, the glow of streetlights casting fleeting shadows over their faces. Delilah sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw clenched, staring out the window as if the darkness outside could swallow up the turmoil inside her. She could feel his presence beside her, heavy and unreadable, and it only made her anger simmer hotter beneath her skin.

Finally, Josh broke the silence. “How you feelin’?” His voice was low, careful, like he was stepping on glass.

Delilah turned her head, her eyes burning as she glared at him. “How do you think I’m feeling, Josh?” she snapped, her voice raw with exhaustion and resentment. “I feel like I just had a fucking abortion, that's how I fucking feel. It’s done.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Ay, I'm sorry, a'ight?” He let out a slow breath through his nose, then said, “Guess it is what it is.”

Delilah’s head jerked back slightly, disbelief flashing across her face before it twisted into something bitter. It is what it is?

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the window. “Don’t act like you care.”

Josh sighed, running a hand over his face, but kept his eyes on the road. “Of course I care! What you want me to say, Dee?”

“I don’t know, maybe something that don’t make me feel like I was in this shit alone,” she shot back, voice shaking. “You were so damn passive aggressive in them texts, like you ain’t know whether you wanted this baby or not. And when I needed you to be there for me, you left me hanging.” She turned to him, her expression hard. “You never had a problem bein’ decisive when you wanted to fuck me raw, though.”

Josh flinched at that, his jaw tightening. He stayed quiet for a beat before speaking again, his voice softer. “I ain’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“But you did.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Josh sighed, gripping the wheel tighter. “Look…you did the right thing.”

Delilah scoffed, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “The right thing?” she repeated mockingly. “And you know that how?”

His lips pressed together like he was trying to choose his words carefully. Finally, he spoke. “’Cause I been there,” he admitted. His voice was lower now, rough with something deeper, something heavier. “When me and Tameka had our first kid, my career was just startin’ to take off. We wasn’t ready, man. Thought we was, but we wasn’t.”

Delilah stared at him, but he didn’t look at her. He kept his focus ahead, his expression dark, troubled.

“I missed so much, Dee,” he went on, shaking his head. “His first steps, first words, birthdays, school plays…hell, you name it, I probably wasn’t there. My oldest? He still looks at me like I’m the reason everything fell apart. Like it’s my fault me and his mama ain’t work out. And maybe he ain’t wrong.”

Delilah swallowed, her fingers twitching against her arms, but she said nothing.

Josh sighed again, rolling his shoulders back like he was trying to shake off a weight. “I didn’t wanna say nothin’ before ‘cause…I wanted you to make your own choice,” he admitted. “But I ain’t want that life for you. You’re young, Dee. You crazy talented. You got a whole career ahead of you. A baby right now? It woulda changed everything. For real.” He finally turned to glance at her. “And you don’t deserve that. Not after everything you’ve been through. You deserve to shine.”

Delilah felt her throat tighten.

She wanted to stay angry. She wanted to cuss him out some more, tell him how much he hurt her, how much his indecisiveness had made everything worse. But some small, treacherous part of her understood. Maybe that’s what made it worse.

She turned away again, blinking rapidly as she stared out at the passing lights.

Josh exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Delilah,” he murmured. “For all of it. On me.”

Delilah kept her eyes on the window, her reflection barely visible against the dark glass. Her throat felt tight, but she refused to let it show.

“I know I fucked up,” he continued, his voice low, almost pleading now. “I do. But I don’t wanna leave shit like this between us. Let me be here for you. Just for a little while. Before you leave for Orlando.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers twitching in her lap.

“That’s why I came back. For you. Like I told you, I’m staying off Raw this week to be there for you,” he said, glancing at her with soft eyes l. “Please, Delilah. Let me take care of you.”

Delilah closed her eyes for a moment, her breath unsteady. She should say no. She should get out of this car, go back to Simone’s, and pretend the last year never happened. But she wasn’t sure she had it in her.

Instead, she nodded. Just once.

Josh didn’t say anything else. But when he reached over and gave her knee a light squeeze, she didn’t push him away.

The rest of the drive stretched on in silence, thick with all the emotions neither of them had the strength to say out loud.

--------------------

THOUGHTS?

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[fourtyforever]

I knowwwww I'm supposed to be working on emergency care but I have the absolute brain worms for the ballet au from opening night so here's 3.5k of ballet max verstappen being the bane of ballet nico rosberg's existence

---

The worst year of Nico’s professional ballet career was also the same year they moved that prodigious blonde freak up from the junior company, which in hindsight might have had something to do with it. 

He showed up to the first rehearsal of the season in his uniform shirt and black tights from the junior company, even though company dancers were allowed to wear anything they wanted, and he stood ram-rod straight at the barre while the rest of the company lounged around waiting for class to start. He had the ugliest haircut Nico had ever seen, but he was good--good enough that Nico understood why they brought him up early, even though he knew that must have sucked big time for the other dancers in the junior company who were his age. 

It hadn’t really registered to Nico, because there had been bigger things on his mind. Things that spent the whole class on the opposite side of the studio from him, looking, frankly, upsettingly good in a loose tank top with the arm holes cut even wider to show off the muscle he had built at that summer intensive in Brazil. Lewis avoided eye contact with Nico, and Nico did the same, but it was a little impossible not to look. Their last season hadn’t ended well, and it didn’t feel like time apart had healed any wounds. Still, Nico didn’t really have attention left over to pay to the new kid until Seb mentioned him after class.

“That boy’s going to give us all a run for our money this year,” he said, following Nico out of the studio to the dressing room. The kid in question was still gathering up his things just out of earshot, totally oblivious to the conversation about him going on just a few good steps away. “Are you worried?”

“No,” said Nico, very confidently, which turned out to be a mistake. “There’s always new dancers. He doesn’t seem that special.”

“He’s good,” grunted Kimi. 

Seb nodded. “I can see why he got moved up on his own.” He looked over at Nico out of the corner of his eye as Nico tried his best to ignore him. “Do you think Lewis is worried?”

Nico shouldered open the door to the dressing room, trying to let it close in Seb’s face. It didn’t work. “I don’t think any of us need to be worried about some moderately good teenager,” he said as Kimi and Seb pushed through the door behind him.

“You’re talking about Max?” asked Daniel. Like usual, he was butt-naked in the middle of the dressing room, forcing Nico to make very pointed eye contact. “He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”

“Someone ought to take him under their wing,” said Seb, elbowing Daniel in the ribs.

Nico scoffed. “Nobody ‘took us under their wing’ when we were starting out, and we turned out fine,” said Nico. 

“Michael,” said Kimi, simply. 

“Yeah, you’re really gonna sit here and say Schumi meant nothing to you?” added Seb, and Nico had to acquiesce. But it had been years since Michael retired, and these days he didn’t feel all that advantaged by the older dancer’s mentorship. 

“We also didn’t get moved up to the company by ourselves out of nowhere,” said Daniel. He looked thoughtfully back at the door that neither Max nor Lewis had come through yet, dick still out for all the world to see. “Must be tough. He could probably use a friend.”

“Save your pity for the kids that didn’t get moved up,” grumbled Nico. He had hoped to get to bitch about Lewis to Seb a little bit, who was always a good listener even though Nico knew he talked with Lewis just as much as he did with Nico. But if everyone wanted to instead focus on the new wunderkind, that was, well, whatever. Nico didn’t care.

---

Nico certainly noticed Max at their first joint mens’ class with the junior company, because it was impossible not to. The kid was a freak. Nico had always been a turner, but Max very nearly matched him when they did à la seconde turns side by side. Then he put the whole junior company and a good chunk of the senior company to shame when they did jumps across the floor, hitting the kind of split in midair that Nico usually only saw from the company ballerinas or from Lewis. His musicality was kind of shit, and his port de bras clearly needed work, but there were certainly worse things to be bad at. 

The only time he made eye contact with Lewis was when Max replaced a single pirouette with a quadruple out of nowhere, meeting and matching Lewis’s shocked face out of force of habit. He regretted it as soon as he looked, but there was a weird sort of comfort in knowing that Lewis was just as unsettled by this new guy as he was. At the beginning of last year, which felt like a lifetime ago, he would have been standing next to Lewis and whispering under his breath about how insane the new kid was. For now, though, he had to be content with stolen glances and ignoring Daniel’s appreciative whistle from behind him. 

---

At the company mixer and pizza party, Nico sat across from Lewis at the same table they always sat at since they started in the lowest level of the junior company, entirely ignoring each other. Max, of course, sat right in between them, with Seb on one side and Daniel on the other. 

“Who do you think will be the cavalier this year?” he asked, his mouth full of pepperoni pizza. He had loaded up his plate with nearly half a pizza, fucking kids and their impossible metabolism. He wasn’t about to break a nearly-a-year vegan streak for some subpar pepperoni pizza, but that didn’t stop him from feeling a little jealous. 

“It’s barely August,” said Nico, hating how Lewis looked up at the mention of the Sugar Plum cavalier role. He probably thought the part was as good as his, secure in two years of being cast in the top role while Nico was passed back and forth between Snow King and the Nutcracker prince. The Nutcracker didn’t matter as much anymore, but Nico couldn’t afford to give anything less than his full effort, not when casting for the spring performance came out barely a week after the last Nutcracker show. “It’s too early to be worrying about that.”

“Auditions are in a month,” said Max. “I want to be prepared.”

“Playing guessing games isn’t going to make you more prepared,” said Nico.

Max shrugged. “Neither is being so uptight, but we of course all have our own strategies.” 

He stuck another piece of pizza in his mouth, and Nico fought the urge to get up and slap his paper plate across the room. He had to settle for glaring at the top of the kid’s shitty hair. Lewis went back to his phone and his vegan mushroom pizza which he wasn’t even pretending to enjoy, while Seb smiled that toothy smile that meant he could sense drama unfolding and Daniel laughed like Max had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Pathetic. 

“You know what we all used to call him?” said Seb, a truly mischievous smile spreading across his face. 

“Nico?” said Max. “No. What?”

Nico kicked Seb under the table, but it made no difference. “Britney. Because of his pretty blonde hair.”

Honestly, Nico could not imagine what would possess Seb to tell the awful child that. His eyes lit up as Daniel giggled and even Lewis looked up at the mention of Nico’s nickname. “Britney,” Max said, the name sounding already way too comfortable on his tongue. “Like Britney Spears? I can see it.”

“I’m not doing this,” announced Nico, picking up his plate and storming off to join a random gaggle of junior company dancers at the next table over. 

---

Nico was cast as the Sugar Plum Cavalier, but he still couldn’t really enjoy rehearsals, not when Lewis was getting just as much of the praise as the Nutcracker Prince. He especially couldn’t enjoy the full-company rehearsals where he had to watch him dance, graceful and majestic as he’d always been. 

“Why do Britney and Lewis hate each other?” stage-whispered Max from behind Nico. He was doing such a bad job at being quiet that Nico almost thought it was meant for him to hear. In any case, it was enough to distract him from watching Lewis rehearse the fight scene with Fernando. 

“There’s, like, history between them,” was Daniel’s just-as-loud whispered response. History was an incredible oversimplification. Lewis had been the first friend he ever made in ballet, the only other boy in his beginning dance class when he first started out who made him feel like he might actually belong there. They had been each others’ rock moving up through the dance school and then the company, the only constant in the chaos of that world. He had been Nico’s first crush, the first person to know he was gay, his first kiss, first everything. 

Not that any of that mattered now. 

“What kind of history?” whispered Max. “Were they, like..?”

Nico couldn’t see what kind of gesture Max did to finish that sentence, but he could guess what it was based on Daniel’s barely muffled laugh. “Uh, yeah,” said Daniel. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh,” said Max. “Well, that is very stupid, then. What, did they just break up and now they can’t talk to one another?”

Nico wanted to turn around and give the shit child a piece of his mind before he realized that the absolute last thing he wanted was for either of them to know he had been listening in. “I guess it was a little more complicated than that,” said Daniel, at least doing the bare minimum of coming to Nico’s defense. “But hey, I guess that’s what you get for dating a fellow dancer.”

Maybe he was right, Nico thought. Maybe it was a doomed idea from the start. Maybe that was something Nico should have realized when Lewis had reached for his hand that first time and Nico had taken it, that this would hurt them in the long run. It made something wrench in his chest to think that, something small and bruised and soft but still alive no matter how hard he tried to squash it, that cried out that what he and Lewis had had to have meant something. But it was hard to believe that now, when they could barely look at one another. 

“I think they might just be stupid,” whispered Max. “There’s nothing wrong with dating a fellow dancer if you’re not stupid.”

Incredible. Nico had to close his eyes and count to ten to keep himself from punting that blonde bastard straight across the studio. The Coffee Princes dance that Max and Daniel were both in could not come soon enough, he thought.

---

It was nice that the studio tended to hire the same handful of guest choreographers every year. The jockeying for their favor was always a little less pronounced when everyone knew who they would pick as their favorites. 

However, that meant that everyone--Nico included--was completely fucking blindsided when Horner picked Max out of all people to have a solo in his latest contemporary piece, passing over Nico and Lewis and his former favorite Seb to put the kid in the front and center. It was completely out of nowhere. Nico had been expecting to be competing with Lewis and Daniel for the top solo in a Christian Horner piece, but not once did he imagine being overlooked in favor of fucking Max. 

He didn’t even develop an ego over it, which was kind of the worst part. Dancers that got a taste of success and then walked around like they owned the place were sure to crash and burn at the slightest provocation, and Nico would have been happy to let the terrible child wear himself out and then fade back into oblivion. But Max acted like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he was used to getting all the best roles and therefore wasn’t especially affected by this one. And the worst part was that in Horner’s position, Nico might have done the same thing. Max continued to be unreasonably, unbearably good, in a way that sometimes made Nico want to pull a Tonya Harding on him, bash in his kneecaps after class (though he’d have to do it in the rare moment where Daniel wasn’t annoyingly attached to him). The only consolation he ever got was that Lewis looked just as happy to be there as Nico was, which was not much at all.

Though sometimes Nico thought that Max was more aware of his unique position than he let on. “I really don’t know why everyone always complains about the contemporary pieces,” he said one day while they were getting changed after rehearsal. “I think this is actually a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” Nico muttered. He thought he might have heard Lewis snort under his breath at that from the other side of the dressing room, but he wasn’t sure. He would obviously never look up to check. 

“What was that?” asked Max. It was impossible to tell whether he was being genuine or not, which was even more aggravating. 

“Don’t mind Britney,” said Daniel, putting an arm around Max’s back that was maybe a little bit too friendly. “He’s just jealous of you.”

Nico was going to kill them all, including Seb for telling Max that fucking nickname. He threw his shorts into his bag with a little more force than necessary. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he sneered, aiming it more at Daniel and reveling in the sudden look of confusion that came over him before storming out, slamming the dressing room door. 

---

The spring show was Don Quixote, and for some asinine, unbelievable reason, they had decided to double cast Lewis and Nico in the role of Don Quixote, so that they had to go to all the same rehearsals and switch off every other run. Maybe they thought it would be better for the two of them to be in equal standing, but all it meant was that every single rehearsal was like reliving their falling out from start to finish. It was made so much worse by the fact that Max was cast as Basilio -- way higher of a role than anyone should expect for their first spring show. 

“You need to move forward here,” Max told him after they finished a run but before Nico could swap back out with Lewis for the next one. “Always you are in my way, and if you don’t move I might crash into you next time.”

It was a little much to deal with while Nico was still catching his breath. He still couldn’t understand why Max was never so much as winded after this much dancing. “What?” he gasped, just to give himself a little more time to breathe.

Max huffed indignantly. “When you’re finished with your solo. You need to move out of the way faster, because I’m starting my next part right behind you.”

“He’s got a point,” said Lewis, staring directly at Nico. 

Nico sneered at him. “I only have three steps before the last couple of jumps to get across the stage. I am already traveling as much as I can.” He spared a look at Lewis, looking him up and down and pointedly lingering on his legs that were shorter than Nico’s just because he knew it would hurt, twisting that particular knife. “I doubt you’ll have an easier time getting there.”

He could see that he had struck the nerve he was aiming for, Lewis’s lip curling just the smallest amount. Part of him wished it hurt more to hurt Lewis, instead of the sickening satisfaction he was left with. But there was still ground to be gained--they hadn’t yet chosen which of them would get to dance 7 shows and who would only get 6--so Nico didn’t really have sympathy to spare. All he felt was bitterness, whether he did better than Lewis or worse. The fact that they were forced to be so close together made it harder for Nico to feel anything else, the love he had for dance that brought him here almost foreign to him now. Sometimes it felt like too much, like the horrible wanting he felt--wanting to be better than Lewis, wanting to hurt him, wanting him back, wanting to prove something, wanting things to go back to the way they were--was poisoning every moment he spent in the studio. 

“Well, you need to be farther forward somehow,” said Max, putting his hands on his hips. Nico could strangle him. “Otherwise I’m going to run into you one of these times.”

“Boys,” said Toto, looking back and forth at the three of them disapprovingly. Max backed down slightly at his voice, but not very much. One of the only things Nico had to look forward to was the day that kid finally mouthed off to Toto (or god forbid, Director Wolffe herself) and got absolutely eviscerated. Nico would laugh. Lewis might laugh with him. “We only have time for one more run tonight. Max, begin your solo farther upstage. Lewis, swap with Nico.”

Max rolled his eyes, but did as Toto said. Nico didn’t meet Lewis’s eyes as he stormed back to the corner of the studio to watch the two of them dance. 

---

It was all too much. Nico needed someone to vent to. 

It couldn’t be Lewis, for obvious fucking reasons. He found Seb in one of the smaller studios, but he was busy teaching the townspeople dance to some of the junior company dancers. “Sorry, I really have to finish this,” he said. “You can complain to me in half an hour, though. Or you can go talk to Kimi?”

“Kimi’s not going to let me complain,” said Nico.

Seb laughed, and some of the dancers around him laughed too. They followed him around the studio like ducklings, and sometimes Nico was jealous that Seb had been able to move so peacefully from the studio’s top dog into more of a mentor for the younger dancers. “I think Daniel’s done, though. I just saw him going into the dressing room on my way here.”

“Perfect. Thanks,” said Nico, shutting the door to the studio and stomping off towards the mens’ dressing room. He and Daniel were okay friends, and he had a reputation as the friendliest guy in the company for a reason. He might have to leave his gripes with Max out of his rant, but that was fine when his complaints were more to do with Lewis anyway. Maybe he could even get some gossip about the kid out of him if he played his cards right. 

The studio was loud with the sounds of concurrent rehearsals going on in studios all around them, so Nico didn’t have any warning about what he was walking into until he opened the door--which was a little stuck, but the old doorknobs always opened eventually if you jimmied them the right way--and stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing Daniel Ricciardo’s bare ass in the dressing room was not even slightly out of the ordinary, but what definitely was out of the ordinary was seeing him pinning someone to the wall, pale, muscled legs wrapped tight around his waist and hands buried in his curls as he thrust upwards, his shorts discarded on the floor next to a suspiciously familiar white T-shirt and pair of black leggings. The person he was fucking against the wall of the dressing room lifted their head from his shoulder, and Nico was shocked, dismayed, and horrified to be looking into the eyes of Max fucking Verstappen. 

Daniel, at the very least, had the common courtesy to look mortified when he turned his head and shoulders around to see who had walked in on them. Max very much did not, looking almost pleased with himself as Daniel scrambled to cover both of them with his body. “Shit--fuck, sorry Brit--Nico, sorry, I thought I locked the door.”

Nico slammed the door shut. After a bit of shuffling, he heard the old lock click shut and heard a metal chair screech against the floor until it was resting in front of the doorknob, and then the sounds--which he hadn’t been able to pick out of the rest of the noise of the studio before, but which he could definitely hear now--started up again. Nico fought the urge to scream. He didn’t even have a leg to stand on to yell at Daniel, not when he had been among the small group who walked in on him blowing Lewis in a dressing room at the theater back in junior company.

Fuck this, then, he thought. He stormed back the way he came, passing Seb as he walked out of the other studio. “Don’t go in the dressing room,” he growled, picking up his ballet bag and marching straight out to his car. 

None of it really mattered, in the end. He would perform Don Quixote and prove for once and for all to Toto and to Lewis and to whoever else that he was and always would be the best dancer at this fucking studio. Then he would attend every summer audition he could find, take the first offer he was given, and get the fuck away from this place and hopefully never see Max Verstappen’s fucking face again.

---

also on ao3 

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 25

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

Harvey and the babies come to visit and more than just one couple is having thoughts about newborns

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

“How did my beautiful fiance sleep?” Jake whispers, kissing the back of my neck. It had been a week since his return and we were still in a blissful bubble, spending as much time as possible wrapped up in each other outside of work. 

“Hand’s asleep,” I mumbled, turning to face him. “Something heavy’s on it,” I put my left hand on his chest, admiring the ring there. The heirloom was perfect and it meant so much to me that pops had chosen to give it to me, that his whole family had schemed to make the proposal special. Everything about our engagement was perfect.

“How many mornings in a row are you planning on using that same joke?” Jake slid a hand beneath my shirt, fingers splaying across my back. He was looking at me like I hung the stars and the moon in the sky, like I was his entire universe, and I thought back to the days where I wasn’t sure if Jake was flirting for the hell of it and wondered how I could have been so blind to the love in his eyes. 

“As many as I damn well please,” I arched to kiss him, tasting the mint of his tooth paste. He must have woken up earlier and crawled back in bed with me so that I wouldn’t wake up alone, something I hated to do after being without him for so long. Jake hummed into the kiss, rolling me onto my back. My sleep pants were already abandoned on the bedroom floor thanks to a middle of the night quickie, and it was easy for my panties to join them there. 

“I love you,” Jake whispered, fingers sliding between my folds, igniting the fire within me that burned for him. He swirled his fingers around my sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling needy noises from me. “And I’m gonna marry you.” 

“I’ve still got, oh my god,” I moaned as Jake began slowly working his fingers inside of me, “Still got time to run away at the altar.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I run faster than you, I’m not worried.” 

“Asshole,” I laughed, pinching his side. It was nice being able to love and laugh at the same time, his fingers never faltering, preparing me to take him. “I’d have Javy trip you, give me a head start.” Jake shook with gentle laughter,

“You think my best friend would betray me like that?” My response was cut off by a moan, feeling Jake push into me, filling and stretching me. No one else had ever felt this good. Maybe it was because Jake was extremely good looking and knew what he was doing in bed. Or maybe it was because I loved him just as much as he loved me.

“He would,” I rocked my hips, urging him to move. “Because his girlfriend would be my getaway driver.” Jake kissed away my giggles as he fucked me and we took turns expressing how much we loved each other. When he came, it was with my name on his lips and I swallowed it with a kiss, loving the taste on my tongue. 

Tasha was on my shoulders, taping up the birthday banner. Harvey, Emma, and the girls were going to disney for Sarah’s birthday and had decided to stop by for a day to celebrate the day before. 

“Is it straight?” Tasha asked, stretching for the corner, testing my own balance. I tried to look but felt my center of gravity shift and decided that a crooked banner was better than an ER trip.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I walked us back towards the couch and slowly lowered us until she could climb off of my shoulders. 

“There’s going to be beer involved at some point today, right?” Tasha pouted, “Because I’m really hoping there’s beer involved.” 

“Jake’s bringing the beer,” I promised, kissing her on the cheek. “Javy’s getting the balloons, I already made the cake for tonight. All we need to do is get lunch prepped and get ready.” I had everything planned out on my phone for the day, not wanting to waste a minute of time with my nieces, even though I knew they’d be happy if I just sat them in the living room with a Disney princess movie and a trough of candy. 

“I’ll leave lunch to you, unless the little monsters want burnt pasta,” Natasha gently elbowed my side with a grin.

“Shut up and shower,” I rolled my eyes. Little monsters. That girl loved my nieces and I had a sneaking suspicion I would become chopped liver the second they saw her. Auntie Daisy was cool and all but Auntie Tasha? She flew planes for a living and was sooooo much cooler (according to Sarah at least). Once they got their adorable hands on her, my only hope for love and affection would be from baby Jill. 

“Auntie Tasha!” Sarah screeched, dropping Harvey’s hand and flinging herself at Natasha. Javy and Jake both looked confused and amused by the display of affection,

“Auntie Daisy!” Haley ran forward, attaching herself to my legs like a koala bear. “We’re going to see Mickey!” 

“Yeah you are,” I scooped her up into my arms, kissing all over her face before settling the giggling toddler on my hip. 

“You must be the boys dating my sisters,” Harvey’s “big brother” voice had me biting back a laugh, “Pilots, right?” I rolled my eyes, looking at Emma who just shrugged, patting baby Jill who was in one of those swaddle-carrying things on her chest.

“Jake Seresin, it’s nice to finally meet you, Harvey.” Jake turned on the charm, offering a handshake, “Sorry I couldn’t make it to Christmas.” 

“Wait, he’s a pilot too?” Sarah whispered unsuccessfully to Natasha and I couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore, neither could Tasha apparently. 

“They both are, little monster. But don’t worry, Auntie Tasha’s still the best pilot in the world,” She glared at Jake when he opened his mouth to disagree.

“Want Tasha,” Haley tugged on my shirt. It was nice while it lasted, I let her down and watched as Natasha effortlessly picked her up and placed her on her other hip, opposite Sarah. I looked at Emma,

“It’s good to see you but I fear we’ve been forgotten about,” We did a side-hug around Jill.

“It’s been a long car ride,” Emma sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’ve heard “mom” so many times that I’m happy to be forgotten about.” 

“Why don’t you go up to my room and have a few minutes of alone time? I’ll take Jill and get you once the girls are ready for lunch.” Emma grabbed my cheeks with both hands, bringing my forehead within kissing distance,

“You’re an angel, I married the wrong Prentiss.” 

X

Harvey was nice, quickly changing from trying to be a protective big brother to laughing and joking with Javy and I about everything from our jobs, to sports, to Natasha and Daisy. Javy’s attention kept drifting to Natasha, who was sitting on the couch with both of the older girls glued to her side, watching something animated on the TV. Daisy was in the armchair with Jill on her chest, humming softly and kissing the baby’s head. 

The images I had imagined of Daisy with a baby while I had been reading her letters on the ship were nothing compared to seeing it in real life. She looked so perfect, I mean, she was always perfect, but it was clear that Daisy loved her niece and the idea of her with our kid? That was a lot to handle, especially surrounded by kids and her brother.

Daisy looked over at me, cradling Jill with one arm, her other hand reaching out to me. I excused myself from the conversation and crossed the room to squat down beside her,

“Hi, baby,” 

“Hey,” She smiled softly, whispering. “Just wanted to give you a quick kiss.” Who was I to deny her? It was chaste and short but it still had my heart kicking into overdrive.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me with all of these kids, Wildflower?” I whispered, gently running my fingertips over Jill’s arm. 

“Trust me, Cowboy, I’m struggling just as much as you are.” Really? Interesting… I kissed her cheek, whispering into her ear so that only she could hear me.

“All you have to do is ask, Daisy.” Daisy swallowed hard, her cheeks burning red. “And it looks like we’re not the only ones thinking about it.” Daisy turned her head, biting her lip to keep from giggling when she saw the way Natasha was eyeing Javy like a piece of meat.

“Our kids can share birthday parties,” She teased softly. I could imagine it, Javy and I grilling hotdogs and hamburgers while little kids ran all around, Natasha and Daisy keeping an eye on them, making sure everyone was having fun. The rest of the daggers would be there, hopefully with their own kids and partners, and Mav would be trying and failing to hide his excitement after buying a totally over-the-top present that Penny told him not to. 

“I can’t wait to marry you,” Is all I said in response, kissing her forehead before standing back up, “Do you need anything?” 

“Can you heat up lunch? I want to get everyone fed so we can take the girls shopping.” 

“Your wish is my command.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @nervousenemyduck @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink @beltzboys2015-blog @writingrose @hookslove1592 @closetspngirl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @closetspngirl @shanimallina87 @owenniasstars @cevansbaby-dove @caitsymichelle13 @bigstrongblackheart @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @memoriesat30

[twiceeshy]

3% [Chapter 1/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

E, rosquez, 6.7k words.

--

Marc held a baby in his arms. Nurses bustled around to make sure everything was alright, but he knew he didn't have to worry. She was tiny and pink. He loved her, he realised, stunned.

He was, perhaps, blessed that a pandemic had befallen them so he could have her safely. His abnominal muscles hid the bump for months. In another world he might have trained and crashed multiple times out of complete ignorance and lost her. Would he be happier that way? It wasn't worth thinking about, and nobody would ever hear about these doubts except his brother.

Still, he had considered the prospect of not keeping her seriously before making a choice, knowing what a commitment it would be.

Deep his heart, as much as he fretted and feared and did not actually want to do this at all, he couldn't bring himself to lift a finger to do anything else. Not when the child would be a combination of himself and someone he once loved. He would never have this chance again.

When a surreal health crisis laid their season's schedule to waste, he was vindicated. All the stars aligned for him to commit to this tough choice instead of the other.

"I think she'll look like you," Alex said cheerfully, as though he hadn't been awake through the night. Labour lasted thirteen hours.

Marc thought that Alex made good company in lieu of a husband. In fact, Marc was fairly certain he would have kept his brother and kicked the actual father of his child out of the room about five minutes into delivery, if he happened to be around. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone else watching through this specific vulnerability, which was why he made his parents stay at home. He was filled with a complicated mixture of love and loathing that would be horribly unpalatable to anyone else.

Marc had squeezed his brother's hand to bits and tried not to make noise even though it hurt. Alex made no complaint either. Marc probably played too heavy a hand in raising him, but Alex turned out perfect so it was hard to feel guilty.

He was going to be the best uncle in the world. And Marc was determined to be a good mother.

He held her out to Alex, who took her carefully. She was tiny. If she was anything like him, she would be tiny for a long time. He wondered if he could make her take more after him out of sheer willpower.

"Do you think she looks like a Laia?" Marc asked. Laia Marquez Alenta. He'd drawn the name from a list of popular Catalan baby names, and still thought it fit. He enjoyed having the most common name for decades running, and there was an edge of rebellion in naming her as Catalan as possible. Her name carried ties to home, and the freedom to shape her own destiny.

Alex smiled at her with the warm fondness. "She looks like whatever you want."

Marc held his brother's arm appreciatively. For the millionth time since he found out about his pregnancy, he was unspeakably grateful for his brother. His family's love was a panacea to his unquantifiable amount of despair, as his body stretched and his toes disappeared from view. He used to easily bend down and touch the floor with the palms of his hands. He would get back there. He would get back on a bike too - soon, maybe even tomorrow - and he would return to winning again.

A few short moments later, a nurse took Laia away to measure her height. Something animal and new surged within him. He wanted her back, he didn't want her to smell like someone else. He controlled himself.

Alex dabbed stray tears from Marc's eyes with his sleeve. He hadn't realised he had been crying. His head was a mess.

"Congratulations," Alex said.

Marc gave him a wobbly smile. He felt unfit and horrible, and he regretted taking a break from his career from every fibre of his being now that the deed was done. But he'd done it, he was a mother now.

A thousand or so kilometres away, the paddock was just over a week away from their second race in Jerez.

--

Marc could pin down the day of Laia's conception to precision: 17 November 2019, when he had capped off a year of glory with a win.

He had been on the verge of a heat. It didn't matter - he'd raced through them before. When riders had their heads covered by helmets, scents were scarcely a distraction to everyone else. The only inconvenience was for himself, because his body temperature felt hotter and his stomach was prone to cramping, so he needed to ensure he had a different balance of water and electrolytes to keep the averse effects at bay.

It should have been a handicap for everyone else, and yet, he won with some margin. He simultaneously felt invincible and mortal, battered by the chronic weight of past and present injuries magnified by his heat. It was a terrible, foreboding mixture.

He was on top of the world. He was boiling alive in his own sweat and leathers.

He dragged himself to the afterparty anyway. His head was killing him. No matter how much water he drank, he couldn't shake off the dehydration. Once the adrenaline of the race had worn off, his dislocated shoulder throbbed painfully. He needed surgery soon to fix that again, as his arm felt to be one tough whack away from falling off.

After an hour, he bowed out. There were tests to be done in two days. It was early still, but there wasn't any reason to torture himself when his heat was surely already setting in. He only hoped he'd be able to get over the worst of it the next day and be fit for the tests. He couldn't imagine being off suppressants and having to suffer through three-day, full blown heats. This was bad enough.

He made it to his motorhome somehow. While trudging there, he caught a whiff of something forbidden through an open window. Despite his exhaustion, he ran.

During his two and a half years with Valentino, their heats and ruts had never coincided. Although couples' cycles tended to sync up with greater proximity, they hadn't been together long or frequently enough. And well, "couple" was a generous term to describe what they were.

He'd only been through two of Valentino's ruts before. Marc shared only one heat with him. Scheduling didn't permit anything else. They'd both been out of their minds for all three of those occasions.

Marc wasn't usually stupid in heat when he was alone. Impulsive and slow perhaps, but nothing like the mewling, horny mess he'd been reduced to during that one heat after his home race. He and Vale had been one-two on the podium in Montmelo, and he felt top of the world, untouchable. Hours later he was knocking on Valentino's door with his brain fried. There had been an embarrassing amount of whining involved while Valentino teased him. The memory was precious. He had been trusting and vulnerable then, but floating from his winning streak (how many in a row had it been by that time? Six or seven? He wasn't even done yet), and Valentino had taken care of him kindly. He couldn't believe his hero would take the time to do this for him. It had been so good, beyond a dream.

In contrast, ruts were bordered on violent. Valentino was brutal. He'd barely been able to speak before the knot formed, and when he was that way, it was impossible to reach him. Marc silently let him, let him, let him, because he was used to pain and he could cope with it, could be the perfect Omega if he needed, so what if it was too intense?

He was bruised by the end of it all, his limbs and his back and surely his insides, not wet or stretched enough to comfortably grip a knot in absence of a heat. These were the only times Valenino had ever offered him apologies, but he didn't need them. He had been kissed gently in compensation when Valentino came down, once the knot was in place, and he'd felt loved. Beautiful, brave, he remembered, and a soft kiss to his sweat-damp eyelid. Kisses all over his face until his cheeks were warm. He kept the compliments close to his chest.

This time, his body would be able to take it. Years ago, the thought of a cycle that finally synced up would have excited him. Now he hid and shut the door behind him. He wished again that Alex was around to stop the inevitable from happening. He hoped that Valentino was as desperate for self-control as he was, because this couldn't happen.

But even while he thought that, he knew it was not to be. He was on a knife's edge himself, and Omegas in sport were accustomed to containing their baser tendencies, both with their minds and medical interference. Alphas meanwhile, were encouraged to let it out, to be possessive and aggressive and greedy. It was good for the competitive spirit.

If Valentino smelled him at all, he'd be there soon. The rare sight of him at his best and his worst, fully unrestrained. Marc feared and yearned, and knew it was not to be denied.

Then came a knock on the door. Marc watched the knob twist from his vantage point in his own sitting area, unmoving. He could smell it through the gaps around the door - his Alpha, however long ago it may have been, and the other half of a mating bond that was broken before it could take hold.

He's should have thought to lock himself in. But he had gone stupid, and subconsciously he didn't want to spend another heat alone. He got to his feet to rush over and twist the lock shut. It was too late.

Valentino let himself in. The full brunt of his scent in rut punched Marc up the nose. It was pungent and human, mixed in with sweat. He shouldn't have been searching for it, inhaling it like he needed it. If he had clarity of mind, he would find that the scent was not pleasant, and he wouldn't want it all over him like a perfume. This wasn't the protective, sweet mating scent it once was.

But it was Valentino, and his body reacted. His hole clenched around nothing. He was wet already, and so hot it was frightening.

His eyes traced over the other man, tall and older and thin. Marc could take him in a strength fight, he knew, but there was no fight to be had. The heat wanted to be sated.

He refused to beg for it. Self-control was a deep well he could draw from even when surrender was nigh.

"Maybe you should go," he suggested quietly, the last barrier he was able to erect between them. It was flimsy, so Valentino acted as though he never heard it. It hurt Marc as much to voice it out as much as it stung to be ignored.

Valentino came to him (he was so fast - how was he so fast? How was it fair that ruts did this and heats made Marc dull), held his face, gripped his jaw, kissed him. Marc let it happen, fists clenched by his sides, teeth biting into the flesh of his own lower lip to keep the silence. The heat was unbearable. His palms were sweaty and searing in his own grip. Even the soles of his feet were burning.

He could tell that his lack of reaction frustrated Valentino, who made a noise of annoyance and maneuvered them onto the small sofa. His weight sank above Marc's, hot and heavy. He had sweat gathering on his temples and his nose.

In heat induced haze, Marc could still appreciate him. His lovely curls, lines on his face that showed his good humour, and his intense, light eyes. Marc swallowed a whine as Valentino clawed at the fastenings of his jeans, and felt his eyes flutter shut.

He knew he was wet. When Valentino tugged his jeans and his briefs down, he couldn't open his eyes out of shame. He had never felt shame over what was natural before, but his scent was overpowering, and unlike Valetino's it was still sweet. This was an admission he didn't want to give. The saving grace was that Valentino was too far gone to notice, lost in rut and years of anger.

Valentino didn't take the time to undress Marc or himself fully. Marc had his shirt and shoes still on (Alex would laugh so much about having shoes on during sex, he realised hysterically), and the jeans that pooled around his feet were too tight for him to move comfortably. Kicking in the air, he shucked them off - shoes, jeans, socks that caught on the rest - as Valentino worked on his own clothes.

It was easy for him. He was in an tracksuit with yellow stripes. Wildly, Marc wondered why he wanted him so much. But he did.

The thought crossed his mind that he really should have found some way to fuck Vale when he won in Misano back in September, so he wouldn't be in this situation. He had made it halfway to Vale's box in his unzipped leathers and his heat dildo in a bag before he caught himself acting like a prowling animal and turned back. He had been driven by the taste of victory on Vale's soil.

It would have made everything between them irrevocably worse. He should have done it anyway to gain a mental edge over this. Marc had the most unbearable urge to top that day and he was crystal clear that he would have succeeded, novice or not.

He would torture Vale one day. When he wasn't weak and pathetic in heat, he'd show Vale what it felt like to be held out on. He'd ruin him, he'd never let him come. He'd show him why it was so good, why Marc still waited and waited for him, and why Vale would never have this with anybody else. Anger and want mingled in a primitive corner of his brain.

Then Valentino freed his cock, and he crowded himself on Marc, and the complicated regrets flatlined temporarily. The heat demanded submission.

It was already happening. He should just enjoy it, given in to nature.

He couldn't.

He was supple, but even he found that the cramped sofa was less comfortable than the bed he was accustomed to. He didn't suggest to move.

Valentino pushed him down, so Marc's spine was curved awkwardly in the crook between the seat and backrest. He pulled Marc's legs apart and folded them back such that his knees were against his shoulders. Marc was flexible so it didn't hurt, but he didn't like it.

He was so wet, almost dripping before Valentino' eyes. There was no way he could sit back and allow this to happen. To do so would be pathetic, and Marc had never been pathetic.

He needed control. It was always certain that the person who kept their wits better had control if they played it right. It would be marginal victory in a war of attrition, but he was good at holding on to the winning edge in those.

Valentino held his cock and it looked like a fucking weapon. The lust of a rut was something to behold. His cock was swelling, not yet a knot, but red and painful.

Marc wanted it.

He didn't want it at all.

He twisted around to lie down across both seats. If there was a damn cushion somewhere so he could rest his head, he would be better off. It didn't matter - there was no position he couldn't fold himself into as needed.

With one swift movement, he kicked his legs up and bent wound his thighs around Valentino's shoulders, them forced him down with his strength. The Marc of 2014 would never have done this, but he was no longer so willing to roll over. Valentino was on his knees, head in proximity of Marc's weeping hole. It was a completely novel position to both of them. A smirk tugged the corner of Marc's lip. Surely Valentino would come to his senses soon and he would fight back, but by then he would realise that he had lost himself to his rut far more completely than Marc had allowed his heat to control him.

He still wanted Valentino to fuck him, knot him, have them fused at the front for hours, show them off to every other Omega who had stolen Valentino's ruts from him, scratch his fucking name bloody into Valentino's back so that Vale could feel how much he cared.

Time slowed down to molasses, which was a strange contrast to the acrid desperation in the air. Marc felt that he had a brief moment of time in control. It was like being on a bike, lining up a clever overtake while slowing down from 350 kilometres an hour. There was nobody better than him at this.

Marc quicky pushed himself up on his elbows so he could lean forward and watch. He swiped two fingers through his slick and touched them to the tip of his tongue, just to make sure that it was the same saccharine taste, sweet with affection, that Valentino used to go crazy for.

It was. Marc had always known that deep inside, he did not change easily.

Then he shoved his fingers into Valentino's mouth to remind him of the taste, and laid back to reap the benefits as Valentino attacked his hole with carnal hunger. His nose brushed against the hairless expanse of Marc's skin, his warm breath lit up every one of Marc's nerve endings. He pinched Marc's swollen, traitorous clit. Marc panted, his eyes fluttered shut, on the tenuous edge of control as Valentino stretched him out with his tongue, greedy for slick. Good, stay there, do it properly. Marc wouldn't hurt more, not today.

Marc moved a hand to the back of Valentino's head to hold him there, but it was slapped away with an impatient sound. He fisted his hands into his own shirt, grasping for purchase.

"Va-le," the name snuck itself out of his mouth without his permission.

His voice brought Valentino back to brief lucidity.

"You're the fucking devil," he said hoarsely, and it might have been true, but the words cut like a physical weapon. His lips were coated in a shiny sheen, and his hair was messy and sweat-damp. He looked throughly debauched. He would never have wanted this.

Marc should have defended himself. He could only whine and bring his thighs closer so Valentino would shut up with his horrible words and continue to stretch him out.

Valentino pulled himself free, scissored Marc's hole roughly with two fingers, and - too quickly for Marc's heat-weakened self to resist, he hauled himself up and sank his growing knot into Marc's swollen heat.

Marc felt tears well in his eyes and hated himself for it. It wasn't the pain, he knew pain like an old friend. It was the intensity of being fucked and being hated.

Under the heat of Valentino's sweaty, heavy body, Marc refused to buckle. He met every movement, grind for grind. He refused to look away. He stared without blinking. Let Valentino see him suffer. Let Valentino see him detach himself from this. Maybe Valentino would understand him better if Marc could haunt him in return for all of their past years.

He controlled his expression into something stoic and defiant. It was all wrong, so let it be obvious. Let him maintain his dignity when all other control was stripped from him. Let him come out on top.

The knot, heavy between his legs, pushed obtrusively into his slick cunt. There was no point in fighting it, as it would only hurt more. This was like crashing - if you tensed yourself defensively, you would die. If you accepted it and let the momentum take you, you might live.

He felt his slick change in consistency, turning grippy. He hated the body chemistry of an Omega in heat. Hated that when the knotting was supposed to take place, his body acted against him. This was new to him, with the heat and rut cycles syncing up.

Valentino continued to fuck him clumsily, his thickening knot going through the resistance of Marc's body, piercing back inside over and over again, until Marc locked him in for good, gripping the knot in a vice, the intrusion almost the size of a fist. They came in tandem, and while light behind his eyelids stole Marc's consciousness for a moment.

He was aware again shortly, and all of a sudden, the sound of their breathing was too loud. Their faces were too close.

The magnitude of how awkward the situation was revealed itself. They couldn't even run, locked into each other as they were. His cunt ached dully. His clit was oversensitive and wanted for attention it wouldn't receive. His scenting gland throbbed, but he was unmated. Marc felt cold, despite the heat they shared. He didn't feel beautiful or brave today, and his body felt worn.

His shoulder was crying for mercy, trapped between Valentino's weight and a sofa that didn't provide enough support. He wanted Valentino to flip them over, but he refused to ask. Could Valentino not smell that he was distressed? Was he distressed? Or was it that he had been distressed from the start, so Valentino couldn't tell the difference? Normally, he was at least sensitive to Marc's pain. It was only Marc's head that he wanted to mess around with.

What had they done? Valentino didn't even want him anymore. Marc didn't have to stop him from making the mating bite this time, as he had every time prior. The desire had evaporated.

Valentino spoke first. "We didn't use a condom," he said.

The world fell away beneath Marc. He gathered himself in an instance, anxiously. "I'm on suppressants. Three percent," he said, repeating an oft-mentioned statistic. Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during a heat. It was non-negligable, but low.

Valentino accepted this with a nod. He looked tired, each of the fourteen years between them highlighted vividly. So unhappy was the occasion, so spent was his body, that Marc almost felt as though he was guilty of something. But of course, he was not.

They didn't attempt to converse. Marc remembered when Vale used to talk, and make Marc laugh through the tears.

The moment Valentino's knot had decreased enough in size, he wrenched himself out and put on his ugly trackpants. Marc gasped and clenched over nothing, but all he saw was the sight of Valentino's tense back as he took brisk strides away. Valentino let the door shut with a violent slam. Marc didn't call out for him.

Valentino was still in rut, despite the lull. Alphas in sports didn't take suppressants. Marc's heat had broken but where was Valentino going? Who was he going to? Marc couldn't help but wonder, thoughts spiralling into useless directions.

He tried so hard, but he didn't think he won this round.

Empty and hopeless, Marc dressed himself. He ignored the mess of fluids collecting inside his briefs. As a distraction, he made himself clean the sofa. The smell of antiseptic drove his heightened senses crazy.

It didn't matter. Alex and his father knew the moment they returned home. An incompatible mating scent was impossible to hide.

Marc hadn't even considered the possibility of pregnancy for more than a second. He cleaned himself out throughly with his fingers in the shower, unable to tolerate the thought of the remnants of Valentino in him. It was easy, he was sore but he was was still loose. That should have been the end of it.

--

The cruel irony was that Marc had highly specific plans for becoming a parent before any of this happened. He always assumed that he would become one in the future because he liked children and they liked him, and he was willing to temporarily give up his athletic body for that pursuit. However, the assumption also caveated that it would be a post-retirement affair.

He intended to collect all the accolades humanly possible first, then he would retire as late as he could. He wanted to be racing deep into his thirties, maybe even his forties. It was the most passionate love of his life, which he would cling to with bloodied fingertips until he couldn't. He gave his childhood and his life to it, so it needed to give back to him. He wanted to keep having fun and winning.

Somewhere in the middle of this illustrious career, maybe when he was in his early thirties, he would have enough wisdom to pick a good person and fall slowly in love. He knew, after years without Valentino, that it would not be him. A part of Marc would always feel affection for the Alpha that first laid claim to him, but he trusted that his heart was big enough to love again. He just needed more time to get over the hurt. Besides, Valentino would be far too old to become a new parent by the time Marc was ready.

Ideally Marc would find a gentle person who was proud of his accomplishments, and patient enough to wait for him to finish earning them. Marc wouldn't date a competitor - their ego would protest, and he understood completely. He couldn't stomach dating someone who made a habit of beating him either, when he eventually grew too old to be competitive. He would rather retire than face that reality, and maybe one day when he started to decline, he'd consider his fertility when he made his decision to leave. He would finally get to experience a three-day heat and carry a baby for the nice person he was going to find. Maybe he would be with a nice girl, for a change, and his mother would enjoy her company. His worry used to be whether he could catch this window in time.

He wanted someone good for him, who he could be good to in return. He'd always been capable of being generous and tender when he loved. It was just on track that he couldn't, which was why it was inadvisable to start a family with a rival. As a younger person, he lacked this foresight.

He knew that there had to be someone else out there for him who was perfect, and would want to be out in the open with him, cheering him on and waiting patiently for Marc's career to run its course. When he was done, they could be married, and his partner would follow Marc back to Cervera to have a good life together.

In the meantime, Marc hadn't been in a hurry. He was too young for any of this.

--

Two days after Laia's birth, Alex drove them home.

He wasn't in the most talkative mood. They both were tired, having squeezed onto Marc's bed to sleep while he was warded. Marc didn't care about the rules, he paid for a private room and his brother wasn't going to sleep in a chair while putting aside his life and his career to babysit him.

They then faced the conundrum of trying not to wake a newborn who only knew how to communicate by crying. The easiest ceasefire seemed to be staying silent.

Marc was free from holding her because she had to go into an infant carrier at the back, but he was fidgety. If he had to deal with awkwardness from the only person he had never been awkward with because of the baby, he was going to do something unpleasant.

Thankfully, Alex always knew what to do. "Open the glove compartment," he said, apropos of nothing.

Marc turned to him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Just open it," Alex said, so Marc did.

He found a folded paper bag, and pulled it out. It contained something soft. He emptied the contents onto his lap.

There was a soft onesie that looked like a bee, and a red ant plushie that was cuter than any insect had a right to be.

"I thought you wouldn't want her to be an ant, but she can hold you," Alex explained.

Marc looked down at the items wordlessly. He hadn't thought so far about what a baby girl would like. He was busy thinking about what she would need, and placing an insane number of online orders for baby things, thanks to the fucking pandemic. He had twenty milk bottles nozzles stockpiled now.

Alex smiled softly. "She'll be a bee if she's like you. Noisy."

"Of course she'll be like me," Marc said without really thinking. He fidgeted with one of the ant's fluffy red legs. It was soft, and felt more expensive than any of the toys they used to share. Or maybe this was what new toys felt like.

"She's very quiet now," Marc remarked, registering what Alex said.

"I think she likes the engine sound," Alex said.

Marc did too. A quiet hum. It had nothing on a bike of course, but it was calming. A balm of steady sound to keep the thoughts from crowding his mind.

He felt a longing that he blamed on hormones. An Omega on his lonesome, left to raise a child on his own, could only feel small and tragic. His chemistry wanted him to cower at the altar of his Alpha and lure him back so his baby would be well cared for. His mind tempted him with the echoes of strong hands against his thigh, fingertips pressing confidently under his briefs, whispers of reassuring warmth against his body that he no longer had access to, and no longer truly wanted.

Funny how it used to feel as though they had so much, when they always had so little. Stolen moments between commitments and no plans for their future.

It was sacrilegious to yearn for any of that in the vicinity of Alex, given that Alex hated Valentino with a cold fury. He harboured all the difficult feelings that Marc couldn't convince himself to sustain. All of that emotional labour, for Marc's sake. He was much more important to Marc than Valentino could ever hope to be, even if Valentino came to his senses and delivered himself with his metaphorical tail between his legs. And he wouldn't, so.

He centred himself on the sound of the engine humming. It was like what he was taught to do when his heats overwhelmed: focus on the other senses. What did he see? What did he smell? The soft brush of his fuzzy shirt against his bare skin. A plush ant in his hand. Sunlight in his eyes. The clean scent of their air freshener. Instrumental music in the background for the baby's sake, mingling harmously with the engine. Steady. He grounded himself.

Maybe he was being childish, but he placed the ant on Alex's hand that was holding the gear shift, then made it do a few hops to crawl up his arm. He just liked the contact. The ant was soft.

Alex laughed softly. "What is this, Marc?"

"We have a baby, you have to get used to it," Marc said loftily.

"She can't be worse than you," Alex said.

Marc turned his head to watch his daughter for several moments. She was too special to be worse than anyone. The blood of seventeen combined championships ran in her veins - which wasn't worth everything obviously, but it was worth something. And she carried a bit of the the other people he loved too; shared the encoding of his parents and his brother and his grandparents before them.

He wondered what Valentino would think of her. Marc was going to be the one who would take care of her all her life - clearly - but he wondered if Valentino could find it within himself to love her, even though she was Marc's. He wanted a family once, with a long-time girlfriend even before Marc came into the picture. Then with Marc, they never had a serious conversation about it. It was obvious that it was impossible, until it wasn't.

Laia was Valentino's family too, and Marc supposed that Valentino could love her.

He would love this girl. Marc just needed to work harder to make it happen. Valentino was constants and variables in an unpredictable fashion, except when it came to the people he called his. He didn't let them go.

"Are you thinking about him?" Alex asked plainly.

"Thinking about how to tell him," Marc lied, leaving out his doubts. It wasn't a complete lie. He now was thinking about how to tell Valentino. "I don't know what to say. I think I'll just send him a picture."

He decided to do just that during the car ride. The message was a simple photo of their daughter without a caption, reviving a chat that had been dead for two months. He picked the best photo, where she was sound asleep, dressed in baby blue and sweet little mittens.

Before that, there were only short exchanges. "Are you healthy?" from Valentino, who thought of him at two in the morning.

"Yes, don't worry," from Marc, who never knew what to say anymore, and always hated texting anyway.

Months before that-

"I'm pregnant and I'm keeping it. You don't have to do anything. You can't stop me." Followed by five missed calls, and a voice recording that Marc downloaded and replayed over and over again when he could bear to.

Every message mattered so much, and this one the most of all. Marc watched the file upload, and a single tick appeared in the corner. A second tick didn't show up. Maybe Valentino was busy.

When Alex pulled into their driveway, Marc finally locked his screen.

--

Marc's mother, Roser, cried when he came home. They were happy tears, she said.

She hugged him gently, the baby in his arms between them.

"I'm so lucky," she said, stepping away to wipe her eyes with a tissue. "I lived to be a grandmother."

"Of course you were going to be a grandmother," Alex said from behind Marc, carrying both their overnight bags. "Unless you thought none of us were going to have kids? I understand thinking that about Marc, but I always wanted a family."

"And where are your kids?" Marc scoffed. "All talk and no results."

Roser laughed wetly. "Boys, not everything is a competition."

Alex sighed with an air of long-suffering. "You tell him that."

"We know how Marc is," Roser said peaceably. She held out her hands towards the baby, who had alarmingly started to whine. Marc didn't know what he would do if she started full-on crying. This was why they had nurses at the hospital, even though he started freaking out inside whenever they took her away from him.

"She's beautiful. Let me see her," Roser said, and Marc was only too happy to comply. Laia was wailing before she left his arms.

Marc watched intently as his mother rocked his daughter gently from back and forth to calm her. He had so much to learn.

"She might just be hungry, darling," Roser said. "I made a nest for you on your bed. Why don't we take her there?"

She carried Laia for him, until Marc got into bed and she tucked the covers around him with one hand. It might have been approaching the height of summer but he didn't mind. Having parental care was nice.

They were her covers, he realised, and sank deeper into the scent of them. Her covers, and Alex's bolster, and his father's pillowcases that she must have driven over to retrieve for him. His parents had separated, but they made it as painless for their kids as they could, and Marc was always appreciative of it. His bed was a clutter of soft possessions of the people he loved.

He was surrounded by family. Family plus one more, who was experiencing the familiar walls of his bedroom for the first time. She would grow up around these scents, as he did. They had always been a comfort to him. What was familiar to him would become familiar to her, and she would feel the love of a Marquez Alenta through and through. It was a profound realisation.

Roser kissed his forehead and passed him his fussing daughter. "Shall I leave you two to it then?" she asked softly.

Marc nodded. He took his shirt off when his mother left, and held his daughter to his chest. She sucked on a puffy nipple, and he just-

He found it unsettling to be a food source. His body was made for different things; stalking his prey and hauling around a bucking beast of a bike more than twice his weight. He was horrifically far from his fighting physique. He didn't want to know how many kilograms of muscle he had to rebuild.

It hadn't fully sunk in yet that being a parent was a permanent state of affairs, that he would never not be a parent again. He kept realising the same thing, bit by bit.

He itched to check for Valentino's response, but he wasn't prepared to hear from him yet. He wasn't being a coward, so much as he didn't have the energy to spare.

It would have been nice for Valentino to like him enough to be here with him, maybe hold their child for him so Marc's wretched shoulder could take a break. Too much unnecessary risk to be under general anesthesia for non-emergency surgery, the doctors said. He'd pushed back his recovery by nine months. He would take even longer to be strong again.

He let the physicality of his exhaustion wash over him. He had known pain, but he had never been so tired before. The birth sapped his muscles and drained marrow from his bones. His insides felt out of place. His chest was sore. He wanted to go back to normal.

He closed his eyes and pretended to be twenty again, with these sensations. He would be happy, disbelieving, and in love, with the rest of his life ahead of him. And maybe he had a child who was an accident, maybe he felt too young to know what he was doing, but it was a happy accident. Back then, he would be young enough to be confused and cry about it, and seek refuge in his Alpha's loving arms. Vale would not let him think of himself as dairy cattle, he used to be able to say so many nice things.

Marc would have kept her even at twenty, he was certain of it. And maybe everything would have been different; maybe Vale would have kept him.

Since it made him feel better, in private, he gave in to this moment of weakness. He imagined that everything was perfect - that he had an Alpha who was out winning important races, but he would come home to be a family man. An Alpha who would never sleep with anyone else ever again, now that he was Marc's.

His daughter's small weight rested against his chest, swaddled in soft fabric. He exhaled slowly as she fed, trying to keep calm for her. He still felt like a cow - or no, perhaps a lion - caged and restrained in a place far too small for him. He still thought of the races and felt deep envy because there was no way for him to do what he was meant to do.

But this had to be worth it. If there was one seed of truth in to be harvested from his illusion, it was that his daughter had been made with his love.

[doctorveranair]

She knew he was onto the same doubts as haunted her worried mind, but even the fantasy of being alone and more or less free with Gareth, far from where The Foundation wanted her to be, could feed her starving imagination for weeks.

"You did begin more like a realtor than a painter, but you found your way. I play a fine game of hide and seek. It was part of my training, in a sense." She felt slightly awkward speaking about it, but decided to finish the thought. This was her life. "My first husband, Owain, decided rather early into my career with the company that he did not wish me to become another early casualty."

Vera shook her head.

"If I am not permitted to go with you to your house in Sussex, sharing photos would still be a treat. If you have them." Her thumb whispered over the back of his neck. "But I will do everything in my power to see you hiding in the bushes, Gareth. Everything I can."

Vera wrapped her arms around Gareth in return, still swaying lightly to the distant music. He was so kind to her. He felt safe. She peered up at him.

"What a generous, thoughtful invitation. I would love to join..." She trailed off, suddenly remembering Laramie and her contract. Between the scotch and her proximity to Gareth, she was able to forget them for a few moments. She felt pleased for a moment. Then she felt briefly guilty. Then ridiculous. "I will make it work with my colleagues. Thank you for offering."

Laramie would need strong-arming before he ever allowed this, Vera was certain. The company owned her. This sort of contract, with her endangered loved one on the line, was not meant to be pleasant. Surely, he could be persuaded. Time off for good behavior? One weekend? He could watch creepily from the bushes like tonight.

"Your home in Sussex. Paint me a picture." Vera hung her arms around his shoulders and she smiled up at him contentedly once more.

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Space Between the Lines (Homelander x Reader) - Chapter 2

2.5k words. Teacher Reader. Homelander in an undefined part of the canon timeline. 18+ due to the devil’s lettuce and “that’s what she said” humor.

There are a dozen teachers who would kill for this job. You’re just not sure that you’re one of them. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"His son?"

Vought had been very particular about who you could talk to about your job. If you told anyone outside your immediate family about who you were teaching, you could consider your career with Vought - and your career outside of Vought - terminated. Then, if there was even the slightest chance that anyone in your immediate family would talk to the media about it, you were extra terminated. Luckily, you did not have the slightest urge to speak to any living family member about this. They would have questions, worry, and manipulate; it wasn't worth the headache. As far as anyone you were blood-related to knew, you were tutoring vulnerable students Vought had adopted as their own. At first, you didn't think you would have a problem keeping everything a secret - but then you officially met the Homelander.

Addie, your roommate, stares at you from the living room windows. She is cross-legged on a purple bean bag, a bong delicately perched in her hands. She barely said a word over the last hour as you explained the details of your first school day.

You nod from where you're leaning against the kitchen counter. "Ryan Butcher."

"His last name is Butcher?" Addie sputters. "Is that his full name? Homelander Butcher?"

"...I don't think he has a last name."

Addie shakes her head as she lights the bong. "Dude, you're gonna die."

You groan and press your forehead to the kitchen counter. A mug of tea sits delicately between your hands, warming you in this frigid apartment. “Not helping.”

“Is there still time to quit?” She asks, and you hear her blow out a puff. “Or will he pop your head off like a grape if you do?”

You lift your head to answer her. “He wasn’t…that bad.”

Addie’s dry gaze meets yours across the room. Over the years, many have mistaken the two of you for siblings - even twins - based on your physical similarities. It didn’t help that many of your expressions morphed into one another’s over the years. She sighs your name as she places the bong down. “You’re not drinking the Kool-Aid, are you? The guy’s nuts.”

You drum your fingers anxiously against your mug. Until recently, the Homelander had a squeaky-clean reputation. His breakup with Queen Maeve - Addie’s favorite since childhood - had begun your friend’s suspicion that there was a darker side to America’s hero. You kept the benefit of the doubt until Stormfront and the public fallout from that fiasco. As more and more of your distant relatives on Facebook cheered for the Homelander, the more you grew weary of the strongest man on the planet. 

“I’m…trying to remain optimistic here,” You murmur, though you aren’t sure if you believe your words. “Anyone who does this much to educate their son has a good bone in him somewhere.”

“Thinking about his bones, huh?”

You pick up the tissue box on the counter and toss it at her head. She dodges it with ease and laughs, standing up with her bong. “I knew it. You deviant.”

“Open the windows in here. It smells like shit,” You toss back, laughing with her as you head for your room. “Good night.”

You hear her say goodbye before you shut the door to your room. After a quick change into pajamas, you curl in bed with the full intent of reading a book - but instead, you find yourself wasting the better part of an hour reading articles about the Homelander on your phone. 

It’s information whiplash. One website will lead you through a sea of gratitude for the man, detailing heroic saves across the decades. The next is a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. Did he do something to Flight 37? Was he responsible for the massive turnover in the Seven lately? Did he follow the Stormfront’s abhorrent rhetoric?

By the end of your search, your stomach hurts. You switch to a guided relaxation video - surely this random deep voice on the Internet will calm you down - and flip over on your side to try to sleep. You’re facing the window, and your eyes naturally drift towards the Brooklyn skyline.

Odd.

You lift your head slightly. It looked as if there was a spark of light on the roof across from your building. Your vision was weakening after years of reading screens, but you could have sworn you saw a small pair of red spheres.

Red eyes.

Your stomach lurches again. You flip to face the wall and scoff a laugh at your reaction. As a child, you were always seeing things in the dark. You drove your family crazy with the number of nightmares you concocted out of dark closets and shadowy corners. You tighten the blankets and shake your head. “Can’t go crazy yet…we have a job to do tomorrow.”

The slow, deep voice of the mindfulness video eventually drifts you off to sleep. You have forgotten about the red eyes by the time you wake up.

~-~

Vought Tower is a nightmare of a commute for you. It involves a 20-minute walk, a subway ride, a bus, and yet another 20-minute walk. You and Addie thought about getting a car more than once, but your combined salaries sometimes made it difficult for you even to afford the apartment. Tagging on a vehicle to that wasn’t in the cards - though it might be if you survived this job.

You smile politely at the guards in the front lobby, scanning your badge so no one questions your walk to the elevators. As you begin the slow ascent to the penthouse, alone in the privacy of the mirrored walls, you review the “checklist” Vought provided you. You are wearing a modest outfit. No heels. You aren’t wearing any perfume. The shampoos and conditioners you used were not scented. Your soap had a light vanilla fragrance, and you had only used it briefly before quickly switching to the unscented body wash you purchased a few days prior. 

If you had learned anything from this job already, the Homelander was very particular. 

The nerves don’t find you until the elevator opens and you approach the penthouse door. The hallway was barren, a prolonged detachment from reality. Could you really do this? Teach the son of a man who could rip a building in half? Every part of your body is tense except for the shoulder he had corrected. There, the muscle was relaxed. Soft. It felt good; you couldn’t remember the last time your shoulder felt that good. But was that a blessing in disguise?

You are so lost in thought that you don’t realize you’re standing in front of the door until it opens.

To your shock, it wasn’t the Homelander’s piercing gaze that greeted you. Instead, it was the ocean-blue eyes of a child. You would guess he’s around ten, the same age as the student group you had last taught. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel, and his hair is a light brown. All in all, he looks like an ordinary kid. It brings you more comfort than you anticipated. 

Brought back to the present moment, you smile. “Ryan, I presume?”

He smiles shyly and nods. “Yeah, that’s me. Are you my new social studies teacher?”

You nod with a widening smile. “That’s me.”

“It’s nice to meet you…uh, what should I call you?” He asks with a little shuffle of his feet.

You give him your preferred name. No need for formalities here; you have enough of those on the rest of your contract.

“So, give me the honest truth,” You say, biting back a coo at how his eyebrows fuddle in intrigue. “Do you like social studies? Or do I have to persuade you to like social studies?”

His face brightens, and you can’t help but note how different he looks from his father. “I love history,” Ryan admits in a soft voice. “My…um. I used to read about it all the time.”

Something made him hesitant to tell the whole story there, but you store that away. You adjust your bag hanging on your tight shoulder. “Well, the hard part’s over, then. Now we just get to be history nerds together.”

To your relief, that gives you a wider smile from the kid. “My dad says we’re gonna work at the kitchen table.”

He waits for you to walk in and then guides you to the dining room, a navy-paneled wall off to the side of the den. All the books you brought yesterday are there, along with a laptop for you and a notebook with about a dozen pencils and pens for Ryan. He certainly doesn’t want for supplies. You place your bag down and then sit at the laptop chair. You notice how your chair is to the right while Ryan sits at the head of the table. You don’t mind, but it’s an interesting setup.

“I just realized how rude I am,” You say, and Ryan looks up at you with too much concern. “I didn’t ask you what I should call you.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

You give him a playful glance. “Should I call you Ryan? Mr. Ryan? Super Ryan?”

His confusion melts into a sheepish laugh. “Oh. Um, just Ryan is fine. Thank you.”

“Oh, I don’t know! I think Super Ryan has a nice ring to it.”

You have a sharp intake of breath, but no muscles tightening this time. You knew he would be here. Still, the Homelander sauntering into the room is surreal. He’s still in full uniform - does he ever take it off? - and he’s beaming with pride at the sight before him. 

Ryan turns to look at him, and you notice a tweak to his smile. It’s hard to tell if it’s a son being embarrassed by his father or a boy being scared of the Homelander. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kiddo,” The Homelander ruffles Ryan’s hair, and then he looks at you. His lip twitches, and there’s a long pause before he looks back at Ryan. “Manners, buddy. Did you ask if our guest wants something to drink?”

You sit up straighter. “Oh, I’m totally fine-”

“Grab a tea for her and whatever you want for you,” He taps Ryan’s shoulder twice, smiling down at him. The affection does seem genuine.

Ryan nods and shuffles out of his seat, giving you a shy glance before exiting the room. You watch him leave, and when you turn to look at Homelander, you see that he’s already looking at you. 

“Anything else you need?” He asks. He’s speaking in that same pleasant voice you heard yesterday, as if he’s ready for an interview at any moment. 

You manage a smile. “No, this setup is perfect. Thank you.”

His grin shows teeth. “Oh, my pleasure. One quick note though…” 

He takes Ryan’s seat and folds his hands in front of him. His arms are extended onto the table, mere inches away from where your hands were resting. You briefly stare at his red gloves before slowly looking back at his face. There is a new edge to his smile that nearly makes you wilt.

“While you’re teaching my son, I’d prefer it if you weren’t near any…” He waves a hand in the air as he searches for the right word. “...mind-altering substances.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he’s talking about, but then you remember. Addie’s bong. He can still smell it. You suddenly feel as if your skin is on fire. “Oh my God. Sir, I am so sorry. I didn’t use any. My roommate-”

“I told you to call me Homelander,” He reminds you slowly. “I know you didn’t partake, but you shouldn’t be near them. Can’t risk a contact high, can we?”

You stutter over your words momentarily, giving him time to rest a hand on your shoulder - the same one he fixed. He chuckles and gives you a pat that’s just a little too hard. “But Ryan likes you, so I’m gonna...remain optimistic here. One more chance.”

He stands up and circles behind your chair, leaning down to speak into your ear. “Love the vanilla, by the way…subtle, but just perfect.”

Your hands are clenched into tight fists as he swaggers to the end of the table and takes a seat. You know he’s looking at you, but you’re looking at the table. You only look up when you hear Ryan’s footsteps. He sets a plain black mug with steaming tea in front of you and sits down with water for himself. He looks at his father, and when he looks back at you, there’s a worried crinkle on his brow. “Is everything okay?”

“Just lost in thought,” You reassure him with the same warm smile you gave him earlier. “Did you know the British ruled the colonies for over 150 years, but the Revolution lasted only 7?”

Ryan’s eyes widen in interest. “150 years?”

You nod. “Yup. Shows you how tired the colonists probably were by then, huh?”

The Homelander huffs a quiet laugh, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting back in the chair, his hands settled on his lap. There is nothing in front of him. He’s just…watching.

You have been a teacher for years, you remind yourself. You have dealt with crazy parents before. None of them could fly, but that didn’t matter. You were a teacher, you had a student, and you had a job to do.

“Alright, Ryan,” You sit forward and angle your laptop towards Ryan so Homelander’s gaze is just out of your view. “How much do you know about taxes?”

[llycaons]

"Must a person of humble origins...live a lowly life?" Oh I'm sorry I can't hear you over the sound of you MURDERING YOUR WIFE and BURYING HER IN AN UNMARKED GRAVE

[rolandkaros]

not pitting sincaraz against each other just pointing out an objective truth that jannik was not a dominate player/potential grand slam winner last season (age 21/22) and carlos will finish this season semi-dominant and with two more grand slams (+ an olympic medal) (age 20/21). you can see how quickly a player's career can turn around within one season. so any talk about carlos being washed/playing badly sounds silly to me i can't lie. yes carlos wasn't as successful this year as last year. yes carlos wasn't as successful this year as jannik. last year jannik's highlights were throwing up in a trash can and beating djoko in davis cup (exaggerating.) so i really feel like carlos's struggles this season are slightly overinflated. we talk about "he has time he has time" let's be clear not only does he have time in his career (he is literally 21) he also has time on his closest current rival (age-wise, carlos's 2024 season is jannik's 2022 season). it will be two years before carlos is even the same age as jannik is now. so like. lets be chill here u know.

[icarianncarrionn]

Tisha tsks, shaking her head. "Ah, too bad. That's one of my favorite bits." In her defense, it does usually land. Usually because she isn't always great at finding the right moment to do a bit. "Well, for the record," She leans back to watch Hari go into the kitchen before continuing, like it's a secret and not something her brother is very well aware of. "I can behave myself sometimes. I just need lots of time to prepare. And as few opportunities to make jokes as possible. I have in fact gotten through multiple entire church services without getting kicked out."

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Nick. Tisha’s messing around." Hari insists, opening the cupboard and taking down the mugs. He turns and leans against the counter, hands braced behind him. "My parents are… shit, I don’t know.”

He pushes himself off the counter and wraps an arm around Nick’s shoulders. “My dad was a tour drummer in the seventies and eighties. He took me to see Fleetwood Mac when I was four, I think I probably got lifelong hearing damage. Don’t remember a second of it. He only changed careers because my mom needed to start her residency. When I came out, he decided the best way to prove it wasn’t a big deal was by talking about all of the musicians he hooked up with before he married my mom.”

He grimaces, “He still likes telling those stories, so be prepared. My mom… she likes to let dad do the talking. She’s a little… blunt. But she doesn’t mean anything by it, she just struggles a little with strangers. And my siblings won’t be a problem. They’ll razz Tisha all night for the grandma thing, but it won’t upset anyone. And… besides, all of that is…”

Hari actually looks a little embarrassed now, the faintest flush rising up his neck. “I feel pretty sure they won’t have any problem with Rafael, but I know they won’t have any problem with you, because I already told them about you. Not the… werewolf thing, but… pretty much everything else. If Tisha hadn’t ambushed us with this I… I don’t know, I was already thinking about it.”

"That would go together so well actually," Rafa jokes, "Being catholic is all about that punishment." For someone who never goes anywhere without his São Cristóvão necklace, Rafael manages to talk a lot of shit about his religion. But lucky him, Tisha's proposition wouldn't work anyway: "Ah, but midnight mass is from Christmas Eve to the first day of Christmas, minha pagã. We'll have to find another day when you can pretend to writhe in agony as you make contact with holy water."

Nick frowns, mostly because it reminds him of his own bad choices in the relationship department. And if he wasn't hyper-aware as to who he's with currently, he'd probably dropped a fun little story about that one ex of his who totally had done just that.

So lost in thought, Hari's offer doesn't fully reach the thinking part of his brain. He merely shakes his head, because no, he doesn't need help. But then he remembers that he does want the company, so he corrects himself quickly: "Oh yeah, yeah. Help's appreciated."

He guides Hari by the hand back into the kitchen, as if by now they couldn't navigate each others homes blindfolded. "You can... uh..." Right. Stand there and look good, because the beans are ground and the moka pot does all the magic. "Fetch four cups?" Yeah. Perfect. Covered it up.

"Do you have to brief me before Christmas dinner, or... porra, does your family need a briefing about Rafa and myself? I feel like we might be... I don't know. I don't want it to escalate." Again. "It sounds like it'll be basically two worlds colliding."

[nobodysdaydreams]

Giving a complicated tragic childhood backstory to your favorite character is all fun and games, until you realize you need to account for how old all the other adult characters would have been at the time and realize that scenes that would work perfectly if one character was twenty three and the other was fourteen stop working when you need other characters who are played by adult actors clearly younger than they are to be in college at the same time so your story beats line up thematically.

[batsplat]

“Casey the man is very similar to what he appears when you know him publicly, a very shy boy with a closed character. The only thing he liked was riding, everything else didn't interest him. He stopped at 27 even though he was still very competitive, he is one of the best talents who have been in MotoGP. I don't know if you have read Agassi's book "Open", well, I find many similarities, Agassi also had an extraordinary talent but he lived a bit like Casey. Both have extraordinary talent, but they didn't experience it with the joy and carefreeness that Valentino Rossi and Marc Marquez show, for example."

at least livio suppo's got me

[lem-argentum]

i once saw someone contrast miko.fuu by claiming that f.uuta’s individualistic while mi.koto is not, but i would argue that miko is the one who puts himself first in his mind in most situations…….??? ?

[angelsdvsts]

at first rhys considered flying back and forth for practices and games -- yet logically, it would be too much for him. he would constantly be exhausted, his parents insisting on him moving out to start his career that he always wanted. what he didn't realize was how much he didn't want to leave town because of one particular person, the very one he grew up with and planned on growing old with. "nobody told you to sit in those bushes! you could've hid behind the tree!" he pointed out with laughter erupting, once upon a time the only thing they had to worry about was how many rounds of pranking they could do before they get called in for dinner. before life got in the way and they both grew up. "how does that make me bias? just because i've grew up watching you dance.. you grew up watching me play and i'm sure you think of me as pretty good," regardless of what she says, he still thinks that she's the best there is. nobody could move like her, often finding himself lost upon the way her body moves. "i am very aware of that, thank you -- i was just checking to make sure if you remember that about me," couldn't resist the way that natural teasing just flows, laughter pouring out of him so easily. "how lucky am i to have my own private lesson, though i doubt the moms in town really care all that much about me." entering the diner was like stepping back into their childhood, the wave of nostalgia hits him as the two makes their way towards the booths. sitting across from her, "kind of crazy how things still look exactly the same."

she wonders not for the first time what it was like to be constantly moving, never staying in the same place for more than a few weeks or having to leave routinely for games. routine was vital to lainey, it was dependable and gave her something to cling to -- in those first few weeks when rhys had left it was what she'd survived on, sticking to her schedule and not allowing herself time to dwell or cry. "remember whose idea it was to knock on my neighbour's doors and hide? i sat in bushes for your naughty behaviour, rhys. bushes." she tries and fails to keep her face serious, giggling in the end as she recalls those humid summers spent tormenting the people that lived alongside them. they were silly kids, freed from school with an entire summer stretched out before them. "you might not be lying but you are biased, you've grown up watching me dance", she can't deny his claim, rhys has always been honest no matter what around her. his praise makes her stomach flutter, cheeks flaming as she shakes her head. "you're ridiculous, you know that right?" yet it felt nice to have someone reassure her, to confirm her skills weren't just the product of luck. "i think private lessons might be the only way to avoid all the moms in town showing up at the studio. i can shuffle some things around in my super jam packed schedule for you to avoid a stampede." stepping inside the diner lainey inhales the smell of freshly cooked and fried food, the coffee machine buzzing behind the counter and chairs being scraped against the worn floor. "and it still applies now, skater boy --- so i think you should get reacquainted with the nickname."

[bunny-jpeg]

retired!price liked that you had daddy issues. aw, did someone not have a functioning relationship with their father as a child and now has to find that relationship in older men? aw, poor doll. price was more than okay with being called 'daddy' as long as you called him 'captain' too, especially when you were on your knees. while you got off to having an older man praise you, he got off to a pretty little thing calling him captain. you even went as far as to worship his strong physic, how easily he could bend, flip, turn and press into you.

didn't help that your pussy became a fixation for him.

he was close to fifty, his hip had a habit of locking from time to time. he had been hearing about it for years that it was time to have a family. even simon had managed to make a family, price was still hung up on young tail that he could bully his fat cock into. while most younger women were flavours of the week with no string attached. price made sure to attach every metaphorical string onto you. he had a copy of your apartment key. he added a profile for you on his streaming services. he knew on wednesdays you enjoyed pasta, but hated cooking on the weekend. he knew everything about his precious baby girl. you folded into his praise and always were eager to please. and that was what price loved about you. so imagine his shock (anger) when you told him that you thought you'd have to end your arrangement because you met a guy at your university. and when he asked why, you simply said, "i have to grow up at some point.", and that hit price in the head like an ice pick. if you wanted to grow up so badly, baby girl. there were other ways to do it.

the broken condom held weight in price's pocket while you had few drinks during your last 'date' together, he waited till you got all soft because of the wine. till you were on his side of the booth with your leg over his lap and your face pressed against his bicep. you ran your hand across his chest and giggled, "you're taking this whole break up thing so well." and he petted your head, watching you fold into him further, "like you said, you need to grow up." but you both had different definitions of 'growing up'. for you it meant getting over you daddy issues, but to him it was making him a daddy, for real. you giggled further while he gave you another glass of wine. when you tried to say no, he simply pushed it closer to you, "don't want to waste the bottle." and so easily you were in price's grip.

price took you three times that night. first was in the backseat of his expensive car. he pressed you into a corner, claimed that he needed more space for his larger body. your hazy vision was transfixed on the glimmer of his gold chain against his hairy chest in the low light. your poor body bent in such ways while he pace was relentless. he admired your unsteady gaze and your heavy breathing. he continued to move against you with such a pace that the whole car rocked. but don't worry, the parking lot was dead at that hour. you could scream your head off and no one would hear either of you. he did however put a tear in your panties. right in the crotch area. he sighed and said that he'd need to buy you something a little. while he loved the cheap pairs you owned, he thought his woman deserved something a little nicer. the future mrs. price needed to look next to perfection.

then he fingered you heavily in his bed and watched you squirm. he had to make sure every drop got deep enough before he bullied your sweet pussy once more. he loved the sight of you, still so fucked out from prior. you were in a daze in the car ride home. your breathing was heavy when he pushed the skirt of your dress up a little and teased your cunt while he drove. only to go further once you were naked on his bed. he watched your ass jiggle with each of his power thrusts while he took you from behind. he felt like a mad man while he fucked you. he was determined. he only got to where he was in his career because of grit and determination. he wouldn't back down to a challenge, especially when the stakes were so high. your pussy need to be bred, you needed to be with price. he never wanted to hear anything about another man ever again. price would hate to take drastic measures if another man tried to get in his way. if you needed a collar or a tattoo, the taste of his cum constantly your lips or leaked into your panties, price would do it all to ensure that you were his. the most effective way to ensure that was what kept him going through two rounds of sex without any pains. to get you pregnant. you had already forgotten about the broken condom, it still was in price's pocket! no use using it now, even bother giving the illusion that he wasn't breeding you.

the third time was when you tried to leave the next morning, he had you upside down on the bed. your bottom half on the mattress while all the blood rushed to your head as you tried not to fall on your head. price put bruises on top of bruises. your poor cunt was creamy with promises of the future. a future with him. the blood rush made you cum twice on his cock, adding fresh slick to his coated cock. you thought that older men were supposed to slow down with age. but it felt like price was even quicker than before. his pace brutal, almost like punishment for trying to leave him. but price didn't get to be captain because he followed one plan. he was going to ease you into married life, slowly make you the perfect woman for him. he was traditional that way. church wedding, the white dress, the vows. that would all happen, but might take a little longer. he wasn't too sure that a baby bump would fit nicely in a wedding dress. the thought of you pregnant, trapped to him made him eagerly finish in you two times. and when he got you back up onto the bed, you were fucked out. when you managed to collect your clothes and stagger out of his flat by mid-afternoon, you thought you made it in time to the pharmacy to get emergency plan b.

you prayed, and you never prayed. you promised three versions of 'god' that you'd convert to their religion if the pill worked. but three deities failed you and a month later price was in your apartment with his hands on the plastic pregnancy test. he scratched his beard and looked at you. he tried so hard to put on his best acting face. "that's a real shame, baby girl." he said in that rough voice of his that got you in trouble in the first place. he leaned back a little in your kitchen chair and placed the test back down on the table, "always wanted to be a father." he frowned a little bit, "never got the chance too. they said when i retired that the chances were low of me havin' a baby..." he looked at you. you should've known he was lying. his swimmers obviously weren't shot by how easily you got pregnant. you felt bad, almost like you were burdening him with getting pregnant. that it was your fault. you rung your hands and admitted softly, "we can try... we can make a family." and price smiled, "oh, doll." then got up to embrace you. you sniffled and cried a little in his strong chest. he held you in his strong arms. he was your protector even though his cock was straining in his jeans at the knowledge that he fundamentally changed you.

your body, your life, everything. when he released you from the hug, he got down on his knees. made a point to make a small 'huff' noise from being down on his 'bad' knee before he pushed up your t-shirt and pressed a kiss against your stomach. he said to you, "don't worry, love. daddy'll take care of ya." then gave that smile that wrapped around you like a vice. <3