#do nothing and kill five people or act and kill one.

[oatmealdoodles]

My messy thoughts on the new episode

(spoilers for Ghostf**kers)

tldr I LOVED this one the animation saw POPING OFF the writing was great, it was well paced, everything. I just wanted to ramble so here i am talking to no one:

Ok right off the bat i had to pause this like 7 times in the first five minutes because the beginning of this is just packed with insane jokes, glass to see they havent forgotten about being a comedy show

It’s so sad to see Blitzo in this state, especially that it’s been over a month. Like look at this guy he is GOING THROUGH IT.

also this was uncalled for how can you do me like this?

ok like my one problem i don’t like this little Scooby-doo reference with old people. I just skipped it and lost nothing, i don’t know why this is here.

the fight between Blitzo and Millie in the vents was also really well done im so glad Millie is putting up boundaries on dealing with everybody elses Bullshit.

I also don’t hear anyone talking about this but Vivinie Williams (Millie’s VA) did so well in this. Like all the voice acting in this show is peak but I’ve only really heard praise for Brendon and Bryce. Their argument here specifically, the fury in her voice was so well done, bravo.

JESUS CHRIST THEY DID NOT NEED TO GO THIS HARD this scene has been stuck in my head for the past two days, Brandon killed it in he recording booth, the animation is also just so VICERAL. Also the way the fire starts from his hands because he blames himself for it, like Viv went too far with this one. That was not ok.

Bitzo’s panic attack was also done so well. Little detail but i love that when Blitzo screams “Don’t touch me!”, Millie respects this and doesnt, instead comforting him with words. They only touch when he’s calm and ready. Love that.

Bro i was NOT expecting a flashback on how Millie met Blitz, also Millies design slays so hard

the way I gasped.

I also didn’t realize how much I needed an episode focusing on these twos friendship until now. Like FINALLY a Millie episode that doesn’t suck!

Little thing i realized but notice how Blitzo doesn’t make a sex joke at this. Blitzo. Not making a provocative joke. Really just goes to show how UNCOMFORTABLE and SCARED he is. I physically recoil every time I see this it’s gross

Those flashback scenes were also just so brutal. Like chaining his horns so he’s FORCED to watch is so psychotic I can’t.

its kinda sad that Blitzo’s whole motivation for doing this is to distract himself from his feelings, when that’s what he’s literally forced to confront by Ronaldo.

Love a possession story. I can really appreciate how Millie does not believe Ronaldo for a second, she knows that Blitzo would never think that of her and she trusts him enough to be confident in it. Nice subversion, you go girl.

This was so needlessly brutal and funny, they really went all out with this one

Yeah I think that’s all I wanted to day, just again i loved this one and it was definantly worth the multiple-month wait. Though my Hyperfixation has mostly died im hopeful that it will resurrect soon. We’ll have to wait and see.

[nientedal]

What progress at home has biden enacted? What policies of his show that he is making progress that prove he is actually different than trump?

I like to pretend I have faith in humanity, so I'll answer as if you're asking this in good faith.

Biden's DEA has lifted restrictions on telehealth prescriptions to make appointments and assistance more accessible.

He put a funding package into place to help unhoused people get access to mental and physical healthcare, as well as short-term and long-term housing.

He has attempted and is still attempting to get student debt relief through - this was blocked by Republican judges appointed by Trump, but he's still working on it.

Infrastructure repair - his administration has budgeted funds to actually fix some severely-damaged and frequently-traveled bridges.

Trying to expand access to healthcare to include undocumented immigrants who came to the USA as children (Dreamers) under the Affordable Care Act. Support for Navigator programs and outreach has also been increased.

He has vetoed Republican-led bills that were attempting to overturn environmental protections - one that would have forbidden investment fund managers to consider climate change in their portfolios (I have two degrees in accounting and this is actually huge), and another that would have overturned restrictions on agricultural runoff into our waterways.

He and his administration worked for ages to get rail workers paid sick days.

This is just some of what he's been doing. Meanwhile, Trump and other Republicans want to criminalize the lives of LGBT people like you and me. They want to eliminate no-fault divorce and force births that will kill parents or devastate them financially. They have stated flat out that they want to install a military dictatorship in the USA. They attempted to put that in motion on January 6th, 2021. They failed once. They will do better next time.

One party wants to house the homeless and expand social safety nets, while the other one wants to criminalize homelessness. One of them wants a future in which I might be able to vote to change how much of a war machine my country is, while the other one wants to eliminate my ability to vote entirely. Those are not the same. Those literally are opposites.

At the end of the day, all you and I can do is choose to do the least amount of harm possible. You and I cannot choose to do no harm. This is the USA, we sell war, you and I cannot choose to do no harm. I wish we could, my god do I wish we could, but that is not an option. So we grieve for the harm we couldn't eliminate and work to minimize the harm that is done. Despite all the crap they support, Democrats are the minimum amount of harm right now. Acting like they aren't is exactly what brought us to an election where our options are a future where we are either wading in blood or drowning in it.

Not voting for Biden will not help Palestine. Not voting for Biden will guarantee a Republican president who will make the situation in Palestine WORSE. AND it'll hurt a lot of other places as well, both at home and abroad, because Republicans are about business and the USA is in the business of war! And I would very much like that to change someday! I would very much like to someday be able to choose to do no harm! And I know what I have to do to try for that future, so what are YOU going to do? There is no standing off to the side in this. If you aren't helping pull, you're the dead weight we're pulling. Are you going to dig your feet into the mud and blood and drown us there? Or are you going to get the fuck off your ass, grit your teeth, and help us pull free?

[homunculus-argument]

If I had more money than I'd ever spend in a lifetime, I'd spend my life operating a pizzeria at a loss. Something with the slogan of "it ain't italian but you're hungry" - and a statement of how this is not authentic italian pizza because the owner's estranged aunt's italian ex-husband would not serve pizza in his italian restaurant because as far as he was concerned, a pizza is the "just throw that shit together" dish that you make out of leftovers, and he would not serve that to paying customers even if they wanted it. True story btw.

But I'd just like to run a place where the staff is allowed to tell rude customers to fuck off. And if they're scared to do that, they can summon me downstairs to do it myself (this fantasy involves having my own apartment upstairs of the restaurant), because you don't fucking disrespect my staff like that. Develop a reputation as a place where You'd Better Act Yourself or you get nothing, which elevates the quality of the food in peoples' minds because it's human to assume that more work=more worth, and if a pizza place can afford to simply throw rude customers out, that clearly must mean that the food is just that good that going back is worth it anyway.

Hiring enough people to get the work done in a leisurely pace and occasionally have the time to chat with each other or customers. You just do the job I gave you in the time I gave you, don't steal anything and don't watch porn off your phone anywhere where the customers can see you, you're good. Don't care if you quit school at 16 if you can still mop floor. Don't care if you've been to prison because you killed some guy, as long as you're not doing that here. Don't care if you deal drugs on your free time as long as you don't bring your business to your day job. This place is exclusively for pizza business.

Have an item on the menu called "random pizza" - and if you order that one, they'll just throw in a mix of whatever ingredients we've got too much of, like if the bell peppers gotta be used before they go bad, every single random pizza is going to have them until they're either gone or need to get tossed. If you've got dietary restrictions or allergies, you gotta specify that while ordering, because other than that, random pizza is just whatever ingredients we need to get rid of. Surplus ingredients du jour.

Building a reputation as a place that's somehow simultaneously sketchy as hell but also remarkably high quality, getting five star restaurant customer service from a waiter with blue hair and stick-n-poke tattoos, there's a homeless guy at the back of the kitchen eating an order that nobody picked up, every surface is spotless and no matter how important of a suit-and-tie you are, if you won't behave yourself the owner will personally physically fight you.

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141 (pt. 4)

You thought it was a mistake when someone called in reserving a party of 14 for a birthday. The voice on the other line assures you it is not, and that they'll be arriving at 7pm. You inform everyone.

"Who wid want a birthday in this shithole?"

Johnny gaffaued, spraying down some dishes.

"Probably just a prank call."

Kyle replied, arms wrapped around your waist and head resting on your shoulders. But it wasn't a prank call. The first half of the party arrive and you and Gaz have to scramble to push tables together. It's overwhelming, everyone is talking all at once, demanding things left and right. Gaz swoops in to help deal with one half the table while you the other. The food comes out, leaving you to be able to sit in the back for a few minutes, talking to the guys about nothing. Walking back out, some older man was snapping his fingers at you, waving his arms as if they weren't the only fucking people in the joint.

"Steaks burnt to hell, remake it."

He slides the plate to you, making you catch it before it falls off the side of the table. You apologize profusely and send it back to the kitchen. Price raises an eyebrow,

"Looks fine to me."

He stares at the piece of charcoal on the plate.

"Fucks sake, lemme do it."

Simon grabs his shoulder and cooks another steak. You set it down infront of the old man, watching him take a bite. He throws his fork down,

"Still burnt. How hard is it to cook a fucking steak?"

You look at the plate, meats still pink in the middle. Apologize again and offer to remake it.

"No, don't bother. Jesus."

He stares daggers into you. You wring your hands nervously.

"Actually, everyone's food was shit. None of us should have to pay for this."

Your mouth goes dry. You look over your shoulder to meet eyes with Kyle at the bar. He immediately walks over.

"Everything alright?"

He puts on his nicest customer service voice and that charming smile that can melt anyone. Except this asshole apparently.

"No everything is not alright, this was the worst dining experience I've ever had! Everything came out wrong, and it all tastes like shit!"

Spit flies out from the mans mouth. Kyle stands between you and the customer, trying to diffuse the situation. And much to your horror, one by one, the table starts to leave. You try to say something but they ignore you.

"Go get Johnny."

You run back, trying to act casual in front of Simon and John while tugging Johnny by the sleeve. He looks down, concerned.

He's on the floor before you can finish telling him what happened,

"Ye'r gonnae have tae pay sir."

His tone is more firm than Gaz, arms crossed and looking down at the old man. You're almost in tears as you watch more of the table file out the door, you turn back to look at Gaz. He frowns, furious. There's a heated argument at the table, the old man is yelling now. Not at Kyle or Johnny, but the only person he wasn't afraid of; you. The commotion makes John and Simon step out. This idiot is gonna get himself killed. You can see the moment when the customer loses the fight in his eyes. Shuts right up as soon as Simon says,

"Problem?"

Like a fish out of water, all the old man does is open and close his mouth wordlessly.

"Grab the cheque."

You don't know who Simon said that to but you and Soap crash into each other turning around and walking to the POS system. Ghost gently grabs the bill from your shaky hands and shoves it into the customers chest,

"Cash only."

"I don't have cash."

"There's an ATM around the corner."

The old man nearly jumps out of his seat,

"Right. Be right back."

He rushes to the door, Kyle and John follow.

"Oh there's no need-"

"Making sure you don't get lost."

Kyle smiles, eyes dangerous. It's about five minutes when they're back, the old man placing some 20s down before complaining under his breath. Then he gets kicked out,

"I need my change!"

He looks over Johnny's shoulder, looking to you for help. You shrug, arms crossed. When the door closes you sigh, running fingers through your hair

"You alright, darling?"

Gaz asks, voice as sweet as ever, gentle hand on your face. You nod.

~

That evening was pleasant. More than that really. They pampered you, cooed and soothed you as you huffed and sniffled. Ran you a hot bath,

"Poor thing, dinnae deserve tha."

Johnny massaged shampoo into your hair.

"Won't let you stay around next time we deal with something like that again."

Kyle kneaded the tension out your shoulders. John sat you in his lap, brushing hair out of your face while saying sweet nothings. You really do enjoy milking this for all it's worth, sad eyes looking up and huffing like you didn't get over that bullshit as soon as that old man walked out the door.

"Pampered little princess, you know that?"

Simon's lips are pressed up to your neck, just under your ear. You just nod, his words rattling around your brain while you got fucked senseless. You're tired, but the boys promised to coax an orgasm out of you. From each one of them. Then another. Well, you're a trooper, so what's one more round? Showered with soft kisses and praise, a foolish smile is painted across your face in a pleasurable state of stupor; Gosh, aren't you just spoiled rotten?

**sorry if it's short! I am on holiday ( ╥ω╥ )**

[tobiasdrake]

*deep breath* Okay. Here we go.

I don't think the Netflix Avatar show likes women very much. It's a great show for fans of Aang, Sokka, Zuko, and Iroh specifically. All four of those characters get a ton of great material. In fact, it's super great for Sokka stans, because the show takes him ultra-seriously and can't go five minutes without one character or another (usually a woman) praising him.

But the way it handles its female cast is troublesome.

Katara

So, all three of the main trio got some changes made to their stories. They changed Aang's story so that he wasn't running away from his responsibilities; He was just clearing his head and somehow accidentallied himself into a tsunami. Whoopsy-dooodle. Aang did nothing wrong.

They changed Sokka's story so that him being a leader of his people and a great guardian warrior is treated with complete seriousness. Multiple times, characters stop to talk about how brave and noble Sokka is for taking on such an intense responsibility, and tell him to his face what a great warrior and a wonderful leader he is. Also his misogyny is erased.

And they changed Katara's story so that she directly got her mom killed because she sucks at waterbending.

Katara tries to waterbend to attack the Fire Nation soldier but couldn't manage it, provoking the soldier to start actively searching for her and forcing her mom to fake a waterbending attack and draw his fire. They changed Katara's story so that her bad decision making fucking got her mom killed.

This is treated with the same level of severity as "Sokka was bullied by mean kids and also his dad doesn't think he's good enough to be a leader."

"I hoped Sokka would do better but not everyone is meant to have people's lives in their hands," Sokka's dad says of him.

Yeah, you're right, that's totally comparable to watching your mom get barbecued because you tried to waterbend in a situation you shouldn't have and then failed.

In fact, they give Sokka's greatest trauma more weight because it gets examined again with Yue next episode, while Katara actively getting her mom killed isn't brought up again at all. We get traumatized glimpses of it throughout the season leading up to the reveal, but after this scene in episode 5, it never comes up again.

But to be fair, Katara was a child. An event this significant would surely have motivated her, driving her to become the great waterbender she is now, right?

No! Katara sucks at waterbending and needs men who aren't even waterbenders to teach her how to waterbend. She requires instruction from Aang in episode 1 to learn how to waterbend, then from Jet in episode 3 to learn how to waterbend better.

And unlike the show, her relationship with Aang isn't a give-and-take; Katara doesn't teach Aang a single goddamn thing. He never learns to waterbend. She is a strictly a pupil throughout the whole season. Though she at least gets officially labeled a master in episode 8, so there's that.

In any case, the whole traumatic memory thing isn't even the only time she's directly compared with Sokka. Episodes 3 and 4 see Katara and Sokka bicker over whose morally dubious side character is better. Sokka likes the Mechanist and Katara likes Jet.

Ultimately, Katara is forced to eat crow when Jet turns out to be the worst, while Sokka is vindicated when the Mechanist sees the error of his ways and reforms. But not before two separate arguments where Sokka calls Katara childish and accuses her of acting like a little girl.

Arguments ultimately resolved when Katara apologizes to Sokka for not adequately respecting his very serious and ultra important role as village protector and leader. Gives him a whole speech about how great and glorious he is. And Sokka... appreciates Katara learning to respect him properly, I guess, because he never offers any similar sentiments back to her.

The show just... They need you to know how important Sokka is, okay? It's very important that you respect Sokka.

Suki

Suki suffers tremendously from that whole "Sokka's misogyny was removed" thing. Y'know, because they need something else to do with that episode. The show is deeply aware that Suki is Sokka's love interest, so they just do that right off the bat. Suki falls madly in love with him from the moment they meet, and spends the entire episode making goo-goo eyes and trying to get him to Notice Me Senpai.

They still do the "Suki Trains Sokka" stuff. But Sokka is a serious, dignified manly man worthy of the deepest respect now, so of course they don't make him wear the Kyoshi uniform. Instead, the main purpose of his training is to allow them to flirt some more. It's less martial arts training and more an excuse to grope each other and near-kiss.

Suki's just a waifu now. She still fights real good, but all of the stuff that made her relationship with Sokka interesting has been erased.

Yue

Yue, similarly, leaps straight to shipping from the word go. They write out her fiance, Hahn, by having Yue briefly meet Sokka earlier in the season. She spends one minute talking to him in the Spirit World about Spirit World lore; In that time, she falls so desperately, madly, unfathomably in love with him that she breaks off her marriage to Hahn and devotes herself to waiting for him to one day come to her.

"Never have I known such joys as that time you let me explain the spirit bear Hei Bei to you. Truly, we are destined to be together for life."

Like with Suki, they go out of their way to have Yue and Sokka already be a ship from the word 'go' so they don't have to spend time developing any kind of meaningful attraction.

They just. They really want you to know that Sokka is the manliest and most desirable man ever to walk this earth. It is very important that you understand how great he is. Women hurl themselves into his arms with zero effort whatsoever, because he's just so goddamn irresistible.

Fortunately, Hahn is super okay with this turn of events. He's the most chill guy ever, he gets along perfectly well with Sokka, and he completely supports Yue's right to dump him! In the famously misogynistic Northern Water Tribe, no less! What a swell guy. Aren't men swell?

June

June gets hit with that "rewritten as hollow waifu" stick too, but her eyes are set on Iroh. They rewrote June to be super attracted and flirty towards the man who was her unwanted sexual harasser in the source material. So that's fun.

Also, she barely does anything. Zuko hires her to find Aang, she succeeds, and then she fucks right off out of the show - But she manages to find time to express how unbelievably sexy Iroh is twice during that time.

She seriously just dropped into the show to flirt with Iroh and leave. She is unbelievably inconsequential.

Kyoshi

And then there's Kyoshi. They really want you to hate Kyoshi. She's constantly shot from below, as if looking down on Aang and the audience. Her voice takes on a demonic echoing reverb at one point as she's screaming at Aang that "THE AVATAR MUST BE A MERCILESS WARRIOR!!!"

She despises Aang, calling him a coward for running away from his responsibilities - Which, I remind you, is no longer a plot point because they unwrote that flaw from his character. So she's just a complete and utter asshole, shot from the asshole angle, yelling violently at him with asshole sound effects. They want you to despise this woman.

Azula

Awkwardly, they do not seem to want you to despise Azula.

There's a lot to be said for how Ozai treats Azula in the original show. The way the favoritism he shows her is every bit as cruel and manipulative as the unfavoritism that he shows Zuko. Ozai does not love Azula. He loves the reflection of himself he sees in her eyes, and his encouragement urges her to polish herself to ensure his reflection always shines through.

This is not that. The show instead erases the favoritism entirely. Ozai doesn't really care one way or another about either of his kids. He plays them against each other, bragging openly to Azula about how great Zuko is and unpleasably writing Azula off as weak and useless.

They've rewritten the dynamic between abusive father and his two abused kids in order to take Azula's pride away. Reimagining her from a gifted prodigy who excels at imitating the toxic behaviors of a father who doesn't truly care for her, to a put-upon overachiever tearing herself in knots to live up to the standards of her unpleasable father.

This results in a truly wild portrayal of Azula as insecure and jealous of Ozai's seemingly love for Zuko. Here, she is simply a browbeaten child constantly complaining to her friends about how mean her father is and conspiring to get one up over Daddy's Golden Child Zuko.

Which she fails at, because she backs Zhao. Zuko deftly defeats her without even realizing they're in competition.

Conclusion

The season ends well for some of these women. It ends promising that maybe we'll see Katara teaching Aang some day. It ends with Zhao bragging that Ozai just used Zuko to train Azula so maybe we'll see the more confident and misguidedly proud Azula some day. Yue becomes the moon like she's supposed to. June's still out there so maybe she'll get to do something again some day.

Katara gets to fight Pakku and lose, but she looks pretty cool. She gets to fight Zuko and lose, but she looks pretty cool. Azula learns to lightningbend because she's just so mad about Ozai's contempt for her and favoritism for Zuko, which isn't how you lightningbend.

But promises of future content fall flat when the content that exists is so underwhelming. This season made its feelings on these characters pretty evident, and it's unwise to expect better material from creators who've disappointed you with the material they already made.

The women of Netflix Avatar simply do not get to shine, outside of superficial moments like the "Women of Northern Water Tribe demand the right to fight and then fuck off and don't do anything for the entire rest of the episode" bit.

"In the midst of battle, we demand that you stop being sexist and give us permission to fight! This is a way better idea than convincing you to teach us to fight before the battle begins."

The characters of this show feel as if they've been reimagined to glorify the boys at the expense of the girls. The boys are treated with a great amount of care. They're dignified and made important movers of the plot, with their rough edges sanded off. While the girls are molded around them.

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 6: Undertow

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel does his best to distance himself after that morning on the yacht, but you finally have enough of his games after attending an art gallery exhibition.

Chapter Warnings: language, slow burn, sugar daddy/baby vibes, food and alcohol consumption, jealousy, sexual tension, flirting, threat of physical violence, good ol' fashioned argument where reader demands some goddamn answers, fingering

A/N: thank you @txtattoostark for beta-ing ❤️ And Happy Birthday @pedropascalsbbg 🎂

WC: 8.7K

Series Masterlist

You weren't going to beg. At least, that's what you told yourself over and over whenever Joel grazed a hand over your back at dinner or you caught him staring at you in your bikini just a little too long.

It had been five excruciating days since the yacht. Five days since that morning you shamelessly fucked yourself on his lap. And five days since you had found another envelope of cash on your pillow after you took a shower. You had stared at it, stomach churning with shame before you tossed it in your bag with the other unopened envelope. You had held out hope that the morning on the yacht would finally tear down his walls and he would let you in, but the cash on your pillow told you that you were wrong.

Ain't part of the deal.

Was that all this was? Were you too naive to think there was something more developing between you?

More than once that week you laid in your bed and wondered how he managed to get you all twisted around so fast. You don't let people steamroll you and you know your worth. That was his assessment of you when you first met, and he was right. That first day in his office you could hardly stand his overly confident and pompous attitude. You stood up for yourself and had a fucking spine. So where did that girl go?

Why don't you hear my terms first and then decide how much your dignity is worth?

How much was your dignity worth now? You rolled onto your side and pulled your knees to your chest, your stomach suddenly feeling queasy. You've never, ever acted this way over a man before. Was it because he kept rejecting you? Were you really that vain? No, that wasn't you. It was something more. You liked him... or, at least, you liked the parts of him he allowed you to see.

And, you don't quit. You're determined.

You breathed out a heavy sigh and rolled out of bed, giving up on the idea of sleep. You had plans to get lunch with Zoe that afternoon but until then, you had nothing but time to kill. Joel had thrown himself back into work the minute you came back from the yacht, so he spent most of his time doing that or he joined Glenn and the others to golf or play cards in the afternoons. He rarely came up for air. If he joined you by the pool, he stayed in the lounge chair, no matter how warm it was, but you could feel his eyes on you when your back was turned. You knew deep down this attraction wasn't one sided, but his resistance was driving you insane.

It was early. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting the living room in a dark blue hue. You sat with your legs tucked under you on the couch, your robe pulled tight over your sleepwear with a cup of coffee clutched between both hands, watching as the sun began to rise over the ocean.

Stop feeling bad for yourself. You're in fucking paradise.

"Oh, you're up."

"Jesus!"

You swiveled around in surprise when you saw Joel standing between the kitchen and living room, panting and covered with sweat. Your eyes swooped down before you could stop them to take in his drenched shirt and athletic shorts before looking him in the eye.

"I didn't even know you were gone," you said while trying your best to ignore the very physical reaction you were having to a post-workout Joel.

"Got an early start," he said before reaching into the fridge for a water. You turned back towards the windows to continue watching the sunrise because if you didn't, your brain was going to short circuit.

It was silent for a few minutes and you had assumed Joel had went to his room to shower, but suddenly he spoke up directly behind you. "Any plans for today?"

You took a sip of coffee so you could resist turning around to gaze at him with big fuck-me eyes. "Just lunch with Zoe."

He hummed while he chugged his water. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up from his proximity, but you remained firm and refused to turn around.

"Meant to tell you last night - Glenn invited the group of us to his daughter's art gallery. She's the curator there," Joel rounded the couch and sat down next to you with a grunt, causing you to tug your legs closer. "She's got some exhibition show all weekend, supposed to be a real big deal for her. Told 'em we'd go and show our support."

You nodded and took another sip from your coffee, eyes still glued to the ocean.

"Alright."

He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed you a credit card. "Why don't you go shoppin' with Zoe and get yourself a dress?"

You finally tore your eyes away to look at the heavy, black card dangling from his fingers.

"I think your assistant already bought plenty of options."

"So what's one more?" he asked with a little grin. He tilted his head to the side and caught your eye before saying, "I want you to pick somethin' out. Not my assistant. Want you to get somethin' you like."

The gesture was weak, but it was there, so you slowly took the card and slid it into the pocket of your robe. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome, darlin'," he said breezily before standing up to head towards his room. Only then did you allow your eyes to slide appreciatively down his back, your gaze lingering until he disappeared down the hall. You set your coffee mug down on the table before pulling the heavy credit card from your pocket to examine it. He infuriated you with how easily he was able to disregard what happened while you had spent almost every waking moment for the past week obsessing over it. Then a slow smile spread across your face as you tucked the credit card away for safe keeping.

If he wanted to play games, you could play right back.

"Holy fuck, girl," Zoe gasped when you stepped out from behind the curtain of the fitting room. She was holding a glass of champagne daintily between her fingers, her long legs crossed over one another as she perched on the edge of a pure white sofa. "That's the one. You have to get it. Joel's gonna lose his shit."

You grinned and turned towards the three panel mirror in front of a small platform. Stepping up, you swished the red satin material back and forth, admiring the way it hugged your curves but the eye was particularly drawn to the long slit up your left leg, ending mere inches away from your hip.

"You think so? You don't think it's a little much for an art gallery?"

Zoe shook her head and stood to join you in the mirror. "No, it's absolutely stunning. It was fucking made for you."

You couldn't stop smiling as you fiddled with the off the shoulder sleeves. "Alright, fine," you conceded as Zoe giddily clapped her hands.

After you carefully stepped out of the dress and handed it to a sales clerk, you put your own clothes back on and made your way through the store to the register when something else caught your eye.

You picked up a matching red silk thong with black lace embroidery, feeling the smooth material between your fingers.

"No brainer," Zoe said before you even questioned if you should get it. You giggled and tried your best to ignore the absurd price tag and brought it to the counter with you. You handed over Joel's credit card while the sales clerk carefully wrapped up both items in what you thought should be solid fucking gold given the price of everything in the store, then you were both on your way back to the hotel.

"Good use of an afternoon, if I do say so myself," Zoe said with an easy laugh. You had to agree, although for a different reason. For the first time all week, you felt like yourself again. The shame and the embarrassment didn't have room in your head while Zoe kept you entertained over lunch. You thought when it came time to shop for a dress with Joel's money, those feelings would come rushing back, but no. You felt confident and sexy and if Joel's reaction to your new acquisitions was half of Zoe's, you would finally have the upper hand.

By the time you arrived back to your room, you were feeling worlds better. You quietly shut the door behind you in case Joel was on a call and kicked off your strappy sandals before making your way into the living space. Joel turned around from the dining table to glance your way once before turning back to his laptop.

"Have fun?"

"Mhmm, thank you," you told him, sliding his card across the table. His eyes flickered from the card to your face to the wardrobe bag and small box in your hand.

"Found somethin' you liked?"

You grinned and nodded vigorously. "Very much."

Joel could pick up on your improved mood almost instantly and a wave of relief washed over him. He kept fucking things up with you, but that was no surprise. What was a surprise was how bad he felt when it became apparent you were hurt by something he did or said. He convinced himself it was all for the best, anyway. The more he pushed you away, the easier it would be.

"That's great," he said, eyes trailing after you as you walked towards your room. "Goin' to meet Glenn and the others for golf in a bit." He fucking hated golf, but he sucked it up to rub the right elbows. "You gonna be alright on your own for dinner?"

You glanced over your shoulder and nodded. "I think I'm just going to sit out by the pool and call it an early night. Didn't sleep too well."

You disappeared inside your bedroom and he focused back on his work. You must have went outside because it was so quiet, he became so engrossed in work that he nearly lost track of time. When the calendar reminder popped up on his phone, he quickly shut down his laptop and stood, gathering his things so he could run and get changed, but he only made it one step away from the table before he froze.

He swallowed thickly when he saw you sunbathing, which wasn't out of the ordinary but this time you had chosen to remove your bikini top completely, leaving it discarded in a pathetic little pile next to your chair. You were face down so he couldn't see anything except your perfect ass covered by a deep purple, barely there swimsuit bottom, but it was enough to send a rush of blood between his legs.

He had been doing so good. He forced himself into staying busy, staying away from you, because otherwise he knew it wouldn't take much to tear down what little defenses he had left, especially after that morning on the yacht. And now here you were, practically laid out on a silver platter for him once again while he fought with his inner demons.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, he began to move slowly down the hallway, the destination his bedroom but his eyes remained glued to the window at the end of the hall. He was within arms length of his room. If only he had moved just a hair faster because then he wouldn't have seen you sit up to get a drink of water. He wouldn't have seen the towel you had been laying on get stuck on the arm of the lounge chair. And he wouldn't have caught a quick but very revealing eye full of your bare chest.

"Shit," he whispered to himself as he continued to stare, feeling like a creep but still unable to move. You had quickly covered back up, unaware he had seen a thing as he stood cemented to the ground outside his bedroom, his cock uncomfortably hard. So hard that it made his stomach hurt.

He should have fucked you when he had the chance.

No, that would be wrong. You had no idea the type of man he was, and you deserved far better than him.

But maybe you would like him anyway.

He shook his head, muttering no under his breath as he tore his eyes away from you and slipped inside his bedroom.

He wouldn't fall for it. Not again.

"Glenn's daughter's name is Rose," Joel had told you in the car. He was forcing himself to stare out the window instead of your exposed leg in that slinky fucking dress that made him lightheaded the moment he first saw you in it. "His youngest. It's her first big exhibition as a curator. Supposed to be mostly abstract art from a local artist that's growin' a large following online."

You hadn't been to an art gallery since you were in high school. Art was never really an interest of yours and it was a topic you knew very little about, so you prayed nobody would try to test your knowledge at any point during the night.

When you first stepped into the modernist building, you had to take a moment to absorb your surroundings in awe.

The floor was a shiny, dark hardwood that contrasted nicely with the off white walls which held stunning paintings around the entire room. There was the occasional piece of furniture, a couple of chairs or a table, but the room was designed mostly with space for movement in mind.

The room itself appeared to have three or four partially closed off smaller rooms, most likely created that way so the artist could break up different sections of their collection. And most of the lighting came from the small spotlights hung directly above each wall so it allowed guests to view the works of art in the best possible light.

"This place is beautiful," you whispered so only Joel could hear. He had his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hardly giving his surroundings a second glance when he had you looking like a piece of art right next to him.

"Hey, Miller," a deep voice said from behind, startling you both. Turning around, you tried to keep your face from falling when you were greeted by Scott and Tammy. Scott stretched out his arm and Joel reluctantly removed his grasp on you to shake his hand.

"Some place, huh?" Scott remarked, glancing around at the art while you and Tammy tried to avoid looking at one another.

"Yeah, seems like a really talented artist," Joel replied. Scott shrugged and made a face just as a young woman in her early twenties walked slowly past, all alone, and stopped in front of a blue and pink painting.

"Abstract ain't really my thing," he said, "I'll have to take your word for it." You frowned and looked around incredulously.

"Are you kidding?" you asked without even thinking. All three looked at you in surprise and the young woman nearby tilted her head to listen.

"What do you mean?" Tammy asked with an air of fake politeness.

"What I mean is this artist is extremely talented," you said, sweeping your arm out to your side to gesture to a wall of paintings. "Look at the way they used complimentary colors in each piece. Look at the texture. I don't know much about abstract art, either, but if you can't feel something when you look at these paintings, you probably should check your pulse."

The young woman smirked to herself and walked away while Scott and Tammy stared at you in surprise. The corner of Joel's mouth twitched and he ducked his chin into his chest.

"N-no, you're right," Scott stammered guiltily, taking another look around the room. "It's always good to broaden your horizons and try to find enjoyment in things you don't expect. Right, Tam?"

You smiled sweetly at them both as you felt Joel's hand slink around your waist again.

"Yes," Tammy hissed through her teeth. "Of course, you're right. Why don't we go admire the paintings that look like someone kicked a few cans of color over the canvas and called it a day?"

Scott's ears turned a little red and excused them both. While they walked away, you caught them angrily whispering to each other and you turned to smirk at Joel.

"Sorry," you told him. He just shook his head and steered you in the opposite direction.

"No, you ain't."

You giggled. "Yeah, you're right."

Then much to your surprise, he leaned over to kiss the top of your head. Before you had a chance to react, you were greeted by Glenn and Mary.

"Oh, there you are!" Mary exclaimed before wrapping her fingers around the shoulders of a beautiful blonde girl who appeared to be in her mid twenties. Her hair was brushed back into a neat, professional bun and she wore a white blouse with flowing sleeves and well fitting black slacks.

"This is our daughter, Rose," Mary beamed. You both eagerly shook her hand and introduced yourselves before you added, "This is such a lovely gallery, thank you for having us."

"Pleasure's all mine," she said with a wide grin. "Truthfully I was terrified only five people would show up."

You laughed and glanced quickly around the packed room. "Looks like it's a little more than five."

"And I'm so grateful," Rose said sincerely. "The artist is so talented that I would have felt horrible if we had a poor showing."

"Where is the artist, anyway?" Glenn asked.

"They have an anonymous persona, it's how they prefer it. Even online, no one knows their real name or what they look like. Took a while before they even trusted me enough to meet face to face," Rose explained with a smile and shrug. "Genius tends to bring along little quirks."

Shortly thereafter, someone else stole Rose's attention and with a quick wave to Glenn and Mary, Joel led you away to look at the art a little closer.

"So, what'dya think so far?" Joel asked, plucking two glasses of champagne from a serving tray before joining you in front of a pink and blue painting that caught your eye earlier. You thanked him softly for the drink and continued to stare at the painting.

"I'll be honest, I thought I would hate it but I think I'm in love," you joked. Joel chuckled and gestured to the painting with his glass.

"You like this one?"

You nodded and took a sip of champagne. "It reminds me of something," you said, tilting your head to the side, studying each stroke of blues, pinks and bits of white throughout the canvas. "I find it so peaceful to look at."

He nodded in agreement and inched a little closer to your side. "So it makes you feel somethin'."

You flushed and averted your eyes. "I hope that didn't embarrass you."

Joel shook his head. "'Course not. I liked it. I like when you stand your ground and speak your mind."

"Careful what you wish for," you chuckled. He grinned and let his eyes roam up and down your body for a moment before blowing a disbelieving puff of air past his lips and shaking his head.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

Butterflies erupted in your stomach and you wanted to kick yourself for being so weak for him.

"Thank you," you breathed, watching as his eyes continued to devour you. "I picked it out for you," you added a little nervously. His eyebrows shot up and you held your breath as he leaned in a little closer.

"That right?" he murmured, knuckles dragging gently down your arm and sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought 'bout me when you were tryin' on dresses? Wondered what I would like the most?"

"Mhmm," you hummed, eyelids growing heavy as you fell under his spell with ease. "And I got something else, too," you whispered, knowing full well you were pushing it, but you couldn't resist.

It took him a moment, but he figured out what you meant. You could see it in his eyes when they flickered down to your waist and then back up. They turned a shade darker and his jaw tensed, like he was physically trying to restrain himself.

"Careful," he warned lowly. The way he said it made you wonder if he was talking to you or himself.

"Or what?" you teased, cocking your head to the side playfully. He maintained his intense stare for another moment before dragging his gaze away and clearing his throat. His eyes found the painting again and he jutted his chin towards it.

"You really like it that much?"

You blinked, trying to keep up with the quick change in tone. At this point, you weren't sure why you were surprised anymore. Turning back to look at it, you nodded.

"Alright, then," Joel said firmly. "Excuse me."

You swiveled around and watched him weave his way through the crowd, making a beeline for Glenn, Mary, and Rose. You had to stifle your laugh when you realized what he was doing, but then you made eye contact with a set of dark brown, almost black eyes next to Rose and the smile slid right off your face.

Of course Brooks would be there. Why didn't you think of that sooner?

When you spun back around to give the painting one last look, you were surprised to find a young woman standing next to you admiring the painting, as well.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly, then tucked a loose piece of brown hair behind her ear. The rest of her hair was pulled into a messy bun and she wore a midnight black suit with a matching tie.

"No need, I wasn't paying attention," you said sweetly. The pair of you stood in silence for a few minutes while the laughter and clinking glasses from the other guests occupied the air.

"Isn't this piece beautiful?" you asked her, trying to strike up a conversation. She grinned and shrugged.

"What do you find beautiful about it?"

You looked back at the painting, letting your gaze slide over the differing shades of blues, pinks, and whites.

"It's calming," you said. "I feel like I've seen it before but I can't pinpoint where."

The young woman nodded, urging you to continue.

You studied it a moment longer and then let out a dry chuckle. "You know, I'm gonna sound crazy, but there are these pink seashells in the ocean. My fiancé picked some up for me when we were swimming last week. It reminds me of the way they looked through the water, like the pink all distorted with the blue."

"That's exactly right."

You turned to her in surprise. "W-what do you mean?"

She stuck out her hand and you could see the beginnings of a tattoo running up her sleeve. "I'm Ellie. The artist."

"Oh, my god!" you practically exclaimed, covering your mouth before remembering your manners and shaking her hand, giving her your name. "You are incredibly talented," you told her, "and I swear I'm not just saying that."

"I know," she said, releasing your hand and shoving it back into her pants pocket. "I heard you defending me to that asshole and that overly botoxed wife of his. Thank you, by the way."

You laughed and shook your head in disbelief. "You're so welcome." You looked back at the painting as you tried to calm your racing thoughts. "So the seashells on the ocean floor inspired this?"

"Yep," she said, rocking back and forth on her heels. "That one over there's palm trees in a tropical storm. The one next to it is all the different colored beach umbrellas at a resort. And the one all the way in the corner is -"

"Wait, let me guess."

Ellie smiled. "Okay."

You studied it for a minute, tapping your finger against you chin, deep in thought.

"Oh!" you said excitedly. "All the hibiscus flowers along the highway!"

She nodded with a look that told you she was impressed.

"How'd you tell?"

"We drove by them on our first day. You used greys at the bottom and bits of green in between, representing the bushes, right?"

"You got it," she said with a laugh.

"Wow," you breathed as you looked around at her paintings in a completely different light. "I know I sound like a broken record, but you're so talented. You truly have a gift."

"Thanks," Ellie said shyly. "I don't do good in crowds though, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone who I am."

"Promise," you said, giving her your pinky finger. She grinned and looped her finger around yours with a firm shake, and then her phone chimed in her pocket. She let you go and pulled it out, her expression unreadable.

"This painting just sold," she said softly, eyes slowly widening. "Shit, I'm sorry. I would've-"

"It's alright," you told her, glancing over your shoulder, but you couldn't spot Joel anywhere. "I think I know who bought it."

Ellie breathed a sigh of relief and put her phone away. "The fiancé?"

You nodded. "I should probably go thank him."

"Thank him for me, too," she joked. "It was great meeting you."

"Likewise," you said, giving her hand one more shake. "Good luck with the rest of the evening."

You weaved your way through the crowd, heading towards the back of the building where you last saw Joel. On your way, you caught Zoe's eye from across the room and waved, laughing when she fanned herself and gave you an exaggerated once over.

"Hi, honey," Glenn said when he spotted you walking by.

"Hi... have you seen Joel?" you asked, then Brooks piped up with an sinister smile.

"Think he went towards the bathrooms with Scott's wife," he told you, pretending to search his brain while his foot tapped restlessly against the wooden floor. Then he snapped his fingers as if struck with a great idea. "Tammy! That's her name, right?"

Your blood felt like fire in your veins and it must have shown because Brooks grinned and shot you a wink before you hurried off towards the back of the room.

The bathrooms were down a long hallway and around the bend. You walked as fast as you could without the sound of your heels causing someone to think you were running. As you approached the turn, you heard Joel's voice before you got a chance to see him. You couldn't hear what he said over your own heavy breathing, but his tone sounded surprised.

When you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks, unable to believe your eyes.

There, right in front of the men's bathroom, was Tammy. She was pressing her lips against Joel's with her long, fake fingernails raking through his hair. You were too stunned and just barely had a moment to process the shocked look on Joel's face, one where his eyes didn't even close and his brows furrowed in anger before he pushed her back and wiped his mouth with his hand.

Before he had a chance to say anything, someone shouted down the corridor, causing them both to swivel in your direction. It wasn't until you had almost closed in on them that you realized you were the one shouting.

"You fucking bitch!" you yelled, lunging forward, completely fueled by white hot rage. Joel's arms wrapped around you before you could hit her like you intended, but you did manage to get your fingers around a good chunk of her hair. She yelped and clawed at your wrist, begging you to let go, but you ignored her pleas. Instead, you shook her head back and forth like a dog and it wasn't until her hair-do was almost completely destroyed that you finally let go, but not before angrily kicking in her direction while Joel hauled you away.

"You fucking psycho!" she screeched, frantically trying to tame her hair as she stumbled against the wall. "Nothing even happened!"

"Stay away from my fucking fiancé or so help me, I'll undo a decade of plastic surgery in ten minutes," you sneered.

"Relax!" Joel told you sternly. He turned his attention to Tammy, who was catching her breath and looked like a dissolved mess. "Get outta here," he snapped, and just like that, she scurried into the women's room to try to fix her hair.

He released his grip around you and you immediately turned on him.

"What the fuck?" you seethed, jabbing a shaky finger into his chest. He held up his palms and shook his head.

"You saw it, I didn't kiss her back, I need you calm the fuck down right now."

You dragged in a deep, ragged breath but you were still driven by unbridled anger.

"You told me this was over," you said through clenched teeth. Joel grabbed your wrists but you shook him off and stepped back. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand propped on his hip.

"It is," he said calmly. "She was waitin' for me and - y'know what? I don't gotta explain anythin' to you," he glanced up and down the hallway before dropping his voice and towering over you, anger now radiating off him. "Do I gotta remind you this ain't real?"

Tears sprung up in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. "I don't care. Anyone could have come down this hallway and seen you, and then what? Huh? What if it was Glenn? What if it was fucking Scott?"

He knew you were right, but he just silently glared down at you, each of you breathing heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off.

"I'm leaving," you told him, gathering up your dress and straightening it out. "I'm so sick and tired of your fucking head games and I won't stay here and let you embarrass me any longer."

Something in his expression changed but you didn't linger long enough to find out what it was. You bunched up the skirt of your dress and quickly walked away, doing your best to move fast without breaking a heel. You heard Joel call your name but you ignored him, hellbent on disappearing into the crowd and getting away from him as fast as possible.

Something inside him broke when you said you were leaving. Something deep in his chest he didn't expect to feel, and suddenly he was overcome with an immense amount of guilt and shame. He needed to apologize. He needed to make things right.

Shit, did you mean you were leaving for good? Or just leaving the art gallery? Why did he keep saying the wrong fucking thing?

Panic coursed through his veins in seconds and he found himself rushing after you. He must have looked like a fool when he raced out of the hallway and back into the bustling gallery, head twisting around every which way as he desperately searched for a flash of your deep red dress, but all he saw was a sea of unrecognizable faces.

"Better keep an eye on that one."

Joel spun around, eyes wild, when he came face to face with Brooks.

"Which way did she go?" he asked. Brooks just grinned and casually swiped at his nose with a sniffle and Joel narrowed his eyes.

"Where?" he said, dropping his voice angrily. Brooks held up his hands and chuckled.

"Calm down," he warned, making the hairs on the back of Joel's neck stand up. "She looked like she was going towards the side exit. Looked pretty upset. Hope there's no trouble in paradise."

Something about the way Brooks said it gave Joel pause.

"No," Joel said, eyes flickering towards the door, "We're fine. She just wanted to head back to the hotel."

Brooks nodded and rubbed at his chin. "That's a relief. I'd hate for someone to come along and snatch her up from you."

"What did you just say?" Joel asked, taking a menacing step forward before catching himself. What the fuck did that mean?

"C'mon, you know what I mean," he replied, nudging Joel's shoulder good naturedly as if he were in on some joke. Joel clenched his teeth and tried to refrain from doing something stupid, and if he wasn't Glenn's son, he might not have held back. "Girl like that needs to be taken care of."

"I take care of her just fine," Joel said defensively, and as much as he wished he could figure out exactly what Brooks thought he knew, he didn't have time to waste. "Tell your parents she wasn't feelin' well and we had to leave."

Before Joel stepped away, Brooks winked and gave him a thumbs up. "Sure thing, man."

He hurried through the crowd, a chorus of excuse mes being uttered from his lips every other second until he finally reached the door.

The moment he stepped outside he was hit with the tropical humidity he had somehow grown accustomed to in the past two weeks, but also finally found some quiet.

He took a moment to take a few deep breaths and look around. When he spotted you further down the street with your arms wrapped around your middle and your dress fluttering in the night breeze, he breathed a sigh of relief.

You were waiting for the car to pull around with your chin tucked into your chest and he swore if he had made you cry again he would never forgive himself. But when you heard him approach and lifted your head, he didn't see tears. Instead, he saw disappointment mixed with anger.

He couldn't decide which made him feel worse.

"I'm sorry," he tried, but you shook your head as the car pulled up to the curb. He tried to reach out and open the door for you but you didn't allow it, so he hurried around to the other side of the car and slid into the seat next you.

Once the driver pulled out onto the street, he readjusted himself in his seat and turned to look at you.

"Not here," you said coldly before he could speak, gaze pinned to your window. He clamped his mouth shut and sat back. It was smart. He couldn't risk the driver overhearing something and spreading rumors, so instead he focused on what he was going to say to you to make things right once you were back in the room.

I'm sorry, she doesn't mean anything.

Would that imply you do mean something to him? Of course, you did, but he couldn't share that with you. Not after he just told you twenty minutes prior what you had wasn't real.

I'm sorry, this situation is more complicated than you thought.

Somehow he thought that wouldn't go over well.

He knew what he should really say but he couldn't bring himself to do it. I'm sorry for confusing you and leading you on. I can't help myself, I'm weak.

So instead, he settled on I'm sorry, you were right. If someone else saw, it would have ruined everything.

That is exactly what he said to you once the hotel room door finally closed behind you and you kicked off your heels, snatching them up in your hand and storming into the living room.

"Yeah, no shit," you muttered over your shoulder.

"C'mon, you know what you saw," he pleaded, "you know she took me by surprise when I was comin' outta the bathroom. I had nothin' to do with it. I told you it was over and it is, I don't know why-"

"Good question, Joel," you said, spinning around to pin him with a glare. "Why did she think she could do that? Hm?"

Joel shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Alright, let me ask you this," you said, dropping your shoes to the floor and perching against the dining room table. "What did she say to you on the yacht?"

"When?"

"You know damn well when," you snapped. You were getting too fed up now to play nice and it felt liberating to have that side of you back once again. You don't let people steamroll you. "When she followed you inside that day before the island dinner. When you told me, I only need to know what you say I need to know. Well, Joel, I need to know. So fucking tell me. What'd she say?"

His nostrils flared when he took a deep breath. People didn't talk to him like that. If it were anyone else, he would send them packing without a second thought, and maybe with a few choice words in return. But you? He couldn't do it. He couldn't stomach the thought of losing you.

"Fine," he grumbled, yanking out a chair at the table next to where you were standing and collapsing into it. He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot so it hung wide at his neck, then unfastened the top two buttons of his dress shirt before he spoke.

"She was surprised to hear 'bout our engagement. Wondered why I didn't warn her. Asked if we're happy. Usual beatin' 'round the bush shit."

You quirked an eyebrow and crossed your ankles. "What do you mean, beat around the bush? What was she really asking about?"

He raked his fingers through his hair and shrugged. "Y'know. Lookin' to see if I was interested in meetin' up with her during the stay."

"And what did you say?"

He rolled his eyes and gave you a disbelieving look. "The hell you think I said? No. I fuckin' said no."

"And she still kissed you after you said no on the yacht?"

"Yeah," he replied, crossing his arms and glancing up at you. "Think you ruffled her feathers a bit. Got her jealous."

You scoffed and looked away but secretly you found a sick sense of satisfaction from it.

"Happy now?" he asked after the silence dragged on a moment too long for his liking.

"Thrilled," you said sarcastically. You clasped your hands together in front of you and stared down at the floor. He watched you for another minute, feeling the energy in the room begin to shift back to normal, and he smirked to himself.

"What?"

"Never had two women fight over me before," he said with a wide smile, one which he tried to cover with his palm when he dragged his hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, well," you murmured, fiddling with your ring, "I would have wrecked her if you didn't stop me."

"I got no doubt," he replied, his hand dropping to find your exposed knee. Now that you seemed less pissed, his focus was being drawn back to you wearing that dress just for him. And then he remembered your earlier comment and it took every ounce of restraint not to slide his hand up your thigh and under your skirt to see what else you had on.

"We were havin' such a nice time 'fore all that happened," he murmured, his gaze wandering up and down your leg and you felt yourself begin to soften. "Think you were sayin' you bought more than just the dress, hm?"

Goddamnit, how did he do it? How did he manage to pull every emotion out of you in just one evening?

"You wanna see?" you asked, hoping he didn't hear the tremor in your voice or notice the way your legs fell open a fraction more.

He lifted an eyebrow and smirked, gaze still fixed on your bare leg while his hand began to migrate further past your knee.

Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, please show me. Let me see all of you. But he caught himself and his hand stilled.

"Why don't you just tell me, instead?"

"Or you could just move your hand a few more inches and find out for yourself," you teased, spreading your thighs a little more. His fingers pressed into your skin and you saw him swallow.

"Can't, y'know that."

You let out a frustrated huff and pushed yourself off the table, away from him.

"You're confusing the fuck out of me, Joel! One second you're all over me and the next you're pushing me away. And don't try to tell me it's all for show. You do this shit all the time."

You marched into the living room and plopped down onto one of the couches. You were fucking tired. Tired from the rollercoaster evening, tired from Joel's mixed signals, tired from everything.

He stood up with a groan and followed you to the living room, raking his fingers through his hair as he moved.

"I'm tryin' to protect you," he snapped, startling you. "I don't fuckin' trust myself 'round you, don't you see that? Don't you see what you're doin' to me?"

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stood in front of you, imploring you to understand with a pained look on his face.

"Then why are you fighting it?" you whined, standing up. As you approached you saw his shoulders stiffen, but he didn't move away. "Why can't we-"

"'Cause I ain't a good man, darlin'," he said sadly, gaze dropping to the floor. "You deserve so much better."

"But I like you," you told him softly, reaching out and taking his hand. You brought it up to cup your face while a war waged behind his eyes. "I refuse to believe you're not a good man, Joel."

You turned so you could press a kiss into the palm of his hand, then slowly guided his arm lower, all the while staring him right in the eye until his fingertips brushed against the slit in your dress. Your breath hitched as you led him lower, underneath the material until his fingers finally came in contact with the silky red panties trimmed with black lace.

"Fuck," he whispered, cheeks tinting pink and eyes all wide and dark when he felt the wet patch that had seeped through. After that, he couldn't stop himself. "Dirty fuckin' girl," he growled, taking a step closer so he could tower over you while two thick fingers pressed and stroked steadily over your panties. A breathy moan slipped past your lips and you released his arm so you could grab onto his shoulders for support. Joel wrapped his other arm around your waist and walked you back towards the sofa, all the while staring down at you like he was a predator who finally caught their prey.

You thought he would have laid you down but to your surprise, he twisted you both around at the last second and sat down on the couch, legs spread wide. He removed his hand from between your legs and you were about to protest when you heard the deafening tear of fabric. You gasped and looked down to see Joel had torn your brand new fucking dress from the slit up, exposing half your stomach.

"What the f-" you were about to scold him and tell him how much you liked that goddamn dress when he grabbed you by the hips and yanked you forward so he could bury his face against your clothed pussy. Your eyes bugged out of your head and you grabbed his hair to keep you steady, your shaky legs no longer able to be trusted. And when he took a deep, steady breath in through his nose, your face flushed with heat while staining the red satin of your underwear even darker.

"You smell so fuckin' good," he groaned before taking another deep breath. "Bet you taste even better."

"Jesus Christ," you whimpered, your fingers getting tangled in his hair. "Please, Joel, please..."

"Sit on my lap," he demanded, tearing himself away and leaning back into the couch. He slapped the tops of his thighs and ushered you forward with his fingers.

On shaky legs, you obeyed, spreading them wide so you could rest them on either side of his thighs. He stretched up to latch his mouth onto the hollow part underneath your jaw while his fingers resumed their torturous pace over your center.

"You're right, these were made to be seen," he murmured against your throat. Your hips began to rock, encouraging him to keep going with each little sound from the back of your throat. "Got these just for me, huh? Wanted me to see 'em?"

"Yeah," you whined, arms circling around his neck and jaw falling open as he brought you closer and closer to your climax without still having actually touched you.

"What'd you want me to do, baby?" he asked softly. Your breath was growing shallow and the noises you were making were getting louder and he smirked, knowing you were close from just a few minutes of petting you through your clothes. If this is how responsive you were from just his fingers, he couldn't fucking wait to take you apart with his cock. "Tell me. Did'ya want me to bend you over the table?"

You nodded and gasped when his fingers began to move faster. "Everywhere. In the car. At the art gallery. In the fucking elevator... fuck, Joel!"

His cock swelled in his pants, the material already too unforgiving and tight, when you came shouting his name. A shudder ran through your body when you slumped forward to rest your head on his shoulder, but unfortunately he didn't give you the courtesy of recovery because in an instant, he hooked the material of your underwear to the side and two fingers slid right into your soaked cunt.

You weren't sure who groaned louder, you or Joel, but it felt like both of you were equally desperate.

"Oh, fuck," you whimpered, sweat dotting your forehead and upper lip from the welcome intrusion his fingers caused. You forced yourself to straighten back up so you could grab his face with both hands and slant your mouth eagerly over his. His tongue immediately invaded your mouth and his wrist began to snap between your legs, causing your mind to go numb as you focused solely on the pleasure he was giving you.

"Joel," you moaned in between biting at his lower lip. "I don't think I can come again."

"Yes, you fuckin' will," he said roughly. His free hand, which was clutching your hip, began to guide you up and down on his fingers. "You wanted me so bad and now you're tellin' me you can't come again? Gimme what I want and maybe I'll give you what you want."

You nodded dumbly and followed his lead, rolling your hips and then bouncing on his lap until you found what worked and you felt that familiar warmth building low in your stomach again.

"Keep going, just like that," you panted against his lips. He nodded, eyes so dark they looked black as he stared up at you. Your eyes were squeezed shut, too focused on chasing your high to see the way he was looking at you. It was probably for the best because he was fairly certain you would be able to see right through him in that moment and it scared the shit out of him.

"Oh, fuck, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling you closer so he could hide his face against your throat. He could feel you tightening around his fingers and your nails were digging into his shoulders, the bite of pain sending shivers down his spine. Your moans grew more high pitched and your skin felt hot to the touch. He leaned forward on the couch and, circling his other arm around your waist, tugged you as close as possible while using the force from his entire body to thrust his fingers as deep as he could into your cunt, curling them inside you each time he retracted his hand.

"Oh, god, Joel," you whined breathlessly, stomach tensing the closer you came to your orgasm. "I think... I think I'm gonna-"

You cut yourself off with a shaky moan when you came for the second time, your entire body pulsing in his arms as your orgasm shot through you violently, taking every shred of energy you had left.

You murmured softly against his neck when he eventually dragged his fingers out of you. Your eye cracked open just in time to see him pop both fingers into his mouth and hum appreciatively to himself while still holding you close against his chest.

"You alright?" he asked before kissing the top of your head.

"You ruined my dress," you whispered sleepily. He chuckled, the vibrations from his chest melting into yours, making you smile.

"It's not funny. It was over a thousand dollars."

"Money well spent," he replied before tipping the back of his head against the couch with a deep sigh. He was still painfully hard but you were too weak and tired to do anything about it. He maneuvered you so your legs were no longer spread open on his lap, then hooked an arm underneath your knees. With his other arm around your shoulders, he stood with a groan and began to carry you down the hall.

Your own arms were still wrapped tightly around his neck and once he approached the bedrooms, you opened your eyes to see which room he would pick. It didn't surprise you when he turned into your room but you were too tired to really care.

"You oughta change outta this dress," he murmured as he laid you down in bed.

"Mhmm, I will," you promised, then smiled when he brushed your hair out of your eyes and kissed your forehead.

"Get some sleep," he said, and just as he was about to step back into the hall, you called out his name. He spun around, the sight of you spread out over your bed, all fucked out in a torn up dress giving him pause before he cleared his throat and responded.

"Yeah?"

"You better not fucking tip me this time."

You giggled when you saw the grin on his face and he shook his head in disbelief.

"'Night."

"Good night."

Once he left, you slipped out of the dress but you couldn't bring yourself to throw it out, so you zipped it back up in its bag and tucked it into the back of your closet before drifting off and feeling the calmest you ever felt.

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[heartlogan]

living to learn

✮— logan x f!mutant!reader (set in deadpool & wolverine)

✮— summary: logan mulls over all that he has lost, and all that he has found, in the void

✮— a/n: i was enabled by yall - please heed the warnings! you dont need to read pt 1 to read this!

✮— warnings: MAJOR DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS, major character deaths, angst, incredibly sad backstory, dead kids / teenagers, practically a genocide of mutants, suicidal ideation (from logan, kind of), reader acts as a mother figure for someone, incorrect dialogue from dp&w, a smidge of comfort, again ANGST, lmk if there’s more!

part one | masterlist

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

It’s almost impossible not to linger on the things that you have lost.

And for Logan, it is impossible.

He spends every waking moment craving for the touch of somebody he lost, and he’s painfully aware that it’s all his fault. He caused the loss. And he’s the only one left to mourn you, because god knows the humans won’t.

Even for him, some two hundred years old, it’s all too painful. And he has experienced plenty of pain in his life. But this? Losing you? Losing everyone? It’s too much. So, he does what he can, he pours so much alcohol into his body that he can’t think, can’t imagine what your final moments must have been like.

But between bars, when his healing factor wears the alcohol down, it’s all he sees.

He imagines you there, surrounded by all of your loved ones except for him, unable to save them. And he can remember finding you so vividly, can remember the ashy tone your skin had taken on, all the life drained from you. He can remember exactly where he found you, in front of the doors, your dying action being to try and save the kids in the mansion. He prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in that you died before they did, because knowing that you hadn’t been able to save them would have killed you.

And the other X-Men, they died the same way. Trying to protect each other, trying to protect those kids. And perhaps the only one who knew that it was all in vain would’ve been Jean. Jean, who he found in front of the children.

Where was he?

At some bar, surrounded by humans he couldn’t care less about, all because he was selfish. All because he didn’t want anybody thinking he wanted to be part of the team. God forbid he actually care about something.

And because of his selfishness, his fear, he lost it all.

He lost you.

So when Wade said he could fix Logan’s universe, he would’ve done anything to make that happen. Anything that Wade asked for, he would’ve done. And as soon as his universe was fixed, Logan would go to you and get to his knees, he would beg for your forgiveness.

And all of that, that hope that had evaded him all those years, was for nothing. For an educated wish.

Logan couldn’t do anything but resort to his old habits, grabbing the first bottle of actual alcohol he saw, and finally numbing the image of you dead in his arms.

“There’s five of us.” Elektra told Wade, and Logan paid her no mind. Everything was futile now, pointless. He was only helping Wade to help the team, to help you, and that was likely impossible. So whatever these so-called heroes were planning, he wanted no part in it.

Logan had already secured his legacy in his universe, and it wasn’t the one you had always imagined for him. He was the Wolverine, and he was every bit of violence that name suggested. Because even though he hadn’t been able to save the X-Men, he sure as hell got his vengeance. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, until every single human who was remotely involved in the blood bath at X-Mansion was dead.

You wouldn’t have been proud of his actions, true, but you were dead.

Cassandra had mentioned something about temperance, earlier, and it hadn’t taken him long to recognise that you were the anchor of his. Without you, Logan hadn’t managed any sort of self-restraint. He had slaughtered people. And he could only bring himself to regret those that hadn’t quite deserved it.

By the time the red had faded from his vision, Logan realised he had gone too far. He hadn’t just killed the ones who had murdered his friends, but anyone in connection to them, and anyone who had gotten in his way. The only reason he wasn’t arrested was because they were too afraid of him, and the only reason he hadn’t been killed was because he couldn’t fucking die.

Even the fuckers that had slaughtered the X-Men couldn’t figure out how to kill him, and that was a sick kind of irony.

“Logan, that’s who I was telling you about! X-23!” Wade said excitedly, pointing across the room at a teenage girl, who stared at him like she was seeing a ghost. From the sound of what Wade had said earlier, she probably was.

And the sight of her, for some reason, tugged at his chest. He drowned the feeling with more whiskey.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“Hey.” Laura greeted you, fidgeting with the strap of her bag as she watched you enter the back of the base, carrying a bag full of food. She seemed nervous, and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Hey, Laura, everythin’ alright?” You asked fondly, glancing at her as you started unpacking the supplies that you’d found scattered across the void.

She hesitated, glancing back through the doorway she was stood in, before focusing on you. “Yeah. Uh, I need to talk to you.” She said, sounding incredibly serious, which wasn’t unusual for her. Laura had been through so much, including everything that she had told you about her life before the void. Being here hadn’t made her life any better.

You immediately paused your actions, and turned your full attention towards the teenager across from you. You nodded for her to start.

“I was out patrolling earlier, and I found some people.” Laura said slowly, thinking her words over thoroughly before she spoke them aloud. She didn’t want to make this any worse. “I drove them here, and we’ve made a plan to attack Cassandra’s first thing. Except for one of the two, who doesn’t want to help.”

“Okay…” You said cautiously, almost confused. “This all sounds good, doesn’t it? Whoever they are, they can stay here if they want. Fill me in on the plan, and we’ll handle it.”

“It’s… okay. It’s about who they are.” She clarified finally, giving up on trying to approach the situation cautiously. “It’s a variant of him. Of Logan.”

Your chest squeezed painfully immediately, and you hand to hold a hand to your sternum to try and ease it. If it were any other situation, Laura may have made a joke about you having a heart attack, but she knew better. She knew how she had felt when she first saw the man, so she could imagine how you were feeling.

Immediately, your heart was torn between rushing to see him, and refusing to lay your eyes on the man at all. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him, or, well, a variant of him.

It hurt too much. Every day you were reminded of how you had failed to save him, but you had to keep going, for the others in the void. Because they needed you, just as much as you needed them. Laura needed you.

She knew your pain all too well, having lost her own Logan. So you knew what she was telling you was the truth. There was really, finally, a Wolverine variant in the void.

“You okay?” Laura asked, after you had been silent for more moments than she was comfortable with. She was looking at you with such concern, and you could tell that her own heart was practically bursting in her chest from the sight of him.

“Are you?” You asked in return, eyebrows raised as you finally started to get a grip on yourself, shaking yourself from the pit of loss you had begun to get stuck in. She nodded, and you nodded yourself before pausing to think. “And this… Logan, he doesn’t want to join to Cassandra’s?”

Laura shook her head, looking down momentarily. “No. He’s… he’s as messed up as my Logan was.”

You approached her, drawing her into a silent hug. She squeezed you tightly, and the strength her mutation — Logan’s mutation — had given her wasn’t lost on you.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” You asked her quietly, and felt her nod against your shoulder. “Alright. Where is he?” You questioned, silently steeling yourself to face a copy of the man you had lost. The man you had loved.

She pointed you in the right direction, letting you go with a simple, “Good luck.” The entire walk outside, you were holding your breath, trying to prepare yourself somehow. As if this was something you would ever be able to prepare for.

And the moment you saw him, you knew it was all in vain. Because nothing could’ve prepared you for seeing him again, after all this time.

For a moment, it felt as though time was stood still, suspended.

Until he opened his mouth. “‘M not lookin’ for company.”

It was him. His familiar voice. The voice that you would’ve recognised anywhere, even after so long not having heard it. He sounded just the same as your own Logan, the same gruff tone to his voice, all grumpy expressions and furrowed brows. You could imagine it all as though your Logan was still alive, as though he was actually here. It took more than a moment for you to recall that this wasn’t your Logan.

You shuffled over to the log he sat on, the sun setting over the trees surrounding the two of you. He lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips, glancing at you as you sat. His entire body went shock still, and he turned to look at you fully.

You smiled, and prayed he said nothing about the way your eyes became watery. “Hi, Logan.”

He said your name, sounding as though he was a mere man sat before a god, reverent. The bottle slipped from his hand as he spoke it aloud, his eyes watering immediately, his lip trembling as he looked at you like he was seeing you for the very first time.

“Are you… her?” He asked hesitantly, hand hovering halfway towards you, and you hated to be the bearer of bad news. But if you had to be conscious that he wasn’t yours, it was only fair for him to know the truth.

Reluctantly, you shook your head. “I’m sorry. I’m not your version of me, and you’re not my version of you.”

His hand fell to his lap, but he didn’t take his eyes off of you for a moment. He seemed reluctant to believe you, and you couldn’t blame him. He looked just like your version of him, grey streaks and all. But it wasn’t him, you knew, because he wasn’t coughing up blood, wasn’t actively dying in your arms.

You cleared your throat, glancing to the fire before him, watching the way the smoke curled into the slowly darkening sky. “My Logan died. I—I couldn’t save you. I’ve been here, in the void, for a year, I think.” You elaborated slightly, not wanting to overwhelm him with information. “I’d like to go home. Mourn my losses.”

He stared at you, saying nothing, fingers still outstretched where his hand lay.

“Laura said you weren’t coming with in the morning. I was hoping you might change your mind. We need your help.” You continued, trying to remain convincing despite the shake in your voice.

But that seemed to do the opposite of what you wanted, and he blinked out of the trance he had been in. He started shaking his head immediately, fingers clenching into a fist. “You got the wrong guy. I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

“Maybe not, but, Laura told me you were always the wrong guy, up until you weren’t. And to her, that means something. To me, too.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t pull away further than he already had. As selfish as it was, you didn’t want to lose another Logan. You wanted to see him and his friend succeed, even if you didn’t. Maybe, this time, this Logan, you could save him.

“You don’t get it.” Logan refuted, shaking his head, glancing towards the fire as the sun finally finished descending the horizon. He seemed to get lost in the blaze, and you watched his eyes become unfocused, showing him images that weren’t really there. “I failed them. My team. You.”

You stayed quiet, wondering if he was going to elaborate, or if he was too caught up in his vision.

“D’you know something’?” He asked, blinking until the fire came back into focus. “You used to beg me to wear this suit. So did Storm, Scott, Beast. All of you. And I refused, because god forbid anybody believe I wanted to be there.”

“What happened?” You asked him, wanting to reach for his hand, but knowing it wouldn’t help him get through this.

“I went out. And the humans went mutant hunting. By the time I stumbled home shit-faced from the bar… you—you were all dead. Every single mutant in that house.” He explained, his voice shaking, his lower lip trembling once again. You were almost certain he was seeing those images again, because he squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

A surge of sympathy shot through you. You wanted so badly to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but you knew he wouldn’t believe it.

“So now I wear this goddamn suit as a reminder. To remember all of you. To make sure I never forget what I did.”

You released a deep sigh, the story sounding familiar to you, in some ways. He glanced over at you, seeing somebody else for a moment. After another few seconds, you reached into your shirt and pulled out the dog tags you had been carrying with you. You turned them over in your hand, running your thumb over the inscription.

He glanced wearily at them, and you reached out, grasping his fist in your own hand and pulling it loose until you could fit the dog tags in his hand, which you then squeezed shut. “I carry these with me, for the same reason. To remind myself that I failed you. That I can’t take that back. That I have to do better, even if all I want to do is give up. You aren’t the only one who did something wrong, here. If I could fix my mistakes, I would, but I can’t. So I carry on. For Laura. For anyone who needs it. And it seems like this… Wade needs it. From you.”

His hand was splayed open, turning over the dog tags in his palm as he listened intently to you.

“Be the hero you weren’t the first time around.” You told him finally, reaching out and placing your palm in his, squeezing around the dog tags, before letting go.

You went to stand, and he stood after you, reaching out.

“I—I know you aren’t her. I know that. But can I pretend, for a minute, that you are?” He asked you, and the vulnerability of the request wasn’t lost on you. Your Logan rarely ever asked for anything, even if he desperately needed it, so you could only imagine the courage that this Logan had mustered to ask you that.

You nodded, silent.

There was a pause, and he looked into your eyes, searching for something that you didn’t know you possessed. But he seemed to find it.

“‘M sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Logan told you at last, the apology seeming to burst from the depths of his chest. “I love you. I have loved you the whole time. I should have told you as soon as I felt it.” He confessed, and you saw the dog tags hanging from his fingers as he reached for you. And you couldn’t help yourself — you reached right back.

Your hands landed on either side of his face, so full of care, and you watched the tear run down his cheek. His own hands gripped you tightly, scared to let you go.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, voice broken.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You told him firmly, before rushing forward, pulling him into a hug so tight you could’ve heard his metal bones creak. He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, and held you tight. “I don’t blame you. I love you.” You said, breathing the words into his ear as though that would make him believe it. He gripped you tighter, squeezing you against him. “I love you.”

You cradled the back of his head with one hand, pressing him close, because you were just as scared to let him go. Distantly, you heard Laura call your name.

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, only to press your forehead against his for a minute. You could pretend that he was your Logan, selfishly, just for a moment more.

Laura got closer, calling out your name once more, and you pulled back to look in his eyes. “I love you.” He told you one last time, before he allowed you to pull yourself from his grasp.

You had no idea whether he would be joining your group tomorrow, but you walked away from him with an empty chest, wiping away the tears that had dared to fall during the encounter. You would leave the last of the motivational speech to Laura, who you smiled gently at as you passed her in the woods, nodding towards where Logan still stood.

Logan had gotten what he needed from you. And you, from him.

[frudoo]

The 141!slasher au has me cackling. Reader lowkey being like "well, if the dick is good"

Imagining reader being taken in to be questioned by the cops for something unrelated to the boys killing. Maybe she witnessed a crime, or maybe someone else got assaulted by the guy who grabbed her. Would the guys be suspicious? Do they have a "get picked up by the cops" protocol, or do they believe there's no chance of ever getting caught? (Does reader already have a "don't talk to the fucking cops without a lawyer [ACAB!]" mindset that helped Johnny be confident in telling her the truth?)

Does reader ever help with kills? Ngl kind of seeing reader work at a children's hospital or as a social worker and taking note of ppl she knows are abusive and being like hey...Simon...<3...did u need ideas of who to kill next...

Anyway thank you for letting me share my thoughts:)

We love a reader who has her priorities straight ;)

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/trauma.

Deep breaths. It has nothing to do with you or your boys.

     The blinds are shut and there’s a weird buzzing noise coming from somewhere inside the room. Across from you sits a social worker and a detective, and your leg bounces anxiously. 

     It’s mandatory. You’re helping a child and his mom out of a bad situation.

     You’d suspected something was wrong the first time Oliver was brought to your class with a couple of bruises on his leg. You had immediately written your observations down on his sheet and reported it to your bosses, but they brushed it off. Little boys are clumsy, after all, especially when they’ve just recently learned to start walking. The next couple of weeks, the toddler showed up unscathed and happy. 

     This morning, however, his mother dropped him off with a black eye and scratches all over his torso. You could see cuts of her own beneath the makeup she’d been crying off. You’d paged your bosses to come to your classroom immediately, and this time, they took it seriously. You weren’t thrilled that the police had to be involved, but you understood that it was necessary in saving this sweet family. You answered all of their questions honestly—neither saying too little nor too much.

     “Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’re dismissed,” the detective gives you a solemn smile and rises from her seat, opening the door to allow you out. 

     You clutch your purse tightly as you walk through the precinct, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re no stranger to facilities like these. Much of your childhood was spent sitting beside your father at his desk, acting like a good little girl, coloring on blank sheets of paper and pretending that daddy wasn’t such a monster. At work, he was a hero who citizens and coworkers alike depended on to keep them safe and happy. At home, he was a tyrant, taking every opportunity he could to use you and your mother as a punching bag.

     As a child, you’re taught to depend on all the people who are meant to care for you—family members, the police—those whose first priority should be to protect. You should have been able to trust your father. You should have been able to run to him whenever you scraped your knee or got bullied at school, but instead, he was often the one causing you harm. Your mother got sick of the abuse and left when you were five but didn’t bother taking you with her, so he was all you had. He intimidated you into silence, but even if you had reported him, who would have believed the troubled young daughter of such a dependable officer? You learned too quickly, too young, that it would always be their word over yours.

     When you first became a daycare teacher, you didn’t expect to see yourself in so many of the children you either cared for or saw in passing. It broke your heart every time you saw a toddler with a limp or an older child who still wet themselves at naptime, because you knew what they were feeling. You knew the despair they felt in every step they took, the fear they felt every time someone came to pick them up and take them right back to their broken home. The very day you started is the same day you decided you had to stay there, to be some kind of light in the darkness too many of these children should have been too young to ever know.

     You have an unspecified amount of time off—your bosses decided that there was too much of a risk that Oliver’s dad might show up and try to start shit with you for reporting him. There’s still a lot of investigating that the police and child services have to do, and as of right now, the scumbag’s whereabouts are unknown. It’s nerve-wracking to leave your babies even despite knowing they’re in good hands. You’ll have to make sure and call in every day to check on them. 

     It’s about an hour drive back to the farm, and you spend every minute dreading the reunion with your lovers. None of them know about the situation, and you’re not exactly thrilled to catch them up to speed. Still, you owe it to them to be honest. God forbid they find out about it somewhere else and start believing some warped version of the truth. Just the mere idea of them distrusting you makes a sour feeling rise in your gut. 

     Kyle is working in the garden when you arrive, a wide smile on his face as he waves to greet you. The grin you send his way isn’t quite so excited, and immediately he knows something is up. If he was a bloodhound, you’d be sure he could smell the unrest in the air. The slam of your car door alerts the other three men of your presence, and they all line up by the front door curiously. Your heart is racing as you walk inside, motioning for them all to join you in the living room.

     You sit in the recliner with your hands folded in your lap, nervously eyeing each of your husbands. The fear that they might hate you because of what happened gnaws at the front of your brain, chewing until it aches. You’re not even sure if you could blame them—after all, they had a good thing going before they met you. One wrong move and the cog in the machine gets tossed aside like trash. 

     “Speak, lovie,” Simon grunts impatiently, syrupy brown eyes scanning over your face, watching, analyzing.

     “There was an incident at the daycare today,” you begin. “Child services had to get involved, and I was called to the police station to explain my side of things.”

     You’re shaking like a leaf, unable to look at any of them. The tension in the room is so thick that John could probably cut through it with his machete. Not one of them has so much as blinked, each waiting on another to say or do something first. You do.

     “It had nothing to do with any of you, I swear. I’m off work for a few days while the whole thing gets settled. I can’t say much about the case, just that… there was an abusive father involved. They haven’t found him yet, and they’re exercising the idea that I might be a target for reporting him.”

     “Fuck,” Kyle mutters exasperatedly, rubbing his hands over his face as Johnny wraps an arm around his shoulder.

     You finally gather the courage to lift your head, and to your surprise, there is no fury or hatred in any of their expressions. At least, not directed at you. They look more like they’re waiting for an order, leaning forward in their seats like attack dogs ready to pounce. Suddenly it’s clear to you—they may have been an item before you entered the picture, but once you joined them, you became their commander, one that they’ll remain loyal to until the day they die. 

     “I have a proposition,” you whisper, looking directly at John.

     “Give us a name, sweetheart.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

I really like your terrifying villains. I don’t know if you’ve done something like this before, but if you want could you write a piece with the villain giving the protagonist a head start to run away from them?

The protagonist rounded the corner and - froze. They didn't breathe. It was futile to think that the villain hadn't spotted them, the protagonist was directly in their line of sight, but the protagonist still prayed for a miracle.

The villain paused. Their head tilted, the only vague emotion they gave away at seeing the protagonist so unexpectedly in their compound.

The protagonist wet their cracked, dry lips.

The villain smiled slow. "Hello, thief."

Mute with horror, the protagonist said nothing. The villain inadvertently blocked the path the protagonist had taken to sneak inside in the first place. What other exits were there? Front door. That would be guarded. Maybe there was somewhere they could hunker down and burrow and hide? Not if they couldn't lose the villain.

"Would you like a head start?" the villain asked, after a beat. "For the running. People do like to run when they see me. Screaming is optional - could be fun though!"

The protagonist's stomach lurched. "Why would you give me a head start?" It came out hoarse.

"Well, it's not free." The villain's head tilted the other way, unnerving attention trained on the protagonist as surely as the barrel of a gun. "You have an option of two prices. One will give you a five minute head start. The other will give you a fifteen minute head start. But I'm not going to tell you which is which. Would you like to hear them?"

The protagonist was fast. They could do a lot with five minutes. Even five minutes would let them slip past the villain and sprint. 15 minutes was better. They could be clear of the building and on the grounds by then!

The villain raised their eyebrows when the protagonist once again said nothing. The protagonist quickly nodded.

The villain's smile broadened and they shifted their weight, getting comfortable where they stood.

"Option 1," they said. "You give me back that stolen prize you have tucked away in your pocket."

That was probably the 15 minute option. Mild mercy for a theft returned. Or, at least, an execution stayed for a more leisurely hunt.

They could come back. Try the theft again. Who were they kidding?

"And option 2?" Their heart hammered.

"Kiss me."

...it was the last thing that the protagonist expected. Their eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Come here and kiss me. Then I'll give you a head start to run."

"Do you have some kind of deadly poison coating on your mouth?"

"You'll have to assess the risks for yourself."

The kiss was the obvious choice. Too obvious. Was the villain counting on them being too prideful to go for it? Too humiliated by the desperation of the act? Or was that the trap?

The protagonist's gaze darted to the villain's mouth. It was a nice mouth for a decidedly not-nice person. Its cruelty was terribly softened by how often the villain smiled amused amidst their monstrosities.

Maybe the villain would kill them if they were bold enough to risk getting that close. Punish them worse later for taking such intimate liberty.

The poison coating definitely seemed possible. They should not discount the poison coating. Or some other nightmarish toxin.

"Tick tock," the villain said softly. "You have thirty seconds to decide, little mouse."

Maybe the villain would grab their prize back anyway if the protagonist was stupid enough to get close.

It couldn't just be a kiss. There had to be some kind of catch.

But if the villain had their prize back, there would be nothing to stop them from continuing their plans, and precious little left to save anyone who got in their way.

The protagonist swore quietly, took a steadying breath, and crossed the hallway to the villain.

The villain merely radiated the same placid amusement as before, holding still, as the protagonist hesitated just out of touching distance. Their gaze flicked over the villain's mouth again. It was so much better than looking at those eyes.

The villain held out a hand for their prize. Even the small shift was enough to make the protagonist flinch.

They imagined venus fly traps. They imagined snakes coiled in the grass. All manner of ambush predator.

They whimpered, despite themselves, very quietly in the back of their throat.

Then they leaned in and kissed the villain.

They'd meant it to be short and chaste but the villain's arm coiled around them lightning fast, holding them close as they deepened the kiss.

The protagonist hadn't somehow expected them to be a good kisser. Maybe there was some kind of slow-release paralytic to explain the way that the protagonist's knees went jellied? Some vicious thing to explain why their mind went so completely blank.

When the villain eventually pulled away, they were both breathless.

The protagonist felt like someone had scraped open something cavernous and hungry inside them. They swayed in the gentle steadying curve of the villain's arm. Their lips gave an ominous tingle. They met those clever, world-ending eyes.

"Run, run, run my little mouse," the villain whispered. "Because ready or not here I come."

The protagonist checked their inside jacket pocket in numb autopilot. Still there. Their prize was still there.

Now they just had to escape. Survive.

They ran.

[imfinereallyy]

“The demon is back.” Eddie pokes into Steve’s side to wake him up.

“Babe, please go back to sleep.” Steve shoves his face into the pillow, making his voice muffled.

“Steeeeve.” Eddie whines, “It’s really there I swear this time. And I locked the door so I know it’s the demon again. Nothing else can get inside.”

“Eddie.” Steve squishes his face even deeper into the mattress. “You do this at least once a week. I love you; I do. But I never look because there is no demon. And every morning, you wake up fine. So please, go back to sleep.”

“What if I promise never to mention it again if it’s not really there? Will you look then?” This time Eddie’s voice wavers, his actual terror showing.

Steve sighs and shifts his head to look at Eddie, “This is really freaking you out, huh?” He says it kindly. Steve can tell this is serious to Eddie. So even if he doesn’t believe it, Eddie does. And what’s important to Eddie is important to Steve.

Eddie nods back furiously.

“Okay, I’ll look.” Steve shifts his head towards the other side, where the chair by the window sits. There, sitting in that corner is a dark shadowy figure. “Oh.”

“See! I told you! Demon! Oh god, it’s gonna get us.” Eddie throws his hands up. Even though he’s terrified, he’s accepted defeat.

“No.” Steve says calmly. “It’s just El.”

Eddie pauses his rant, “What?”

“It’s just El. In the corner. She does that sometimes, watches people she cares about until she falls asleep. To make sure they’re safe.” Steve looks at Eddie.

“The door was locked! How are you so calm about one of the kids just watching us at night?”

“Honey, she has mind powers. I don’t think a flimsy lock from Home Depot is going to stop her.” Steve deadpans before shrugging, “And it’s El. She could ask me to kill a man, and I probably wouldn’t even ask questions.”

“What if she asked you to kill me?”

“I’d be conflicted.”

“I want to be mad, but honestly I think I’d hand you the knife.” Eddie sighs, looking down at Steve.

Steve scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t stab you. I’d obviously sneak some kind of poison into your honeycombs. Way less messy.”

Eddie goes back to nearly shouting, “Why have you thought about this?!”

“Honestly, I have a lot of intrusive thoughts. I just don’t speak them out loud.”

Despite the fact they are actively talking about his murder, Eddie can’t help but get all gooey with Steve in their bed. “Is this why you don’t get mad when I think aloud? Another reason why you just get me. Adding that tally to the ‘why we are great together’ column.”

“Yes, we’re pretty amazing. Can we go back to sleep now?” Steve smiles.

“Yes—wait, no.” Eddie corrects himself, getting himself back on track. He loves this man, but he is a sneaky little minx. “Why did El never say anything? I mean, this is not the first time I accused her of being a demon. Hell, we’ve been talking for literally five minutes, and she still hasn’t said anything. Also, what if she walked in on us doing, ya know, adult stuff?” Eddie blushes at the end. He’s acting like he hasn’t been whispering way worse things in Steve’s ear every night.

“First off, she won’t walk in on that. Apparently Max taught her about happy screams a long time ago.”

“Gross.”

“Yeaaa. Second, I’m pretty sure she’s asleep right now.”

Huh, now that Eddie thinks about it, he does hear soft little snores. Which is weird since neither he nor Steve snores, and they are both, ya know, awake.

“And I don’t think El speaking in a dark corner would have helped your fears. Like imagine just hear her soft “Hello” at 2 a.m.” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“I—okay I got nothing.”

“Fantastic can we go back to sleep now?”

Eddie gives one last shout, “You’re not going to stop her?”

“Are you going to tell her no? And make her worry?”

Eddie slinks down into the covers, “...no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie curves his body into Steve’s, seeking him out. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie, securing him to his chest. “Thank you for indulging me.”

Steve hums. “Anything for you baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Eddie kisses Steve lightly.

“I love you both as well.” El’s voice suddenly speaks into the silent room.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie screams.

Steve can’t help the giggles that come out of him. He tries to smother them into Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie can’t find it in himself to be mad.

———

some people seemed interested in more el + Steve sibling energy. And they are a sibling-like duo I love. So here’s a little something but more steddie involved. I think all three of their relationship would be very sweet. Both Eddie and Steve would protect el. I hope you enjoyed :)

[camilledlc]

I think Wade Wilson is way more intelligent than people give him credit for. Or, another character essay no one asked for :

This will be based both on comics and movies. Also, spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine.

I think it's often said that Wade doesn't know how to read situations, as he often acts inappropriately during them. He doesn't seem to sense the mood of the person he's talking to, angering them more often than not, and he doesn't really care about watching his mouth around children, etc. There are tons of examples of Wade being 'stupid', and 'immature', blah blah blah. But I don't think that's quite true.

Wade has also numerous moments where he perfectly reads a situation. He is extremely aware of how others may perceive his scars, he figured Negasonic Teenage Warhead pretty easily during the first movie (when talking about sarcastic comments or whatever, if I remember correctly). He knows how people act and think, and he definitely knows how to assess a situation. When he got Johnny Storm killed, he knew what he was doing. He was into a dangerous situations, just having been kidnapped and he couldn't fight, not even knowing how strong and what powers Cassandra Nova had. But by turning her against Johnny, not only was he able to assess her, but also prove that he wasn't here to cause her trouble. It was a cruel and ruthless action, but it was smart nonetheless.

Besides, people often forgets very important facts about his skills. Wade is an extremely good fighter, and that's partially due to the fact that he's a master at almost every martial arts. He knows a bunch of them, and he is capable of practicing them with impeccable form. He's also a master at espionage, infiltrations, cover missions, etc. He knows how to handle a lot of different weapons, and he is canonically one of the best fighters in the entire Marvel Universe. All of those skills require a certain level of intelligence. Fighting demands to remember the different styles and techniques, as well as enough practice to switch between them easily. Espionage, infiltration, and cover missions demand someone who is capable of discretion and and ability to judge a situation, notice details that no one else would and invent on the spot creative ways to do things. All in all, he has to be extremely smart to be able to do all of that. That's also without counting the fact that he knows how to speak fluently five different languages.

With all of these proofs, it's impossible to say that Wade is dumb. But why does he acts like it?

There is no official answer as to why Wade is this way. The most you can get is that he is extremely mentally unstable. This is the result of both a bad childhood and very traumatizing experiences as a superhero. It is said he was already mentally unstable during his childhood, so I'm inclined to believe that it also has something to do with his brain in general.

What I personally believe is that Wade is someone who gets bored extremely easily. He has ADHD (not really official in the movies, but canon in the comics), and he always seems to jump from one topic to the other. His mind is often considered a mess, and he himself sometimes has trouble keeping up with it. I think that someone like him has to be stimulated at all times, because boredom is definitely the worst thing that could happen to him. Even in the last movie, he seemed to hate his job because of how boring it was, not hesitating to go back into action and becoming more and more himself again as he just do exciting things. He has always been like this, even before he got his regenerating factor. When he did his job, he wasn't always careful and often loud-mouthed. It didn't interest him to just kill people, he wanted a fight. He wanted a back and forth, a sort of game. He needs to feel in danger, needs the thrill of it.

But then he gets his mutation. Suddenly, he can't die, he can't be seriously hurt, nothing has any real consequences. And so the games became boring. What is the point of putting himself in dangerous situations if he's never really in danger? How boring it is to do a job where you're perfectly safe? The only kind of thrill he can find anymore is by having the back and forth verbally. That's when it has consequences, and people actually able to surprise him, to beat him even. Attacking by talking his is one way to not feel bored. He surprises, he shocks, he annoys, but it's always different. Even during the last movie, when he was with Logan, he clearly said they didn't need to fight, yet he couldn't stop edging him verbally, always finding ways to push his buttons.

Wade is a very bored person, with a great understanding of where the limits are. And because he's so good at finding the limits, he's even better at crossing them willingly, sometimes at the expanse of the people he loves, because he can't be bored.

(I also like the interpretation of him just needing to be at the centre of attention, but I think it's a bit more classical and has already been done and re-done. So, this one is a bit trickier and way funnier for me.)

[nyrandrea]

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now. 

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon. 

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you,  judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul. 

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with. 

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel. 

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!” 

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.” 

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.” 

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!” 

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.” 

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.” 

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades. 

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well. 

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!” 

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.” 

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind. 

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp. 

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!” 

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.” 

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.” 

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence. 

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.” 

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze. 

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.” 

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace. 

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.” 

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in. 

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.” 

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel. 

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.” 

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.  

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’  

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy. 

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite. 

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you. 

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people. 

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel. 

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him. 

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.” 

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.” 

“Why not just buy new clothes?” 

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment. 

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.” 

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.” 

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?” 

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by. 

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.” 

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye. 

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?  

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine. 

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. 

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.” 

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.” 

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine. 

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.” 

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him. 

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone. 

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth. 

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?” 

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?” 

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.” 

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.” 

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.” 

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable. 

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic. 

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur. 

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.” 

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.” 

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?” 

You grimaced. 

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?” 

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.” 

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “ 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” 

“This isn’t a joking matter!” 

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!” 

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.” 

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today. 

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.” 

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament. 

What kind of leader were you? 

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...” 

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.  

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?” 

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?” 

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart. 

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.” 

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you. 

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?” 

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease. 

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m-” 

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.” 

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out. 

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze. 

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?” 

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod. 

“Then come on, scooch over.” 

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother. 

“...I’m sorry." 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?” 

You managed a small chuckle at that. 

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence. 

And exhale. 

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

[seresinhangmanjake]

Fremen Girl: Part 3

Feyd-Rautha x fremen!reader

Notes/Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, death.

Words: 1460

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd POV

He can’t recall a time when nerves have taken over his body the way they do now. Normally, fighting, or the thought of fighting, or witnessing a fight pumps fire through his veins. The anticipation of bloodshed and screams of pain are like the crescendo of a good high, but today, he can’t grab hold of that euphoric feeling. It’s not there, there is nothing to grab hold of, because today, it’s you fighting. 

Feyd sits beside his uncle in the stands as he watches you enter the arena, and immediately, he recognizes his first mistake. The hand not holding your blade is raised to shield your eyes from the brightness of the sun. He should have found a way to train you outside. He should have gotten you used to an environment that is much brighter than your home planet. Though he has no idea how he could have arranged that, if the blinding sunlight is the difference between your life and death, he sees no road to self-forgiveness. 

“You think to take that one for a wife?” the Baron asks as your opponents join you in the arena. The six prisoners enter from three corners, honing in on their prey, but you’ve yet to step into your fighting stance. Your body anxiously twists in all directions to take in the men descending upon you and only you, your hand still acting as a vizor from the light. “She hardly seems capable. She’ll have a blade run through her before five minutes have passed and you will have gathered the masses to witness a bore of a show just like your useless brother.”

Feyd ignores his uncle, knowing the old man speaks only to agitate him. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you finally prepare yourself, spreading your legs, bending your knees, and dropping your hand so it may join its twin around the blade’s hilt. 

One of the men is bolder than the others and he runs ahead. He takes the first swing at you, but you dodge him, ducking under his knife and throwing your arm out as you pass his legs. The sharp edge slices through the back of his thigh, and he instantly drops to his knees. You turn to face his back and thrust your blade downward into the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. When you yank steel from flesh, blood sprays, splattering your thin clothes, and drains down his bare chest. Feyd can see the body heave before it falls. 

There’s the girl who killed my men, Feyd thinks as a rush of claps roars through the crowd at the first death. He knew you hadn’t shown him everything you’re capable of during training. Maybe you just needed the threat of imminent danger to display your full potential. If that’s the case, then fine. Feyd doesn’t need you to prove yourself to him, he needs you to show the people of Giedi Prime the woman they will soon be bowing to. 

The next is the smallest of the six. Skinnier, shorter, but filled to the brim with fury. His anger is his mistake and it’s clear you know it. You don’t fortify yourself. Instead, you watch as he leaves behind the other fighters and charges with a scream that echoes through the arena. A side shift of your body and a quick swipe of your blade and he pauses, his arms go limp, and he stumbles past you. A wash of dark red flows from his neck.  

You rid yourself of three more. Not without difficulty, but you manage. Their bodies are littered around you, the evidence of their demise soaking your form. Your shirt sticks to your figure from the amount of blood weighing down the fabric. Your arms are dyed scarlet from layer after layer of the red fluid. With each of your steps, scarlet prints are left behind. Exhaustion is evident, but you’re not done yet.

The final man is broader, thicker, taller than you and some of the now-dead prisoners combined. He could crush your windpipe with a squeeze from one meaty hand. He could break your bones with a sharp flick of his wrist. All you have to do is stay out of his way. You’re faster and your limbs are leaner; you should be able to outrun him, but you need to move, now, before he traps you against a wall. 

You jump back from his swing, barely evading the sheer power and force that could have cut you right down the middle. Before you can recover from the attack, he leaps at you. You fall onto your back, blade skittering out of reach. Feyd swallows hard. He refuses to blink. 

“Well, this doesn’t look good for your girl, does it?” the Baron says, sucking at his pipe.

Feyd wishes he could disagree, but you haven’t found your footing. You’re crawling backward, trying to gain some distance from the predatory stalk of a confident aggressor. A blade swipes toward your face. You turn your head, receiving a slash across the cheek, and from how quickly you bleed, it appears deep. At least your head is still attached to your shoulders. 

You kick at his knee, knocking the joint out of place and momentarily rendering him unable to take another step. With the spare second, you scurry to your knife, getting your hand on it just as you’re yanked back by your ponytail. Feyd winces at your shriek, fingernails digging crescents into his palms, jaw aching from his clenching teeth.

Your head wacks against the ground and you’re eyes pinch shut. Potential concussion. You’re disoriented. You need to move. Move, Fremen Girl, Feyd internally snaps, but you’re not moving. The man towers above you, his feet on either side of your thighs. Feyd leans forward in his seat. Your eyelids slowly flutter. 

“Move,” Feyd mutters. 

The man’s whole body goes into the downward jab of his blade. He expects the pointed tip to land right between your eyes, but when you twist out of the way at the last second, it clashes with the ground. The over-expenditure of force knocks him off-balance and he falls on top of you, his chest slamming into yours, crushing you entirely.

Jumping to his feet, Feyd rushes to the edge of the balcony. The crowd is silent. He can’t breathe. Are you breathing? You better be fucking breathing, Fremen girl.

Suddenly, your knees bend and with the last of your strength, you roll the man onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. His jaw is slack. His arms flop to his sides. Your knife is plunged into his chest. Then with both hands wrapped around the hilt, you pull out and stab into his heart once more, this time twisting the blade. 

As the crowd erupts in cheers, Feyd finally exhales. His shoulders release their tension. 

You stand on wobbly legs and wipe the back of your hand across your scarlet cheek. You’ll need stitches, but you’re alive. Feyd turns, heading for the stairs so he can meet you at your extraction from the arena.

“Not yet, nephew,” the Baron stops him. 

Feyd glances over his shoulder to find his uncle’s gaze still fixed on where you stand. Feyd’s brow pinches and he eases back to the balcony railing as three more prisoners stumble into the arena. The crowd dies into silence. His head whips to his uncle. 

“What is this!” he spits. “What did you do! She’s done!”

“She is done when I say she’s done,” the Baron says, sucking at his pipe once more. “Now sit down and watch the show, or should she live, I will give her to Rabban.”

“You will not!” Feyd shouts. “All of Giedi Prime knows the challenge you set and she met it! She is mine now and I say she's done! Bother Rabban if you want more entertainment!”

The Baron won’t argue further, not now. People were shocked enough that Feyd’s first potential bride would have to face six prisoners compared to the three for his brother’s brides. Whispers of gossip were uncontrollable and even managed to make their way through the halls, passing from servant to servant. They questioned the integrity of the Trial if centuries-old rules could be changed for one woman, and altering them again after you’ve won would be a great disappointment to all who witnessed. The Baron’s thirst for excitement has made him forget that, but Feyd is happy to remind him. 

The crowd suddenly gasps and Feyd turns his head. You’re trying to step away from the prisoners, but those steps are wobbly. The knife has slipped from your grasp. Feyd rushes off to the entrance of the arena.

[rad-batson]

The Batkids and The Arts (Feral Edition)

They’re all musical theatre nerds. Every single one of them. Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Cass, Jason, Steph, Tim, Duke, Damian. They go see Broadway shows together then don’t stop talking about it for like a week. It is the one bonding activity they will never pass up.

Jason and Steph once entered a ballroom dancing competition and won after some pompous rich kids insulted their moves during a gala. Since then, they’ve entered a competition every month or so just for fun. (And for the prize money :P)

Tim is an avid believer that Culinary Art is one of The Arts. (Can he cook? Absolutely not. It was Bernard that convinced him, but he stands by it.)

Duke talks through every single movie he watches. He always promises to be quiet at the beginning, but then he gets too excited and whispers commentary to the people around him. This habit has since bled into the entire family. They are no longer welcome at the local AMC.

Every single one of them is pretentious about something.

Dick is pretentious about any and all performance arts featured at the circus. Once, someone made a joke about going to “Clown School” and Dick screamed at them about how not even their pinky would have the privilege of being admitted into clown school.

Jason is pretentious about classic literature. They can no longer tell if his jokes and references to Shakespeare and Jane Austen are correct or if he’s just fucking with them.

Cass gets pretentious about martial arts being a performance art. She is also pretentious about ballet being a martial art. She could kill a man in fifth position without losing her balance, and that’s a fucking fact.

Stephanie is very good at acting pretentious about the arts. She absorbs everything she’s learned from the rest of the bat family’s interests then pretends to be pretentious about it to mock them while sneaking in just enough correct information so no one can call her out on it. (Her true interest is graphic design.)

Tim has no professional experience with photography, but he will be pretentious about it like he knows everything. (Bruce: Tim, why is there a filter on this evidence photo you took? Tim: I thought it looked nicer that way. Really makes the blood splatter pop.)

Duke isn’t exactly pretentious about writing, but he will lay down his life for the Oxford comma. (Bruce didn’t use it until Duke called the punctuation in his mission reports “insulting.” He now uses it.)

Damian is pretentious about studio art. If he ever hears his family or friends say, “I don’t get it,” at an art museum, he will make them look at it for five minutes as he explains in painstaking detail what’s so revolutionary about it.

The kids decided to take an improv class together once for their undercover work while Bruce and Alfred were out of town. It was so fun that they still play improv games when they’re bored.

Cass is secretly a metalhead.

Whenever one of the younger kids needs to write an English paper, they will just walk up to Jason, riddle off a dumb opinion about the book or poem they had to read, and record whatever Jason ends up lecturing them about. The most recent incident resulted in an award-winning paper about how the theory that William Shakespeare never wrote his own work is deeply rooted in classism.

Damian always has paint under his nails. It just never comes out.

Dick has personally taught everyone in the family how to do The Perfect Backflip. They all get a little ceremony once they’ve mastered it. There is cake.

Whenever Cass is standing around with nothing to do, she’ll practice her foot positions for ballet. The others always notice and follow her lead.

Jason: dramatically recites a poem in the living room Steph: starts beatboxing

Steph is always the first to find typos or continuity errors in a book, play, or movie. She doesn’t intend to; it’s just second nature to her. (She is now Duke’s official proofreader.)

Duke: So how’d you like the movie? Damian: I really loved the mise-en-scène, especially during the breakfast scene and that one shot near the end with the warehouse doors. Duke: *nods thoughtfully* Everyone Else Leaving the Theater: wtf is a meez on sen?

When Duke is finished writing something and wants to share it with his family, he’ll give it to Jason and Cass first.

Jason and Duke have frequent passionate arguments discussions about who is the best poet. Never bring up Dickinson, Poe, Shakespeare, Hughes, Plath, Wilde, Kipling, Sappho, or Angelou in their vicinity unless you want to start it up again.

Damian is surprisingly good at acting. Too good.

Dick knows your music taste before you do. He has a carefully curated playlist for every single family member, every possible combination of family members, and every possible mood at the ready.

They can and will correct anyone who mistakes Gothic architecture for Victorian or Gothic Revival and vice versa. (It’s really a Gotham thing.)

Tim: How dare you call The Grand Budapest Hotel the best prison break movie when it’s clearly The Shawshank Redemption! Jason: Well, as someone who’s BEEN TO PRISON, I think I should know! Dick: It’s clearly Chicken Run! You’re all just Chicken-ist. Duke: But what about Midnight Express?! That one’s so good! Steph: Has anyone mentioned Toy Story 3 yet? No? Damian, watching from the sidelines: I liked Escape from Alcatraz. Cass: Same.

There are several art pieces in the manor that have been positioned directly over top of bullet holes and other suspicious damages.

Damian and Duke made an animated short film once for the Gotham Film Festival. Dick and Cass were their models for the concept art. Tim did historical research. Jason helped Duke edit the storyboard, and Steph was the continuity supervisor. It was about a British super spy working for MI6 that saved the world in the late 70’s. It was titled Agent A.

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[hoshigray]

hii love ur works 🫶🏽

can I req brat reader giving toji the WORST attitude? 💗.

*sinister laugh* Why, yes, you can, noonie! When I saw this, the first scenario that came to mind was the reader being another assassin who likes to get on Toji's nerves. So, imma stick with that!! Had to take an all-nighter to finish this up, hehe~ (no fr tho, it's 8:35 in the morning here) Thank you for loving my stuff, and enjoy~~

A/n: posting this bc I'm staling on my Geto fic since my brain has so much it wants to add...sigh. In the meantime, while I'm working on this, I figured I could drop this as an apology for pulling the fic back (~_~;) My apologies, and I hope y'all like this one! Also tysm for 1.7k followers!! Y'all are too kind and sweet, happy to be writing for you~☆ Cw: hard dom! Toji x bratty fem! reader - you and Toji are assassins on a mission together - explicit content; minors DNI - implied age gap (the reader is at least in their 20s; Toji in his mid-30s or approaching 40s, up to you) - fingering (f! receiving) - cunnilingus - sexual acts in a public place - degradation (brat, crybaby, slut, whore) - Daddy kink - reader talking smack, but Toji teaches you a lesson - tiny praise - pussydrunk! Toji - pet names (baby, doll, princess) - ends with penetration, but mostly Toji eating you out - unprotected sex (PSA: wrap it up, or get the fuck up) - overstimulation - clitoral play (pinching, pushing, and sucking) - mentions of blood. Wc: 1.8k

You recently joined the hitmen field not too long ago. Still young and new to the workforce, it wasn't the first place you figured to enter for some quick cash. But with your astute skills and abilities, no other occupation best suited you. Besides, it wasn't long before people looked past your recent addition and saw what you were made of. Not only were you good at your job, but you were climbing the ranks, swifting past your inferior subordinates.

It's nothing new, though. You were always good at what you do, better than others at what you do. Doing everything perfectly and effortlessly, that was your style. And everybody knew that.

Everybody but a particular individual. A specific man who always overshadowed you. An older man who snatched your attention the first moment he looked your way, the scar on his lip rooted up with the twinge of his lips.

"Rookies lookin' real cute these days, huh, doll?" were his first words to you. And from that day on, you did what you could to get close to him. Even if that meant irritating him.

From taking his missions to acting as a complete thorn in his side, you do whatever it takes to get Toji's attention. Especially his silent pissed off expressions, which are your favorite to see. And don't let your handler tell you that you two would be on a mission together because the teasing would be endless for the poor, experienced hitman.

Just like today, when you two are deployed to kill an old geezer and his goons for a massive sum of money, Toji goes to one side of the old warehouse to thin out the number of bodyguards and heads straight to the target's den, leaving you to the rest. But imagine his surprise when he sees the old man already dead on the chair at his desk, a stiletto pierced right through his neck, evident of his demise as a stream of crimson staining his yellow dress shirt.

And Toji notices a note left on the weapon, the familiar handwriting in pink with a kiss mark already tells him who wrote it. "Gotta be quicker than that, Grandpa ~" is what he reads in your charming voice, and it vexes him knowing you beat him to the punch.

He sees you leaning on a pallet rack when he returns to the warehouse, and you smile when you turn to him. "Well, that was fast," you play coy, stretching when standing straight up. "Took care of those punks like five minutes ago, figured I'd wait on you."

"I got your note." He wastes no time. He's so hot when he does that.

"Oh? Did ya like it~?" Your hand swiftly grabs something that came dangerously close to your temple — your stiletto. It was thrown with the knowledge that you would catch it. So serious, huh.

"Ya know, for someone callin' me a 'grandpa,' you sure act like a damn kid leavin' y'r toys everywhere."

You chuckle at his complaint. "Awww, did I hurt your big boy feelings with my little words?" You see his green eyes watch your every move as you walk up close to him. "Sorry~, not my fault you were too slow to get the final kill."

Toji raises a brow. "How'd ya get to him before me?"

You shrug with a cheeky grin. "Assassins don't tell their secrets, especially when your old head couldn't get it."

It's his turn to chortle. "Oh yeah? Ya think y'r too fast for me?"

"I wouldn't say that, just that you're too slow for me," your hands go up defensively when he takes a step forward, and you try hard to not get turned on by his well-built physique displayed by the shirt that does a terrible job hiding his features. "As a matter of fact, I bet you're slow at other things."

He takes another step forward, and before you register his next move, he already has you pinned to the pallet rack you once leaned against. His smirk grows broader while your eyes widen at the sudden shifting. "Was that too slow fr' you, princess?"

No, absolutely not. That's what you would want to say to him, his tall figure engulfing you under his presence. But you didn't want to let off that easily, your hand finding the crotch of his pants. When verdant eyes shut to the feeling of your fingers brushing against his bulge, you take the chance to say more. "Oh, that was totally too slow for me, geezer. Such a shame; I thought you'd be a lot more fun. But guess I'll have to go on to the next person who could do a better job."

"Mmm, don't start somethin' y'r not ready for, brat." His gruff voice dials to a whisper, your ears replaying the tone, making the throbbing sensation between your legs prosper. You can feel his erection, even with his pants blocking the view. "Good luck findin' someone who'd shut that pretty mouth of y'rs better than I do."

You giggle after grabbing onto his erect cock, forcing the older man to hiss and his face coming down to your level. You whisper to his ear. "And what makes you think a dumb, old, brute-for-brains like you could satisfy me? I fail to see what you're capable of, grandpa." Those were the words you chose to entice the man under your spell.

But what you really failed to see was the predicament you've gotten yourself in.

Lying on a pallet with your back, your pretty bottoms and panties now discarded to the dirty floor, you scream out to the empty warehouse. Tears and drool escape from your face, and the quiver in your legs is evidence of your body going through the absolute most right now. "Haaahh! Ahhhh!! T-Tojiii, Toji, please!! I'm—Hoooohh!!" You grab tufts of raven hair that are stationed between your legs.

The older man holds your legs up with one hand, the other nestled between your slick-coated folds as his middle and forefinger push in and out of your cunt. His tongue licks furiously on your clitoris, your cries evident of the abuse on your tender bud and vulva.

Toji removes the wet muscle and moves his fingers go an instantaneous pace, the tips of his digits scraping your walls resulting in more tears falling off your face without fail. He snickers, "Look at you; all that screamin' and hollerin' like a damn whore have you forgetting simple rules." His thumb finds your clit, pushing down on it every time his fingers are propelled inside. "What did I tell you to call me, brat?"

The unforgiving rhythm of his hand on your bare vulva has you seeing stars and choking on your spit. "I-I'm sorry, Daddy!! I didn't mean to make you mad at me!"

"You sure 'bout that?" His condescending tone matched the devilish twinge of his scarred lips. The digits doing a 'come hither' motion that has your body jerking nowhere, your legs still restrained by his firm arm pushing them to your stomach. "My 'big boy feelings' were crushed with y'r little comments, so here I am gettin' the payback I need. Was acting all high and mighty until I got my mouth on ya."

"But I said—Mmmph!! I'm sorry!" You wail out, your face hot with embarrassment and excitement. "And I already came—Oh fuck...C-Came three times!!"

"You called me names four times, so I expect you to cum one more time, you fuckin' crybaby." He replies coldly, your tears and pleas on deaf ears. "Heh, if I knew havin' my fingers in you like this would have you behavin', I woulda done it earlier. Grippin' on my 'em like a damn slut."

His fingers go faster with no smooth transition as his mouth returns to your soft button, your screams erupting from the back of your exhausted throat. Even with your voice filling the scene, you can only listen to the raunchy noises of the commotion between your thighs. It's enough for you to wish your ears burn at such lewd sounds, and your head pounding worsens the state of your already mushy brain. This is what you wanted all this time — to have the man you've been infatuated with give you the attention to so dearly strived and poked for. However, the intensity of it all was nowhere near what you had expected.

"Nnnmm!! Daddyyy," the title slurred from your mouth feels hot to the tongue, but it's the only way to address him before your punishment intensifies. You peer down to see his black hair come up, fierce emerald eyes taking in your expressions. "It's coming, gonna cum again!!"

"Yeah? Wanna come on my fingers again?" He chortles when you rapidly nod at him, pathetically desperate for your release. "Fine, cum on Daddy's fingers like the slut you are." He moves his hands to the back of your thighs and has his tongue slowly glide up your soapy chasm, tasting your wetness until he reaches your clitoris and attacks the bud more. Circling around and sucking on your precious nub prompts your orgasm to climb up, and it hits you hard when his teeth and tongue grind on your clit.

With final moans of pleasure, you experience your finish with the harsh treatment of Toji's mouth, hands purchasing his hair for faux stability. Your legs tremble with curled toes, and your body jolts with the shocks. And Toji doesn't stop until he licks the slit clean of your essence, slurping up your sensitive folds until his thirst has quenched. All you can do is submit and let him have his way with you, sucking up your fluids from your cunt to the mess of your inner thighs.

"Mmmm, fucking Christ, Y/n," you hear his mumbled curse below. "Taste so fuckin' good, baby..."

Your body soon calms down from the climax, trying to steady your breathing with even breaths. And Toji finally finishes drinking your wetness, drawing his head up to reveal his lips wet with your come, licking it and his fingers. "Bet that wasn't slow fr' ya, huh."

You meekly nod your head. "And I bet nobody's gonna make you shut you up like that, huh?" You nod again.

The smirk on his face scares you, especially when he straightens up to show his erect dick still hard and ready to be free from the tented pants. And when his cock springs out, your sweaty body runs cold immediately.

"Good," he says while bringing you close to him, arranging his cock to your wet entrance. "But we ain't done here." Complaints and pleas aren't able to enter the air because you just watch the tip of his cock bully through the lips of your chasm and enter inside you with ease. He gradually pushes his entire length into you, getting full with every inch as his girth intrudes between your tight, smooth walls.

"Keep up wit' me, baby," his eyes hone in on you, gauging your reactions before he starts moving his hips relentlessly. "because I'm about to show you what I'm really capable of."