#just a wee bit uncomfortable to me

[uranium-city]

I am a “Simon was framed & Hawaii: Part II is a criticism on the corrupt way the justice system treats people with mental illness” TRUTHER i will not hear otherwise

[hershelwidget]

Encouragement

Gonna be thinking about “I’m kind of beautiful, in a terrible way.” forever and ever

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Loving your JJK men so I'm here to request fics if possible. I'm feeling Nanami, Geto and Megumi mainly, Sukuna for the shits and anyone else you're in the mood for. It doesn't have to be super long either, just sweet supportive men.

You're either on your way to a thing with friends/family or already at an event when your period either starts or takes a turn for the worse (painful enough cramps to cause nausea) and you're asking them to turn back/leave even though you know you agreed to attend.

Period Problems!

Tags: fluff, cursing, period comfort, established relationships, wee bit of crack

An: Thank you! I appreciate the req <3

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Megumi, Sukuna

SATORU

You kinda let Satoru do all the talking during reunions at Jujutsu Tech. It’s not that you don’t like your former classmates; you do. You just find so much socialization to be kinda exhausting.

Satoru was the opposite however. He’s a natural born extrovert that can talk to other people so casually for hours on end. Socialization doesn’t tire him out at all, so he’s quick to take over conversations for you when he can sense that your social battery is low.

He’s subtle with it: placing his arm slightly in front of you as he steps up, casually inserting himself into the conversation. It feels fluid and not forced at all.

That’s how you two were right now. You were tucked behind his arm, leaning your head against his shoulder. You had been cramping all day long, so you already wasn’t in too good of a mood. The socialization was really the cherry on top.

A torturous wave of cramps hit, nearly making your knees buckle from under you. Your hand tightened around Satoru’s bicep, and you tried to breathe your way through it, not wanting to take him away from all his friends.

Satoru turned his head towards you, and he could immediately notice how pale you looked. “Hey, it was good seeing you though. Take care of the wife and kids.” Your husband smiled at whoever he was talking to before guiding you away from everyone else.

“What’s the matter, sweets? You alright?” He asks softly as he’s extended his infinity out to you so no one can touch you or even get close to you.

“Cramping… hurts..” was all you could manage to get out.

“Let’s get you home, sweets. Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling good?” His large palm rubs at the small of your back as he opens the door for you, allowing you to step out.

“Didn’t wanna ruin your event.” You murmur quietly as tears brim in your eyes. You didn’t want to be seen as an inconvenience to him.

“Hey, heyy… c’mere, sweet girl.” Satoru wraps you up in a tight embrace, petting your hair as you cried into his dress shirt. “My poor baby. What kind of husband would I be if I made my wife who’s in a lot of pain get up and go to something as uncomfortable as a reunion? I don’t even really care about those people anyway. You’re my priority.” He leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” You murmur quietly, and he steps back away from you.

“Right, let’s get you home. I’ll make some chocolate covered strawberries, and we can watch that reality tv show you really like.” Satoru suggests as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car.

SUGURU

Who said cults couldn’t have bake sales? It brings a sense of community and camaraderie amongst the members. Geto thought you were a literal genius when you came up with the idea.

You had been in charge of planning and organizing the entire bake sale, and today was finally the day. It’s early in the morning, and Geto’s helping the girls in the kitchen bake blueberry muffins so they have enough time to cool before the sale.

You stirred out of your own slumber upon hearing the girls giggling. “Hey now, you two, don’t you wake your mama up. She’s sleeping.” Your husband warns the twins, and they both try to shush each other. The giggling pursues anyway, but you don’t mind. You wouldn’t rather be woken up any other way.

As you slowly eased yourself out of bed, your stomach immediately cramped up, sending shockwaves of pain down your thighs and back at the same time.

Was it really that time of the month already?

Your stained bedsheets said yes. You must’ve started in your sleep. Great.

Upon hearing you rustling around in the bedroom, Suguru walks in, not expecting to find you haphazardly pulling the sheets off yours and his bed.

“I just washed the sheets a couple weeks ago.” Geto said with a curious smile on his face. His head tilts to the side slightly, wondering what you were doing.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your voice is quiet and full of shame that immediately has Suguru is full-on “fix mode”.

“Hey- what happened, baby?” He asks as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, so the girls can’t come and be nosey.

You sniffle softly and turn to show Geto your poor pajama pants that were now soaked in blood, and he immediately understands.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling. How are you feeling?” He tenderly asks as he comes and takes the sheets out of your hand. He begins to pull them off for you.

“‘m hurting really bad..” You answer him in a quiet murmur.

“Go take a bath, darling. I got everything else. Don’t worry about it.” He presses a small kiss to the top of your head. “Throw your panties and pants in the hamper. I’ll try to get the stains out.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be grossed out.”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m a grown man. I can handle anything your body does.” He assures you as he carries the sheets over towards the laundry room.

You soak in the warm bath for quite a while, but the cramps still persist. You anxiously check the time on your phone like a hundred times. The bake sale should be starting soon, so you need to get up and start getting ready.

A knock at the door disturbs your track of thought. “It’s me, darling. Can I come in?” Suguru’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, come in.” You answer back to him, and Suguru carries in a cup of tea before he shuts the door.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, princess.” He sits down on the floor next to the tub, and he carefully hands you the cup of tea.

“Thank you- I’m just trying to muster up enough strength to get up, so we can make it to the bake sale.” You say as you shift in the bath. The warm water and bubbles lap at your skin.

“Mmm, no need. Just focus on relaxing for right now, and we’ll see about making an appearance later on.”

“What do you mean? What about the girls? They’ll be devastated.”

“I had Manami take them to the sale. They’ll be fine.” He informs you as he pets your hair.

“Are you sure things will be alright? What if…”

“Ah, none of that. Things will be fine. You did a perfect job while planning everything. Our members are not incompetent people. They can handle a small bake sale, my love. I want you to just relax for today. Like I said, we might make a small appearance if you feel up to it later.”

“Sugu, I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

NANAMI

“Mmm, no can do. Sorry, it’ll have to be another day.” Nanami speaks into his phone as he’s looking at his calendar.

Ino has been begging to meet his wife for far too long now, so Nanami finally offered for Ino to come to yours and his house for dinner one evening. Planning it has been tough due to the vigorous schedules.

“Maybe it will just have to be next month.” Nanami shrugs his shoulders. He’s really not too bothered by not letting Ino meet you as he really tries not to involve you in his work life.

“Hm? Nanamin, what’s wrong with the 18th? We don’t have anything scheduled that day?” You ask curiously while tilting your head.

Your husband makes a face at you before he quickly taps the mute button on his phone. “Darling, according to your cycle, you’ll probably start your menstrual period that day. I highly doubt you’ll want any visitors over.”

Ah yes, you must’ve forgotten that you married a man who is literally obsessed with you and your happiness.

“That’s if my period comes on the day it’s suppose to. It could be late or early. You never know. Just invite him over. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You assure him, waving away his concerned gaze.

Yeah, that was a fuckin mistake.

You had worked for the better half of the day preparing Katsudon for everyone to enjoy when Ino and Nanami get off work. You had to take frequent breaks: sitting down or lying down to try to weather yourself through your cramps.

Nanami was right — your period started earlier that morning, and you absolutely did not want company over today. You kept trying to persevere — not wanting to admit that Nanami might know your body better than you do. Also, you weren’t a fan of cancelling plans last minute.

Though, when the kitchen started to feel like it was over a hundred degrees in there, and the room started to spin, you knew you had to call and say something to your husband.

“Hey darling, we’re almost there. Sorry we’re running behind. I had to teach Ino how to tie a tie.” Your husband speaks over the phone, and your heart instantly sinks into your stomach. This poor boy is wearing a tie to come and meet you, but you’re fixing to cancel.

“Nanamin…” You mumble sheepishly over the phone. You feel terrible for having to cancel, but there’s just no way you can power through it.

“Are you alright, darling..?” He asks cautiously. His ability to instantly tell when something was wrong with you was still astonishing to this day.

“You were right… I don’t feel good.”

“Oh darling.. I was right? You started this morning, didn’t you?”

“… yeah.” You reluctantly admit with a small pout. It’s bad enough that you’re cramping terribly right now. Now, you have to admit just how right your husband was.

“Good thing Ino’s not with me, and I never arranged for him to come by tonight.” He says with a small huff of amusement. “I’m getting you one of those cheesecakes you really like. Then, I’ll be home.”

Oh, to be married to the king of domestic love.

“Ken, I love you. Hurry home please.” Your heart is immediately melting in your chest. Marrying him was the best decision of your life.

“I love you more, darling.”

CHOSO

There’s nothing worse than being overcrowded while on your period, and currently, that’s what was exactly happening.

Sitting between Choso and Yuji on a too small couch while Yuji lore dumped about Human Earthworm 1 and 2 was literally a nightmare, but it was even worse since your stomach was cramping up so badly to where you couldn’t even hear the words spilling from Yuji’s mouth.

Immediately, you regret agreeing to hanging out with Yuji today, but you hated seeing your cute boyfriend’s face turn to disappointment when you tell him no.

You assured him that he could hang out with Yuji without you — you didn’t mind sharing him with his little brother at all, but Choso would always say that it’s more fun with you involved.

Thus, you’re squished between the oversized males on the couch, watching the third Human Earthworm movie for like the 5th time while Itadori points out every little easter egg.

Your stomach is cramping so badly — making you feel like you’re either about to throw up or pass out or the secret option of doing both. Your cramps are literally reverberating through your thighs.

You didn’t want to make a big deal out of this, but your heart was starting to pound in your chest. You lean your head back, trying to stop the room from spinning in your head.

“Baby?” Choso’s voice echoes in your ear. Yuji pauses the movie, and they both look at you with a concerned look. Your boyfriend could immediately tell that something was wrong with you.

“Yuu, go get her some water.” Choso instructs, and he sits up on the couch. His hands start to fan over your face, wafting air towards you to help out. “Baby, can you hear me?”

Yuji quickly scrambles from the couch, and he jogs to the kitchen to get you a cold glass of water. Choso and Yuji do not look any alike, but they both have the same caring heart.

“Cho, I feel like ‘m gonna throw up.” Your voice is barely a strained whisper.

“Okay baby, hold on. Hold on for me, pretty girl.” Choso brushes your hair back from your face, and he then quickly sprints towards the bathroom to get the trashcan for you.

Choso returns quickly, and he places the trashcan in your lap. “Here you go, baby.” He whispers softly, and he places his hand gently on your shoulder for moral support. He’s not too great at these things, but he wants you to know that he’s here for you.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick or..?” He asks you, still trying to get to the root of what’s got you so ill all of a sudden.

“Cramping..” You murmur quietly, and Choso instantly feels like a fool. You told him you started your period this morning, but he completely forgot.

“I’m so sorry, baby… Do you still feel like you’re going to throw up?” He asks as his eyes never leave your face. Your head is still tilted back, and your eyes are closed.

“No.. I think it passed for now.” You reply quietly, taking the small moment of reprieve that your ovaries decided to give you.

“C’mere, princess.” Choso mumbles lowly, and he scoops you into his arms bridal style before standing up. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah? I’ll get you some pain medicine and your heating pad.”

“Mmm.. love you, Cho.” Your voice is muffled against his shoulder.

“Hey Yuu, don’t worry about that water, kay? I’m gonna get her to bed. We’ll finish the movie maybe sometime next week.” Choso calls out to his brother that is miraculously still in the kitchen.

Yuji was cowering in the kitchen with his ears covered because he heard you say you were going to throw up, and his emetophobia started acting up.

“Great! See you later!” He shouts as he sprints out the house, getting as far away from there as possible.

MEGUMI

Visiting Gojo in his vacation home was something you’ve been looking forward to for months now. Gojo owned a vacation home up towards the snowy peaks, and he invited you and Megumi to come up there and stay for a week during the winter.

You had planned so many fun activities to do with Megumi like snowboarding, skiing, or building a snowman.

Not to mention the thought of cozying up to your boyfriend in front of a fireplace sounded like exactly what you two needed after these past few stressful weeks.

The only kicker was the morning you two were set to leave, you started your period.

Trying not to panic, you packed a whole box of tampons and pads, and you packed like 15 extra pairs of underwear… just in case.

It would be fine, right? Maybe you and him could just spend more time cozied up rather than being out in the snow. Besides, Megumi didn’t really care what you two did. He was happy with whatever you picked out. As long as you two were together, he’d be fine with whatever activity.

You just had to make it through an eight hour car ride…

By hour two, your entire body is screaming at you. Your lower tummy feels like it’s on fire, and the pain is shooting through your back. No matter how many times you shift, you’re not comfortable.

It’s hot in the car, but then, it’s too cold. You’re so damn uncomfortable that you’re nearly in tears.

After your nth time shifting in your seat, Megumi finally speaks up. “Are you already that antsy? We’ve barely started..”

“No, I…” You wince before slightly doubling over in the passenger side seat. “I’m just cramping a lot.”

“Shit, really? Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks as he glances over at you with a look of concern. He’s well aware of how severe your periods can get sometimes. He’s taken care of you enough times to see exactly how much pain you’re in.

“I thought I could power through.” You sniffle, instantly feeling guilty for putting a damper on the trip.

“Hey, hey..” Megumi reaches over and runs his fingers through your hair. He keeps his other hand on the steering wheel — trying his best to drive safely and comfort you at the same time. “It’s alright. You’re really hurtin’, huh?”

“Mhm…” You quietly hum in agreement, and you lean your head on Megumi’s hand.

Without saying another word, Megumi takes the next exit, and he drives for a minute, ignoring your questions. He then pulls into a fancy looking hotel before putting the car in park.

“Stay in here for just a second, yeah? I’ll be right back.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead before leaving the car and walking into the hotel lobby.

A few minutes pass before he returns to the car. By the time he’s back, you can already feel a migraine starting to kick in.

“Can you walk, gorgeous?” He asks tenderly as he unbuckles your seatbelt for you,

“Yeah — I can walk..” You reply in a pained voice.

“Alright. Let’s go in here. I got us a room.” He offers his hand, and he helps guide you out of the car before he grabs both of the suitcases.

“What..? What about Gojo?”

“He can wait. Your health is more important. It’s not like his vacation home will disappear over night. We’ll see how you feel about driving some more tomorrow. If not, we’ll turn back around and head home.”

“Are you sure..? I don’t wanna ruin the trip.” You sniffle before rubbing your face. Your stomach starts to cramp up again, nearly making your knees buckle. Megumi’s hand rests on the small of your back, guiding you into the hotel lobby.

“I already told you, gorgeous. I don’t care what we do. I just want to be with you.”

SUKUNA

Sukuna could smell the exact minute your period started. Blame it on him being a curse.

He avoids you like the plague when he knows you’re bleeding because he truly believes that he will only make your pain worse. He knows he’s not the nicest, so he just tries to stay out of your way.

It’s definitely not because he’s terribly afraid of women who can bleed for seven days straight and not die.

“Ryo?” Dammit. You caught him.

“Yes, woman?” He reluctantly turns to look at you. You were wearing an elegant dress that he usually loved to peel off you before completely ravaging you.

“Are we… not doing tithe today..?” You ask with a small frown. You had gotten dressed up for the purpose of addressing yours and Sukuna’s subjects.

“No… I’ll hold tithe next week.” He nods his head. Truthfully, he had concerned himself so much with avoiding you that he had forgotten all about tithe.

“But… you always do it on the first of the month..” You’re nearly in tears. Why was he avoiding you? Did he not want to be seen with you? Was he embarrassed of you now? So many insecure thoughts and high-running emotions.

Sukuna’s literally sweating. What the fuck did he say to make you upset? “Why do you cry, woman? Don’t cry. I didn’t realize tithe was that important to you. We’ll have tithe right now.”

“You don’t love me!” Fat tears are running down your cheeks. Your hormones making you feel like the worst person on planet earth right now.

“Who the fuck said that!?” Now Sukuna’s shouting too. This is a mess. He just wants you to not bleed and to not be sad.

A moment of silence between the two of you allows him to reflect for a moment. He looks at you as you’re just looking up at him with big teary eyes, and he quietly sighs before pulling you into a hug.

“Let’s go do this tithe, and then, you can explain to me what I’ve done to make you feel so down.”

Your mood changed just as fast. Maybe he did really love you! You sat on his lap at he was sitting on his throne. Curse after curse would come up and give whatever they could spare to the king as tithe.

You were sweet to each and every one, making sure to compliment each unique ‘gift’ that was bestowed upon you two. Truthfully, the curses loved having you as a queen, but even they were avoiding you today. They could smell your menstrual period as much as Sukuna could.

If you weren’t so focused on your cramps, you’d be a bummed out because now your subjects didn’t even seem to like you as much.

The king’s second pair of eyes darted towards you as soon as he could hear your breath shifting, but you still wore a smile. He decided not to question it.

But when you started to grip onto the throne and his arm tightly, your face was pale, and you could barely manage to speak, he immediately ordered everyone out.

“Alright, that’s enough. Get the fuck out.” He barked, and curses went scrambling everywhere. Hell, even Uraume took that as a direct order.

“What ails you, human?” He asks as his full attention is on you now. You’re practically a mess in his lap from the pain — feeling like you might throw up or pass out from how bad it hurts.

“Cramps.” You answer Sukuna lowly, and you try your best to breathe through them.

“How do I make them go away?” He asks, spoken like a true man… always wanting to fix everything.

“Sometimes a heating pad helps…” You wince as you can feel nausea bubbling up from how much pain you’re in.

“You said heat?” Sukuna asks as flames coat his hand.

“Not that much heat-!” You whine and shift in his lap before the flames dissipate.

“Make up your mind, woman.” He grumbles before he rests his palm on your lower tummy. His hand was still very warm from the flames, and you instantly ease in his lap.

His eyes stay fixated on you while you rest on his lap quietly, and he ever so carefully starts to rub your stomach. He finds your behavior very much cat-like. Too bad he really didn’t like cats — too unpredictable.

“How do I keep this from coming back?” He questions more to himself than to you.

“Pregnancy.” You murmur to him, half-asleep due to the immense amount of relief you felt.

“Great. I shall get you pregnant then.”

“What.”

[simplygojo]

More Than Enough ⸺ Nanami & Toji

author's note ⸺ This was such a thoughtful request so thank you very very much for requesting it anon!! I liked writing this, and I tried to stay true to thier personalities, let me know your thoughts :)

request ⸺ “Can you write a fluff fic about insecurity’s with toji and nanami?” - Anonymous

pairings ⸺ Toji Fushiguro x reader; Kento Nanami x reader

warnings ⸺ self esteem issues, mentions of negative thoughts, a wee bit of sadness, reader uses female pronouns, comforting men

✧.* —TOJI FUSHIGURO— ✧.*

The weight of your thoughts hung over you like a thick, oppressive fog. You sat on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, staring at the muted glow of the TV screen without really watching. 

The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light from the screen and the pale reflection of the moon on the window. It should have been peaceful, but the knot in your stomach twisted tighter with every passing second.

Beside you, Toji Fushiguro was the embodiment of ease. 

His broad frame relaxed against the cushions, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. 

That subtle touch of his used to calm you. 

Tonight though, it only seemed to magnify the storm swirling inside your chest.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His sharp, chiselled features were shadowed in the dim light, and even with his half-lidded gaze, Toji looked every bit the unshakable man you knew him to be. 

He had that quiet strength, that effortless confidence that seemed untouchable. 

Meanwhile, you felt like you were falling apart, cracking under the weight of everything he wasn’t—everything you were.

And it wasn’t fair to him.

You shifted uncomfortably, the words burning in your throat, but your heart was racing too fast to keep them down.

“Something on your mind, princess?” His voice broke the silence, low and smooth. 

He hadn’t even looked at you when he said it, as if he already knew. Maybe he did.

Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname, but you couldn't help the wave of insecurity that followed. 

Princess—did you even deserve a name like that? 

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “I just… sometimes I don’t feel like I’m enough. Like I’m too ordinary compared to you.”

The second the words left your mouth, a rush of heat crept up your neck, a mixture of shame and vulnerability. 

You’d never said it out loud before. It sounded ridiculous now, selfish even, to admit something so deeply buried. 

Toji wasn’t the type to coddle insecurities. He faced the world head-on, and part of you feared he would just shrug it off.

But instead, Toji’s gaze finally landed on you, his smirk fading just a touch. 

“Ordinary?” He repeated the word as if it was foreign coming from your lips. 

“Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you avoided his eyes, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. 

“I mean, look at you, Toji. You’re strong, untouchable… You never seem unsure of yourself, and I… I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.”

Your voice broke on that last part, and you hated yourself for it. Why did you feel so small next to him? 

Maybe it was just being next to someone so self-assured, so in control, who had this strange way of magnifying your own insecurities. 

And even now, the silence that followed felt like it was suffocating you.

Maybe he was annoyed. Maybe he thought you were being childish. Maybe—

Before your mind could spiral any further, Toji’s calloused fingers curled beneath your chin, gently forcing your gaze to meet his. 

The intensity in his green eyes made your breath hitch in your throat. 

There was no judgment there, no impatience—just a look that was so focused, so real, it made your heart stutter.

“You think I care about any of that?” His voice was quieter now, but laced with a seriousness that sent a shiver down your spine. 

“I don’t need you to be some kind of warrior. If I wanted that, I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Your lips parted in surprise, but no words came out. His touch was grounding, but your thoughts were racing, a mix of disbelief and hope. Could it really be that simple? Could you really be enough for someone like Toji?

“Toji, I—”

“I’m not perfect,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly, almost like he was amused by the idea. 

“Sure, I’m real close–but I’m just good at pretending. I’ve got more blood on my hands than you can imagine. Things you don’t even want to know about.”

Your heart clenched at that. 

You knew Toji’s past was dark, that he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders, but the way he spoke about it now—there was a pain in his voice, one he rarely let show. 

And yet here he was, letting you see a piece of that burden.

“But you’re still—” you started, wanting to reassure him, wanting to say anything to ease that weight in his voice.

“Stop saying things that are so obviously not true,” he said, cutting you off again. 

His thumb brushed against your bottom lip, the roughness of his skin a stark contrast to the tenderness of the gesture. “You’re the only damn thing that makes me feel human. That’s all that matters.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the weight of your own insecurities seemed to lift, replaced by something softer, warmer. 

Toji didn’t care about the things you weren’t. He cared about the things you were. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“Toji…” you whispered, your voice trembling as the flood of emotion threatened to overwhelm you.

“What you don’t think you’re hot enough? Or smart enough?” His smirk returned, but this time it was softer, more intimate. “You think I’d ever be with someone who wasn’t just as good as me?”

The conviction in his voice, the way he said it like it was a fact and not just some comforting lie, made your throat tighten with emotion. 

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and before you could say anything, Toji pulled you into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your skin, “you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as you could. 

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest was the only thing grounding you now, the only thing keeping you from falling apart under the weight of his words.

In Toji’s arms, with the warmth of his embrace and the steadiness of his presence, your insecurities began to fade. Maybe they’d come back in time, but for now, you let yourself believe that you were more than enough for him.

For the man who’d seen the worst the world had to offer and still chose to see the good in you.

✧.* — KENTO NANAMI — ✧.*

You sat curled up on the couch, scrolling absently through your phone. The TV hums quietly in the background, but your attention has drifted elsewhere. 

Your eyes flicker from your screen to the man beside you, Nanami Kento, who is deeply immersed in a book. Even in his casual state, glasses perched on his nose, the faintest crease in his brow as he reads, he looks flawless—like he stepped out of a movie. 

The soft lighting of your living room casts a warm glow over his sharp features, and you can't help but compare the two of you.

Your fingers trace mindless patterns on the edge of your phone, but your thoughts swirl with insecurity. 

How does someone like him—poised, handsome, effortlessly put together—choose to be with someone like you? 

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re… lacking.

The reflection in your phone screen catches your eye, and you frown at the imperfections you’ve never quite been able to ignore. 

Your hair’s a little messy from a long day, your clothes plain in comparison to the polished image of Nanami sitting just a few feet away. The familiar knot of insecurity tightens in your chest.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate yourself—you try—but when you’re sitting next to someone who seems perfect, those little doubts grow louder. 

You think of all the women out there who would fit beside him better. 

Women who are effortlessly stunning, stylish—everything you’re not. The thoughts churn in your head until you let out a small, defeated sigh, trying to quiet the voices.

Nanami notices. Of course he does.

Without a word, he closes his book and looks at you. He doesn’t ask right away, just shifts closer, his knee now brushing against yours. The warmth of his presence is usually enough to calm you, but tonight, it only makes the weight of your insecurities heavier.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” His voice is soft, rich, and familiar—like a steady anchor in the middle of your storm. You shake your head lightly, forcing a small smile. “It’s nothing,” you lie, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. You don’t want to burden him with something as trivial as your insecurities. How silly would that sound?

But Nanami doesn’t let it go. 

He reaches out, his large hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your face so that your eyes meet his. 

His gaze is unwavering, full of concern and warmth. “Sweetheart,” he repeats, his tone firmer now, but still so gentle. 

“I can see it’s not nothing. Talk to me.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow. You hesitate, debating whether or not to say anything at all. 

But there’s no use hiding from Nanami—not when he’s looking at you like that, with so much patience and care.

“I just…” You sigh, struggling to find the right words. 

“I don’t understand why you’re with me.”

His brow furrows slightly, confusion flickering across his face. You feel embarrassed now, but the words come spilling out before you can stop them. 

“I mean… look at you, Kento. You’re—you could have anyone. You’re smart, handsome, perfect. And I’m just… I’m just me.” Your voice grows quieter, but the vulnerability in your tone hangs heavy in the air.

“There are so many girls out there,” you continue, feeling the weight of your insecurities settling in your chest. 

“Girls who are prettier than me, girls who look like they belong next to someone like you. And I just—I feel like I’m not enough.”

Nanami’s face softens immediately, the crease in his brow replaced by a look of understanding. 

He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he shifts even closer, his hand sliding from your chin to gently hold your hand. The warmth of his palm soothes the edges of your anxiety, but the vulnerability lingers.

“Is that what’s been weighing on you?” His voice is a low murmur, thick with sincerity. He turns your hand over in his, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. 

“You think you’re not enough for me?”

You nod, trying to blink back the sting of tears. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only quiet concern, and it makes the knot in your chest tighten.

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, leaning in closer until his forehead is nearly resting against yours. 

His voice is like velvet, smooth and steady, wrapping around you in warmth. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

His words catch you off guard, and you blink up at him, your breath hitching in your throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he continues, his gaze unwavering as his thumb brushes over the back of your hand. 

“Not just on the outside, but believe me, you’re definitely beautiful on the outside too, but you have a kindness, a warmth, and a sense of strength that I admire every single day. And that’s something no one else can give me.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Do you understand? You are everything to me.”

Tears blur your vision, and you try to blink them away, but Nanami just smiles softly, squeezing your hand. 

“I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t care what they look like, because no one—no one—compares to you.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding as the weight of his words sinks in. He reaches up, brushing a tear away with his thumb, the tenderness in his touch making your heart swell.

“I didn’t fall in love with anyone else, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I fell in love with you, only you. And I’d do it again, a thousand times over.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, overwhelmed by the love and sincerity in his eyes. 

He pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the weight of your insecurities begins to lift.

“You are more than enough,” he whispers, his lips leaving a tender kiss on the top of your head. “You’re unfathomably perfect to me.”

You melt into him, your head resting against his chest, and as his heartbeat thuds steadily beneath your ear, you feel the overwhelming warmth of his love wash over you. 

He gives you a little squeeze and leaves a trail of kisses all over your face while holding you in his embrace. 

“My beautiful girl…”

Maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to believe him.

[sweetheartsaku]

(BLLK) LOVE BELT.

𝜗𝜚 BLUE LOCK VARIOUS: MYOSOTIS (FORGET ME NOT).

a/n: [fem!reader] AHHHHH FIRST BLLK POST!!!!! LASTEST FIXTATION!!!! hopefully not too ooc huhu, hope pt1-ers find pt2~

— characters: isagi, kunigami, nagi, reo

part two ! ♡ chigiri, rin, bachira

isagi yoichi ; love belt - jonghyun, yunha

ties your shoes for you!!!!! doesn't care if it holds back the group or how long it makes them stop for. double knot, never too tight (the occasional times my guy friends tie my laces i swear i lose circulation in my feet 😔).

embodiment of a beabadoobee song! hes such a sweetheart (apart from on the field) n' kisses you lightly on the corner of your lips or on your eyelid, holds you a little higher than your hip and hugs you with his arms supporting your back from beneath.

your mama loves him more than you do, i fear (ᵕ—ᴗ—) bro fr pulled up to your house with a rose for your mama and a mug for your dad, because who is he to pull up to his girlfriend's house without gifts for your parents? (with intentions of getting to know what they're like so the wedding goes smooth) how can you expect your mama not to fall for him after he offers to help wash the dishes?

learns all the little things you like, has a note on his phone with your fruit tea and coffee order. knows what type of materials you like, especially to the girls who have sensory issues 🫡. he always has you in mind, buying hoodies and shirts that not only he likes, but you like

in conclusion, spectacular gimme 14 more of em'

kunigami rensuke ; no. 1 party anthem - arctic monkeys

ALWAYS THE FIRST TO INITIATE. always plans dates first. has anniversary ideas months prior. he has your order memorized and makes sure the date won't ruin your latest set of nails.

holds your leg when you bounce it ! very worried when you do. always looks around for a little. is it cold? are there weird guys?

he's so boyfriend i just wanna kiss him, tells you to wear whatever you want because he can fight (#needthat)! kunigami one of the most boyfriend in the show pre wildcard! ദ്ദി(•̀ ᴗ - ) ☆

do you guys know that trend when there's a girl then her boyfriend comes in and swoops her away (or is it just me HELP hopefully i don't sound crazy)?? but he does it so effortlessly omg. didn’t spend that long in the gym for nothing

mornings are the hardest because his diligence and discipline for the gym are out of the roof. but he’s not completely heartless! kunigami feels really bad as you sleep uncomfortably without him, tossing and turning just missing the grasp that once held you. worst bit is when you wake up the same time as him, but you’re a lot sleepier, resulting in you weakly catching his wrist. breaks his heart whenever he has to go and presses a chaste kiss to your temple >3<

holds your waist on public transport. smells like axe body spray /hj

nagi seishirou ; no one noticed - the marías

BLANKET HOG!!!!!! unfortunately, you're always cold because sometimes you can find yourself freezing your toes off in the middle of the night because this little sloth feeds off warmth. if not wrapping the entire blanket around himself, is practically on top of you with his nose nestled in the crook of your neck and his lips basically on your collarbone as you run your hands through white locks (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

fiddles with the hem of your shirt or loose drawstrings on your pants. his hand in the pocket nearest to your butt, fidgets with your rings and knows which ones go on which finger by heart.

very very very immersed when you paint your nails or get them done. but nagi takes a good 5 minutes to stare at them (especially if there's charms on them) and a girl would be confused. but in reality, he just really likes them (but, he'd prefer if they'd run through his hair instead).

doesn't get the stuff on tall shelves on purpose SUPER SENIOR ALERT WEE WOO WEEWOO!!!!!!! either because its "too much of a hassle" or because he wants to get a reaction out of you (cruel)

falls asleep in movies sooo quickly its adorable. 30 minutes into the movie his head is on your shoulder. scared, due to his tall nature that he'd get neck pain when he wakes up, you have to gently pat him awake (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ and he'll ask you to carry him (???)

reo mikage ; love maze - BTS

zip up your jackets, wraps your scarves. holds your hands when your cold and rubs them with his!!!!

reo's favourite place to kiss you is your hand. craves the intimacy of it all. as his princess what the hell are you doing without a kiss to your hand before every door you open? (you don't remember the last time you opened a door before you started dating reo)

apart from the soccer club, most likely plays in a band as well. occasional school-related gigs here and there and a few enjoyable get-togethers with his friends to just play whatever. watch his performances! (SOOO cheesy!!!! says "this is for you, [name]" before he starts his pasilyo cover.)

cooks' breakfast on hard weeks. when everything seems to be falling apart, your boyfriend will always be there to help you pick up the pieces, even if it's just the little things. when you're sick GYATT DAHH will you be feeling better in days!!!!! he'll keep distance but won't hesitate to move a strand of hair from your mouth as he spoon feeds you or place the back of his hand on your forehead. but also, doesn't mind being sick if it meant you were ok.

promise rings promise rings promise rings. did i mention promise rings? its either the crazy big, expensive diamond or a simple one in silver that has his initial on the inside <33

[uselesssomebody]

𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕦𝕡 - post!d&w!logan howlett x reader

complete masterlist | logan howlett - coming soon!

words || 𝟚.𝟡𝕜

summary || in which the reader gets stood up, and logan consoles her - in more than one way

a/n || self indulgent :)) guess what happened to me guys !!

➵ i know i've been literally dead but i may be back! not sure fully yet lol but i've missed writing. shocker, college is in fact hard and i've spent a whileeee adjusting. that also means my writing is prob a bit shit here but i just wanted to get this out

➵ first time writing logan - i watched deadpool & wolverine and oh my godddd this man can fucking get it. haven't watched the x-men movies so i kinda had to guess his accent, sorry if it's inconsistent. this is set after the events of deadpool & wolverine

➵ shall i revamp the blog theme guys? i don't have any ideas but idk if you guys are bored by it haha

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smut/a wee bit of angst

➵ fingering

➵ age gap (not a plot point)

(tell me if i miss anything)

having 2 people in a one bedroom apartment was already cramped. 3 is insane. as much as wade tried, he felt bad for poor hugh's - *cough* logan's back for constantly swapping between the dingy couch and the mattress on the floor to sleep.

and the wolverine was never the type to ask for help, it pissed him off. they had been nearly atomized together for christ's sake!

another room on the floor had opened up, and as much as wade wanted to kick blind al off to that room instead, he knew the old lady wouldn't be able to pay the whole rent herself, and he had to make sure she didn't use too much fun-time sugar under fox's watchful eye. luckily, neither did logan have to live alone, as wade was quick to find a down-on-her-luck college girl who needed cheap rent.

so, now wade's stuck with an ornery old woman, and pretty-boy - well, man - logan got to have a cute girl as his roommate. just his luck. he checked in on his fellow invincible often, and as much as logan didn't talk, wade knew he didn't mind her one bit.

she tried to be a good roommate - cook breakfast for the both of them, pick up a sweet treat for him too if she was getting one for herself, and trying to keep to herself with the studying. but she couldn't help the little crush that she had on her roommate. like, come on.

older, mature, mysterious, downright yummy? what's a girl to do? she kept it to herself, but seeing him smirk or chuckle when she realizes she's accidentally been staring at him in that leather jacket or shirtless going to bed. at least she doesn't make him uncomfortable, but it feels pretty dismissive - how he sees her as such a fucking kid that he can't even take her attraction seriously.

logan took it very fucking seriously.

every day was a mental challenge - truly, god gives his worst temptations to his strongest soldiers. the liquor on his breath was still strong, not now because his life was ruined, but rather because his mind was.

this cute, young girl who looked at him like he was the solution to all her relationship issues, like his old-man body was good enough to fucking eat? it was a miracle that he hadn't taken her. and she just looked so beautiful as she got ready for bed, or as she bobbed her head to music while she studied, or as she buzzed around the small kitchen to cook her third cheap pasta for the week.

it didn't help how she'd always ask how he is, buy him little things to keep his mood up, and always offered to take the couch. he'd rather eat glass than let her sleep on the couch, but nonetheless, she offered every day.

fuck. it was impossible to sleep when she was just behind the wall, in her fucking shorts and tank. unbelievable. he needed a fucking drink.

some nights, he'll come home in the evenings to an empty house. it's rare - she doesn't have too much money to go out, but when she does, she'll usually warn him she'll be home late. he always makes sure to stay awake until she gets home, and even had the privilege of going into downtown to pick her up after the friends she was with had managed to lose her. she had hiccuped, tearing up in embarrassment as she watched him approach her drunk form leaning on a tree outside. she had thought the stern arch of his brow was because of her calling him so late, when really, he was just angry that her friends had the audacity to put her in such a dangerous situation.

"it's windy." he grunts, and she looks down at her short, strappy dress, ashamed.

"s-sorry. we drove here." she tries to explain, and logan relents, brow going from angry to grumpy.

"yeah." he finally sighs, walking with her back to their place. seeing her hands go to cradle her elbows, he places his leather jacket over her shoulders, and she swallows thickly.

"you don't have to-" but he's lighting a cigar as she speaks, in just his wifebeater he'd been lounging in. she decides to shut up, silent until they reach the house.

he helps her in and then waits outside to finish the cigar, and after she gets in, she sighs softly, carefully placing the jacket down. she starts trying to make logan some dinner as a thank-you, but passes out at the dinner table half-way through. luckily, she hadn't had the stove on, and logan's heart melts as he sees her, halfway through mixing a few eggs, head lolling off the chair as she drools a little.

cutie, he thinks, separating her fingers from the fork and bowl, and carrying her into the bed. as he tries to set her down, her fingers clutch his arm, and a small, sleepy whine leaves her.

logan's not a man to blush, but hearing that little beg for him to stay makes him fucking burn. he looks down at her, a hand running through his hair, and he gently tries to let her down again. she just holds on tighter, groaning, "warm..." a little mumble escapes her, and logan huffs. of course it's not that she wants him, she's just cold. he sighs, sitting down and letting her cuddle into his arm.

he had planned to leave once she'd passed out, but it was late, and he was old, so he had ended up just sleeping next to her anyways. the sun's rays the next morning pierce his eyes, and he sighs softly, waking up next to her. he swallows thickly, watching the way the sun hits her form, bathing her exposed skin in orange and amber.

the moment is broken by her startling awake. for a moment, she sighs happily, thinking that this was just a continuation of her dream about logan, where she wakes up next to him after a night of great sex, and they both live happily ever after. then she blinks.

his bicep feels bigger than in the dream, his face looks a little more real, he's- real?!

she squeaks, immediately sitting up.

"logan?"

"don't go getting any ideas in your head." he immediately defends, sighing. "you called me last night."

she bites her lip.

"you took me home?"

"put you in bed too. then ya fucking kept me on ya like a boa." he's joking, but she still struggles to tell between his grumpy voice and his joking grumpy voice.

"fuck, i'm really sorry, must have ruined your night-" she starts, and he gets up, ruffling her hair.

"it's okay. better knowing you were safe." it leaves her a little star struck, especially when he then goes to continue making the omelette she had tried to make last night.

he's cooking for her for once and she gets such a nice view of his broad back in that wife-beater. maybe things aren't that bad.

knowing how she always texts if she's out late, he's a bit confused to come home to an empty room. he huffs, trying not to panic, but he can't help how much he care for the girl. he leans back, lounging on the couch.

as an hour passes with no texts, he's about to get up and ... do something. look for her, call her - something.

just then, she walks through the door, purse dropping on the floor with a thud.

that's an attitude he hadn't seen before. she looks like a deer in headlights when she notices that he is in fact home.

"o-oh." she blinks, quickly picking up the purse, as if to console it. "wade said you weren't home." logan raises a brow, a little curious why the other man would say that.

"long day?" he finally comments, and she breathes out.

"shit day." she corrects. logan's brow furrows.

"hmm." he murmurs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch. an open invitation. she hesitates but... he looks warm.

conservatively, she sits beside him, hands in her lap. she's not even paying attention to whatever channel logan has on as background noise.

theres maybe 5 solid minutes of silence.

finally, she sighs.

"i'm gonna go to bed." she murmurs softly, getting up. logan wraps his fingers around her palm.

"talk to me." he mumbles gruffly, and she knows that's a pretty big first step for him. she bites her lip, sitting back down, and takes a deep breath.

"got stood up." it's little more than a whisper, and she feels a pout forming on her lips, which she tries to reverse, to little avail. it's silent again, and she wonders if logan heard her.

of course, he did - spending a moment processing who the hell would stand her up.

"i'm sorry." his rough fingers press over hers, comforting, and she can't help but sink more into him than the couch cushions.

it feels nice, more right than the kisses she'd shared with the guy she'd been seeing.

"whatever." she tries to mumble, trying not to show her hurt.

"he's an idiot." his hand slips around her shoulders, and he can feel her pulse quicken.

"i'm an idiot."

"he's an idiot." he repeats sternly. "who was he?" she bites her lip.

"some... guy." logan suppresses a scoffing bark.

"not if he's got you like this." he looks down at her. she's ashamed to look up at him.

"i don't know... i just really liked him. i thought he liked me too." she feels a tear slip out, and logan's fist squeezes in anger as he sees her quickly wipe it away.

"he should be singin' his prayers that he even got your attention." that makes her giggle - strained, but there. he prefers the sound to her defeated mumbles. "look at me." he murmurs, taking her chin and angling it to face him. his eyes travel down to the cute dress she'd put on for her date - low cut, perfectly form fitting, "he's a fucking idiot." he whispers, hand slipping down to her waist.

"yeah?" she whispers, significantly less focused on aforementioned 'fucking idiot' now.

"yeah, princess." he murmurs, hand gently running up and down her side. he knows he shouldn't, but he can practically feel the jump of her heart at the endearment. "you like that? princess?" his voice almost has a teasing lilt, and her lids flutter at the difference in tension from 2 minutes ago.

"a little." her face looks so bashful, so unsure. after that depressing feeling of not being wanted - god, he wants to pull her out of that so bad.

"should be treated like a princess." she shifts imperceptibly closer.

"got a guy who'll do that for me?" she teases, and logan scoffs softly.

"you know i do." his voice carries that gruffness even with how quiet he is, speaking into the small space between their lips. "you know, princess."

she breathes out shakily, leaning forward, when logan pulls her chin, pressing his lips to hers. she whimpers softly, finding her hands and placing them at his nape, not wanting to let go. it's not rough, but needy, his other hand slipping to the hem of her dress on her thigh. she hums into his lips, as he pulls away, a little breathless.

"don't - we shouldn't." he whispers, and a pout graces her lips - a proper one.

"why?"

"yer upset." he sighs, but doesn't move away.

"about?" she says playfully, having fully forgotten about her evening; she'd been waiting for this for so long. he lets out a gruff bark of a laugh, pulling her closer, and she adjusts, getting on his lap.

"come on, bub." he scolds again, and she hums, leaning down to kiss him.

"please?" she whispers, against his lips. he groans.

"jesus, what're y'doin' to me?" his head tilts back, and she giggles, exhilarated that she's got him like this. her hands trail down his arms - god, his arms - tracing the veins, somehow always bulging, as she gently leans forward again, kissing him. this time, theres a bit more tongue, and he pulls her closer roughly, gnashing their teeth together. she moans softly into his mouth, fingers finding his rough palm. he grips them tight - not enough to hurt, but just enough to show that he's holding back.

"i'm not made of glass." she teases, and he scoffs softly.

"i could snap ya'n half." his mumble finds his way back into her lips, and she has to control herself to not showhow much the little quip affected her.

"maybe i want you to."

"jesus." he flips her over, onto her back, "got this pretty little dress on, fuck, that guy's an idiot." his hands travel down her thighs, and she bites her lip, a massive grin on her face.

"you like it?" she murmurs softly, playing with the strap of her dress.

"whadya think?" he huffs, and she giggles.

"and if i told you i got it for you?" logan presses a hot kiss to the side of her thigh.

"i'd tell ya to get a dozen more." his lips move up her thigh slowly, and she lets out a shaky breath.

"god, logan." her whispers of his name are like music to his ear, and he leaves a small bite by the hem of her dress.

"gotta tell me if i hurt you." he mutters, more seriously, and she smiles.

"only fun if it hurts."

"i'm serious, princess." she relents.

"i'll tell you." he sighs in content, gently riding her dress off.

"this okay?"

"more than okay." she helps him, pulling the dress over her hips, her lacy panties peeking under the fabric. when he spends just a bit too long staring, she giggles, "you can touch." she affirms, and he barks out a gruff lap.

"could'a guessed that much." his fingers trace the hem of them, travelling down her inner thighs. her breath hitches, and she gently rolls her hips, desperate for more.

"please, logan." she whispers, breathing a bit labored. though he'd love to tease, he's getting desperate too.

"gotta tell me what ya want, princess." he murmurs, and she bites her lip, almost shy again. it's cute.

"touch me?" she murmurs, almost like it's a favor she's asking. he kisses her thigh again, before gently peeling the panties off. he lets out a soft groan at how slick she is, fingers catching her arousal as they travel down her slit. she lets out a shocked gasp - practically a moan - and he fucking loves it.

`'need them, princess?" he smirks at her, and she nods, almost pathetically.

"god, i do." he obliges, gently prodding her entrance with his middle finger. he slips in with little resistance, but jesus, he can feel how tight she is.

"fuck, yer gonna be the death of me, princess." he groans softly, and she lets out a breathy giggle.

"thought that doesn't happen to you?"

"well, never had a girl as pretty as you." he murmurs, slipping another finger in. she flushes, back arching as his fingers do, body warm as she rocks her hips in time with his ministrations.

"faster?" she begs softly, and he could never say no to those big doe eyes. he starts moving faster, her slick absolutely coating his fingers, and she moans louder, hips moving in a more stuttered rhythm.

"like that?" that teasing lilt is in his voice, and she nods furiously.

"j-just like that-" she stammers, mind already foggy, "god, i'm close, please don't stop."

"not in a million years, princess." she lets out a loud moan as she can feel herself unraveling, the orgasm so powerful that her thighs shake around him as she cums. she pants as he helps her ride through it.

"good girl, just like that, princess," he consoles, "so fuckin' pretty for me, ain't cha?" he grins, as she starts to come down. as her breathing slows, so too do his fingers, before slowly sliding them out of her. he gently rubs her clit, just to see her jolt at the stimulation, before chuckling, and placing his soaked fingers onto his tongue.

she lets out another moan as she watches him, with lidded eyes.

"i'll cum again." she warns, playfully, and he's gleeful. she tastes like fruit.

"i plan on it, princess." she feels her cheeks warm.

"that's the hardest i've cum in a while." she admits shyly.

"sounded like it." he teases, but before they can get anything else out, there's banging on the wall that connected them to wade and blind al.

"these walls are paper thin!" al's screech sounds a little traumatized, and her scolding make both her and logan whip around, embarrassed.

"for once in my life, i agree with her! shut up, lovebirds, i wanna fucking sleep!" wade's voice is equally exasperated.

there's silence, until she calls back a bashful, "sorry!" she turns to logan, almost laughing, but still flushed with shame. "maybe we should stop. he scoffs.

"nah, just means i gotta teach ya to be quiet."

safe to say, she's not thinking at all about her date tonight.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I think you mentioned you're cis, right? Many of my friends and acquaintances right now are cis women, some not even part of the lgbtq+ community. I'm a trans girl, and I'm very bad at standing up for myself. How should I talk about language they use that makes me uncomfortable? I don't know if I'm able to explain why "biological women" is a term I'm wary of because it's so often a dog whistle, or when they talk very sweepingly about the effects of male/female socialization, or espousing very cisnormative beliefs in general. I don't wanna be misunderstood and I don't think the words they are using are necessarily wrong or bad or hateful, I've just seen them so often in that context and am a bit shaken hearing them. I also don't think they want to hurt me or are cognizant of my discomfort. I'd love your input on this.

Thank you for reading this, mx batman.

hi anon,

I am so grateful that you trust me with this question and I am so sorry if you're looking for a way to do this gently. possibly you wee hoping that I would have some insights into how to gently call out cis women without upsetting them but the gag is that almost all my friends are trans and I'm an insane bitch who will unhinge my jaw and devour people at the first whiff of transphobia.

all you need to say is something to the effect of "you may not mean any harm by it, but the terms you're using spread transphobic ideas and hurt women like me and make me feel unsafe. please find other ways to express the thing you're trying to talk about." and that has to be sufficient for these people, or they aren't your friends.

listen to me right now. you Do Not need to justify why those things make you uncomfortable. you are not required to provide a dissertation to prove that your feelings deserve to be respected. if these women are your friends they are required to give a shit about your feelings, and that includes not requiring you to provide an entire powerpoint when you ask them to stop using terms that are transphobic. when a friend says "you're hurting me," you're supposed to just stop fucking hurting them.

if they want to educate themselves, which I strongly recommend the do, there are plenty of people who are writing books and articles and video essays and podcasts that will hold the hands of cis allies trying to learn Don't Be A Transphobe 101. you ARE NOT obligated to be that person for every person in your life, and they do not have the right to demand that of you.

recently I was listening to an episode of the podcast Vibe Check, which is excellent, and one of the hosts (I believe it was poet Saeed Jones, but don't quote me on that) offered some advice to the effect of "if you tell someone that they're hurting you and you tell them what they need to do to stop, and they do it again, they've told you everything they need to tell you." live that learn that love that. being fiercely protective of your needs and boundaries is an act of protection and self-preservation and it's what you deserve; cut a bitch OFF if she won't listen to you and be a better friend.

also hey as a cis woman. and specifically as a white cis woman. do NOT let them come at you with the cis lady tears, especially the white cis lady tears. anyone who starts whining and crying and acting like you're attacking them for just asking them not to say things that hurt your feelings, run. run so fast. those women do not love you.

[jarofstyles]

The Favor 8

Hey...😁 So this is basically all filth but there's a lot of realization in it so it's educational filth!

What do you think of this growth?

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 9 and 170+ exclusive writings

The Favor Masterlist

WC- 7.8k

Warnings- buckle up- Daddy kink, anal, BDSM, dom/sub dynamic, both soft and mean dom H, possessive H, spitting, use of sex toys, impact play, spanking.. probably more tbh. let me know if I missed one!!!

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

Y/N could feel a shift in them, but she couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it started. 

Sitting in his bed, she had him standing on the side with her back towards him as nimble fingers curled into her hair as he brought them back into a plait. And for some reason, it felt more intimate than anything else they’d done so far. 

Getting back from the bar, Harry had been adamant that she take a quick shower and dry her hair, welcoming her back in with some cut up fruit and juice to have while he did her hair for her. No one had done it for her since her mum, and that was when she was just a wee little thing. 

Sitting in her nightie she’d packed specifically for his viewing pleasure, he’d given her a long look before muttering to her to get on the bed before he lost it again. 

So she did, following instructions yet again as he had hair ties from when he said his hair was longer. He was increasingly gentle, careful not to snag any knots as he moved her hair around and smoothed it back to avoid any weird spots or bubbles in the hair. When she asked why, he had simply said he wanted her hair out of her face. 

Considering they were going to the illusive club tomorrow, questions kept cropping up in her brain and it felt increasingly difficult to keep them from spewing out of her mouth, so she allowed them to be set free. Harry had always been good with her questions before, but she’d been a little nervous about ruining the comfortable silence they’d fallen into. 

“Do they know you at the club pretty well?” His fingers faltered in her hair at the question but only for a moment before righting themselves. 

“They do, yes. I had been a frequent flyer but I haven't been in a bit.” His voice was calm and gentle, much like his hands. It amazed her how rough and mean he could be during sex, could smack her and choke her, call her a set of holes, but the moment it stopped he treated her like the most delicate little flower whose petals were worth millions. It had thrown her off at first, she had to admit, but now it was something she was growing to look forward to. It was rare she got handled like she was precious and at first she had to admit it made her uneasy, but now? Now she was leaning into it like a kitten searching for pets. 

“May I ask why you stopped?” She was extremely curious about it, considering that had been the catalyst of their arrangement, but Y/N didn’t want to push too far into uncomfortable territory for him. 

“Well…” There was a sigh behind her. “I didn’t have a sub of my own and hooking up with someone for a single night isn’t fulfilling to me anymore. I desire a connection, trust… It had been hard for me lately to get into the headspace with someone I’d just met and wasn’t going to see again.” There was a pause as he finished the plait, fastening it with the hair tie. “Lately I’ve just been craving intimacy and a connection. For me, half of the fun of the lifestyle is having that trust. How much can you trust someone after an hour, y’know? It’s partially why I had us meet and discuss prior to even doing anything, and I took it slow with you. I didn’t just fuck you right then and there. A good dom would get to know you and have proper conversations before playing with you.” But internally, he really did hope no one else would get that privilege but himself. 

“I understand.” She turned around to face him, looking up at his still standing face from her position sitting with her legs crossed in a pretzel. “I was worried at first… you know, when we agreed to this. I’ve been eager to try, but I was also really nervous. I was nervous you’d not find me attractive or something I wanted to try would freak you out. Or…” There was a debate in her mind if she wanted to say it or not, but considering what had happened tonight, she decided to say it. “Or you’d just view sex as some sort of favor and not actually enjoy it.” 

It made him frown when she dropped her eyes from his own, fiddling with her fingers and avoiding contact. That was the last thing he’d thought of. If anything, he forgot about the Danny part and focused on building a dynamic with her far more than he should considering the consequences but he knew she wasn’t dumb. Even if they both didn’t say it, there was something deeper there. And while he wasn’t quite brave enough to admit feelings fully, he wasn’t about to let her think any bit of that could ever be true. 

“I enjoy it far more than I ever anticipated, and ever should have.” He said quietly, tapping her chin. “Look at me while we’re talking, darling- thank you.” A softer smile curled on his lips as he allowed himself to stroke her cheek, taking a deep inhale. “Don’t worry about any single part of that. I think… you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve set my eyes on. There’s a reason I didn’t talk to you so much when you were around. I knew my attraction to you would grow and you were someone else's… This was a twist of fate.” The admission made her eyes widen slightly but he wasn’t done. “And not a single thing you’ve mentioned has freaked me out. As someone with my background growing up and experiencing the community full force, I’ve seen it all and m’willing to try anything with you.” There was a twinge in his heart as she rested her cheek in his palm, giving him the softest eyes he’d ever seen in his life. He could see that she trusted him, but he had to ask. “Do you trust me, Y/N?” The question lingered in the air as he searched her features.

“I do.” There wasn’t a lick of hesitation. The girl held more trust in him than she did her own boyfriend which… she’d need to unpack later. “I know you’d never hurt me and have my best interest at heart.” It had been proven as much tonight when he’d stuck up for her, that he’d been so irritated with the other man for ignoring her, that he gave a fuck about how she felt. There were texts every day asking how her job was, if she ate, what she was doing to unwind, placing more care and interest in her than she’d felt in a long time. 

“I do, sweetheart. I really do. I care about you a lot.” The murmur was soft, their voices hushed even though no one could overhear. “I want t’make all of those fantasies you have come true. The one we talked about. I’ll take care of you, okay?” He felt her nod against his hand before gripping his wrist and pulling it towards her mouth. There was nothing said as he let her do what she wanted while watching curiously. The twinkle of mischief rose in her eye again, sparking a flame in his stomach as she exposed her pink tongue to him and brought the fingers that had been stroking her cunt while they were out into her mouth. 

Hearing him talk so sweetly about her had turned her on again. She’d been good tonight, at least she thinks so, but she wanted to tease him a little bit. Didn’t he know that being so nice to her would work her up? Couldn’t he guess that the sweeter he was, the wetter she got? She got both sides of him. Sweet Harry, and the mean Daddy she had slipped up with later. 

“Tastes like you, hm?” The tone shift was so easy, so quick that Y/N’s tummy flipped. “See… m’nice to you, and then you’ve got t’go and be a dirty little thing. Should’ve known to keep my sweet words to when you’re fucked out and limp. Turns you on when I’m sweet to you, doesn’t it?” It was a tease considering Harry knew he couldn’t stop himself from being nice to her. It was what he wanted. 

But right now he felt the mean streak kick back in. 

“Open wider.” He instructed, watching for her to listen, but she didn’t. Instead she sucked over his fingers again, testing his patience. “I told you to open.” One more chance he’d give her. 

Y/N was trying to misbehave. She wanted to see what he’d do. Pushing boundaries. See how he’d handle her. Taking his fingers into her throat, she gagged a little but kept them there as his gaze turned dark, eyes blazing at the misbehavior. This was what she meant by wanting to be a brat. 

She hadn’t expected him to kneel on the bed, taking her hair in his hand while ripping the wet fingers from her mouth. She hadn’t seen the slap coming. Wet fingers smacked over her cheek, shocking her slightly as the sting made her throb. He’d only done this twice before, but the submissive really fucking liked it. A moan left her throat as soon as it pulled away, making him snarl. Again, his fingers swiped against her cheek, making her mouth open a little bit. 

“Fucking brat.” He grit out. “Serves me right for being nice t’you. And to think I was going to be nice to you tonight…” He sighed, shaking his head. “Open that fucking mouth or I’ll force it open.” 

Y/N was tempted to disobey but she wanted to see why he wanted it, so she listened. Tongue out, she fluttered her lashes at him as the grip on her braid stung against her scalp. She hadn’t expected him to lean forward, pursing his lips and spitting right into her mouth. “Don’t swallow. Keep it there- Don’t fucking move.” He ordered, though he didn’t do anything else. He simply stared at her, eyes narrowed as she looked back up at him. This view was perfect in her opinion. She felt small, delicate, like he could throw her around- but so strong and confident like this. It felt like she was capable of anything. 

“Since you want t’call me your Daddy so badly, I think we should take care of that. Acting like a fucking brat, even after I was so nice and let you cum on my fingers in the middle of the week…” Shaking his head, he leaned in again and spit right on the flat of her tongue before using the sucked fingers to spread it over her tongue and down on her chin, letting some drip off her tongue down to her tits. “Now you can swallow.” 

Y/N hadn’t seen this bit yet. There had been peeks of it, little hints, but his demeanor had shifted into something she’d been dying to see. Just like in the hallway, she wanted him to take. Take, take, take until she had given it all to him. “Sorry, Sir.” She whispered, not daring to wipe herself clean. The mess was what she deserved, a filthy badge of honor.

A look of disapproval was shot her way as he used her hair as a leash, leading her to the very edge of the bed. “No, no, no, Darling.” He scolded, shaking his head at the honorific. “Where’s that other name that you called me when begging for my load inside you?” His eyebrow raised. “I liked that one for tonight. Let me hear that.” 

“Sorry, Daddy.” she whispered, wincing as he arched her head back. 

“Yeah, y’should be. Pissed me the fuck off.” At that he could see her shrink a little in her form, making him take a moment to check on her. Softening his voice, he caught her attention and gentled his grip for a moment to give her a chance to give her a beat to say something if need be. “You know how to use your colors. Where are you right now?”

“Green.” She nodded. “I don’t want to really upset you though.” 

“You’re not, sweetheart. You’re alright.” He promised, leaning down to kiss her once before his mask slipped back on. “Now I think…. That we should teach you some manners. Can you handle yourself for a moment? I think I’ve got the solution to get that brattiness out of your system.” 

Y/N nodded,  more than willing to hand over quite literally anything the man had to offer. It was pathetic but she found herself vying for even a tiny bit of his approval. The man had control of her body in ways she’d only dreamt of, so of course she’d hand it over on a silver platter. “What do you want from me, Daddy?” She whispered, watching his eyes as they trailed over her with this smirk that slightly unnerved her. 

“I think… I’ve given your cunt a good amount of attention tonight. It’s time for me to play with your ass.” 

—

Y/N was slightly humiliated as she pressed her cheek to the mattress, Harry’s spit still on her chin as her arms extended back so her hands could spread her ass open for him. He wasn’t even paying attention to her yet, instead looking through the bedside table for whatever it is that he was going to use on her. 

Was she nervous? Of course she was. The only play she’d had with her ass had been on her own accord or when Harry had stuck his thumb in, but the excitement heavily outweighed it. If she could choose anyone to be her first in this, it would be him. Sure, he’d bully her a little because he knew that was what she liked, but he’d take care of her. Harry always took care of her, no matter what. Sex or not. He was slowly overtaking her brain and she found that it was exactly how she liked it. 

“Such pretty holes.” His voice broke her out of her train of thought, heat raising on her cheeks as she could feel his gaze. Completely exposed for him to see, she felt the cool air on her most intimate parts as his warm hand ran over her now clean inner thigh. “You’re already wet. Seems you do like a bit of humiliation, don’t you pet?” It was rhetorical, so she kept her mouth shut. “I’ve been thinking about this since the first time I got a peek at this ass. Did y’know that? It’s fucking gorgeous.” There was no hint of shame in his own tone, speaking as if he was in awe of her. “And here you are, spreading yourself open so I can see the puffy little cunt I just abused and that untouched hole. It’s an honor to be the first to have it.”

He was understating it a lot, at least for now. Satisfaction of being the only man to take her ass was something that fueled his ego tremendously, knowing he would be the single person who got to feel how tight and hot it could be around his prick. His hopes of Y/N deciding to choose him instead were his motivation, as unhealthy as it may be. “Here’s our options- and make no fuckin’ mistake, you’re only getting options because its the first time you’re getting fucked here.” In future scenes he would be deciding and she could color out, or talk to him if she didn’t like it. “We can put a plug in you. Let you sit there with it in, but you’ll have to lay with me for a while and let it stretch you more. Or,” He ran a finger over the little hole, smiling when she jolted again. “Daddy can open you up with fingers, place that vibrator you liked so much on your clit and take you when I feel you’re ready. That one may hurt a bit more going in but… you said you like a bit of pain, yeah?” 

The girl did. Pushing her ass back against his finger, she nodded heavily at the second option. “Second, please. Please I want..  I don’t want to wait a long time, Daddy.” 

“Hm… Do you really think you can handle it, Puppy?” He clicked his tongue, moving his finger away from her ass and down to her swollen clit. “I know you’re a bit of a whore, but you know m’not small. It’s not gonna be easy for that tiny hole to take. May have to force it in a little.” It was incredible to him how she reacted to his words so visibly, making it so fucking easy to read her. Maybe they were just in tune with one another, but the little inhale she made clued him in to just how much she liked that. 

“I can do it. I can, it’ll fit. I promise, I can be good and take it. I can take you cock anywhere, I want it so fucking bad, Daddy.” Her voice shook a little, surprising the dominant as he looked down at the body he was meant to ruin. Again, the surge of possessiveness rose to the surface of his skin and bubbled in his blood. Of course she could take it. Of course his little brat would be willing to do anything he wanted, because she was fucking made for him. 

“Alright, pet.” He feigned a resigned sigh. “Don’t disappoint me then. You’re gonna have t’make sure you can take it then.” Excitement was tingling the base of his spine, his cock fully hard again as he left her in her position to go and grab the toy. The Hitachi needed to be plugged into the outlet, which took a moment to do. 

“Daddy?” Her voice called to him, a bit apprehensive. His heart melted a little as he walked to her, toy in hand. 

“It’s alright, Puppy. Didn’t go anywhere too far. Had to get some supplies.” Laying them out beside her, he swatted her hands away from holding herself open. “You’re going to hold this on your pretty clit for me while I open you up. Do you think you can handle that? Or shall I go and get tape so I can keep it there?”

Shivers went up her spine as she imagined it, being forced to cum over and over again with the vibrations coursing through her body. For now, she thought she could handle it, but it was an increasingly enticing idea. “I can do it, Daddy. I’ll be good, I can handle it.”  Harry let out a noise of doubt that only made her huff. “I can! Why did you make that noise?”

A rough spank was laid right to the bottom of her thigh, making her yelp. “Don’t talk back. I asked a simple question, no need for the dramatics.” His voice was stern, a little mean, and she could feel her poor cunt throbbing at the demeanor he had. There had been something so utterly delicious, she had found out, about a man who could fuck like he hated you but worshipped you in all other aspects. He would cover her body in soft kisses and cooling lotion when they were done and hand feed her fruit, but right now it was seeing the other side of the coin.  “Now, I’m going to start. You ask before you cum, and if I tell you to take it away, you do as I say. Am I understood?” 

“Yes.” Y/N sulked, only to be spanked again. “Why?!” The exclamation made his own sigh even louder. 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” Forgetting that had been an accident, but Y/N couldn’t lie and say his strict demeanor didn’t get her going. 

She was relatively calm though her excitement could be felt in her stomach. Her cunt had been fucked thoroughly in the dark hallway, an undeniable excitement lingering in her body when she remembered leaving with her lips swollen and cum dripping down her thigh. The man who thought he owned her had barely given her a second look, while the one who she looked to for comfort had his hand on the small of her back. It still astounded her how much trust she had put into Harry. How quickly they’d clicked, how he was so in tune with her body and her thoughts that sometimes he knew what she was feeling or thinking before she was even aware of it. 

“Fucking brat.” He muttered, placing the toy into her hands and letting her position it accordingly. “Be good for me, or you aren’t getting fucked.”

With that, the toy was switched on by his thumb at the lowest setting, and the fun began. 

Harry’s view was impeccable. It was always a beautiful thing to see a submissive bare themselves to you, but it was even better when that submissive was Y/N. She had already placed so much trust in him, already chosen him a plethora of times and proven her place. The cravings he’d had of her throughout the week had been almost debilitating. Half the time he was tempted to tell her to come over after work and say fuck it all to the weekend arrangement. Have her sit in his foyer with nothing on when he got home, or in his bed. 

Clicking open the cap of the cherry lubricant, he let a bit dribble down and over her hole. It had been something he’d been looking forward to since she had mentioned it to him, but now that he was getting to do it, that he was smearing his fingers to spread the lube over her while he felt the vibrations work through her body, the excitement only kept building. “This is pretty, y’know.” He mumbled. “Made to be fucked. Think all of your holes were. Makes sense that you’re such a filthy whore.” 

Y/N whimpered underneath him, rubbing her face into the duvet. He had considered tying her hair up so she couldn’t move her head, but that was something else he had to look forward to one day. There were so many options for them that his brain was constantly coming up with more plans, new debauchery to put her body through. His cock was scorching under his briefs, his pants tight, but he was far more focused on her. She was doing well so far, but he was waiting for a slip up. There wouldn’t be much grace given until his cock was buried in that tight little hole. 

“If you’d told me that the pretty girl who walked up all shy to be in that cafe would have her cunt dripping from being degraded while I prepared her ass to be fucked, I’d have been shocked. I imagine most people would. You come off as so sweet, demure… Such a good girl. But you’re nothing but a cock thirsty whore.” His hand pulled back to spank the round of her flesh, a mewl leaving her throat as she trembled slightly. “See? Have half a mind to record this. Maybe next time I will. Take a video of your pretty face while my cock splits your ass open, keep it bookmarked on my phone. So many things I want to do to you, my pet, and such little time in the day.” Clicking his tongue, he ran his finger over the pucker of her ass. It clenched around nothing, making him bite back a groan. She was completely and utterly exposed for him, at his mercy. Better yet, this is where she wanted to be. She chose this, came home with him after giving her boyfriend a metaphorical fuck you, and was now handing over her untouched hole with an eagerness he hadn’t seen in many people. 

“If it makes you happy, Daddy.” She said shakily, panting slightly. 

“Exactly. You’d do anything to make Daddy happy.” The dominant crooned, giving little warning as he pushed the tip of her finger into her ass. He could feel her start to shift her hips, so his opposite hand cracked over her hot skin again to cut it out. “Stop being fucking greedy. Barely got a quarter of a finger in there and you’re trying to fuck yourself on it. Pathetic.” 

Y/N apologized wearily, trying her best to keep still as his finger sunk in deeper. The toy’s vibrations against her clit had her feeling on edge already, but the intrusion in her ass was making her eyes water. “Sorry, I’m sorry but it feels good, Daddy. I want more.” 

Harry scoffed in amazement. This little thing had been having vanilla, missionary sex? She’d been subjected to holding back her true wants and for what? She should have always belonged to him. He knew what to do with her. Harry knew how to please her, how to work a body and a mind who craved this sort of stuff. “I know you do, Puppy. Want to thump your little leg and whine for more like a real pet, but you’re going to take whatever the fuck I give you, and you’re going to like it.” 

Of course, because of her begging, he let himself draw it out. 

Two minutes in she had warned she was going to cum, so he demanded she take the toy away for a minute before putting it back on, one setting higher. 5 minutes in and he added another finger, almost sending her into another orgasm. This time he had her hold the toy away for two minutes, repeating the cycle. Fucking the fingers into her tight channel, he could only imagine how good it was going to feel on his cock. 

“M’gonna add the third, and this time I think I’ll be generous and let you cum. You’ve been a good girl.” His voice softened up, putting his clean hand down and switching it to the next setting. “After that we’re going to try.” Harry was plenty aware of the fact that she had taken it like a champ. He’d even prepared her in the past when they spoke of it that he wouldn’t be upset if she needed more to work into it, but Y/N was definitely a go-getter. 

He watched carefully as he slowly worked the third finger in, watching her reactions. He’d been vigilant for her comfort, and while no one took fingers in the arse as a walk in the park the first time, she had done impressively well. Even with the ruined orgasms which he knew pissed her off immensely, she had been so fucking good and he couldn’t wait to reward her for it. “What’s your color, sweet girl?”

“Green- green, so green Daddy.” She slurred. “I’m so close. I-I’m gonna cum so soon.” This was the place he wanted to get her to, the slightly delirious pleasure filled state of mind that would make it all the more easy on her. The lax bodied ease in which she would be able to take his cock with less tenseness. 

“Go on, baby. Make a mess of yourself so you can take my cock in this pretty little hole.”

It seemed like his permission was enough to set her off. He felt her whole body shake, clenching around his fingers with her walls as she let out a wail he hadn’t heard from her before. Thighs trembling, hand accidentally losing grip of the toy and fingers tensing in the air as she backed into his fingers before trying to get away. His unoccupied hand gripped her hip and kept her in place, praising her as his fingers didn’t stop. In and out, he massaged and stretched her open as the orgasm rattled her bones. 

“That’s my best girl. Knew you could do it, little thing.” He cooed, soothing her skin as she stopped trying to escape the feeling. “Poor pussy, s’a lot hm? Daddy made you wait a little bit to cum, but it was worth it.” 

Y/N nodded into the soft fabric, not yet able to find her voice. This time he didn’t scold her, knowing it probably was intense from the mixture of new sensations and edging with quite a powerful toy. Instead he let her work through it, waiting for her to give him a sign. “Puppy? Alright?” 

“M’amazing.” She giggled, slapping her hand around to find the vibrator. “Can I turn it off, please?”

“Course. Go on, pet. It’s just about time for the real fun to start.”

—-

Y/N was boneless under him, tensing only when he slowly pulled fingers out to dribble some more lubricant over her hole. “Need to get it nice n’wet, my pet.” He was careful to describe what he was doing now that they were getting closer to the real thing. “M’gonna get my cock nice and slick too, make it easier to slide in. You’re a snug little thing, need to make sure we get you as comfortable as possible. 

She had no doubt in her mind that he would do that. Harry had never failed in taking care of her, always making sure she had what she needed. Maybe with quite literally anyone else she would be shaking with nervous, but with him it was only a tiny tremor in her hands. His unlubed fingers had stroked her hair away from her face and made her look at him, promising she was okay to continue before he had gotten to this point. His clothes off, his body heat radiating from behind her. “Okay, Daddy.” 

This mindset was newer to her. Everything felt a little fuzzy and a bit like slow motion but she didn’t feel scared. It was comforting. His voice was deep and calm, at least for now, brushing over her skin like a feather. If she could, she would arch into his words like a cat looking for a pet from it’s owner. Perhaps that was because that’s sort of what she felt like. 

“See? When you listen to instructions and don’t act like a brat, you’re so sweet.” He praised. “I’m gonna be a bit meaner to you, but it’s okay because my slutty little puppy quite likes it, I reckon.” 

She did. She did, she did, she did. She liked how pretty his voice was when he degraded her and acted like she was just a hole for him to unload his cum into. If that was what he wanted her to be, she would happily take it all like the overly eager puppy she turned him into. Something about the man and his demeanor, both as a dominant and a man in general, had her wanting to roll over and submit. There were stark differences between how Dom Harry and Regular Harry treated her, but they fell into the most delicious melting pot that she wanted to submerge her whole body in. “I like anything you do to me, Daddy.” She responded like the perfect little pet she was. 

Harry cooed at her, leaning over her body and placing a kiss on her shoulder. “I know. It’s what makes us so fun, isn’t it? I want to do nasty, dirty, horrible things to you… and you want to let me.” 

Y/N keened as she felt the tip of his cock slap a few times over her hole, eyes fluttering shut. It had been a long time in the making, and she wanted to feel him inside of her. In a place no one else had been before. It would be his, in her mind.

“You tell me if it’s too much. Color if you need to. Do you understand me?” 

Y/N nodded, humming to him, but that wasn’t good enough. A tap to her hip made her eyes peel back open to look at him, his eyes narrowed on her. “Words, Y/N. Tell me you understand how to use your colors and you feel safe.” Oooo, the government name.  If this wasn't the first time they were doing this he likely wouldn’t be so heavy on the double and triple checking, but it was a lot for her to take. He was a lot for her to take. 

“I understand, Daddy. I know I’m safe and I know how to use my colors. Please, fuck me now.” 

Harry gave her a warning glare before he exhaled through his nose, muttering about ‘where his good girl had gone’, but took it for now. They were both keyed up and ready to finally do this, and he couldn’t help that. 

It was cool in the room, but she felt hot all over, particularly under the skin, as his cock rubbed over the well lubed hole. 

Her brain’s fuzzy feeling returned as she felt the first bit begin to push in. It wasn’t entirely pleasant, as she knew it probably wouldn’t be, but she wasn’t about to tap out. Taking quick breaths, she was reminded by the dominant to change that. “Deep, slow breaths. You’ll hyperventilate if you keep doing that.” He murmured, rubbing small circles into her hip. 

His eyes were zoned in on the side of her face as he watched her grip the duvet in front of her. Ever so attentive, she knew he would stop if she asked but there was no point in asking that. Even when it hurt a bit, like he was stretching her so far out that she’d split, she didn’t do anything but curl her fingers and toes, making herself breathe through it. Harry was soft with his words, gentle with his touches as she let him sink into her slowly. 

There was no rushing this. Her body felt like molasses the longer he was inside of her,  not bothering to ask how much more was left. She’d done her research before she ever met Harry but even more after the fact about how to get through it. Deep breaths, good prep, communication. All three things she had actively gotten from him. It was now a journey of waiting for her body to stretch and accept. 

“I’m okay.” She whispered, reaching her hand back to his on her hip. “I feel okay. You can keep going.” He had little bits where he would wait a few moments before continuing to push in, but she wanted it over with. It was starting to become more pleasurable as her body adjusted and he was being cautious with her, but she could take it. 

“Okay.” He agreed, flipping over his hand and letting her hold it. 

Harry was trying his best not to take her out of the moment, or to cum himself. It felt stupidly good, the wet heat engulfing him and clenching around as she tried to adjust to the feeling. Was she truly tighter than anyone else he had, or was he just far more attached to her than the rest? It was something he’d need to unpack later while she was asleep in his bed and he could be creepy and look over her, but at the current moment he couldn’t recall another time where he had felt this good being inside of someone else. “M’gonna grind into you a bit, okay?” He warned her, slowly rocking his hips and hearing her gasp at the small movements. 

God, it felt so good. Like a damn vice, her hole gripping him tight as her nails dug into the back of his hand. For a second he was going to ask if she needed a moment, but the broken moan that left her swollen lips clued him into it. It was the complete opposite. “Oh, Puppy… You like how that feels?” 

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, spreading her legs a bit more. “I’m so f-full.” 

The way she said it was going to be ingrained in his wank bank forever. Whiny and shivery, but full of pleasure. Like she couldn’t believe how well she was filled. “You are. Nice n’snug inside this perfect hole. Think I was right about you being made to be fucked. Though… I think it’s mainly by me, yeah? Pretty holes made to be filled by me, cause I fill ‘em so perfectly.” 

“Yeah, Daddy.” She mewled, arching slightly as he pushed in a bit further. “It’s so perfect and I l-love it. It hurts but it feels so good n’I wanna do it again.” 

“Haven’t even finished this one and you’re already planning our next fuck… Really are Daddy’s girl. Addicted to my cock inside of you, jus’ like I’m obsessed with filling you.” She didn’t know just how true those words rang out now. How he had poured over the fact that he liked her far more than he should for an arrangement like this, how he had been so desperate for her that he’d broken his rule -which he never does as a dominant- and made her cum in the bathroom during their lunch because he had wanted to make her feel good so badly that it made him feel borderline insane. 

“I am. I’m Daddy’s girl.” She babbled, pushing back into him. “I can take more. You can- you can fuck me. I can take it, I promise. Green.” The urging made him chuckle to himself because fuck, could she get any more perfect?  Make it any more obvious that she was completely and utterly made for him, saying all the shit he had been hoping she would? 

For once, the dominant couldn’t tell his submissive no. 

He was slow about it at first, listening to her mewl. Filling her up and pulling out shallowly, letting her adjust to the action. The man relished in the feeling of her stretching and clinging to him, greedily trying to keep him inside of her.  It became increasingly hard to keep his composure, but the good news was that Y/N didn’t want him to. 

The slow crescendo gained momentum, the hand she was holding falling down as she tried to move herself onto her hands. While he had been trying to keep it slower for her, it seemed his submissive craved more- fucking herself back onto him with the sweetest whines being punched out of her as she did so. The gall, the audacity of the girl had him laughing under his breath- but he wasn’t going to let it go.

His hand gripped her hair, swiftly pulling it around his fist like a leash and pulling her up onto her knees. “If you want more, you’ll take it like this.” It was reminiscent of their other time he loved to look back on, but his prick was filling a different hole. Teeth descended onto her neck as he picked up the pace, biting down as she squealed his honorific into the air. “Oh, what? Is it too deep? Too much? You want to get greedy and now it’s too much for that slutty hole?” He cooed, the condescending tone making her shiver. “That’s too fucking bad then. You know what to say to get me to stop.” Unless she uttered that word, he knew she could take it. 

Y/N felt lightheaded in the best way. This new sort of pleasure had her dripping all over her thighs, her clit pulsing between her legs as he fucked into her ass. Pounded it, really, in a way she had only dreamed about. Pinpricks on her scalp from the grip on her hair, involuntary noises being punched out of her lungs from the pressure, she was feeling her eyes lull with each thrust. It was only with him, she didn’t have to think about anything but how good she felt. How to please him, how to piss him off, how he would make her cum. The most primal of urges being met, all the while he was focused on her. There was no thought of work infiltrating his brain, or sports, or the distraction of texts or pulling out mid stroke for a phone call- no. In their intimate moments, Harry was just as tuned into her as she was, him. 

“You fuck me so good.” Somewhere along the line, those thoughts had her tearing up. This was the first partner in which she had felt the reciprocated want, the attention she felt she deserved being laid down onto her. Her eyes stung but there was no way to stop it as the tears began to dribble down her cheeks. Something like an emotional release starting as the physical pleasure began to bubble up in her stomach, his hand winding around to the front to circle her slippery clit. “Don’t stop, Daddy. Don’t stop, please don’t ever stop fucking me.” 

The words probably held more weight than she realized, her shuddering voice making him groan into her neck. “As long as you want me, I’ll keep going.” His voice was deep with the pleasure, hoarse as he promised her he wouldn’t stop. “You feel so good, baby. I’ll give you whatever you need. Don’t ever worry.” turning her head, his tongue licked over the salty tear that had fallen down her cheek. “Your holes are mine, aren’t they? Every single one. No one else’s. Only for Daddy to fuck. Took this ass n’now it’s mine.” He himself was losing it a bit at her declaration, finding himself close. “My perfect slut.”

The intensity was high but neither of them wanted to stop. Unspoken words thick in the air as the pleasure filled both of their bodies, leading them towards their ends sooner than they’d want. It was when his fingers filled her pussy and his the heel of his palm smacked against her clit as he fucked her in both holes that she new she couldn’t stop her upcoming orgasm. 

“Yeah- uh-huh, just use me. I’ll be good, I’ll be so, so good for you Daddy. They’re yours, I’m yours. I’m yours, I promise- Oh, fuck.” She sobbed, feeling his fingers quicken on her clit. “I need to cum. I need to cum, Please, please let me. You can keep fucking me, Jus’ let me cum. I’m so good, I’m your good little slut.”

“Y-yeah.” His mouth fell open and the moan was loud and slightly shaky.  “Cum for me. Cum for me, pretty fucking girl, I’m gonna cum in you. Let go, It’s okay- Give it t’me. Give it.” He demanded, his mouth shadowing her own as they inhaled each other’s pants. They were glistening and sticky with sweat, sloppy on the thighs, lips swollen and marked up in the most animalistic way and they’d never been more in tune with their bodies- or each other. 

Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she got permission, his pulsing fingers getting one specific spot inside of her and his cock filling her ass over and over again sending her over the edge. White flashed her vision as she shuddered in his arms, a unfamiliar scream leaving her throat. Gushing around his fingers, she squirted a little stream of liquid down his hand. Both holes clenching, her body unsure if she should push herself closer or pull away, she sobbed out his name. “Harry- Harry, oh my fuck-” 

The combination of many things had led to his own orgasm, but it was particularly his real name that had him pushed to his limits. His own pathetic moan of hers followed, pulling her mouth to his own as he kissed her messily. Each pulse of his balls added another stream of cum inside of her, thighs twitching as he felt some of his strength draining along with his cock. He was in slight disbelief how intense he felt it, his toes feeling damn near numb as he tried to snap back into caretaker mode as he unwound his hand from her hair and slowly leaned her down to lay on the bed. 

“Oh, baby…” He whispered, peppering kisses to her cheeks. “Fuck, sweet girl… what the fuck are you doin’ to me?” A laugh of disbelief left his swollen lips, nudging his nose against hers. Y/N let out a weak noise of acknowledgement, melting right into the bed as he laid on top of her. Doing his best to keep his weight from squishing her, he tried to gain some composure with deep breathing. He’d fallen into a different headspace there, and it had been quite a while since he had done it. Forever, really, for that certain brand of it. It wasn’t just a dominant headspace, but one that felt something for the girl he was inside of. More than what was allowed. At this point though, he didn’t particularly care about the logistics of it. 

There was no way he wasn’t going to make this girl his. Ethics be damned. 

“Angel? Y’alright?” He whispered, getting a grunt from her. “Yeah? I’m gonna have to pull out in a few seconds so I can get the stuff to take care of you. I’ll be slow, and come right back.” It wasn’t like he wanted to go anywhere from her, If he had it his way he’d be inside of her 24/7. But he needed to take proper care of his girl, and aftercare was something he simply wouldn’t skip. 

“No.” She whimpered. “Don’t want you t’go.” The words were muffled together, like her lips weren't working that well, and it made the man smile. She was well and truly fucked out. This time, though, it was mutual. 

“I have to, sweetheart. Don’t want you laying in all this filth. Sticky, aren’t you?” He knew he was. It was worse for her, considering she had been double stuffed with his cum today. Internally, he was very happy about that.

“A little.” She huffed, turning her head and eyeing him. “I don’t wanna move. I don’t think I’ve got bones, Daddy.” The whisper made him smile, knowing that she was still in that space. He’d work her out of it, make sure she was all clean and boneless while feeling safe. 

“You’ve got bones, love. Daddy jus’ fucked you pretty good.” He smoothed the sweaty strands of hair from her face. “Do you need something before I go n’grab the stuff to make you feel like you’ve got bones again?” 

Her face turned a little more, lips puckering out. “Kissy, please.” 

When he’d look back at it later, he would pinpoint that as the moment all the defenses around his heart broke. There was no more denying it. She had him. Hook, line and sinker.  

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father’s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[allur1ngs]

✮ enflame ✮

TW: bada being too fine for her own good, a little bit of possessive!bada, lots of protective!bada, cold!bada (to anyone who isn't you), super brief mentions of violence, bada having beef w your bodyguard, pushy men, btw the picture to the farthest right is purely for aesthetics and not meant to represent reader’s skin tone or body type!!

SUMMARY: you manage to tear bada away from her work for an evening of shopping, where the soft spot she has for you is unveiled.

part iii. bloody knuckles

WC: 2.9k

A/N: read this for more background on this au. this is not exactly a part two to the headcanons but i got this idea out of nowhere so yeahhh

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada's actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

From the moment Bada arose from her slumber, she sensed that her day would be draining. Usually, waking up before the sun had the chance to peak above the horizon wasn't difficult for her—so many years of doing so had made sleep fatigue all too familiar. However, last night, she stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning, something she typically tried to avoid.

So when her body starts to naturally wake up only a few hours later, she groans loudly into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally cursing her past self for staying up so late.

Although all she wants is to stay in bed more than anything, she forces herself to rise from her plush king-sized bed and tosses the warm sheets aside.

Briefly, she turns around to gaze at the spot where she had just been lying when a thought strikes her. You must be asleep in your own bedroom. Curled up in a similar, large bed, a pocket of heat cradling your figure while your chest slowly rises and falls. Your eyes must be tightly shut, eyelashes fluttering as you fight to remain asleep despite the rays of sunlight that will soon begin to peek through your curtains. Your soft lips must be pursed together. Your lips...

Bada wishes you both shared the same bed. She wishes she hadn't been so courteous to buy you a new bed, comfortable sheets, and all the amenities you needed when you first arrived. She wishes instead that you were lying in her bed. She wishes she could wrap her arms around you, and pull you close whilst you slept. She wishes she could foster a beautiful heat between your two bodies. She wishes she could run her fingers across your skin--

Bada shakes her head, sighs loudly, and turns away sharply from her bed. She rubs her eyes as she makes her way over to her dresser, mumbling berating words under her breath for thinking of you in such a way. It's not appropriate and beyond that, those types of thoughts lead to feelings, which she does not--cannot have for you.

Bada's day seems to worsen after dressing herself in her usual attire, a freshly ironed black suit and slacks. The fabric touches her uncomfortably, and still feeling the edges of sleep mar her vision, everything is suddenly bothering her.

But the final nail in the coffin is when Lusher, one of Bebe's most trusted mafia members, walks into her office hours later, carrying a tray of breakfast.

Immediately looking up from the papers in front of her, Bada expects to see your lovely face greet her, but is met with Lusher's cheeky expression instead. She tries not to display her palpable disappointment, but concealing her feelings has never quite been her strong suit. Her mother had told her this many times when she was younger.

"Don't jump out of your seat in excitement, now." Lusher jokes, placing the breakfast tray on the desk.

Bada's lips tighten into a firm, thin line as she stares down at the food, feeling her hunger quickly escape her. "Thanks."

"I know I'm not who you wanted to see, but I can't lie, your disappointment hurts me." Lusher moves a hand to her chest, acting like she'd been wounded.

Bada sighs, shaking her head. "Why isn't she here this morning?"

"Still in bed, apparently." Lusher clasps her hands behind her back. "We found her asleep on the couches late last night. She must have been waiting for you to leave your office so she could wish you a good night, but ended up falling asleep out of exhaustion."

The butterflies that dance in Bada's stomach internally, are a stark contrast to the disapproving expression she wears externally. "I've told her many times not to wait up for me. It's not healthy to be staying up so late."

Lusher sighs dramatically. "You're telling me. How many times have I asked you to head to bed earlier?"

"That's different." Bada denies while picking up her golden ink pen and continuing to write. "I have work to do. Waiting so late into the morning just to wish me a good night is..."

"Sweet? Incredibly kind, and definitely a testament to how endearing your fiancée is?"

Bada clicks her tongue in annoyance. "What are you still doing here? Don't you have something better to do than bothering me?"

"You know there's nothing I like more than bothering you." Lusher shoots back with a sly smile.

Bada tried to continue working, she really did. She attempted to push through filling out papers, even though her wrist was screaming at her to take a break. However, come midday, she was already fed up.

Ruffling her hair and groaning loudly, Bada stands up from her table, the chair she'd been sitting out whining loudly against the floor. She wastes no time in shuffling to the door, grabbing the handle, and pulling it open.

Right when she does, she catches a flash of your figure walking down the hall toward her, your bodyguard only a few paces behind you. As her gaze connected with yours, she felt as if the world transformed, shifting from monochrome sketches to vibrant watercolor paintings

"Oh." You speak first, an easy smile finding your lips. "Good afternoon, Bada."

"Good afternoon." She greets back, trying her damnedest not to sound overjoyed at your presence. "Were you coming to see me?"

"I was." You nod. "I just wanted to let you know I'm planning on going to the mall."

"Are you now?" Bada says absentmindedly, her hand coming up to clutch at her tie and loosen it. The fabric suddenly feels much too tight around her neck.

"Yes..." You trail off, your eyes taking in how Bada's pale and lithe fingers grab at her tie and jostle it around, making it dangle a bit messily across her collarbones. Such a simple action should not be so attractive, no--it shouldn't. It's really ridiculous how easy it is for your fiancée to be so naturally alluring.

"That sounds nice." She hums. "Are you looking to buy something in particular?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "I'm really just going to look around, and not stay at home all day."

Home. Bada's heart warms at you calling the mansion you both reside in your home. Although it technically is, it's different for you to perceive it as such. It means you feel comfortable here, with her--living with her--

"You should come with me." Your voice brings Bada out of her stupor, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Her mouth opens and closes dumbly, a clear look of shock painted across her face. She tries to quickly gather her bearings, half-heartedly muttering out, "I--I wish I could, but I have a lot of work to do--"

"Bada, all you do is work," you remark, crossing your arms over your chest. She has to force herself not to think about how cute you look doing so. "You deserve to have some downtime. Even if it is only for a few hours."

She stands there, still a bit shell-shocked, staring at you before her eyes shift to the figure behind you, finding your bodyguard, who is trying very hard to conceal her amused smile behind a shaky hand.

Bada's gaze turns icy as she eyes down your bodyguard, prompting the subordinate to immediately turn away and dispel her smile. "All right. I'll come with you."

"Wait, really?" You awe, your eyes going wide and your smile growing. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"Well, you're right. I do need a break. At the rate I'm working at now, I'll never do anything productive by the end of the day." Bada admits with a tired smile. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yes." You begin to nod, but your smile slowly turns into a frown. "But you should change into different clothing."

For the second time that day, Bada is left surprised by your boldness. "Change? Why?"

"Don't you want to wear something other than a suit for once?" You ask innocently. "It seems... stuffy to be in it all day."

"Stuffy." She laughs breathily. "I guess you're right." Bada looks between you and your bodyguard. "Will you be all right to wait for me?"

"Of course." You smile.

"Great." She smiles back.

When Bada comes back, she isn't wearing her usual black suit. And although you'd been the one to suggest it, you're not quite ready for how amazing she looks in casual clothing.

A black leather jacket is draped over her shoulders, with slick white lines running down the sleeves and across the chest. She has paired the jacket with matching black leather pants and a black shirt.

In that moment, you want to scream at whatever higher power exists for making your fiancée so unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to act normal around her when her mere presence makes you hot below the collar?

Well, despite your internal struggles you give her a compliment before you're off to the mall, hopping into a sleek black sports car and speed away.

Your first destination in the large mall is a relatively luxurious clothing store. You can't lie; you had wanted to go into the store since you passed it on one of your trips to the mall without Bada, but you were too intimidated to enter. However, now, with her by your side, you feel much more comfortable stepping into the expensive store.

Approaching the door, your bodyguard begins to step forward, about to open the door for you like she always does, but Bada is quicker. She grabs onto the handle and opens the door, stepping aside to make room for you to walk in.

You look at her and smile while mumbling a soft thank you, to which she gives you a small smile back and nods. Your bodyguard begins to walk in after you, but again Bada is faster and enters the store, letting the door swing closed behind her. It almost hits your bodyguard in the face, making her flinch back and sigh.

"Keep a look out from there," Bada tells her sternly through the glass doors.

"Yes, Boss," your bodyguard begrudgingly mumbles back, understanding that this is payback for teasing your fiancée earlier.

Bada turns back around, her eyes easily finding you in the small crowd of people. You're looking around the store with wide eyes, a smile gracing your lips as you observe the embellished clothing around you. She smiles fondly to herself, finding every expression of yours much too cute for your own good.

However, before she can make her way to you, the familiar sound of a voice greets her from behind. Turning around, she finds In-Su, one of her business partners and the owner of the clothing store. Greeting him back, an air of professionalism immediately envelops her as she begins to engage in conversation with him

Meanwhile, you're in your own personal heaven. The clothing you've been browsing is exactly your style, and despite the high prices, you know you can afford it all, thanks to the black credit card Bada had gifted you.

A few minutes later, your hands are already starting to get full as you reach to pull another article of clothing from the rack when you suddenly feel a firm force push into your side, causing you to lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. making you lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. Thankfully, you manage to steady yourself before you do, huffing while turning to your right to see what--or more accurately who--had bumped into you.

"Excuse me." A well-dressed man stands a few feet away from you, his lips forming a snobbish frown.

Despite your irritation, you instinctively apologize. "Oh, sorry--"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, eyeing you up and down. "You should be careful where you stand."

Internally, you scoff at the man, but externally, you only mumble another half-hearted apology before turning away and walking down another aisle.

"Have I seen you before?" The man follows after you.

"I don't think so." You answer back flatly, trying to ignore him and busy yourself by flipping through pairs of jackets.

"I swear I've seen you before. I never forget the face of a beautiful woman."

This time, you're unable to control your expression and outwardly cringe. Is this random man who bumped into you flirting with you right now? After acting so rude?

You say nothing to him in response, choosing to completely ignore him instead.

"You know, when someone compliments you, it's common courtesy to say thank you."

Now you're starting to get increasingly anxious. You don't feel brave enough to confront the man, but he doesn't seem to understand that you're not interested and clearly uncomfortable with his advances.

Taking your silence in offense, the man scowls before grabbing your wrist rather roughly, making you drop all the clothing you'd been holding, and twists you around to face him.

You gasp at his painful hold, attempting to break away from him but unable to due to the sheer strength of his grip. "Let me--" you begin, but the words die in your mouth upon seeing someone standing behind him.

The man, who had been staring you down, notices the shift in your expression and suddenly becomes aware of a very strong presence behind him. He turns around, still gripping your wrist, and comes face to face with a scarily calm Bada Lee.

"Do you need something?" He snaps at her dumbly.

Bada stares down at him with steely eyes, her expression so devoid of emotion you're almost terrified for him. "I believe I should be asking you that question. Is there a reason why you're touching my fiancée?"

The man looks between you and Bada, scoffing disapprovingly. "Tch, she didn't tell me she was engaged."

"Even if she wasn't, in what world would it be appropriate to touch a woman who clearly isn't interested in your pathetic advances like that?" She asks rhetorically, her voice rising with every syllable. Clearly, her anger was getting to her.

The man grits his teeth, feeling his ego bruise because not only is Bada embarrassing him, but she's also easily intimidating him with her presence. "Hey, just who do you think you are?" He raises his voice to match hers.

"I think the real question is," Bada takes a step closer, leaving hardly any space between her and him, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

In that moment, the man's entire demeanor shifts. He turns to look around the store, finding every shopper, worker, and even the store owner staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes set into firm glares. Some of them have their hands in their pockets or are grabbing something hidden next to them. His face pales, and looking back at Bada, her face starts to become familiar. He hadn't recognized her out of her normal formal attire, but now--

He gulps, quickly letting go of your wrist like your skin burned him and steps away from you both, his posture shrinking. He starts to make his way toward the exit, attempting to ignore the stares of everyone in the store but is stopped before he can make it out.

"And where do you think you're going?" Bada's hardened voice echoes through the store, making the man freeze in his spot, his entire body going rigid.

Bada's footsteps slowly approach him from behind again and stop just shy of him.

"You made her drop her clothing."

The man turns around, avoiding eye contact with Bada and finding your eyes instead. He's about to mumble an apology when she speaks up again.

"Pick it up." She demands flatly.

The man stays still in his spot, shocked and embarrassed. But clearly, he didn't move fast enough for Bada's liking, because he feels himself get shoved in your direction, almost falling onto his face.

"Do it. Now." She says, her voice bordering on yelling.

Immediately, the man throws himself onto the floor, scrambling to pick up every article of clothing he made you drop. He does so as quickly as possible, then stands up, about to pass you the clothing, when he feels Bada's unwavering gaze bore into him and decides it's in his best interest not to touch you anymore, so he carefully drapes the clothes across your arms.

He turns back to face Bada, approaching her with a cold sweat.

"Hold on." She stops him yet again. "You bumped into her, didn't you?"

"I--" He tries to explain himself but is cut off.

"Apologize."

This time, the man wastes no time in fulfilling her demands. He turns to you, apologizing profusely while shaking like a leaf. You're unable to even think about accepting his apologies before he practically runs to the store doors, throws them open, trying to leave the mall. But as always, Bada is ten steps ahead.

She nods at your bodyguard, who grabs onto the man's suit with little effort, turns him around, and punches him straight in the gut.

Bada then steps in front of you, blocking you from seeing what your bodyguard is doing to the man. Her hands grab the clothing from your arms, relieving you of their weight before slinging them across her right shoulder. She then gently holds your wrist up to her eyes, the ice behind them shifting to a warm and caring glow.

"Does it hurt?" She asks softly.

You feel your body turn to mush at the attention she gives you. "A little."

Bada sighs, leans in, and places her soft lips against your wrist, kissing it with a reverence and sweetness everyone besides you is surprised to see.

It's clear to everyone that the ice around Bada's heart melts only for you.

enflame: to excite to excessive or uncontrollable action or feeling

[eightball-chronicles]

Cheering Up Daisuke!

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inspired by some absolutely delicious art by @al1en-invasi0n !!! check em out theyre so yummy :3

this MIGHT be my first time writing a tk fic (it is) so please don't bully me gangalang ,,, criticism is accepted just be nice to me [cry] also was writen on laptop so if the formats weird i apologize oops ...

lee!daisuke, ler!curly (NON SHIP !!!!!)

tw / cw : tks, starts off a wee bit sad, mention of jeopardy (j*mmy)

word count : 3151 under the cut

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"Get it through your goddamn skull! That vent is strictly off limits! Fully fuckin' collapsed inside!" 

It was safe to say that Swansea was pissed. Daisuke, just released from the emergency foam he'd accidentally triggered, was awkwardly shuffling in place as he received yet another earful from his mentor. He messed up, sure, but really? His legs hurt already from being trapped not too long ago, he didn't want his head to follow suit.  

"You looking to get impaled, electrocuted, and cooked?!" Swansea's usual scowl was far more intense than usual; it was obvious to Curly, at least. As captain, he knew he'd have to intervene soon. Before he could, however, Daisuke spoke out: 

"Yeah, but like, you can't fit in there to fix it, right? So I can totally handle it." 

An uncomfortable silence filled the utility room. the three men stood in as the younger's words marinated. Swansea's eye twitched, clearly agitated. Curly really needed to say something - if he doesn't, who knows what Swansea would- 

"Captain." 

He stiffened slightly, worried what the older man was planning.  Swansea extended his hand out to the captain, demanding the axe. Curly saw Daisuke twiddling his fingers from the corner of his eye. Both their heads moved in unison with Swansea's arm. "Swansea," Curly started, handing the mechanic the axe, "this could've damaged the pods. You can't let something like this happen again." 

"Yeah, yeah...I got it." Swansea took the axe and swung it to rest on his shoulder. "Loud and clear." Slightly less tense than before, Curly placed his hand on his hip. "Keep the axe until you've cleaned this all up, yeah?" Swansea nodded with a huff, shifting his attention to his intern. Who was still fidgeting his hands. He looked up shyly as he spoke: "It's ok to be big, boss! "My gramps was super huge! And he lived until, like, 60!" 

Oh shit. 

Curly nervously looked to Swansea, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Daisuke, unaware of the weight of his words, smiled softly. Curly's attention shifted when he noticed Jimmy standing by the utility room door. He saw it as a reason to excuse himself from the heavy tension between the two men before him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Curly swiftly made his way towards his co-pilot. Daisuke, finally noticing Swansea's mood, silently cursed at his captain for abandoning him. And as soon as he did... 

Swansea went off. Yelling all sorts of nonsense about safety and protocol that Daisuke didn't care to hear for the thirteenth time that week. Instead, trying to focus his attention on the conversation taking place behind his mentor. Unfortunately, he found it to be quite difficult. Something about being sane, psych evals, Anya - what was that about cartoon horses? 

Just as the two men started to walk off, Swansea yelled louder, noticing his intern not listening. This brought a new wave of lecturing, and Daisuke was *not* having it. He didn't even care if Swansea said the winning lottery numbers, he just wanted him to shut up. Much to his dismay, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon... 

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Curly just sent Jimmy away after receiving a letter from the higherups. He reread its contents again, confirming what it said as if he had somehow misread the whole thing. Pony Express is shutting down? How could this happen? How will he tell the crew? Although instructed to not break the news until later, Curly was unsure if he could do that. Sighing heavily, the captain decided to get some fresh air. Well, not exactly - just whatever was breathable outside the weighty air of the cockpit. 

Ready to open the door at the end of the hallway, Curly was stopped by Swansea's presence behind it. He noticed something off immediately; his familiar frown replaced with a more concerned expression. Curly questioned it without a second thought, to which Swansea replied: "It's about Daisuke. After you left, I kind of went off. I...I think I went too hard on him. I've lectured him a bunch of times before, but he seemed more down this time." 

"Oh? How so?" Curly asked, putting a hand to his chin. Swansea shifted his weight before continuing: "After I run my mouth to him, he usually puts on this dramatic act and pouts when I dismiss him to go somewhere else. This time seemed different. I don't know how to explain it, but I think I hurt the kid." 

Swansea ended his explanation with a deep sigh as he lowered his head; he clearly felt guilty, and Curly understood as much. "Have you tried talking to him?" 

"I'm not too sure how thrilled he'd be to see me right now. I don't wanna scare the poor thing any more than I already have.  Plus, I don't know where he's at." 

Curly nodded before Swansea spoke up again. "Do you think you can talk to him?" The captain thought for a brief moment before reaching out to the worried man, patting his shoulder. "Of course I can. I'll go look for him and cheer him up, promise! You can go rest if you'd like, just make sure the foam in utility gets cleared up later, yeah?" 

To this, Swansea relaxed, wearing an uncommon smile. He nodded as he thanked Curly and walked off. The now determined captain headed off with a mission in mind; he was going to get Daisuke to smile, no matter the cost. 

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If you disregard the sobs, the cargo room was quiet. The vast space left a slight echo on Daisuke's cries. He sat on the stairs, head between his knees and arms around his shins. His mind ran as fast as the ship he resided on. Why was Swansea so much angrier than usual? He was just trying to help; he was his intern after all. Then again, he practically called him fat and kinda sorta maybe implied he would die at 60... 

Damn, why would he say that? 

At this point, Daisuke's thoughts were racing a million miles a minute. The grip on his pants tightened as he cried. God, he's a screwup. No wonder his parents sent him away on this internship. He was annoying at home, and he's annoying in space. Will he ever learn to keep his mouth shut? He was so lost in his head that he didn't hear the door open behind him, or the footsteps that followed it. 

"Daisuke?" 

Said boy jumped a foot as he frantically wiped his eyes. He turned to face the source of the voice, trying to put on an act and forced a smile. But that smile shook, and Curly noticed. "Hey, captain! What's up?"  

"I should be asking you that. Are you ok?" 

Daisuke flinched slightly, his fake smile faltered as his shoulders began to tremble again. "I...I-I just...Swansea..." He didn't get anything else out after that, nothing that was intelligible, at least. He broke down again, turning around and placed his head back on his knees. Curly frowned as he made his way to Daisuke. He sat to his left on the stairs, rubbing the boy's back as he tried to soothe him. He let him cry it out until he was left only sniffling. Only then did he decide to speak out. "C'mon Daisuke, talk to me. Swansea found me earlier and said you were down. What's wrong?" 

He let out a small whimper upon hearing his mentor's name. Shakily, he started: "I-I don't know, I should've just listened to him. I just wanted to help! B-but I screwed up...I-I could've gotten myself seriously hurt, o-or killed, or broken the pods! Those are like, s-super important! Even I know that, yet still acted c-carelessly. N-not only that, I totally offended S-Swansea! H-he probably hates m-me, I c-can't believe I said that...I'm a t-total f-failure, I-" He was getting more panicked as he spoke, voice as shaky as ever. Curly cut him off as he stopped rubbing his back and pulled the boy to him by his waist. Daisuke yelped slightly at the sudden change of contact, yet melted into the side hug.  

"Kid," Curly started, "do you know why Swansea talked to me?" He felt a slight head shake on his shoulder. "Because he was worried for you, Daisuke. He told me he went too hard on you; that he feels bad he might have hurt you. I've never seen a more guilty face on him. And trust me when I say that means a lot. I've worked with him for I don't even know how long. He didn't mean to - Daisuke?" 

His speech was cut when he heard small chortles from the boy in his arm. Curly glanced down, seeing his shoulders tremble once more, differently this time. "Did I...say something funny?" he asked, a confused smile on his face. Daisuke shook his head again, a hand over his mouth. "Nohoho, it's just - your hahand-" Curly's gaze shifted to where his hand resided on the intern's side; it had started subconsciously rubbing him there as it was on Daisuke's back. "What about my hand? Are you hurt here? Oh no, I'm so sor-" 

"No! No, it's not that. I'm not hurt." 

"Oh? Then what is it?" 

Daisuke felt his face heat up. Thank god Curly couldn't see his face. He shifted slightly, unsure how to answer. "I just - it's not - you didn't - uh..." He peeked up to the captain as he trailed off, where he was met with a genuinely concerned face. "I'm afraid I don't follow, you know you can tell me anything, ri-" 

"It just tickled is all..." He mumbled. 

"Come again?" 

With a whine, Daisuke buried his face further into his hand, leaning more onto Curly's shoulder. No matter how many times asked, he didn't say more. Curly, in attempt to get his attention, pinched the boy where his hand still laid; on his waist. What he didn't expect, however, was for Daisuke to chirp at the touch. Now it was Cury's turn to get his mind thinking. Which didn't last long, however, as Daisuke's squeaky voice spoke up: 

"IT TICKLED ALRIGHT?!" 

If he wasn't blushing before, he sure was now. Curly saw the back of Daisuke's neck turn bright pink. Realization struck him shortly after, where a mischievous grin appeared. To confirm the suspicion, Curly pinched his side again, earning another bird-like sound. Oh, he struck gold. 

"Daisuke...are you-" 

"Shut up!" 

Daisuke's neck was now a deep red, his face buried deep in his palms while his fingers grabbed at his hair. His captain walked in on him crying, then he continued to cry *on* his captain, and now this?! Could this be any more embarrassing?! Well, yes, it could. Curly pinched his side for a fourth time. Daisuke whipped his head towards him only to be met with a grin covering half of the blonde's face. "Oh, Daisuke...that isn't a very nice way to speak to your captain now, is it?" 

Fuck. He's cooked. 

"W-w-wait, I-I didn't me-EEHEHEAA!" 

Daisuke was interrupted by his own squeal as Curly opted for pinching at his waist repeatedly rather than in intervals. He instinctively curled in on himself; arms wrapped around his torso while he brought his knees to his chest. While trying to twist away from the offending hand, Daisuke unintentionally leaned into Curly, who went in with his other hand to pinch at the giggling boy's other side. 

He squealed again from the tickly assault suddenly appearing elsewhere. Daisuke started jumping left and right, trying to escape from one hand only to be attacked by the other. Curly switched to poking before long, as this made the younger let out soft snorts as he weakly kicked his legs. The captain chuckled under Daisuke's evergrowing laughter, finding his reactions amusing. "I just cannot believe you told me to shut up. I'm wounded, Daisuke, and your words are the blade. How could you say such a thing?!"  

Said boy could only whine in response, "I dihihidn't mehehean toooooo! C'mohohon cahaptahahahain!"  

"Oh really? And how can I be sure of that, hm?" 

"Plehehehease! I prohohomise! I'm sohohorry, I'm sorryyyyy!" 

"Hmmmm...let me think." Curly pondered dramatically *way* longer than needed as he continued to poke at the intern's torso. Daisuke continued to squeak and giggle as he 'spaced out thinking.' Suddenly, the blonde perked up, "Alright, I've thought about it! I'm not stopping~" He then proceeded to move both his hands to Daisuke's hips, massaging the bone tenderly. 

The reaction was instant. The brunette shot his arms down, body spasming on impact. Grabbing Curly's wrists, Daisuke cackled loudly, unable to control the volume of his voice. His legs now fully kicking out as he spoke, "AAAAAHAHAHA! SHIHIHIT! GOHOD DAMN IT CUHUHURLY STAHAHAHAP!" To this, he gasped loudly; he would've acted out clutching his pearls had his hands not been occupied. "And just who do you think you are?! Talking to me like this...you're awfully ballsy for someone in your position." 

Daisuke could only answer in giggly babbles, unable to get any coherent words out as his hip bones got circles drilled into them. Curly only clicked his tongue in mock annoyance and grabbed Daisuke's left arm with his right, lifting it up. In once swift motion, he left the boy more vulnerable than ever. He gave him a break during this - he didn't want to kill the kid. Taking in big gulps of air, Daisuke had yet to notice the position of his arm. Only when he tried to rub his eyes did he glance up. He knew what was coming. 

Panicked, he locked eyes with his captor, smile wide and bright as his face matched his complimentary floral shirt. "C'mohohon captain! Y-you knohow I didn't mean ihit right? Rihight! S-so let's juhuhust forget this ever happehened!" Daisuke tried to reason with him, but Curly was having none of it. On the contrary, he was having too much fun. "Nuh uh, kid. You've gotta learn how to speak to your superiors. Tsk, young ones these days thinking they're all that. Even though you crumble the second I do...*this*." 

As he finished, his free hand quickly snaked behind Daisuke, going straight to his ribs. He pinched, squeezed, poked; anything to get the brunette to squeal. And squeal he did; his bubbly laughter echoed in the ample space of the cargo room. He tried to grab Curly's hand with his free one, but the captain kept dodging, scratching a new rib in the process. He chuckled as he felt weak tugging on the arm he held up. " 

"Plehehehease, I'm sohorry! I sweahahahar! I-I mehehean it!" 

"Oh, are you now? And how can I believe that?" 

Daisuke groaned between giggles before he spoke, "I prohohomise! I promihihise I'm sohorry!" 

Curly lifted an eyebrow at the intern, his bright smile showing off the gap between his front teeth. The sight brought his own smile to grow in size. "Okay, let's say I believe you then. You're forgiven, bud." 

"Thehen why aren't yohohou stohohohoping?!" 

He chuckled at the naivety shown before him, shifting so he faced the boy before he answered, "Did you forget why I came here in the first place?" Daisuke whined in response, brain short circuiting as he felt fingers drilling into his torso, letting out a scream at his uppermost rib was attacked. "Oh c'mohohohohOHAHAH -  CURLY! Quit ihihit! That tickles!" 

Curly shook his head slightly, seeing the intern's blush deepen upon saying the word. "Sorry, Daisuke. Swansea said you were being gloomy earlier. We can't have that now, can we?" Said boy threw his head back as Curly formed a vibrating claw against the space between his highest rib and armpit. He snorted loudly from the sensation, barely able to form coherent words. "OKAHAY, OKAY! I'LL CHEHEHEHER UHUP! PROMISE! I PROHOMIHIHISE!" Daisuke ended his plea with a wheeze, laughter getting more strained. Curly saw this as a sign to wrap things up, slowing his fingers until the tickling came to a full stop. He let go of the boy's hand, where it fell to his side as he curled into himself next to his captain.  

Curly once again rubbed the younger's back, hoping he didn't go too far as he giggled between gasps of air. Daisuke held his sides, still feeling the tingly sensation on his body. Once his breathing calmed down a bit, Curly decided to speak up, "Are you alright? I didn't do too much, right?" He received a head shake in return; the redness on the boy's neck showed he was too flustered to speak. 

"You really shouldn't be too hard on yourself, you know? Swansea cares for you. He doesn't show it much, but he really does. Sure, he gets mad sometimes, but that's just who he is. Like I said earlier, he's the one who came to me about you; he was worried sick!" Daisuke glanced up at Curly's speech, eyes widened slightly with curiosity. "To tell you the truth," the blonde continued, "his own kids moved out a while ago. I think he misses them; not like he'd ever admit that, though. I have a suspicion that you remind him of them. Gets his dad-gears turning. His fatherly instincts probably kicked in earlier when you set off the foam. Do you get what I'm trying to say?" 

Daisuke nodded his head, a tiny nervous smile on his face as he took in the confession. Did Swansea really feel that way? "Do you really think that's true?" Curly's gaze met his, flashing him a proud grin; "I know it's true! Don't tell him I said anything, though. He'd deny it to the moon and back." To this Daisuke breathed a sigh of relief, letting a small chuckle slip. He sat up from his ball-like position to fully face Curly, returning the smile. "Thanks, captain!" 

The captain felt his heart slightly melt at the sight of the joyous boy. Wrapping his arm around him for another side hug, rustling his hair with his other hand. "No worries! I'll always be here. As long as you keep that attitude at bay. Don't think I won't put you in check, young man." Curly poked his side as he finished, earning one last squeak from the previously giggly intern. Daisuke jumped out of the captain's arms before he could try anything again, dramatically taking a defensive stance. He winked in his silly pose. "No promises~" he sang as he walked backwards to the door. It automatically opened, causing him to turn around and jump slightly. Curly stifled a laugh as Daisuke turned around, face slightly dusted pink. He stormed off, grumbling as he left the cargo room for good. Curly giggled to himself, still sat on the stairs, reflecting on his crew and each of their colorful personalities. 

Yup, he was glad to be captain. 

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hai guys ^-^ i hope yall enjoyed !!! i love daisuke sm hes my gf i love my gf ♡

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[therhythmafterthesummer]

A Helping Hand (M) ~Seungmin

Pairing: LabHybrid!Seungmin x GN!Reader Themes: Smut | Fluff | Best Friends to Lovers | Roommates to Lovers Word Count: ~4k | AO3 Synopsis: After one too many shots of vodka, your best friend confided in you a little problem he’d been dealing with for a couple of months now. Tipsy-you figured that you were more than suitable to give him a helping hand. Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption · overall hybrid shenanigans · Seungmin has a dirty mouth · pet names · Smut (warnings under the cut). let me know if i missed any💜

Author’s Note: can’t believe my first ever published Seungmin fic is a hybrid au lmao. got a weird boost of inspiration for this after seeing @starlostseungmin talking about it, so here it is ! Special thanks to @notastraykid for giving her very valuable input to improve the first draft, as well as @comet-falls for letting me know it didn’t suck skjdfhsdkjf

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: this is, as usual, some monsterfuckery · handjobs · praising · breeding kink (kind of) · hybrid anatomy (knot) · copious amounts of fluids. again, let me know if i missed any

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“You–You don’t have to do this, serious–Oh, God…”

You swallowed, focusing on your best friend’s face. Focusing a bit too much on the vein that popped on his neck when he threw his head back, on how pretty his eyelashes looked when his eyes fluttered shut, on those pouty lips of his you totally didn’t wish you could have on yours… All while trying to ignore what you had between your hands, all while trying to ignore the obscene, squelching sounds their continuous movement produced…

“I said I’d help you, didn’t I, Seungmin?”

Seungmin inhaled deeply. His ears twitched, his tail seemed to have a life of its own, it had started thumping against the headboard of the bed the moment he’d sat down and you’d taken a hold of him.

After opening his eyes again, Seungmin looked at your face, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. “You did”.

“And I always keep my word, don’t I?” You twisted your wrists, never stopping the motions of your hands.

Seungmin sighed, and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to evaporate with the motion. “You do…”

A spark of doubt flared in your mind, large enough it was impossible to ignore. Your hands stopped, and the tiniest whine left Seungmin’s mouth. “Unless you… Are you feeling uncomfortable? I can– I can stop”.

Seungmin’s hands flew to your wrists, preventing you from pulling away completely. “No. No, no, please, don’t… I… Fuck, I really want this. I really, really need this”.

You would’ve never expected the afternoon to take you here… To your best friend’s bedroom, to him sitting on his bed, with his back against the headboard, and with his legs spread. You would’ve never expected to have his cock in your hands, barely even out of his lounge shorts. In your mind, this had never been a real, genuine possibility. Yet here you were.

How long had it been since you realised you had a crush on your best friend? Too long, probably. It might’ve been a bit embarrassing, but you truly couldn’t even remember a time when you weren’t pining over him, a time when you weren’t thinking how it would be like to be with him physically, intimately…

Although, to be fair, this situation was far more sterile than all those fantasies you’d allowed your mind to wander into only in the wee hours of the night. It wasn’t as if Seungmin had confessed his feelings for you, or you to him. It was more like… like you were giving your friend a hand–literally and figuratively.

Seungmin was a hybrid. A black labrador hybrid, to be exact. He’d been your best friend since you were a kid, when the school you attended finally started allowing hybrids as students. You could still remember the first day you saw him, standing in a corner by the lockers. You’d approached him, mostly because your mother had taught you that hybrids must be treated well, just like you’d treat anyone else.

He was a shy boy, totally out of character for a lab hybrid, but the more you got to know him, the more he warmed up to you, the more you started to see that bright personality of his. As soon as he’d deemed you trustworthy, it was almost like that shyness had never been there in the first place.

He started to come over to your place to hang out or do homework, to open up about his life, and even to show more of his mischievous side. He’d call you everything from dumb dumb, to human kiddo, to little human, just because he could. But it was fine.

Even if at the beginning it annoyed you that he simply wouldn’t call you by your name, it eventually became such a Seungmin thing to do, you just couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him when his eyes sparkled so brightly whenever he used his little nicknames for you.

Seungmin was chaotic, he was funny, and he was the most loyal friend you’d ever had. He’d been with you through thick and thin. Every broken friendship and relationship, he was always there to console you, to hold your hand and tell you it was going to be alright. He was always there for you, without fail. He’d always joke around and say it was one of his lab traits, but you knew better.

Whether he was a hybrid or not, you knew Seungmin would still be the same Seungmin.

Your Seungmin.

A couple of years ago, you finally got to move out of your parents’ house. It was only natural that you ended up renting a place with your best friend, considering he, too, wanted to move out, and he didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of living with strangers.

Decades had passed since hybrids were integrated into human society. They finally had rights, they were treated as people and not some pet you bought from a store–no disrespect to pets, they had their rights, too. But pets weren’t people. Hybrids, on the other hand, were.

Hybrids had free will, they could reason like humans could, and they certainly deserved to be treated as equals. These were the values that you’d been taught as you grew up, and it was something you believed in still to this day.

Regardless, hybrids still had their animal urges and needs, which Seungmin seemed to have been struggling with for a couple of months now.

The confession happened last night, while you both threw a tennis ball back and forth at each other, after one too many shots of vodka–to be more precise, it’d been three. Three shots of vodka only. 

Alcohol wasn’t deadly toxic to Seungmin like it was to other hybrids, but his body certainly couldn’t digest it very well, which usually manifested not only in the flush that spread all over his face, but also by shutting down every single one of his filters. ‘I haven’t been able to come in two fucking months. Two months! I feel like I’m dying, dude. I just need to blow’.

You’d asked him how that was even possible, how he had not managed to bring himself to orgasm in two months, considering you knew he was a person with a moderate sex drive–based on the amount of times you had to stay in your shared flat while he had company over… His answer was a very graceful ‘The fuck if i know… Nothing works, my dearest little human. Porn doesn’t work. Literature doesn’t work. And my imagination clearly doesn’t work, either’.

He looked genuinely distressed about it, especially when he sighed, and his tone lowered. ‘I’ve been checking forums online… Going anonymous to ask strangers, specifically other hybrids, but most of them said that I needed to find the root cause, that something in my environment could be affecting my physical performance, but it’s… It’s really frustrating, because I genuinely have no idea what’s going on’.

‘Have you tried, I don’t know, getting laid?’ was what your tipsy self asked. You wouldn’t have asked that question fully sober for sure. You really didn’t want to know if Seungmin was out there getting laid these days. It had been a little over a year since you had seen him date anyone, and the thought of him dating someone now, admittedly, made you jealous. Which was potentially very stupid on your part considering you were just friends. The best of friends. Only friends.

‘Nah. Can you imagine if I’m with someone and I can’t fucking come? Distress… Besides, I don’t want to just… You know, do it with a random person. People are kinda… ew’. You could understand completely why he wouldn’t want to go out and hook up with a stranger. After all, some people still saw hybrids as sex slaves, or they were heavily fetishised, so it wasn’t exactly safe to partake in one night stands for him. 

Besides, your best friend was not one for hookups and one night stands in the first place. He had trust issues, especially with humans, so you could definitely understand his predicament. 

‘What if it’s someone you know?’ You threw the ball back at him just as you’d boldly asked the question, because spirits always made you voice things sober you would never have the guts to say.

Seungmin caught the ball and scoffed, completely sure that no one he knew would want to be that intimate with him, and not think ill of him if he didn’t manage to perform. 

But you had to open your big mouth again, very confidently telling him ‘And what about me? I can do it’.

The ball suddenly fell from Seungmin’s hand, landing on the floor and rolling under the coffee table. His eyes followed the movement like a hawk–or, maybe it’d be more accurate to say like a dog. He stretched his body a bit out of the sofa, not even bothering to stand up fully, trying to get the ball while he chuckled, maybe a bit nervously.

Seungmin genuinely thought you were joking for a second. That was exactly what he’d told you, but then he saw how serious you were about it, and, after a few minutes of silence, he simply said that you should have this conversation sober.

Which you did.

Which took you right here, right into his room, with his painfully hard cock in your hands.

Seungmin knew you wouldn’t judge him if he couldn’t come. He trusted you enough to be vulnerable with you in more ways than one, to tell you what he needed or wanted, so you would gladly help him–the fact that you had a major crush on him made you feel a bit self-conscious, you’d admit… Like you were taking advantage of the situation to touch him this intimately. But you had already offered it, and he had already accepted it, so you just didn’t feel like backing down on your word.

“Tighten your grip a bit more”, Seungmin mumbled, and once again he threw his head back when you did as asked and continued working his cock. “Fuck, yeah. That’s it…”

You were starting to heat up yourself. Especially whenever he spoke like that, with the tone of his voice as low as it was. Seungmin was one to swear a lot, very openly, but in this context, it certainly felt… filthier. And it affected you. Maybe embarrassingly so…

You couldn’t help but swear under your breath when your eyes drifted from his face to his length. How could you not look? When he was there, letting you touch him…

Clear fluid leaked from his tip, dripping all over your fingers and aiding your movement, intensifying those sinful wet sounds that resonated in your ears with each stroke. You knew his specific breed tended to produce more fluids than a human would, he’d told you this before in passing, but you had honestly not expected it to be this much.

Seungmin didn’t seem fazed at his slick soiling his clothes. On the contrary, it seemed like he didn’t even care at all.

“Like what you see?”

Your head snapped upwards to meet his eyes, and you immediately felt heat rush to your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I’m trying really hard not to look, but…” You suddenly felt small under his gaze, even if your hands didn’t stop. His eyes were so dark, staring right into yours so intensely the hairs at your nape stood on end.

Seungmin always tried not to look people in the eyes, ‘It activates this primal instinct in me, it’s a bit annoying sometimes, to be honest. I only make eye contact when… when I… Well, you know…’ He’d said once, very vaguely, but even back then, you understood. 

He didn’t need to tell you in which situation he enjoyed eye contact. Whenever you looked him in the eyes, you always felt trapped under his gaze, like you wanted to submit. And, somehow, it also woke the butterflies in your belly. Right now, that feeling seemed to have heightened tenfold.

“You’re trying not to look, but…?” Seungmin licked his lips, reaching forward to take a hold of your forearm. Not to stop you, but simply to drag his thumb over your skin in soothing motions.

“But…” You swallowed. You figured now was as good a time as any to let the thoughts out of your head, otherwise they would haunt you forever. “You’re so big”.

Seungmin giggled, a sound that he hardly ever let anyone outside of his close friend group hear, the flush on his face deepened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Adorable, even in this context… “You think I’m big?”

“Haven’t touched someone this big ever”, your pace was still slow, but you made sure to stroke as much of him as you could, as tight as he had asked you to. It wasn’t like he was crazy big, he wasn’t particularly long, but he was just… girthy. Girthier than you had ever seen in your pathetic excuse for a love life. “Not only that, but… It’s just… pretty”.

At that, Seungmin looked genuinely incredulous. “Pretty?”

“Mm… pretty”.

He was going to speak, but before he could, your movements sped up, and the whine that left his mouth as soon as you did had your insides instantly firing up. It was a completely involuntary reaction, how could your body not react when the sounds coming out of his mouth were this sinful? When the almost canine whines stirred the butterflies flying freely in your belly?

“Oh, fuck… That’s it, baby, just like that, shit…”

You didn’t even acknowledge the pet name that just escaped his lips. You were convinced it was a heat of the moment thing, so you swallowed that saliva that had suddenly pooled in your mouth, and continued to focus on your motions. 

With both of your hands, you went from the base to the head a few times, until you settled one of your hands at the base and the other at the tip. You had heard that the base of a canine hybrid’s cock was sensitive, not as much as the head, but much more than a human’s would be, and Seungmin’s wagging tail and content sighs proved that to be true.

You made sure to pull the foreskin with you when you pumped his head, and your eyes naturally drifted to the sight again. Pretty, indeed…

“You’re so fucking good at this, fuck…” Seungmin’s head was tilted back against the headboard, but he was still looking at you through his lashes. His chest rose and fell with his laboured breathing, he was essentially panting, his tongue poked out from between his lips, and the movement of his thumb on your forearm had long since stopped. He was now just gripping your arm, lightly digging his fingers on your skin.

“You think so?” You couldn’t help but ask.

Maybe it was a bit selfish, but you definitely wanted to hear more of his praise. It fed a pool of arousal in the pit of your stomach that you just knew you’d have to deal with as soon as you were on your own and away from his prying eyes…

“Fuck, yeah… You’re so good to me, so…” His words trailed off, stopped when he swallowed thickly. 

You wanted him to continue what he was going to say, you almost asked him to, but before you could, he spoke again–with an edge of desperation in his voice that almost made you faint.

“Squeeze a bit harder at the base”, so you did, twisting your wrist as you went up and down, and the loud moan that fell from his mouth made you dizzy with need. “That’s it, keep doing that, fuck…”

You worked his cock for a while, all as words of appreciation continued to fly past his lips, all as his slick kept dripping all over your fingers, as he directed more pet names your way. Until something started to feel different…

“Oh, oh, fuck… Fuck, shit, don’t stop, baby, please, don’t…”

You wouldn’t have dared stop, not when your fingers suddenly weren’t able to touch where you held him. You kept the motions on the head of his cock, but the base seemed to be swelling under your grasp, loosening it a bit.

“No, no, don’t stop there. Squeeze it. Keep touching it, pup”, Seungmin pleaded, tightening his grip on your arm while small whines escaped his throat, almost drowned by the sound of his tail thumping against the headboard.

“Oh, my God…” You knew hybrids were anatomically different to humans, but you had never really considered just how much they could be, so it really took you by surprise.

You were experiencing one of Seungmin’s hybrid attributes first hand. There, at the base of his cock, a knot was quickly swelling, and you would’ve never expected how much the sight and feel of it could affect you. Your mind raced, suddenly curious as to how it would feel like if he were pushing his cock into your warmth, how he would stretch you out to your absolute limits…

Seungmin might’ve been the hybrid here, but you were certainly salivating at the feel of his swollen knot in your hands.

Tightening your grip around his knot, you started massaging it, just as you pumped his head faster, coaxing a string of groans and moans and swears to come out of Seungmin’s mouth.

“Your hands… They’re so soft, so… perfect. That’s perfect, pup, you’re doing so fucking well”.

Seungmin was talking to you like you weren’t the one working him up. It would’ve amused you, had it not been feeding the fire that was burning bright deep within yourself.

You could feel your underwear sticking to your skin, drenched in your own fluids because of Seungmin, and the sounds he was making, and his heavy cock under your hands, and that fucking knot of his…

“Seungmin… Shit, you… This…” Being honest, you were speechless. 

“What? Huh?” Seungmin finally let go of your arm, instead he cupped your cheek, making you look at him, just as he started to thrust up into your fists. “I know what you want to tell me. Or, at least, I think I do, fuck… I can hear how fast your heart is beating, pup. I can smell it all, you know? I wanna know what you’re thinking. Tell me”.

You licked your lips, staring into his eyes. You were sure your face couldn’t be any warmer, yet the heat seemed to spread further the longer you looked at him, the faster you moved your hands and he thrusted into your grip.

“I’m… Fuck, I can’t help but think how it would feel like inside me, stretching me open…”

“Oh, shit–” Seungmin threw his head back. His tail thrashed against the headboard, and his ears were twitching nonstop. “I can–Fuck, baby, I can give it to you. Whatever you want, just say it and I’ll give it to you”.

With your lower lip trapped between your teeth, you took in a deep breath, almost shivering when Seungmin pulled his shirt up to reveal his torso just as he mumbled the most desperate “Close, so fucking close, puppy. Don’t you dare fucking stop. Tell me–tell me more…”

“I want… want your knot… I want you, Seungmin. So much, so, so much. Need you”, you emphasised each statement with a tighter squeeze to the swollen base of his length.

“Oh, fuck!”

With a few more thrusts of his hips, and a few more twists of your wrists, Seungmin gave you a quick warning, only for your name to fly past his lips, and explode seconds after. Thick ropes of cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting his torso in the creamy substance and dripping all over your hands. It was so much cum, more than you had ever seen anyone ever produce.

The sounds coming out of his mouth were absolutely pornographic, they entered your ears and shot straight to your aching, needy insides. Needy for Seungmin, for his knot, and his everything.

You kept working his cock, pumping the tip to make sure every drop of his cum came out, squeezing and stroking his knot through it all. Until Seungmin’s body slumped against the headboard.

The movement of your hands stopped, but you didn’t remove them. The sight was straight out of a wet dream, his torso, his shirt, his shorts, your hands, everything was covered in cum, and you suddenly had the urge to taste it. But you begrudgingly resisted that urge, this was probably not the moment for that.

When you finally looked away from the mess, your eyes found Seungmin’s. His chest rose and fell with his ragged breaths, his lips were slightly parted as he gasped for air, and he was looking so deeply into your eyes you simply couldn’t look away.

You weren’t sure who moved first, maybe it was you, or maybe it was him… Or maybe, it had been both.

Before you knew it, Seungmin’s soft, moist lips were on yours, kissing you like a starved man. And you retaliated, of course. You kissed him with the same enthusiasm he had, licking his bottom lip to get your tongue inside his mouth, and very quickly, you started to feel lightheaded.

Kissing Seungmin was better than you could’ve ever imagined. Hearing him and seeing him come was a transcendental experience, and you were sure that your brain chemistry had just been altered forever. How could you ever go back to anyone else after this?

The kiss was messy, sloppy, tongues intertwining and teeth sinking on soft skin, producing wet noises all around. You would’ve honestly loved to stay there forever, kissing him, with his length in your hands and his cum all over your fingers. Unfortunately, though, you needed to breathe, so you finally disconnected your lips from his, and took a deep breath.

Seungmin looked into your eyes, and you looked right back. They were still dark, still alluring, but there was something else, something softer… Maybe more vulnerable. The stare-off lasted for a few moments, a few moments spent in silence, until you both broke into a fit of laughter.

Seungmin was practically glowing, he looked possibly the most handsome you’d ever seen him. Even when he was covering the lower part of his face with his hand while he laughed, trying to hide that pretty smile of his after years and years of insecurities produced by the now long since removed braces on his teeth, you still found him incredibly handsome and adorable.

“I take it you enjoyed it? You must have. Look at this mess you made”, there was a teasing smile on your lips, but the truth was, you genuinely wanted to know. 

“As much as you enjoyed, it seems”, Seungmin scoffed, and he gestured between your bodies, where you were still holding his cock. He was still just as hard as he was before he came. 

“You’re still hard?” You couldn’t hide the surprise in your voice, nor the way your eyes widened at the sight, and it made Seungmin smirk immediately. 

“Baby, I’m a dog. My cock thinks it should be inside someone right now, keeping all my cum contained with my knot. Of course I’m still hard, it wants to breed”.

“To… to breed?” Your voice was airy, shaky, suddenly unable to contain the feeling of pure arousal you felt coursing through your veins.

“Mm… to breed”, Seungmin repeated, and he bit his lip when you started to gently squeeze and caress his knot.

He detached himself from the headboard just enough so he could pull his shirt off. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. His gaze softened further, and he brought his hands to your cheeks so he could softly caress the skin with his thumbs. “Thank you. Fuck, I'm so grateful right now. That felt so good”.

“Oh, please… It was my pleasure”, you chuckled, finally letting go of the head of his cock so both of your hands could focus on giving attention to his knot, hopefully helping relieve any possible discomfort he might be feeling since it was out in the open, unable to fulfil its purpose. 

The motions clearly made Seungmin’s blush deepen. He looked at you for a few bated breaths, and before you could even understand what was happening, you were on your back, gasping in surprise. 

Taking his discarded shirt, Seungmin knelt on the bed, right between your legs, and he cleaned your hands, as well as his torso of as much of his cum as he could. 

“Your pleasure, pretty human, hasn’t even started yet. Let me make you feel as good as you just made me feel”.

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General Masterlist

[mothiir]

not a request, more of a fun fact because i saw another sanguinius fan here yesterday and i can’t find her blog for the life of me.

supposedly birds, particularly male birds, associate their wings being stroked with sexual stimulation and will become very sexually frustrated if it’s not taken care of. Stroking their wings too often will also cause them to associate you with being a mate instead of a friend or companion, which causes them to be jealous and possessive over you.

do with this information what you will

So what I did with this is write some sanguinius being a wee bit feral but also being the noble boy we love. Also I need to start writing things that aren’t dubcon because why is this the healthiest relationship I’ve written so far

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cw: slightly lewd, implications of violence

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It probably starts off completely by chance: you’re cleaning, and Sanguinius swans into his quarters without noticing you. Even the noblest of the Emperor’s sons will sometimes fail to acknowledge the staff, especially when he is distracted -- and oh, is the poor thing distracted. He’s just had to sit through a four hour meeting -- hosted by Roboute, with the Lion in attendance, and he has been zigzagging between acute boredom and blinding frustration -- and, on top of all of that, he is moulting. He claws his robe off his body, stretching his wings out to their full span. He makes a primal sound of pure satisfaction, contorting his sleek golden body to dig his fingers into his tender flesh, trying to unroot the snarls of not-quite loose feathers. Some come free easily; others snag. He wishes he was in Bhaal, where he could stretch himself out in the hot dry dust, and squirm back and forth, letting the acrid soil scratch the most stubborn of itches. Alas, there is no such amenity here, only -- 

It’s then he notices you, cloth in hand, frozen. At his gaze, you immediately drop to your knees, touch your forehead to the floor. 

“My lord Primarch -- forgive me --”

“Forgive you for what?” he says, lightly. “There is nothing to forgive; you are doing your duty. You are excused -- there is plenty aboard to be cleaned.”

You stand somewhat shakily, twisting the cloth between your hands. “Yes my lord. Of course my lord. It is just --”

You know a little about birds -- enough to recognise the signs of a highly uncomfortable moult. And Sanguinius is not a bird but the greatest man you have ever known, and yet…and yet you cannot help yourself. 

“--I wonder if I could be of assistance? With the uh -- with the pin feathers. The ones that aren’t open, I can see a few -- “

You make an aborted little gesture: fingers closing, as if around an invisible reed, pinching slightly, dragging up. Precisely the way he sees to his own pin feathers, letting the keratin sheathe surrounding them crumble against his grip, freeing the filament within. 

“My mother keeps birds,” you offer, as an explanation, then flush. “Not that you are one, my lord -- not --”

He chuckles at your unease, and settles himself down on his bed, patting the red silk quilt beside him. 

“Come. Assist me, if you are so keen.”

Many quail at the sight of him -- despite what Horus thinks, Sanguinius is more revered than beloved, and the difference between the two is stark -- but you do not. You approach him with downturned eyes, smelling faintly of fear, but you still approach him. 

Your hands are small and swift, deftly opening up the feathers in need of help, leaving the ones not yet ready. You work for hours, until your hands must be cramping from effort, but you do not quibble or complain. You smooth his primaries, straighten them in line with each other; you tug free lumps of down with sharp efficient gestures. Slowly, the itching fades, and with it the frustration. Before Sanguinius quite knows what he is doing, he has sprawled himself back onto the mattress, pulling you with him. You use the new angle to your advantage, reaching under his flank to work at the feathers closest to his wingjoints. 

“There,” you say, just as he feels about ready to drift off. His eyes are half-lidded, and a slight smile curves his lips. “That looks…better. You’re not done moulting yet, but that’s what I can do for now.”

“You’ll return tomorrow,” he says, a request and a command and a question all at once. Your cheeks are wonderfully pink as you nod. He ponders briefly what all that delicious blood would taste like, spilling down his throat, and then shoves the thought to the side. He will not ruin your helpfulness with his hunger. 

The next night, you perform the same job, and the night after that, and the night after that. His moult ends, but he thinks it best that you keep returning: caring for his wings is an important duty, after all, and you are so very good at it. So eager to please.

(A voice that sounds distressingly like Konrad’s says what else would she do to please you, golden one? -- but he ignores that, for he must.)

The problem becomes apparent not during those long late nights as you preen him while he tries to think of anything but how sweet your blood would taste, but in the middle of his ship. He has just led his sons to an astounding victory, coming to the aid of a local governor against a fleet of xenos raiders, and -- as is tradition -- they are celebrating, hosting the Imperium’s great and good aboard the Red Tear. The ballroom they gather in is built to accommodate a Primarch, with a huge arched ceiling, draped with scarlet silk. The walls are festooned with artwork of immense beauty, most painted by the Blood Angels themselves: scenes of battles hard won, golden cities on green hills, birds flying free over great glittering lakes. Sanguinius makes a speech, praising the well-fought battle of the planetary defense force against the raiders -- and meaning every word -- and then retires to a corner to sip his wine and try to relax. He cannot walk amongst the delegates without people dropping to their knees in supplication, so he finds that becoming part of the furniture is the best approach for a restful party for all.

That is when he sees you. You’re wearing the same basic formal outfit all of the serfs wear -- fine scarlet linen, embroidered with gold -- but you’ve altered the wide-legged trousers into a skirt, which swishes around your ankles as you move; a slit halfway up your thigh gives him a tantalizing glimpse of pale flesh, and his mouth goes dry. 

Deep in conversation with one of the proud young soldiers, you’re completely oblivious to Sanguinius’s hungry gaze. At least -- he hopes you is, because you laugh at something your companion says and then he touches your shoulder.

Before he can control himself, Sanguinius crosses the ballroom, picks up the young human and rips him in two, showering you both with a fountain of gore. Your scream stills in your throat, eyes bugging with terror, as he gathers you close, tongue running along your pulsing jugular, claws biting into your flesh as he shreds your garment, intent on claiming you then and there, his mate, his woman, his --

That, of course, is not what happens. What actually happens is that Sanguinius stalks towards you, a beatific smile pasted over his face, and the poor young man immediately steps backwards; his logical mind sees the Primarch, and is awestruck; but his primal lizard brain screams this is a predator you have to run. 

“I will have to steal you away, if you don’t mind,” he says, and of course you do not mind -- because you are his. His woman. His mate. As he steers you out of the ballroom, you confide in a low voice:

“Thank you. He was lovely, but just a little too eager. I think he was all of seventeen!”

Sanguinius knows he should feel ashamed that he had come this close to gutting a child-soldier who had the misfortune of making you laugh, but he doesn’t. He feels a little guilty at his lack of guilt, but that is it. If he had slain the boy it would have been his right, as your lord and master --

No. No. That is not him; that is not how he acts, nor how he behaves. Those impulses come to him for he is a warhawk and a warrior, but he does not act on them because he is not a monster. 

“These parties do get tiresome,” he says, ushering you ahead of him. “I am glad I have you to keep me company while we avoid them.”

You end up back in his bedroom, combing your fingers through his feathers. He melts under your touch, every sinew in his back starting to relax. Soon -- hopefully soon -- he will have you squirming and mewling under him, your legs spread eagerly for him, your tight little body welcoming him deep inside. Soon. When he is sure that you are saying yes because you want to, not because the overwhelming force of his desire is warping your own feelings. When he can trust himself not to hurt you anymore than you want to be hurt. 

Sanguinius can hold tight to his self control for that. For your sake. For his. 

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + three

authors note: wow! omg, thank you all so much for the kind words of support for this story! it really does mean a lot to me, cause i know the content is pretty heavy.

also, if anyone has read the acotar series, i imagine the dynamic between roman and the twins to be a bit similar to the bat boys. and yes, we'll def see more of the twins moving forward.

in addition, if you want to be tagged, you have to explicitly ask as such. the last thing i want to do is tag someone i thought wanted to be tagged and didn't, and they end up triggered. :(

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, trauma responses (nightmares/night terrors), hints at suicidal thoughts, references to traumatic past

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 9k

Roman doesn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and he’s out the house again before the sun is even up.

Solana knows all of this because she doesn’t sleep that night.

It’s not for lack of trying. She spends nearly two hours twisting and turning before finally accepting that sleep isn’t in the cards for her. She instead finds herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom, door locked, writing away in her journal. No letter to mom this time, just pure word vomit, all of her thoughts and feelings about everything that’s transpired. 

There’s as many tears as there are words, and like always post–writing, she feels a tad bit better. The best and only release she ever has is in her written word, all of the things she could never say aloud, melted from her head and sealed into paper.

When she’s done writing, Solana opts to read a book in her Kindle Library. Doing so makes her realize that she still doesn’t have her stuff from back home. It’s not that she has a lot, but the items she was told to pack just for the first few nights will only last just that—for a few days.

But, Solana doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask Roman about that. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask him for anything, not after she’s clearly and understandably upset him. She’ll just….she’ll just have to make do until it's noticed she's essentially living out of a suitcase. 

And Solana has a thought, an idea, that getting up early to fix him breakfast could be a good thing, something to tame his anger toward her. It’s the least that she can do.

But one look around Roman’s massive kitchen indicates he’s every bit the stereotypical bachelor. There’s only a couple of ingredients, not enough of anything to make an actual meal. There’s also a lot of “meal prep” meals, which makes sense. She can imagine he’s insanely strict with his diet and fitness. One can’t look like Roman Reigns without an intense amount of focus and dedication.

It makes her wonder just what kind of dietary restrictions and preferences she’ll have to learn about him to make meals that he can actually consume. Another question she needs to ask but doesn’t know how or when considering he already has very little to no interest in having anything to do with her.

It’s another thing she knows she’ll have to figure out but tries her best to focus on anything else besides the fact that she’s now married to a man who can’t stand her, the same man her family wants her to somehow assassinate.

Yes…..other things is a much better seat filler.

Solana briefly wonders how she’s going to get to work considering her car is still back at her dad’s house, but just when she’s considering calling an Uber, she’s met in the living room of Roman’s massive estate by none other than his right hand man and cousin.

Solo Sikoa 

All he says is, “ready?” And she realizes that this is how she’s to get to work, that he is to escort her. Him and another set of large men, guards as she realizes. A separate set of guards, not the ones who roam and patrol Roman’s mansion. 

Being around so many men….it’s a different kind of experience. Leaning more on the side of uncomfortable than anything. 

But, she’s at least a bit more at ease when Solo only opens the door to the back of the SUV and doesn’t join in, instead sitting in the passenger seat.

She's grateful for that.

Solo is almost the same exact person as his cousin. Large, strong, stoic and scary as hell. The only difference is that she’s not sure Solo is capable of sentences that include more than 1 to 3 words.

It’s obvious he’s not thrilled about being assigned as her personal guard, and she can’t blame him. There can’t be anything exciting about watching her boring life and making sure nothing happens to her during said boring life.

But Solana can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels a small sense of comfort at having someone to look out for her. Even if she partially questions his loyalty to said job. Something happening to her wouldn’t do anything to anybody. At all. 

She’d just….cease to exist.

And lately….that hasn’t seemed like the worst thing ever. 

But, it’s when she arrives at work, goes into her office to start to prepare for the work day only to find her brother already waiting that that comfort is obliterated.

“Sis.” Wes' smile is tight and inauthentic, his eyes darting between her and Solo. “Sorry to scare you. I was just hoping we could talk.”

Talk….

Wes never wants to talk to her, not unless it’s him berating and screaming while he beats the shit out of her. 

“Alone.” He gives Solo a faux sympathetic expression. “Family things….you understand, I’m sure.”

Solana doesn’t know if Solo understands or he doesn’t, but she does know that Wes' kind and friendly tone is all smoke and mirrors. She knows he’s pissed that he didn’t catch her off-guard, didn’t catch her alone, that he couldn’t corner her like he always does.

And for a second, Solana believes she’s safe, knows that Solo won’t let Wes lay a hand on her. It’s….it’s his job to keep her safe, right?

But just as that hope is present, it’s extinguished by the reality she knows is inescapable. Solo won’t be with her 24/7. She won’t be protected forever. She’ll eventually be around both Wes and her father alone. And the price she’ll have to pay for denying him in this moment….

It’s not worth it. 

Roman’s words to her father about not touching her are nice in theory, but she knows better. Xavier Miller does what he wants, regardless of what’s said and by who.

“O–of course,” Solana mumbles, fingers dancing at the side of her pants. She turns to Solo. “Please….give us a few minutes.”

For the first time since she’s met him, Solo actually shows some type of emotion. It still stems from anger, maybe a branch of irritation, but it's still something different. “Tribal Chief said I’m supposed to watch you, so that’s what I do.”

She swallows. This is going to require a level of assertiveness that’s almost foreign if not non-existent. “I–I understand, but….Wes is my brother. He—” It’s almost impossible for her to even get the words out. “He would never hurt me.”

Solana almost immediately wants to vomit. That’s all this man has ever done. 

At least since the murder of their mother. 

Solo is struggling but wavering, she can see as much, so she continues. “It’s okay,” she assures, even mustering up a small smile. “Please….just a couple minutes. I won’t—I won’t say anything to Roman.”

Solo still looks torn but eventually agrees, leaving her alone with one of two men who hate her most on this earth. 

The door is barely closed when Wes has her pinned against the wall, hand slapped over her mouth, a knife pressed to the base of her throat.

“You stupid bitch, don’t think for one second that being married to Reigns changes shit,” he snarls. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He just doesn’t like people messing with his possessions.”

Solana knows all of this, knows that anything Roman may do that seems to be for her benefit is just him asserting his dominance. She doesn’t need to be reminded of this. 

“Wes, you’re hurting me.” She suddenly feels so stupid saying that, telling him what he already knows. Of course, he is. That’s the whole point. Still, she stupidly believes she can plead to whatever humanity is left in him. If any. “P–please.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, shoving her head against the wall. Solana winces quietly, mindful of Solo who stands outside the door because of her. Because she told him to, because she welcomed this violence onto herself.

“Reigns told dad you won’t be available for a couple weeks, so I suggest you start doing what you need to do to change that. We need to be able to communicate with you.”

This startles her. Why would Roman say that? Did Roman say that? Wes is a master manipulator, and she doesn’t put it past him to be playing mind games.

“I—I don’t know what you want me to do.” And it’s true. Solana has no idea what to do in any of this, how she’s supposed to kill a man who’s more or less impossible to kill, how she’s supposed to win his favor when it’s obvious she already annoys him. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming.

“Did you fuck him last night?”

It’s a question she hoped no one would ask, didn’t believe would be asked because there’s no one who would care enough except for Roman himself.

And while Solana knows being dishonest with her brother won’t turn out well, in this moment, she doesn’t know how he’ll respond if she tells the truth.

So, she lies. She lies to live to see another day, for what reason, she doesn't know. It’s not as if any other day will provide her some sense of solace or security. But, it’s just what she does. 

“Y–yes.”

Wes looks understandably pleased. “Good.” She gaps in fear when he drags his knife against her skin, gently trailing it across, just light enough to avoid drawing blood. “That’s all you’ve ever been good for us for anyway.”

A frown falls upon her face. What….what does that mean?

“Just keep contact open, you understand?” No, she doesn’t, but she has no choice but to pretend that she does. Nodding, Wes shoves her into the wall one more time at an angle that causes her shoulder to take the impact. Wincing, she holds onto it as he releases her and walks out the door. “Don’t fuck this up, Solana.”

Easier said than done. Much easier said than done. 

It’s when he leaves her alone that the tears pool in her eyes. But, it’s when Solo walks in, studying her that she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I–I’m fine.”

She’s not.

She’s far from fine. 

————

The day ends up slightly, maybe even moderately, improving. It’s to be slightly expected though as it’s Monday, the day that Solana runs her reading club with the younger kids. It’s always a highlight to see their bright, smiling faces, answering all of their fifty million questions.

It’s a break from a very bleak reality that is her life, immersing herself in their world of pretend and minimal worries.

Sometimes, she finds herself a bit jealous. Jealous that they still have their innocence, that their view of the world hasn’t been painted in red and blood like hers.

But, it’s when Solana is in the back taking her break, journaling, that that improvement takes a deep dive. Because a single knock on the door is followed by the large intimidating frame of her husband entering her space. 

Naturally, her stomach knots. She hasn’t seen Roman since last night, since he helped and scolded her in the same brief timespan. She understands it though and doesn't entirely disagree with what he said.

She’s far from the perfect picture of mental stability. 

Swallowing, Solana stands up and opens her mouth to address him when his eyes go from her face to her wrist. Following his line of vision, she sees why. There’s a blueish/greenish obvious bruise starting to form, beyond that initial point of formation really. It's just a straight up, fully developed bruise.

Roman slowly walks over to her and reaches for her arm. Solana naturally tenses. He hesitates for a second but still takes her wrist, lifting it so that it's at her eye level but still close enough for him to assess. 

She closes her eyes and acts quickly to think of an excuse. “I—umm—”

“Who?”

His voice is quieter than she anticipated and as much as she wishes she doesn't know what he means, Solana knows exactly what he’s asking. She just doesn’t answer. 

“I’m only going to ask you this one time and one time only.” His brown eyes are burning into her as he perfectly enunciates each word. “Who fucking touched you?”

Solana winces at his tone but eventually answers. “Wes....”

Roman drops her hand, and Solana brings her arms to her chest, head dropped. 

He’s pissed. 

That seems to be the only emotion he experiences around her, because of her.

His nostrils are flared as he demands. “Where was Solo?” 

Making him wait for a response is clearly something that sets him off even more, so Solana does her best to answer in a timely manner. “I—I asked him to leave. Wes….Wes didn’t want him in the room.”

“Of course, he fucking didn’t. Why would you—” Roman pinches his nose. A day. It’s been less than 48 hours, only a day in, and this marriage shit already has him fucking stressed out. Being married to this damn girl is like having a fucking child to look after. “From now on, I don’t give a fuck what your idiot brother and poor excuse of a father tell you, you’re not to be alone with them.” Roman’s command is a lot easier said than done. Denying her father or brother has never done her any favors. Solana isn’t sure how to verbalize this to the man in front of her who’s already six different shades of annoyed. “I thought I made that clear to them at the wedding, but obviously, they need a reminder.”

Solana feels every bit the scolded child, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry…”

Roman looks at her, and for a slither of a second, maybe even less than that, he feels bad for her. Feels bad because it’s clearly not her fault that she’s so fucked up. With a dad and brother like Xavier and Wes, what chance did she have?

He then briefly wonders about her mother, wonders what the dynamic was like there. But that’s a short lived trail because his mind then goes to his own mother. 

And Roman can’t have that, can’t go down that road for a variety of reasons, reasons that may not be that different from Solana’s. 

“Send me your work schedule.” Redirection is always a good strategy. That and fucking. Obviously, only one is an option for the woman in front of him. 

Panic builds in Solana’s stomach. Why does he want that? Her mind starts to race, arriving at only negative conclusions. Does he want her to quit? That thought kills her. 

Working at the library is the highlight, the only highlight, of her days. She doesn’t know what she would do without that outlet. 

“It won’t get in the way of my duties to you.” Solana typically isn’t the one to advocate for herself. Ever. But this….she can’t lose this, and it scares her to think of what mental decline could happen if she does. Nothing good. That’s for certain. “I—I can get up early and–and make your breakfast and meal prep lunch. A–and I’ll make sure your dinner is ready too by the time you come home—”

Rubbing his temple, exasperated, Roman asks, “what are you talking about?”

She’s not above begging. In a pleading tone, she begs, “please don’t make me quit my job.”

Roman isn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that the most words he’s heard leave Solana’s mouth are practically her begging to keep her job. He can understand it though. He would bet that her only time away from her family was when she was at work. “You can work as little or as much as you want. I don’t care about that.”

His words create instant relief. “Oh–I’m sorry, I thought—”

Roman runs his hand over his face. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”

“Sor—” Solana drops her head as he exhales. Loudly. It’s not even noon, and he’s already over and done with this damn day.

“What time do you get off today?”

Solana licks her lips, answering. “Three.”

“I’ll meet you then.”

He can see she wants to ask but has decided against it, most likely recognizing his irritation. “We need to get your stuff from that house.” 

And in the midst of her anxiety in this conversation, she finds a glimmer of hope. She’s thankful that this isn’t something she had to initiate to ask him about.  

Something tells her Roman doesn’t like being questioned a lot.

Or at all.

“O–okay.” Is the answer she finally settles on, not wanting to say too much, vowing, “I’ll make sure I’m done by 3pm sharp.”

On one hand, Roman enjoys and respects punctuality, but something tells him Solana’s is based more on fear than anything. “Whenever is fine.”

Nodding and pushing her hair behind her ear, Solana watches Roman walk over to the door, preparing to leave when he asks, “is your brother right handed or left handed?”

His question takes her off guard, and she doesn’t quite know why he’s asking this in the first place. “W-what?”

Roman clearly doesn’t like repeating himself, because his tone takes on an edge. “Is he right handed or left handed?”

Solana swallows. She’s made him mad. Again. “R–right.”

Without another question, he leaves. And once the door shuts, he snaps at Solo, demanding, “why the fuck did you leave her alone with him? I told you to watch her!”

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that Solo is doing a brilliant job masking his embarrassment at his failure. “She said—”

“I don’t care what she says. You don’t answer to her. You answer to me. Understood?”

Solo keeps his head high, acknowledging, “yes, my Tribal Chief.” Roman wastes no time in exiting the library and entering the SUV waiting for him, slamming the door shut. He pulls out his phone, selecting one of his most recent contacts, hitting dial. 

Jey answers on the third ring, but he’s immediately yelling to someone else, “slam my door one more fucking time, Nicki, and see what happens!” Roman’s jaw clenches, another new source of irritation being presented to him. “Ayo, Uce, now’s not a good time—”

“I don’t care.” Roman’s hot headed cousin and his equally hot headed wife arguing is nothing special. The fight. They fuck. They make up. And do it all over again. It’s not pressing news or even news at all at this point. “The Miller boy. Send him a message. A clear message.”

“I’ve got—”

“Did you hear what I just said?” There must be something in the air or the water, because Roman having to repeat himself is fucking asinine. He speaks once, and everyone should jump immediately. The fact that that isn’t happening is only pissing him off more. “And his right hand…make sure it’s broken.”

Jey sighs on the other end of the phone. “Aight. Me and Jimmy will have it done by the end of the day.”

Roman ends the phone call before his cousin can feed him any more excuses. Head tilted back against the headrest, he tries to settle himself. This day so far has been nothing but inconvenience after inconvenience. 

There’s nothing that pisses him off more than having to repeat himself, having conversations extend longer than they should, and that’s all this day has been thus far. He’s had to over explain and reiterate himself more than Roman feels necessary. 

And the day isn’t even halfway over. 

He needs an outlet.

Roman switches apps, finding one of his more recent contacts and sending out a message. 

Roman: Come over tonight. 

As expected, her reply comes almost right away. 

Samantha: Lol. That didn’t take long.

Samantha: See you then.

————

Solana always struggles with a level of anxiety when entering the home she grew up in. For a myriad of reasons. Most, if not all, being completely valid. Nothing good has ever happened for her in that place. And more often than not, she’d barely be in the house for more than a couple of minutes before she was either being berated or beaten.

Usually both.

But this…..this is different. A lot different, because she’s not walking into hell alone, she’s walking along (behind) Bloodline guards and the 6’3, pure muscled leader of said Bloodline. 

Roman Reigns.

Who also happens to be her husband.

Playing around with the wedding ring on her finger, Solana tries again to remind herself that this is real, that she’s married, that she’s married to Roman Reigns of all people. 

The reality definitely hasn’t set in.

Roman is about to knock on the door again when it swings open. Solana naturally steps back, something Roman takes notice of.

Xavier looks pissed, his fiery gaze landing on her first, but just as quickly as it was present, it's gone, settling into an almost pleasant smile. Directed at Roman, of course.

“Tribal Chief,” he greets. Solana’s gaze is on the ground now, focused on her painted toes instead of the man before her who she’s certain would be unleashing hell on her if not for the multitude of much larger, much stronger men surrounding her. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care,” Roman interrupts, voice reeking of indifference. “She needs to go get her stuff.”

“Oh.” Solana can only imagine the difficulty her father is having in not throwing a fit. “Well, we can arrange for it to be delivered—”

“No.”

She means more to think it than to say it, but that intention falls short, because she definitely says it aloud.

And most of her regrets it, but there’s a small slither that doesn’t.

Solana knows her father. She knows him very well. 

Roman has done nothing but piss him off from the very beginning of this whole ordeal, pushing and pushing him. And Solana has always been the object of her father’s anger, but Roman seems intent on making sure that doesn’t happen. 

That means he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.

If he can’t hurt her, he’ll go after the things she loves. 

The few items in that home that she holds near and dear, items that belonged to her mother.

She knows he would dispose of them all so that all that would be retrieved by the movers would be clothes.

And the thought of the only things she has of her mother being discarded like trash makes her sick to her stomach.

She can’t give him that opportunity. 

Looking up, she’s met with two sets of eyes on her. One indicating irritation and the other, curiosity. Swallowing, she stutters, “I’m sorry. I—”

“No.” Roman’s interruption is stark and to the point. “We’re already here. She gets it now.”

“But—”

“Move.”

Xavier’s jaw ticks, but he does as such, stepping to the side. Roman looks back at Solana, motioning for her to walk in. 

Instantly, she’s going to the key holder. She has to make sure she gets her mother’s stuff before anything. But, the key to the attic, the key that’s sat in the same spot since she was a girl, is suddenly missing.

Her stomach drops. 

Without hesitation, she turns to her dad, asking, “wh—where’s the key to the attic?”

Solana knows before he even says anything that she’s not going to like his answer. She just doesn't realize just how much she’s not going to like his answer.

“Oh, I put it in your old room on the dresser.” Solana’s chest is immediately tight, her stomach dropping. Xavier gives that sly smile and little shrug. “Figured there’d be some things you’d want to grab as well.”

It’s hard for Solana to not start crying right then and there, standing between her father and her husband. Two men who dislike her for very different reasons. 

And maybe dislike isn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling her father has toward her. Because one has to have an inhuman level of vitriol toward another individual to put her in the situation he just did.

That room….Solana hasn’t been in that room in years and planned to never enter it again for as long as she lived. And he knows that. Knows that there’s nothing in there she wants. Knows that she’d rather walk on burning coal barefoot than enter that space of horrific memories and unspeakable horrors. 

“I–I—”

“Is something wrong?”

Roman, watching this whole exchange closely, is instantly annoyed. It’s obvious something is wrong, there’s some story with this old room of hers, because she looks just as terrified as she did last night. And something about this pisses him off all over again, because this man is still trying to defy his orders, still trying to find ways to inflict his torture without lifting a finger. 

“Where’s the room?” 

Solana doesn't expect that question to leave Roman’s mouth, but it instantly brings on another layer of dread. He doesn’t know why she can’t go in that room, and he can never know, but that not knowing is probably going to result in him pushing her to hurry up so they can get the hell out of here.

But, that doesn’t happen. He steps towards her dad and repeats in a calm voice. “Show me.” It’s then she realizes that he’s asking so he can retrieve this key for her.

And that confuses the mess out of her because why? He doesn't have to, doesn’t need to. It doesn’t benefit him in the slightest. 

So why?

But for Roman, it’s simple. He’ll take any opportunity presented to piss off this son of a bitch, and undermining every attempt Miller takes to mess with Solana presents an opportunity for Roman to assert his dominance. 

And it’s obvious by the pure terror that crosses Solana’s face that, for whatever reason, she has zero desire or even ability to enter this room. It does cross him a bit strange that she would have such a reaction to her childhood bedroom, something that typically holds special memories for people.

Until he enters said room. 

Immediately, there’s a darkness about the aura, something heavy and unsettling that he can’t necessarily describe but most definitely feels. It’s a stark contrast to the design and decoration, lots of pink and girly shit, a couple of stuffed animals sitting on the top of the dresser. It’s on the dresser he notices a shattered picture frame that in picking up he sees a photo of a young woman, dark curly hair, beautiful, light eyes and a breathtaking smile. There’s something about her that reminds him of Solana. Her mother. This has to be her mother.

For reasons Roman doesn’t quite understand, there’s something suddenly uncomfortable by looking at this photo, a ghost, someone from the past. A person cruelly and violently ripped away from her family.

It….it hits too close to him.

Laying the broken photo frame down, Roman continues to assess the room and suddenly notices scratches on the door and the wall that holds the door. But, they’re not scratches that come from furniture being moved or kids being rough, they’re clearly nail marks. As if someone was dragged and the scratches a testament of their fight against whatever attack they were facing.

Snatching the key off the dresser, he then redirects his attention to the poorly cleaned splashes of dried blood on the carpet near the bed. He’s suddenly frowning of sorts. 

There’s a story here. A story that paints a dark, grim picture. One that makes Roman slightly curious about just what the hell this girl has really been through in this hellhole?

Not wanting to stay in that creepy ass room any longer than necessary, he walks back out into the living room and ignores Miller’s obvious irritation to reach Solana the key.

Accepting it, she offers the first smile he’s probably seen on her since their first meeting. “Thank you.” Her voice is the usual mixture of soft and quiet but also….grateful. She’s probably the only person in history to ever be so happy at being given something as simple as a key. But Roman isn’t stupid. He recognizes the deeper meaning. 

Nodding, he motions for a few of his men to follow her as she heads for wherever the attic door is located. 

That leaves Roman alone with his least favorite person in the world.

“She can’t take everything, you know.” Xavier shares. He reminds, “she has a brother. My son and I deserve to have something of my late wife to—”

“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. He honestly, truly doesn’t. “She can take whatever she wants.”

“I understand that she’s your wife, but she was my daughter long before she became your wife. And you’re standing in my house.” Xavier doesn’t skip a beat to contend. “I think you should also remember that, Tribal Chief.”

To be fair, Roman would like to think he’s done a half decent job all day managing his temper. He’s yet to maim or kill anyone which is commendable for him, in and of itself. But something about Xavier pisses him the fuck off to the point where he doesn’t give a damn about controlling his temper. 

And that’s exactly what happens. 

In a matter of seconds, Roman has Xavier by the throat, pinned against the wall, squeezing so tightly he can practically feel the man's bones pressing against his fingertips. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Xavier’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he helplessly grasps at Roman's grip, which only makes the Tribal Chief squeeze harder. “Don’t ever fucking forget who runs this. I run it all!” As much as Roman enjoys playing the long game with this bastard, there’s only so much he can put up with. Miller needs to know Roman is not his daughter, but he damn sure will dictate that any interactions with said daughter go through him. “You see Solana when I say you can see her. You talk to her when I say you can talk to her.” Intensifying his grip, Roman notices the color draining from Xavier’s face. And it’s probably the best thing he’s seen all day. “You live because I allow it. You’re still fucking breathing because I will it.” Recognizing Miller is at the door of unconsciousness, he finally lets the man go, enjoying the sight of him coughing violently, nearly laying on the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that shit.”

Xavier, wisely, doesn't say much after that. And neither does Roman, who simply makes sure his men help Solana gather all she needs, which isn’t that much outside of clothes. He starts to ask her about her car, but something tells him it’s under Xavier’s name, which is why he decides against it.

He’ll just get her another one. 

Roman doesn’t want her to have shit to do with this family, largely because he doesn’t want shit to do with this family.

And he knows what the first step toward initiating that separation will be.

—--------

The Warehouse has always been Roman’s escape.

17,000 square feet of escape, completely revamped and redone by him in his early twenties. It’s a massive compound that serves as both a place to train and compete. The former of which being why he’s present and needing to speak to the one person who he has in charge of all the day to day workings of the Warehouse. 

But, that’s all she’s interested in outside of competing herself and only training those with some fire to them.

It’s why he’s not surprised when Nia takes one look at him, then Solana, and with a snort and roll of her eyes, simply says, “no.”

Roman isn’t an idiot. He knew his cousin would immediately decline, would know what he wanted to ask before it could even leave his mouth.

If only he cared about her objection. 

“Wait here,” he mutters to Solana who only nods, hugging the jacket around her body. Solo remains nearly inches away from her. She looks so out of place, a small part of him can’t blame Nia for declining.

Nia continues to walk the balcony, eyes clearly checking in on the various sets of people training. Roman does as well, just not nearly with the same amount of focus and attention. That’s what he has Nia for.

His blood cousin and close friend since they were kids, there’s few people in this world that Roman trusts, and Nia is grouped in that category. She’s a worthy member of the bloodline and a hell of a person to have alongside you in a fight. 

It’s why she's the perfect person for this task.

“Nia.”

“I said no, Roman.” She turns to him, smirking, taunting him in a way only she and his close family can. "You know, that word that you hate?”

It actually makes him chuckle, a speckle of amusement in a day full of anything but. “If you know I hate it, why are you saying it?”

“Because unlike the rest of the world, I’m not your bitch.”

It’s partially true. Nia has never been one to shy away from being completely and, often, ruthlessly honest with her cousin. It’s something Roman sometimes appreciates, enjoying the occasional challenge and differing perspective.

This isn’t one of those times though. 

He again reiterates. “She needs to be trained.” 

It’s abundantly clear that Solana has no backbone, and he can’t entirely fault her for that because it’s also clear that she’s never really had the chance to develop one. But, that’s no longer the case, because while he can deal with the stammering and quietness, her fragility has to go. 

She has to learn to stand up for herself.

She needs to learn how to fight back.

Nia turns around with a sarcastic chuckle. “You really think that girl can be trained? I saw her at the wedding. She looked terrified the entire time. You breathe too hard in her direction, and she’ll probably have a fucking panic attack.” Roman is briefly taken back to last night. Nia hasn’t the slightest clue how true her words are. “She’s not built for this life.”

Roman doesn’t entirely disagree. If there was ever a person who’d do well and significantly better in something cookie cutter, white picket fence type shit, it’s Solana. But she’s here now, this is her life, so they need to make the best of it. She needs to learn how to survive in this life. and he expresses as such. “Regardless, she needs to learn to defend herself to some extent.”

Nia shrugs, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms. “So teach her.”

“I don’t have the time. Or the patience.” It’s almost entirely true. There are already so many hats that Roman has to wear. Adding on another one that includes teaching a traumatized young woman how to fight is not an option. Even more, something tells him that Solana would do better training with a woman. She seems most skittish around men.

Nia scoffs, pointing to herself. “And you think I do?”

“Nia….” As much as he enjoys sparring with his cousin from time to time, his patience has grown thin. His tone darkens. “I’m not asking you.”

While tempted to continue to push back, Nia isn’t a stupid woman. She can recognize when Roman is about to lose his cool. “Fucking hell….” With a heavy sigh and shrug of defeat, she accepts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to like her.”

“I never expect you to like anyone.” He chuckles, adding. “And Nia…..take it easy on her at first.”

Nia curses, instantly accusing, “You think coddling her will help?”

“I know being too rough with her won’t.”

A hard exterior is built from experience and tolerance. Roman fully believes that. However, something tells him his new wife has had enough experiences that anything more could push her closer to breaking point. So approaching it almost gingerly would probably wield the best outcome. 

Nia is, justifiably, vexed. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your weak ass wife. I’ll have Naomi teach her the basics, and once she learns how to actually throw a punch without crying, I’ll take over her training.” 

Roman has no issue with this. Solana seemed to be fine around Naomi at the wedding, so it might actually be a good match. “Fine. Just keep me updated with her progress.” Roman adds, starting to walk away.

“Do I have a choice?”

Instantly, he answers. “Nope.”

Nia’s laughter behind him brings a small smile to his face. 

Rejoining the group, he finds Solana looking just as nervous as he left her. “Let’s go.”

He turns and so does Solo, Roman deciding he’ll talk with Solana about starting training back at the house. But, her small voice calling his name, the first time he’s heard her say as such draws his attention.

Turning around, he asks, “yeah?”

She swallows and starts that damn stammering. It’s hard for him to not snap at her to just get it out. He hates that beating around the bush bullshit. “Umm, can we—uhh, stop somewhere?” Roman does his best to hide his irritation. Where the fuck does she need to go? “I just—-I noticed you don’t have a lot of ingredients at the house, and—and I need some things so I can cook.”

Initially, Roman’s first reaction is to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to cook. He doesn’t need her to cook for him. He does just fine on his own, but that’s the thing that makes him pause. He’s not on his own anymore. She needs to eat too.

So, he agrees, “fine.”

“Ayo, uce!”

Jesus Christ.

Roman needs a vacation. A week long vacation, because the way the past 24hrs has drained him more than anything he’s experienced in the past year is criminal.

The twins jog over, exchanging what is an undeniably awkward acknowledgement to Solana. And he doesn't blame them. She’s so damn docile that they probably don't know how to interact with her.

“Let us catch that ride with you.”

Roman shuts his eyes. “Why?”

Jimmy is the one to answer. “You wanted us to debrief you on that thing from earlier, remember?”

Roman realizes they’re referring to the message he had them send Solana’s brother, which he does want to hear about but not necessarily now.

“She needs to stop at the store before we head back to the house,” Roman informs, hoping the twins will just take a car back to the house to meet him their to debrief.

But that’s too much like right, because they end up in the same SUV as him and Solana, seated in the back, while he sits in the middle with her. And it’s not missed upon him how she’s practically tucked in the corner of the SUV, notebook out as she writes away while his idiotic cousins go on and on in the back about whatever.

The old lady from the library wasn’t kidding. This damn girl is always writing. 

When they arrive at the grocery store, Roman reaches for his wallet, sliding out his black card and handing it to her. “Here. Use this.” 

Roman hadn’t thought about this until just now, thought about the need to make his money available to her. He makes a mental note to have his accountant add Solana to all of his accounts and have cards mailed out with her name. In the meantime, she’ll have to deal with using his.

“Thank you.” She accepts the card, quickly asking, “what’s my limit?”

“What limit?”

Her cheeks redden as she explains. “Like….like how much I can spend?"

“There is none,” he answers with a shrug. “Just get what you need.”

Jey suddenly leans forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder. “Ayo, Big Dog, lemme run this by you.”

“No.”

Of course, the word goes in one ear and out the other. “So, I’m trying to explain to her that it’s not what she thinks. I don’t even care about that bitch, but she’s not trying to hear me. Going on and go about how I ain’t shit, I don’t treat her right—you know, the usual—-and so finally, I just snap on her ass cause who the fuck you think you talking to—”

Jimmy agrees. “She acting like you ain’t got no options.”

Jey sucks his teeth, “man, that’s what I’m saying. Like, I ain’t gotta put up with that shit!”

“Hell naw!”

The idea of grocery shopping doesn’t appeal to Roman in the slightest, but neither does listening to his dumbass cousin complain about his marriage problems to his equally dumbass brother. So, it’s the lesser of two evils, really. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the door. Solo and Solana’s eyes fall on him as they’d yet to enter the store. “I’ll go with her.”

Solana looks expectedly surprised as Solo simply nods and gets back in the passenger seat.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Roman says nothing, walking alongside her, still providing enough distance to not make her uncomfortable. 

As long as the twins are harping on and on about stupid shit, she can take as long as she wants.

Once in the store, Solana pushing the cart, Roman realizes she was writing down a grocery list that she uses to track the needed items as they peruse what feels like endless aisles. Granted, he hasn’t been inside an actual grocery store in probably close to two decades, if not longer, so maybe this is normal for a grocery store. 

It’s when they reach the produce section that she seems a bit stumped, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly perplexed.

He starts to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks over to one of the workers and takes him slightly by surprise when she starts speaking in a different language. Spanish, he eventually settles on. It’s also the first time he thinks he’s ever seen her smile. Outside of when he gave her the key And laugh. That one is definitely a first. Both small and quiet, but still, a first. She seems to know or at least be familiar with the worker who digs around the produce and reaches over a packaged bag of whatever produce it is. 

It’s when she returns to place the produce in the basket, continuing to walk, that he asks, “you speak Spanish?”

She looks up at him, but not for too long, as if doing so is forbidden, explaining. “My—my mom taught me. She was originally from Mexico.”

Roman figured as such from the picture he saw in her room that Solana’s mom was Hispanic or had some type of Central American ancestry. He’s also surprised by her answering with more than just 3 to 5 words, providing more information than he asked. 

It’s not something he necessarily cares about, but it doesn’t annoy him like it typically does when people give him a longer answer than what’s necessary. 

“Are—are your cousins always like….like that?” Again, she takes him by surprise, up until the point where she immediately goes into apologizing. “I–I don’t mean it in a bad way. I would never—”

“Yes,” he cuts off her rambling. It’s unnecessary because the answer is simple. “They are.” With a mutter, he adds, “they never shut the fuck up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. That smile smile, this time conjoined with a small laugh that she does a decent job trying to suppress. And it’s like she catches herself, changing the subject as she asks, “umm, are you—like—allergic to anything? Or is there something you don’t like? I can learn—”

“I can eat anything.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. It also seems like something she’d been wanting to ask but only built the courage to do so at the end of their current conversation, even if brief as hell.

Solana doesn’t say much after that, and it confuses Roman when she tries to grab items on shelves much higher than what exceeds her reach. It confuses him because it would be significantly easier for her to just ask him to reach it. Granted, something tells him just her asking to be taken to the grocery store seems to be her daily quota for requests.

So he takes it upon himself, hand on the small of her back, ignoring how she tenses at his touch, to tell her to step aside as he easily retrieves the item. With a tuck of her hair behind her ear and a small “thank you,” she continue shopping but this time actually, still with that same irksome gentleness, asks him to reach items that she cannot. It’s not a lot, just a couple.

And it’s not long before she’s done, checking out with his card that she makes sure to give back to him immediately. He gets the sense that that’s something she thinks is important to him.

It’s not.

The worst he can see her doing is going crazy at fucking Barnes and Nobles.

Roman has his men load the trunk for her, something that also seems to take her off guard. Like she’s not used to the assistance.

And she probably isn’t. 

————

Samantha Irvin has been on Roman’s revolving roster of women since he was in his teens. The longevity being that It’s always been the easiest with her. Sexually, at least. Their compatibility in that one area, the only one he really (only) cares about, is astronomical. But lately, more in the past few months than anything, she’s dropped a comment here and there about wanting more. 

He’s ignored them everytime. 

Roman has never promised Samantha anything more than what they currently are: fuck buddies. She knows this, just like she knows she’s not the only woman he’s fucking. Nothing about that should indicate him wanting more with anyone, including her.

Well, other than the wedding band now on his finger.

Samantha’s gaze falls on that wedding band, a bitter chuckle leaving her mouth. “I still can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. Discussing his shitshow of a marriage is the last thing he wants to do and far from the reason he left Solana in the middle of the night to come see her, to come work off his frustrations.

The same reason he invited her over tonight. 

Last night was a dumpster fuck, without a doubt. But today with Solana was….decent. Not amazing. Not awful. Just some strange space in between. Even as they arrived back at the estate and she went straight into cooking, creating something he can’t pronounce but can honestly say was delicious, a meal she delivered to him in his office. There was something manageable about that, this level of she does her thing, he does his, and if their paths cross in the process, he can deal with that.

The intimacy though….that’s something he’ll have to figure out, have to navigate, just not now. Not tonight. 

Right now, he just needs Samantha’s talented mouth on him.

She moves her hands up his chest, biting on her bottom lip. “She’s just a little girl, baby. You need a woman who knows how to please you.” Roman knows the other side of what she’s saying or rather what she’s not saying. Another subtle, or not so subtle depending on how you look at it, hint that she’s the one he should settle down with.

In all honesty, he has, or had, zero desire to settle down with anyone.

Especially not with Sam. She’s the kind of woman that’s good for fucking and nothing else. As much as Solana’s extreme passivity annoys the shit out of him, he’d pick that over the bitching Sam would do. He just knows she’d be on his ass about stupid shit like fucking other woman and not paying her enough attention. Like she’d think she’s somehow above him doing who and what the fuck he wants just cause he put a ring on her finger.

Way too needy.

But at least he can actually fucking touch Sam.

Kinda hard to make a baby with someone who has literal fucking panic attacks just from being touched.

It builds up his frustration again, hence Roman grabbing Samantha by the back of her head, forcing it back. She hisses, both from pain and pleasure. It’s another thing he does actually enjoy about her. She lets him be as rough as he wants and needs.

“Why are you still talking?” There may be a slight dim in her eyes at his question, but she hides it well. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” He releases his grip and shoves her to her knees. “Put that mouth to actual good use.”

If she’s hurt by his brusque tone, she doesn’t show it, simply bringing her hands to unbuckle his pants. “I got you, daddy…” 

She gets his zipper down when a scream sounds throughout the house, causing her to freeze in her motions as she shoots Roman a confused look.

“What the hell?” Samantha’s obvious irritation is the last thing he hears before adjusting himself as he heads out the room and down the hall.

For some reason, Roman already knows what to expect before he even reaches Solana’s room. Opting against knocking, he opens the door and finds her twisting and turning in the bed, eyes shut, chest moving up and down, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Yeah….just as he expected. 

Sighing, he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. “Solana.”

“No.....” she’s crying in her sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Or night terror. “Mom, please…don’t leave me.”

Roman tenses. Immediately, he knows exactly what her nightmare is. He brings hands to her shoulder, shaking her. “Solana, wake up.”

“No…..”

He says her name again, a bit louder, firmer, “Solana, wake up.”

“No!” She screams again, shooting up from the bed, immediately fighting and pushing against his body. “Leave me alone!” She’s crying, clearly fighting against the demons one faces once in life but forever battles, even when they’re gone. 

It’s a permanent scar on the soul.

“Solana,” he says again, still stern, but somehow gentle. “You’re fine. You’re safe.” It’s the ‘safe’ word that seems to trigger something for her, mouth still ajar, painting heavily but no longer struggling against him. “It was just a bad dream.”

There’s a fleeting thought he has about pushing some of the flyaway hairs out of her face, but it’s gone before he can really process let alone act on said thought.

Solana looks at his hands on her forearm and immediately tugs them back to her body, hugging herself. She drops her head, eyes closing, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

His eyes take her in, studying her, “it’s fine.”

“I—I need some air.” She kicks the blankets off her body and swings her legs over the bed, hurriedly grabbing a notebook off the dresser and rushing out of the room past a smirking Samantha.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand over his face, ignoring the strange array of emotions, or something like that, he’s experiencing.

He hasn’t been this exposed to this kind of behavior in years.

This may be more complicated than he realized. 

And it’s as he stands up from the bed, walking near the door that Samantha smirks. “Did she seriously say mom?”  His eyes snap to her as she runs her hands up and down his chest. “What a fucking child.”

Her words take him back, reframe things so that it’s not Solana the child crying for her mother not to be taken from her. It’s a young boy. Burned, bloody, and beat, fading in and out consciousness, the gaze of fiery flames in his peripheral vision, the smell of burning flesh invading his nostrils, the sound of wails and sirens all mingling together from the shock of it all. 

Roman catches himself, forcing those buried memories back where they belong in the very back of his mind. He then looks at Sam for a good five seconds before demanding, “get the fuck out.”

She pauses and then asks with an uncomfortable laugh, “what?”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he repeats, shoving her hands off him. 

“What did I sa—”

“Get out!” Roman snaps, volume and tone making her jump. He probably scared her. He also doesn’t care. He just wants her gone. And she does as such, walking away without another word of protest. 

Left alone, he tries to gather himself, moving back to his room.

So much for a fucking distraction.

 —----- 

Roman finds her out back on the patio. 

He needed to clear his head, get back into his tunnel vision focus, and the gym he had included when he built the house is the perfect place to do that. Two hours later, recentered and showered, he readies to call it a night. But, he realizes he probably shouldn’t do as such until he makes sure Solana is at least partially stable enough to be left alone. 

And she is. 

She’s laid out, sleeping on the rattan lounge chair, a closed notebook tucked into her side. Roman recognizes it as the same one she was writing in that day at the library as well as the one she used for her grocery list just earlier in the day. 

He settles down on the chair next to her, studying her. Even in her sleep, she looks….sad. And for the first time in the midst of all these strange experiences with her, Roman understands. He understands her sadness, understands her difficulty, understands the memories that clearly haunt her.

The same way they used to haunt him. 

His hand goes to his tatted arm, intricate tribal tattoo hiding permanent remnants of that night of hell. The night that he once had the same kind of night terrors about. 

Noticing the breeze, he walks back into the house, grabbing one of the throw blankets on the sofa. Roman is careful to not directly touch her as he lays it over her body. A part of him is tempted to carry her back to her room, but he remembers these kinds of nights. The kind where it’s a challenge to escape the memories, let alone find a place and mental space to turn your brain off enough to just sleep.

So he leaves her alone, allowing her to enjoy the only escape she clearly has in this life.

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[laswells-ashtray]

Your writings are so good that I’m entrusting you with this simple prompt: Dragon Hybrid Price and (Any Hybrid) Nikolai.

Do what you will dear wizard writer.

For the sheer sake of you never implied how silly I could get with this, I'm sillying it up:

Bear hybrid Nikolai [because it's too fucking good] and dragon hybrid Price standing about one day, the two sergeants and the lieutenant are training together while the older two men watch. They're on someone else's base, a hybrid-less base but they're making do with what the have.

John's leaning back against the wall, wings pressed up against the brick in a way that has to be uncomfortable or at least that's what everyone assumes. He's rubbing at the base of one of his horns as if trying to soothe a headache and he looks quite frankly exhausted when another Captain appraoches.

John decides that in comparison to this man, he looks like Marilyn fucking Monroe.

"Captain Givens, you look about as good as I feel." John is at least trying to keep a good relationship with the other team even if they have a habit of pissing off each of them.

"Too fuckin' right. Just got off the phone with the Missus and had to help her convince my little boy not to shove his Batman figure up his nose. It's exhausting." The man complains, running a hand over his face tiredly.

John makes a sympathetic noise but doesn't hide his amused look. "Oh, I'm all too familiar with that feeling." The other day he'd had to convince a group of rookies that Soap is indeed a liar and that oil paint is in fact not edible just because it has oil in the name.

"You have kids?"

"Yes." John should've been smarter than to think that Nikolai's silence was a good thing, he doesn't get a chance to correct the bear hybrid before the other Captain asks:

"How many?"

"Three." Nikolai tells him while watching the boys train in the distance.

For a brief moment, John wants to tug on one of his fluffy ears and tell him to quit it. On the other hand, fuck it, why not?

"Yeah, three over there are mine. Different mums but I was a bit of a tart back in the day." He's reliant on the fact the human knows nothing about hybrids, specifically dragon hybrids for it to work. It's no secret that dragon hybrids can live a lot longer than the average human if they're careful about it but to those types of hybrids, John is still a toddler, horns still in one piece with wings that are still vibrant and healthy.

He can see the amusement in Nik's big brown eyes, he likes it when John sinks down to his level of teasing humans. The only one exempt was Kate, they respected her too much and she wasn't an idiot, she'd never believe half of the stupid shit they've all told people throughout the years. Besides, Kate is family. She has five hybrids protecting her back and the average CIA agent is still more scared of her.

"Riley, MacTavish and Garrick? They're yours?" The human asks in disbelief. Simon was going to kill him for this later, Kyle and Johnny would inevitably laugh themselves hoarse.

"Aye. Didn't find out about Riley until he was a teenager and his Mum got in contact. Looks fuck all like me but he's certainly mine. Lad certainly wasn't a chipper wee thing but I managed to win him over, SAS was his choice, I just put him on the task force because I owed it to his Mum to keep an eye out." He's talking out of his arse now and he knows it but the captain seems to be hanging on his every word. Nikolai is making the conscious decision to look away from him but he can see the faint shaking of the bastard's shoulders, he's laughing.

"MacTavish was from an eventful night up in Glasgow one evening, we didn't know if he was mine or Nik's until we saw the little blighter's eyes."

Good on Nik for how quickly he sorts himself, turning around and nodding approvingly. "Ah, but young MacTavish has always favoured me. Would've been a good bear cub, very grizzly."

The captain looks over to the three men training with wide eyes, tilting his head as he stares at them all, surveying them before he looks back to John.

"And Garrick is yours too?"

Kyle had been ripping on him for being old earlier so maybe he plays it up just that little bit more.

He nods, looking over at Gaz with the most proud look he can muster, it's real but he can pretend it isn't just for the bit. "He was an angel when he was a tot, good sleeper and learned to talk quick. Was always a little grumpy that he didn't have horns too but he got over it eventually. Got him a blanket with a dragon on it when he was two and he didn't get rid of the thing until he was fifteen. Big Mumma's boy though, spitting image of his mother and more than proud of it."

It almost saddens him that the interaction ends when a sergeant whose name he can't remember calls over the captain about something but the sound of Nik's deep, gruff laughter is anything to soothe his short-lived annoyance.

Truthfully, he forgets about the entire interaction within a few hours until Soap barges into his temporary room on the base with a positively gleeful look.

"Price, I don't know what the fuck you did but Gaz is due to kick yer heed in."

"Excuse me?"

"Givens won't stop asking him about his dragon blankie."

Shit.

"And what's this about you and Nik playing who's the daddy when I was born?"

Shit.