#this was not supposed to be this long i swear-

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty in places, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and an ass. This part- fingering, fucking, loss of virginity, masturbation (suguru) finger sucking, hate sex, light angst. WC this part- 6.4k

Based on Clan Leader Geto- will be three parts <3 Plz share/comment/like if you enjoy!! Suguru is unappreciated I wanna give this psycho Princess a good fic!

Songs for this part-  Geto Suguru - Fill the Void - I hate everything about you

Part One

You were to marry Suguru Geto, curse user, rumored cult leader, and clan leader to the major four clans there were. The Kamos, The Zenin, The Gojos and The Getos, the main four clans that you all know there are. As for Suguru’s family, it turns out he is now the clan leader for them, he is the one that they are now riding the whole line of the Geto Clan on.

Marrying you.

You stand there nervously, tummy feeling sick in your pretty white robes as you stare at this psychotic man, this man that thinks people without power are lesser, and perhaps worthless. Perhaps he wishes to eradicate you all, yet for his duty to the Geto clan, it leaves him to have to be with you, the chosen one from your family, for as long as you two were alive.

Maybe Suguru Geto back then was tolerable, back when he was just a clan leader and not all the rumors that are held, but now!? Being his bride was not just terrifying, it was a literal death sentence. After you’d given him heirs you were absolutely sure he’d eradicate you and perhaps anyone you’ve ever known and loved, including your family, who’d just given you the saddest of looks.

They weren’t here, you supposed even they couldn’t live with just handing their only daughter off to him, maybe before, you’d have been excited, remembering meeting him when you were just a teenager, he was a little older than you. Handsome and sweet with this smile that made you want to pinch his cheeks, he was so courteous and sweet, but that was a different man.

You look now, as you nervously step down the aisle, eyes of everyone on you aside from him, Suguru Geto. He’s decked out in brilliant emerald robes, laughing and murmuring to several girls near him. His long black hair is half up, showcasing his handsome features, yes if perhaps he wasn’t a psycho killer, you could find him attractive, not be sick to your stomach.

As some long red headed lady taps his shoulder, her long nails against him, he finally sees you then, and his jaw locks, you feel those violet eyes on you like a physical touch. You doubt he remembers your one meeting years ago, you doubt he recognizes you or cares, or sees you as anything but a nuisance, a duty. But you see his narrowed eyes dip down your body, taking you in.

Your heart hammers as you get closer, a mix of sorcerers scowling or smirking at you, along with the Geto clan looking curiously, murmuring here and there. Everyone hoped to stay on Suguru Geto’s good side, if he had one, you weren’t quite sure, feeling the insane energy emanating from him as he studies you. Another step, another click of your heel echoing in the immaculate hall.

It’s hard to be impressed with the beauty of it, of the Geto estate, surely it’s one of the nicest there are, there are four major families, and the Geto family is one. You don’t know how you ended up being selected, your family is certainly wealthy, but you wonder at your horrific luck now as you stand before him.

You have to lean your head back just to look at the tall man, towering over everyone in the room, he makes you feel so small, even smaller with his quiet assessment, as the room is full of hushed whispers. Half of them surely want you to just die, half of them want an heir from you, you imagine this man in front of you leaning down wants both.

Suguru eyes you carefully, yes you’re beautiful, but you clearly have not an ounce of power, not an ounce of any useful energy. You’re clearly just some pathetic little mortal, which disgusts him, you’re tiny and pathetic, useless. He’s so annoyed this is what he has to do, but he certainly can’t just not fulfill these obligations, as Suguru needs the backing of his family to gain more power.

Already so powerful, and with an enormous, loyal following, he detests that he has to in any way deal with his parents still, but he supposes he will handle it for now. Surely soon he’d have the precious few mortals he allows to live, to be loyal servants at his beck and call, pathetic ants that work for their lives he allows them.

Your eyes lower nervously, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, lights of the soft chandelier hanging above you glittering on your smooth skin. He feels it, you’re terrified, which makes him smirk just a bit, as you should know your place, under him, beneath him, perhaps he can handle you if you’ll be just a little docile. You are pleasing enough to look at.

Something familiar stirs when you look back at him, with eyes glimmering with unshed tears, your lower lip caught in your row of upper teeth. He remembers it like a fog, being at Jujutsu high with his best friends, right before he started to realize how horrible humans were, God he’d been so naive then. Your families introduced you two, but you were young.

He remembers thinking you were pretty, being just a little shy actually, which is so laughable now. You’d met Satoru then too, and he could swear you’d made eyes on him, on his old best friend who now is his enemy, which hurts Suguru in many, many ways, as having Satoru back on the right side, his side. There was no denying Satoru was the strongest, but Suguru was coming for him.

He smiles a bit as he thinks of it, and his pretty face looks terrifying for a moment, making your breath catch, as the priest begins the ceremony, and Suguru rips his eyes from you. You eye black gauged earrings, alone with some little barbell in his eyebrow, details that almost make him seem like a human, but you suppose those are just from long ago.

Suguru feels Manami’s long nails against his back, he turns and smirks at her, ignoring the pretty, but pathetic human in front of him. Manami and him have long hooked up together, though Suguru partakes in many women, she seems to be the main one by his side. Just this morning she’d sucked him off, he had not been in any sort of mood however to do more.

Knowing he’d have to fulfill his stupid duties were irritating him to know end, and no amount of sucking was fixing his shitty mood. He also sees the girls he truly sees as his real daughters, Mimiko and Nanako whispering about the bride just a bit. He errantly thinks he hears ‘pretty’ but he remembers how young they are, and what he keeps them a bit sheltered from still.

They didn’t know all of his plans yet, they were just girls still.

“You may kiss the bride.” Suguru hears errantly, he sighs, leaning down and pressing his lips against yours, hopefully the only time he’ll have to, but something literally jolts through his body as he does. He pulls back, glaring down at you, gripping your wrist, tiny in his massive grip, making you wince a bit, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

“Do you have any cursed energy!?” He demands, narrowing those intense eyes of his, you step back, shaking your head quickly.

“You know I do not. Why ask?” You whisper, he grabs your wrist even tighter, sensing every bit of your body, finding nothing. Why then, had he felt that!? Some odd shock through his system!?

He’d never kiss you again, it is quite annoying.

As the ceremony goes, and Suguru has many people around him, including some redhead you notice is all over him, you come across two little girls, who you’ve been informed are like daughters to Suguru. They both study you curiously, the little blond with pigtails smiling at you.

“You’re just a human, right?” She says, and you nod, shyly.

“Does it… suck to have no powers?” The little brunette says, and you sigh.

“Honestly, no. I don’t want all of that responsibility I guess? Do you all…” They both hold balls of energy, and you step back, heart racing as they giggle.

“Girls, not at the ceremony.” You’re almost shocked to hear him sound- kind, affectionate?- from across the room, chuckling a bit.

“Fine, dad.” They speak at the same time you notice, then they bombard you with more and more questions, while Suguru watches curiously, Manami murmuring things she’d do to him in his ear, as the other members start to dance. Someone dances with you, then, and Suguru…

Well he doesn’t fucking like it.

Why!? You’re nothing really.

When you’re finally done in the ceremony, and you’ve been dressed in some dainty little see through slip, you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, as they finally leave after slathering you in fragrant oil, brushing your hair till it gleamed. You eye yourself in the mirror nervously, seeing the color on your cheeks, the way your eyes look so… frightened really.

Being promised to Suguru meant being sheltered, and aside from making out and some touching when you could sneak out, you were indeed a virgin, and having your first time with a dude who wants to kill you just doesn’t sound fun. You sure wouldn’t let him see how afraid you were, not when he walks into the room, a goblet of wine in his hand, sighing and shutting the door.

You’re tense as he eyes your, thin transparent material showcasing your curves, the nip of your waist, the just of your hips, and most tantalizingly the swell of your breasts. His breath catches at just how good you do look, his cock twitching in response, irritating him to no end.

Perhaps this is just his stupid body’s response, but he does not get attracted to humans, they disgust him, even the pretty ones. But you are… exceptionally sexy right now, could it be all the wine, could it be that he saw you before he changed? Suguru shoves all those thoughts back, gulping down the rest of the red wine now, a drip falling from the corner, and you’re just standing there.

“Let’s get this over with.” He mumbles, and you glare then, making him smirk but also making his cock even more full of blood.

“Let’s, I don’t want this any more than you.” You mumble, unlacing the ribbons over your gown then, and he’s irritated at how bad his hands itch to take it off you, instead raising a brow.

“Oh I doubt that, at least you get to fuck me, someone with power. I am the one that has to fuck a pathetic monkey.” Your scowl deepens, as he unlaces his belt, letting his robes fall, and you see his perfect body, well formed pecs and cut abdomen, lines and swirls of tattoos all over his body, even on his corded arms.

You falter for only a moment, because his body is literally perfect, down to the trail of dark hair below his flat belly button, but you quickly shove all that out, ignoring the way your body is reacting to just seeing him. “Monkey, huh, is that what you call humans?”

“Sure is, pathetic monkeys, lesser developed and-” He pauses when your dress falls in a silky pool to your ankles, and you stand there naked fully, his heart dropping into his damn stomach.

His cock is leaking precum just staring at you, god you’re fucking beautiful, so beautiful he doesn’t think he can put a word to it. It’s as if his cock doesn’t recognize you’re some pathetic human, neither do hands that itch to touch, and his tongue that wants to just lick you.

Fuck you’re annoying.

Why are you built like this!? Your perfect tits alone are making him ache for you so badly he can hardly breathe, as they rise and fall with your own nervous breaths, and you look right at him, boldly. Suguru tries to avert his eyes, to play it off in any way, but he’s awestruck, lips parted, as he watches you cross your arms under those breasts, sees a hint of a pussy he wants to bury himself inside.

Fuck if you were just… if you just had some powers, he’d have so much fun with you, god he’d tell you how pretty you were. He’d make you cum on his mouth over and over, feel you gripping his long locks, but he can’t because you’re… you’re nothing, really, just a monkey… he has to remember.

You see red lining his perfect cheekbones, making you curious at him until he clears his throat, averting his eyes and releasing his hair, letting it cascade over broad shoulders. “Let’s just… get it done.” You murmur then, sitting on the futon now, decked with reds and golds in the luxurious room they had made for the two of you.

That’s when Suguru sees your perfect little pussy, making him bump into the side table, you blink a bit, curiously at him, thighs spread as you rest on your elbows. He cannot even function, you are so perfect he hates it, surely there is something about you, some energy they’re missing, there is no way that you’re a human, with such effects on him!?

He lets his pants fall as he tries to pull himself together, and that’s when you see him, rock hard and thick, far, far too many inches. You panic, wondering just how the fuck that’s gonna fit, you’d had fingers inside you that hurt a bit before, this was probably gonna wreck you. You almost shut your thighs, watching his reddened tip drool pearly drops of precum.

Sheltered but not stupid, he was clearly ready. You raise a brow. “You seem pretty… ready for such a monkey in front of you, hmm?”

Suguru glares now, grabbing you by the hair, cock near your face, you wonder if he’ll shove it in your mouth wildly, but he’s just pulling at your hair, making you gasp out in pain, as he tilts your head back. “Do you even know what to do, pathetic little fucking monkey!?”

“I haven’t before, no.” You whisper then, and he pauses, gulping down some horrible sense of guilt. Not only has he not been with a virgin, he knows he’s clearly not your choice for this.

What is it that's making him feel so much?

He hates it. He hates you.

Is it the fact that he can see you’re afraid, he lays with women who coo over him, who are soaking wet as he just smiles at them, women who drop to their knees if he snaps his fingers. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but he shouldn’t care, right? What are humans to a sorcerer?

“I know you need an heir, so just… put it in me.” You say, he chuckles then, shaking his head as he shoves you back on the bed, bouncing just slightly when he rests over you on an elbow, sucking on two fingers then.

It’s so lewd, how his mouth wraps the thick digits, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks on them, before he sinks two right in your tight little cunt, making you gasp at the stretch, and making him exhale, holding back a moan. You’re so tight, clenching him, your gummy little walls convulsing, making him picture just how good you’ll feel around his cock.

“Do you have to!? Just get it in.” You whisper, and he glares down at you, lips parted at your utter lack of knowledge and insolent mouth.

“I can’t, you’re too tight, stupid monkey.” You glare and shove at his chest, only making him chuckle more. “You think I wanna prep or even touch you?”

“You think I w-want those or that in me!? No, just do it. Stop that… touching me inside… mnh!” At the sound of your own moan you cover your mouth, gasping as your eyes shoot up to his, he tilts his head, long silky hair falling like a curtain to the side of you both, as he presses on that spot again.

This time your eyes roll back, and he knows he’s found it, that spot in your pretty pussy that is just a little spongier, as your cunt starts drooling, and his cock has to press against the bed, for any pressure. Not only do you feel so good, so wet, you’re also fucking gorgeous as your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut, and he looks down at the mess you’re making.

“Messy little thing, tsk.” He says then, and you’re struggling to form a word when he puts his fingers back in, building pressure in your tummy that feels far too good, making you hate him more. “Hear her, huh? Monkey that excited?”

“D-don’t hear shit, don’t even l-like it.” You manage to utter out, and he’s smirking down at you, kissing down your breasts far too fondly, moaning as your walls are fluttering around his fingers, sucking a pretty, puffy nipple in his mouth. “Just fuck me, would you?”

“It will hurt you… I-” You pause, blinking as he leans up from licking and biting your breasts, little trails of saliva, as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What do you care, you don’t need me to like it to give me an heir. Just get it done so I can go to sleep.”

Your words hit him then, why does he care? Suguru could slaughter a village but can’t imagine fucking you without preparing you properly, fuck he wanted you to like it, to want him. And why!?

“You won’t be able to take me, tiny pathetic little cunt can’t.” You scowl as he sucks on a nipple again, scissoring his fingers in your cunt now, making lewd squishing sounds as you feel you’re soaked, mortifying you.

“Stop sucking on them, you don’t need to.” You shove him again, and he glares, leaning over you now, intimidating as he curls slick fingers, making you gasp in pleasure, biting your lower lip hard so you don’t scream out how good it is.

“If I must breed you, I’ll do it how I wish to. Stop acting as if you can tell me what to do.”

“I hate you.” You smack him then, earning a psychotic glare, and you realize fuck you’ve messed up, as he takes his fingers out of your pussy and shoves them right in your mouth, making you choke on them.

“Will you shut up, stupid monkey, fuck.” He’s then lining up his cock with your entrance, shoving your thighs up high. “Fine then, wanna get it over with, huh?”

You nod eagerly, hating every second under him, even if your body betrayed you. “Sure do, fucking psycho.”

“Psycho, huh?” You nod again, then gasp in pain as he fills you, stuffing your cunt full in one stroke, making it burn even though you are soaked and prepared somewhat, nothing could really prepare for his huge cock inside you.

“Ah!” You blink back tears, tears that bother him, and they shouldn’t, but now he wants to tenderly brush back your hair, that’s fallen on your brow. He wants to pull back out and prep you more, but you’re an insolent brat who won’t even let him, and he shouldn’t want to.

But your pussy gripping him drives him insane, to the point he could cum in a stroke or two, it’s gripping that fucking good. He can’t take it, he rests his head in the crook of your neck, so you don’t see an already pussy drunk face when he pulls back, shoving his cock even deeper, and feels your nails in his back, digging, hears your little cries of pain.

He wants cries of pleasure.

What the fuck are you doing to him!?

Is it human to have a pussy like this, he wonders, biting back a moan and leaning up, grabbing at one of your thighs to sink deeper, and you hate that it starts to feel good, when he starts fucking into you. Thick cock stretching, as your cunt gushes around him, his tip dragging on some spot that makes your eyes roll back again in pleasure, and this fucker notices.

“She’s fuckin’ soaking my cock, huh? Like it, pathetic little monkey, a sorcerer over you?” You manage to glare, shaking your head, his attractive smirk widening, as he fucks you deeper and harder, and you’re a tremblind mess under him. “Oh no, you don’t hmm?”

“N-no, hate it. Hate you.” He scowls now, as you gulp down moans and cries he’s dying to hear, so he pays attention, to when you’re gasping, clamping down, realizing the spot and angle you’re dying over, so Suguru grins down at you, lifting your thighs up so high he slams your cervix. “Ah!”

“There it is.” He whispers to himself, pressing on the backs of your thighs and slamming your cervix, over and over, as you’re moaning so sexy, your back arching, while he’s folding you damn near in half now. “F-fuck… you feel so…” He stops himself, he can’t say that.

It feels so perfect.

Feels like you’re made to take his cock.

You’re so pretty under him, perspiration on your forehead, eyebrows scrunched, lips red from you biting them, your eyes glazed over. God you’re gorgeous, as his cock is throbbing inside your tight walls, and you’re struggling so hard to act like you hate it, when he’s hitting that spot over and over, his tip dragging on it again and again. You moan out loud, whining when he rolls his hips bottoming out.

“J-just cum, finish it. W-wanna be d-done.” You whisper, he glares now at you.

“Not enjoying it at all?”

“Hate it. B-boring.” Suguru laughs now, shaking his head, slamming into you, and you’re screaming out, convulsing, feeling pressure build and build, realizing with a panic then.

You’re gonna cum.

Not for him, dammit!

You struggle to hold back, shaking your head and covering your face, when he lets your thighs fall to the side, yanking your hands off your face, pinning your wrists above your head with a strong hand, long fingers wrapping your delicate wrists like they’re nothing. You gasp at it, as his other hand yanks you by your hip, slamming you down his length.

“I’ll look upon your face.” He says through his teeth, dying to watch it when you cum, and fuck he feels it, you’re so close. He wants it then, he needs it, you to cum all over him, milking him so good, and your eyes go wide in shock, but they’re already so fucked out. He’s leaking precum inside you, dragging on that spot and watching you unravel for him.

“Why do y-you wanna- mnh, f-fuck!” You’re clinging to the sheets, when Suguru would like you to cling to him, as he sends you over the fucking edge, and he watches your gorgeous face screw up in pleasure, making his cock pulse.

Fuck you’re pretty.

Fuck he hates you for doing this.

He’s never even felt anything better than this.

“Can’t help yourself, huh monkey? Gonna cum all over my cock, aren’t you?” He whispers, you shake your head, still pinned under him, and he lays over you, grinding his cock inside you, dark hair on his pelvis just pressing on your neglected clitoris, then you feel it, and he moans. “There it is.”

“No, no, no… f-fuck you… hate… ah!” You’re shattering, cumming so hard you can’t even see, all while this psycho watches avidly, and you hate him more for it, for giving you this orgasm that almost makes you faint. “Sh-shit… mnh…”

Your cunt soaks his cock as the orgasm wrecks your brain, as you’re convulsing around his thick veiny cock, with its tip pressing into your cervix, and you’re twitching under him, pathetic. You gasp as he fucks you through it, disoriented and blinking rapidly at how euphoric you feel, listening to the grunts and groans of his and the squelching of your cunt.

“Oh my… f-fuck…” Suguru groans now, unable to hold back any longer, violet eyes so dilated they look black as they drink in your face, lips hovering over yours, cock fucking harder and harder.

You almost cum again, clenching around him, as he moves over you, stuttering in his rhythm finally, faltering just a bit, gripping you tightly as he moans out, his breath hot against your lips, lips he wants to kiss, a mouth he wants to spit inside, tongue he wants to feel on his skin. You’re maddening, he realizes then, as he gets closer to his release, his cock throbbing at your pussy milking him so good.

“Mnh… shit I hate… you…” You whisper, as you’re cumming again, and he grips your wrists so hard they’ve gone numb, starting to pump hot loads of cum inside, you, groaning out loud at how good it feels.

“Milking me, shit… f-feels so fucking perf-” Suguru holds it back, luckily you’re too fucked out to care, as his cum fills you, so hot and gooey, and you’re both gasping for breaths, the room quiet save front he sounds of his cock slipping inside you, and your hearts pounding. “Filled you so fucking good, monkey, hmm?”

“G-good, it’s over…” You whisper, damn near delirious as your aftershocks make your sticky walls grip him, he gasps at it, pumping even more, as he looks into your eyes, feeling too much.

“Y-yes. Over.” He manages to spill out, and you whimper when he kisses your neck, something he shouldn’t indulge in, easing off your wrists and looking at them, his hand left prints clearly.

You ease them down, fingers wresting on his shoulders for a moment, a moment that feels too good, too natural, before you press on him. “Can you go, then?”

“What?” He blinks in confusion, cock still inside of you, fuck he never even wants to leave, so hot and wet and-

“Your seed is inside me, we should be good for now. I’m… sore. Please get off of me.” You look away now, and Suguru’s pulse races, as you refuse to look at him whatsoever when he gets off, easing his cock out of you with a messy pop sound, tensing as he sees the evidence of your innocence between your thighs.

“Let me clean you up.” He murmurs, and you glare, shaking your head and closing your legs then. “Would you just-”

“Fuck you, get out. I don’t need you cleaning me up, we’re good until… I guess whenever we have to do this again.” You stand on wobbly legs, as Suguru stands, looming over you as you head to the shower adjoining the room, grabbing you by the top of your arm. “What!?”

“So eager to run off, monkey? You should thank me.”

You laugh then, ignoring the throb of your pussy and the pounding in your head, fuck him he felt so good in you, you’ve never even felt that good before, not from little orgasms you gave yourself. You hate him more for it, not only did your first time have to be with this ass of a man, a psycho killer, you also came when you didn’t even want to, making it all worse/

“Thank you!? For what!”

“For cumming inside you.” He presses you against the wall then, looming over you so tall, his sweet breath like the grapes of the wine as he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes on his. “For making a monkey like you cum.”

“You didn’t make me cum, stupid psycho.” You glare right at him, chest heaving as you speak the lies, but he laughs right down at you, thumb brushing over a lip with teeth indentations from how hard you bit it.

“Didn’t cum? You’re a fucking liar, on top of being pathetic. Useless.”

“Useless, yes except to have your stupid heir. I can’t wait to get pregnant, actually, so I’ll never have to get touched again.”

“Oh yeah, so fucking horrible?”

“Terrible.”

“And you’re disgusting to me.”

“Good!” You shove at his strong chest, slick with sweat, and pause there then, as does he, a hand now entwined at the nape of your neck, as he dies to kiss you, brutally, over and over, but he just holds you there. “Am I done for the night Lord Geto, or whatever the fuck you like to be called?”

He’d like you to scream Suguru.

Fuck.

“Will you just let me clean you up, it was your first time and-”

“Oh no, you’re not gonna play like you care at all. We did what we had to do, what we both had to do, neither of us wanted it, or enjoyed it. Right?” You demand then, raising a brow, and he scowls.

“Not right, and I’m just-”

“I remember it, meeting you, you were… sweet.”

He laughs then. “What?”

“You were, and him? I’d have been happy to do this, but you? I don’t wanna look at you and think of it. Let me go.” He scowls as he goes to grab his clothes now, and you lean against the wall, covering your face, not wanting him to see just how you are affected by him.

“I’ll be putting a curse at your door, to make sure you don’t run.” He says then, making you blink in shock, seeing he’s dressed finally, putting his hair back up.

“I have nowhere to run to.” He pauses at that, jaw locked. “But go ahead, maybe it’ll be better company than you.”

Suguru scoffs. “Clean up.”

“Get out.” You order, finally he turns, walking out, leaving you to step into the shower, letting the hot spray hit you, sore in places you’ve never imagined, thinking just how much you hate him.

You’re sobbing then, under the coverage of the shower, where no one would see you, see what he’s done to you, your mental state in ruins. You scrub everywhere his elegant fingers touched, everywhere his lush lips kissed, hissing when you wash your sore pussy, looking down at your fingers, finding his cum pouring out of you. Hot, sticky white cum washed by the shower.

Steam fills as you slide down to sit in the shower, resting your head on your knees, hating him so much you can barely breathe. Bad enough he fucked you, why did he have to make you enjoy it, why did he act like he cared for your pleasure, cared for you after even? A lie, all a lie, and it’s the last thing you need. 

You will hate him.

Outside your room, Suguru leans his back against your door, trying to catch his breath, head swirling with you, hands shaking as they brush back his hair. You have him shaking, you annoying, stupid brat of a girl, who wouldn’t even let him try to care for you, at all.

Why’d he want to though? You were right, your duty was fulfilled for the night, he should stop thinking of how he’d love to be in that shower with you, how he’s dying to be back inside you, imagining making you admit how good it felt. He could feel your slick on his cock still, wondering if you feel him pouring out of you, dying to breed you again, again, again.

He detests you.

Summoning a curse, a rather derpy looking one shaped like a bull with several eyes, he plops him next to your door now, this is a docile curse he’s had since his youth, bringing back too many memories. Of being happy, of laughing, of a girl named Riko, right before he’d snapped, her riding this curse on its back as they tried their best to save her.

It proved how disgusting humans were that day, lest he ever forget, his fist clenched as he struggles to gain his resolve, looking down at the creature now. “Guard this door.” It nods, tongue lolling out, Suguru sighs then. “Also make sure you… care for the girl in this room. Yes?”

It nods again, as Suguru does not know if you are safe really, surely no one would go against him, but there is much hatred already for humans, and many, many people hate you. But he wants you to be safe, otherwise he’ll just get another bride thrown on him, and who knows if he’d hate her more.

Suguru ends up in his room now, sighing as he sees Manami there with another woman from his cult, he shakes his head as they try to disrobe him. “No, I am not in any sort of mood for it.”

“But Suguru, it must've been awful.” Manami cooes, and the other girl nods, as they rub up and down his arms, making him feel disgusted.

How?

How do they, powerful women, make him disgusted now? He owes you no loyalty, he did not plan to only be with you, but the thought of anyone but you actually makes him sick. What sort of witchcraft do you possess, some new undetectable kind that he hasn’t figured out, to make him feel like this? Are you some weapon to destroy his fucking plans?

“Go. Now.” Suguru orders then, and they pout as they leave, but Suguru can’t get his mind off you, not when he’s washing you off in the shower, every vivid thought of making you enjoy it fills his mind.

Suguru hates you more when he’s stroking his cock to the thought of you whimpering, begging for him, on your knees with your tongue out. He’s moaning as he pinches his tip, he already came so much but he can’t stop how hard he is, thinking of how your eyes would cross as he fucked your throat, as he came so deep and you swallowed him greedy.

Thinking of you riding him, your tits bouncing right in his face, your thighs squeezing his face as he lapped his cup out of your pussy after. ‘F-fuck, you like it, don’t you’ he’s muttering, wet hair sticking to his back as water pounds down, and he’s stroking his cock faster and faster, eyes shutting, vivid pictures of you everywhere.

‘That’s it, good girl, cumming just for me, mine, aren’t you’ he’s stuttering, saying stupid insane shit, so high off your pussy he can’t even talk himself out of it, not when his big hand strokes his thick shaft over and over.

When Suguru cums again he moans out loud, hunching over and gasping for a breath, hating you more for what you’ve done when his sticky cum pours all out of his hand now. He rinses himself off, shaking his head and covering it with his other hand, realizing jerking off was nothing like cumming inside you, like fucking your perfect little pussy.

Just who the fuck are you?

******

The next day of being Suguru’s wife, you open the door and gasp, seeing some bull shaped creature who’s grinning at you, several eyes wide open as it licks your leg, making you squeak. “What!?”

“He likes you.” Comes Mimiko’s voice, she’s poking around on her phone, and you take a breath, smiling a bit.

Just because Suguru is a psychotic dick, it doesn’t mean you’d take it out on little girls, or oddly cute curses. “Can I pet it?” You ask, and Nanako giggles next to her sister, stepping closer.

“He’s docile.” She pets him then, and the thing damn near purrs, you bend down on your knees now, petting him yourself, sighing.

“He’s kinda cute?” They burst out in laughter, leaving the hall then, as you find the first bit of comfort in one of stupid, psycho Suguru’s curses. “You like me?”

He nods, licking on your cheek, you swipe at it, wincing as it runs off, and suddenly Suguru Geto is standing right in front of you, as you’re just on your knees still, looking up at him. Vivid insane thoughts fill you, as you feel your tummy clench, pussy so sore from him still, thinking of the dreams you’d had of this ass of a man, and now you’re just… there.

He freezes when he sees your hair fall back, loose and flowing, shimmering likely from your shower, and you’re right where he pictured you, what he jerked himself to over and over. The urge to pull out his cock and fuck your pretty face was overwhelming, driving him so insane his cock responds violently, already leaking precum, annoying him to no end.

He’d turned down more women this morning, because now he’s coming to a really annoying realization- he wants you. Only you. He’s blaming his stupid body, for wanting a petty human, but it’s undeniable, while you just blink and look up for a moment, before you clear your throat, standing and grabbing the door way, looking away now.

“Where’d the curse go? I like him.”

“You like him!?”

“Better than you, I was right. He’s cuter.” You smile then, and he glares, grabbing you right by your throat, only making you laugh.

“Who’s the psycho here, me or you?” He whispers, and you grip his wrist now, as he looks how pretty your neck is with his hand around it, as he looks at glossy lips he wants to kiss.

“Gonna kill me before the heir?” You whisper, when he squeezes just so.

“Tempting to do so.” He whispers against your lips, and you come to a very annoying realization of your own, when your nipples tighten, when your pussy drips from him choking you.

You want this psycho.

Just your body, you’ll just blame that, but it’s undeniable, and it makes you despise him more. “Go for it, put me outta my misery. Won’t have to look at you.” You say, he squeezes harder, stepping a little further in the room, as you feel lightheaded, and fucking horny.

What’s wrong with you!?

“Why don’t we work harder on making it happen then?”

“Now!?” You demand, and he shuts the door, smirking, undoing his black robes as you rub your sore neck.

“Now.”

Taglist open for parts two and three if you're not on it already <3 Hope you enjoyed this, I know Geto doesn't hit like my Gojo or Sukuna posts, but I rly tried lol. Can't wait to see what ya'll think!

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[kashverse]

papatoji and mamaguro reader ?

sending your husband off to work like a loving, doting wife was a crucial part of your daily routine. it was important that he felt supported before he went out to, well—commit several felonies. sure, some women sent their husbands off with a homemade bento and a kiss on the cheek. you? you handed yours a small, carefully portioned bowl of soaked almonds while cradling your half-asleep, drooling son.

because good memory was important for his line of work.

"get safe," you murmur, rocking megumi slightly as he snuggles deeper into your chest. toji, who is currently double-checking the strap of his sword, nods absentmindedly. "mm."

"stay calm."

"mm."

"come home soon."

"mm."

"i love you."

"mm."

then, you hold out the almonds. toji freezes.

ah, there it is. the momentary hesitation. the slight flicker of fear in those sharp green eyes. because for some reason, this was the part of the routine that shook him the most. not the job. not the assassinations. not even the active gunfire. no, no. it was the damn almonds.

“babe,” he starts, voice edging toward a whine. 

“toji.” your voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation. he groans, rubbing the back of his head, “i told you, i don’t need these. my memory’s fine.”

“oh? is it?” you arch a brow. “where were you last night at exactly 1:45 a.m.?”

toji opens his mouth. closes it. narrows his eyes.

"...you put a tracker on me, didn’t you?"

you hum, bouncing megumi a little. "soaked almonds, toji."

he exhales, long and suffering, like he’s the one dealing with difficulties here. "why soaked ones?" he grumbles, but he still takes them from you, stuffing a couple into his mouth like a sullen child.

"because it helps with absorption," you say, watching to make sure he chews them properly. he sighs dramatically, munching through them with all the enthusiasm of a man eating paper. "whatever." he swallows. "happy now?"

you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling sweetly. "very."

toji, despite himself, grins. "good."

he makes it all the way to the door before you say, "oh, and—"

toji stops. turns. "what."

you tilt your head. "don't forget your protein intake today, okay? make sure to eat something healthy."

"...babe, who do you think i am, some dumbass who only eats meat and beer?"

you blink at him. slowly. his jaw clenches. "...fine."

he leaves, and you swear you hear him grumbling under his breath about how he's supposed to be the scary one in this house, damn it.

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: this is soft daddy Joel like you've never seen before. angst, angst, angst. just heart-wrenching, gut-clenching, bucket-full-of-tears kind of flow. but I promise, I swear to you, it's going to get good!

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

The sound was distant, muffled through the walls, but it was there—constant, sharp infant's cries cutting through the night like something wounded, something helpless. The baby never laughed, cooed, or made small, gurgling noises that kids were supposed to make. Just crying. Night after night, the same pitiful wails, like it was fighting sleep and didn’t know how to be comforted.

And the mother?

Leela. That was her name. Tommy and Maria had told him her family had been here before them, before all of this, that she’d grown up in Jackson, that the big house across from his had always been hers. He instantly believed it—her place didn’t look like the others. It was well-kept in a way that wasn’t just for show. The wood was aged but polished, the porch steps sturdy, and the windows wiped clean even in the dead of winter. A home, not just a shelter.

But it wasn’t warm.

Not with that sound in the night. Not when he never saw anyone else go inside.

No one knew who the kid’s father was, and Leela never said. She wouldn’t even let people help her—not Maria, not the older women in town who had tried, not even the ones who had kids of their own and knew what to do. And now, at the end of another long day, that fucking baby was crying again.

Joel had tried to let it be. Had forced himself to breathe calmly, stay in his house, shut the curtains, turn over in bed and pull the blanket over his head like some stubborn old bastard trying to pretend it wasn’t his problem.

But it was.

Because he could hear it. Because it sounded fucking miserable. Because he’d had enough.

When the cries began to get worse into the night, that was his last straw. With a frustrated sigh, he yanked on his jacket, shoved his arms through the sleeves, and stepped out into the cold, the door crashing shut behind him. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he crossed the road, hands tightening into fists, shoulders squared. The wind was sharp, biting at his skin, and when he reached her porch, he had half a mind to just bang on the damn door until she answered.

But then—he hesitated.

There was still a kid in there. The devilkin, probably. A baby nevertheless. And it's struggling mother.

He exhaled through his nose, loosened his fingers, and reached for the old metal knocker instead. Three firm, steady raps.

A pause. A paddle of footsteps down the staircase inside, light and hesitant. A sniffle. A sigh.

The curtains fluttered from nearby—just a fraction, just enough for him to catch the glint of an eye in the darkness, shedding a blade of light onto the frozen lawn. And then the door creaked open.

The poor mother looked like hell.

Her eyes—pretty, brown, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded—held the kind of exhaustion that settled deep, beyond sleep, beyond fixing. Her cheeks were hollowed, her lips chapped to brown, her hair falling loose from whatever attempt she’d made to pull it back.

And the baby—the cries hadn’t stopped. If anything, they were worse now. Closer. Desperate. The sound reached him in waves, piercing and thin, rattling against the walls of the house and clawing at something deep in his chest. A familiarity.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. Her voice was raw, barely holding together. “I just…”

She trailed off as if the words had run out, or maybe she didn’t have the strength to find them. Then the baby shrieked, and she flinched. A full-body recoil, like something had struck her. She turned away, pressing her wrist to her nose, shoulders curling inward, folding into herself as though she could disappear into the space she took up.

And Joel—well, he had been ready to lay into her. To tell her to do something, to figure it out, to stop letting that kid cry itself raw night after night. But looking at her now, standing there with her arms wrapped tight around herself, shaking from something that wasn’t just the cold…

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, against every instinct, every frustration, he surprised himself by saying—

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

Didn’t stop to think if he had the right. Didn’t question if she would let him in, because the noise was still there, splitting the air, working its way under his skin like a thorn that wouldn’t come out. His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists, and the next thing he knew, he was pushing past her and her doorstep.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. Well, he had been, just not anymore.

It was desperation. A need to stop that noise. That noise had been giving him sleepless nights for a week now. And with it, came the memories he’d spent years burying. He couldn't afford to let them resurface by the likes of this strange, terrible mother.

The house smelled faintly of old wood, dust, and something softer underneath—like linen, like the lingering scent of a person who lived there and never left. It was dark, too, save for the single glow spilling from a room upstairs. His boots were heavy against the worn floorboards, his breath tight in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time. Three doors on the second floor, but only one was open.

He stepped inside.

The first thing he saw was the cradle, right in the centre of the empty room, as if placed there on purpose, a little crib mobile fashioned into wooden horses, dangling mid-air.

Old. Hinges barely holding together. The wood had worn smooth from time, its edges dulled, like something that had been used for generations. The mattress inside was thin, its fabric stained with age, but the sheets were neatly tucked. Arranged properly. Everything was in its place.

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

And then the baby. No older than a month, wriggling in its white nappy, legs kicking in frantic little bursts, tiny fists curled so tight they trembled. Tears slicked its cheeks, its face blotchy and red, its mouth stretched wide in a scream so raw, so piercing, that it stole the breath straight from the lungs. It was exhausted. Starving.

But goddamn, if that wasn't one beautiful fucking baby.

Biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen, glassy with exhaustion, wet and searching. A head full of thick, dark hair, damp and curling at the ends. But it wasn’t chubby the way babies should be. Not soft enough. Too small, skin drawn tight, movements restless but weak. Malnourished.

His jaw clenched. He barely registered the sharp footsteps rushing up behind him until her voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

He cut off her protest with an abrupt, “Boy or girl?”

She stopped short. Lips parting. Swallowing down whatever she’d been about to say.

“Girl.”

Joel’s gaze flicked back to the baby. He noticed the slight bloating around her belly, the way she arched and curled, restless, like she couldn’t find a position that didn’t hurt. That explained the shrieking. Colic, for sure.

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

“I—I’ve been having trouble with…” She gestured vaguely to her chest, gaze dropping, almost ashamed. “I tried water... um... I don't know.”

Jesus Christ. Joel dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard through his nose. Too late at night or too early in the morning—he didn’t know which, and at this point, it didn’t matter. His head ached. His body ached. And this kid—this poor, starving little thing—had been too hapless to be born to this fucking clueless, stubborn mother.

“Need to call Maria,” he said under his breath.

Her eyes went wide. “I don’t need anybody’s help. I'm fine.”

He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “You don't. Your girl sure does. And try saying that when this crib empties in the next week.”

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

He barely registered it. He was already moving, already slipping into old instinct, the one he thought had died a long time ago.

Stepping closer, Joel reached into the cradle, hands slipping beneath the baby’s small, rigid body. Carefully, he eased her onto her stomach, a shush falling from his lips, settling her against his forearm, palm spanning nearly the length of her body. Christ, she was so fucking small. Too small. Probably premature. A frail little thing, light as air, fists still curled, breath coming out in tiny, shuddering gasps between cries.

Leela stood stiff beside him, her breath uneven, arms wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should step forward or pull away.

Joel didn’t look at her. His focus stayed on the baby. The way her tiny limbs jerked, how her cries wavered like she couldn’t decide if she had the energy to keep going.

He started rubbing slow, steady circles against her back, the calloused warmth of his palm pressing gently but firmly over her fragile bones. Something old stirred in him—something buried deep, something that twisted like a knife. He didn’t think about it. Didn’t let himself. Just kept rubbing. Kept murmuring something low, quiet, something he wasn’t even aware of.

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

The wails started to waver, breaking apart in the middle, turning into stuttering hiccups, then snivels, a laughable baby burp that even had him breaking into a small smile. Then—

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

Joel exhaled, keeping his touch steady as she shuddered against him, her tiny fingers twitching against the sleeve of his jacket.

“See?” His voice was rough. “Just needed a little push.”

Leela didn’t respond. She was staring. Not at him, exactly, but at his hands, at the way he held the baby. Like she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Observing him, learning.

When he glanced down, she was blinking up at him, half-lidded, her breath slowing, her little body going limp with exhaustion. She made a wet, little noise, almost a soft coo.

“She got a name?”

When the silence lingered, he lifted his head, caught Leela’s stare, and cocked a brow when she didn’t answer. Then, she silently shook her head.

Joel frowned. “You didn’t name your kid?”

And just like that, something clicked into place. The way she stood there, arms locked tight around herself. The way she hadn’t called the baby anything. The way she hadn't moved a step close to protect her baby from this stranger. The hesitation in her voice, the way she held herself together like she was bracing for something.

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

Soft. Firm. After a beat, she lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the crisscross of stretch marks across her stomach, just above the line of her pants.

Joel sighed through his nose. His fingers ghosted over the baby’s small back before he finally let go, letting her rest in her mother's arms. It felt wrong—leaving the baby there like that—but he slipped his hand away, albeit unwillingly, and stroked her fine, dark hair once. Twice. Then forced himself to stop.

He exhaled sharply, standing upright, rubbing a hand over his face. His patience was hanging by a thread. His chest ached with something raw, something angry. He had no business being here, no reason to care, but—

"Look," he muttered, voice tight, "you shouldn't have had a kid if you were just gonna sit around and do nothing. Jesus, at least get yourself some help."

Leela cringed. It was barely noticeable, just a flicker of movement, but he caught it. She turned her face away, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and bit at what little was left of her nail, worrying it between her teeth.

The sight of it—it wasn’t what he expected. He had been bracing for an argument, for defensiveness, for anger. But there was nothing like that. Just the quiet gnawing of her thumbnail, the restless shifting of her fingers.

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

He exhaled sharply. "Maria’s coming in tomorrow," he said, firm. Like he was setting it in stone. "Whether you like it or not. She'll know what to do."

That made her glance up. And for the first time, he really saw her.

Not just the exhaustion, the red-rimmed eyes, or the way she curled in on herself like she was trying to take up as little space as possible—but the fear. That deep, paralyzing kind of fear that settled into a person’s bones, made a home there.

Then his eyes flicked downward, back to the baby. She had her mother’s eyes. Big, dark, and brimming with something wild, something untamed. Something fragile, caught on the verge of bolting. And in that moment, they both looked the same.

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

Leela swallowed thickly, lips parting like she wanted to speak. But when she did, her voice barely made it past her throat. “Take her.”

Joel blinked. For a second, he thought he must’ve misheard.

But she was looking at him—really looking at him now, eyes wide and wet, breath uneven like she’d just sprinted a mile. And the way she was standing, trembling, fists curled into the fabric of her sleeves—She meant it. She was serious.

"You're right," she whispered, voice barely there. "I might kill her. Just take her away, please."

A slow, sinking dread pooled in his stomach. His fingers curled at his sides, restless, itching for something to hold onto.

The baby stirred weakly against Leela’s chest, small fingers twitching up to her mother's neck, dark lashes fluttering against flushed skin. She had gone quiet, her body still in that way newborns only got when they were too damn exhausted to keep crying.

His hands twitched at his sides. He knew what he should do. He should take the kid. That was the right thing, wasn’t it? He should lift her into his arms, swaddle her in a blanket, turn on his heel, and walk out the door. Hand her off to Maria, and let someone who actually knew what they were doing step in. Hell, she’d been talking about trying to set up a proper nursery in town, get the kids what they needed—she’d figure it out.

But Joel didn't move; couldn't move.

Because now that he was looking at her, really looking, he saw it—saw the fear clinging to her like a second skin. Not fear of him. Not fear of what people might say. Fear of herself. Conviction was a luxury.

She stood there, arms wrapped tight around herself, her body drawn inward like she was trying to make herself small as if shrinking could somehow erase the truth. The baby rested against her chest, quiet now, as if sensing the shift in the air. Her fingers barely touched her child, hesitant, light, the way someone might hold a delicate piece of glass they weren’t sure they could be trusted with.

Joel’s stomach turned.

“I—I'm not—I can’t do this.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, frayed at the edges, raw like an old wound that had never properly healed.

He felt something sharp and hot twist inside him, something he didn’t want to name.

“You ain’t givin’ her up.” His voice came out rough, low, unwavering.

Leela let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking her head. “Do you think I have a choice here?”

“Yeah.” His eyes stayed on hers, unrelenting. “I do.”

She sniffled, shaking her head again, but her fingers twitched against her sleeve, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

And Joel—Joel had seen this before. Had known people like this. People who stood at the edge of something dark, looking down, unable to turn back. He’d been one of them once. It made something ugly rise in his chest. Made him angry in a way that didn’t make sense, and didn’t sit right.

Because this mother—this stupid, foolish, ignorant girl—had no business being like that. She didn't even know what kind of luck she'd struck with that baby girl. He would've killed to be where she was, even if it was for a moment.

"You're a fucking coward if you're thinking about giving your daughter up.” The words left him, sharp as a blade, before he could stop them. “You got plenty of choices, but you're too goddamn pigheaded to make the right one."

She flinched. Not just in surprise, but something deeper—like he’d struck her with all his might, like he’d confirmed every awful thing she’d ever thought about herself.

Joel’s jaw locked. It was too late to take it back.

He should’ve stopped. He should’ve taken a breath, let the words settle and left it at that. But something about her, the way she stood there like she was waiting to be knocked down, made his patience snap clean in half.

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

The air outside was colder than before, or maybe it felt that way. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped onto the road, his breath coming sharp, ragged in the quiet of the night. His fingers ached, curled into tight fists, his pulse still hammering.

He was halfway across the street when something in him shifted.

His anger thinned, the heat of it fading just enough for everything else to creep in—her voice, her hands trembling, the way her arms had tightened around that kid like she was afraid of herself more than anything else.

He slowed, stopping in his tracks. The house loomed behind him, dark except for that single upstairs window.

Joel looked up at the home.

The cries had started again. Thin, reedy wails carried through the cold, through the walls.

He stood there, staring at the lights flickering against the frost-covered glass.

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

Not that he ever did, but last night was worse than usual.

Every time he closed his eyes, it was the baby’s cries again. He saw Leela’s face, dark and hollow, eyes too big for her sunken frame. He heard her voice, raw and trembling, telling him to take the kid—like it was the only way. Like she didn’t trust herself to keep her alive, already grieving her.

Even now, as he tugged on his gloves and prepared for patrol, he kept seeing the way she had watched him with her baby. He remembered the way she desperately looked at him, waiting for him to take the baby from her, as if letting go was the only mercy she had left to offer.

Maria was there now. She had let herself in, just like that. Hadn’t knocked, hadn’t hesitated. And Leela had not met her at the door, hadn’t locked it after Joel had walked out last night.

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

Not his problem. He shouldn't be bothered with it. He’d done his part. More than his part. He had brought help in, and gotten someone else to deal with it—someone better suited for this kind of thing. Maria would figure it out. She always did.

Still, as he swung himself onto his horse and rode out for patrol, that damn house stayed in the back of his mind. The way it stood there, quiet and still, while something inside was coming apart at the seams. The way Leela had stood in that dim room, shoulders curled inward, looking more like a ghost than a person.

He shook it off and went through the motions. Focus on the day ahead.

Patrol was long, tedious, and more of the same—checking the perimeter, clearing out old trouble spots down his trail, making sure everything was as it should be, and scouring supplies. A welcome distraction. When he stopped by Ellie’s as usual, she narrowed her eyes at him from behind her sketchbook, muttering something about how he looked like shit.

“Didn’t sleep,” was all he said. And she didn’t bother to press. Ellie was another long, welcome, more pesky distraction.

By the time evening rolled around, he’d fallen back into his routine. Routine. That was what mattered. He groomed his horse, rubbing his hands along its mane just to keep them busy. He cleaned his rifle, making sure the gears weren't easy to jam and stopped to pick up some new gear at the store. He grabbed a whiskey—alone—just to take the edge off, slowing down for a bit.

He finished the evening like always, grabbing a boxed dinner from the mess hall, not bothering to make small talk. No one asked anything of him, and he didn’t offer anything in return. A night like any other. Something he repeated to himself, just to ground himself to reality besides the weight of his breaking boots.

Then he saw her. Maria was still at that house, waiting by the porch swing, face tense. She spotted him almost instantly and strode straight toward him.

Joel nodded at her in greeting, shifting the box under his arm. "You good?"

Maria didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Sure. Got a second?”

He tipped his chin toward Leela’s door. "All set over there?"

“Far from it.” Her voice was tight, laced with something he didn’t like. “I need your help.”

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

But Maria didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smirk. Instead, she followed him inside his house.

Joel's 'home' was nothing special—functional, practical. Just a space to exist in. A couch pushed against one wall which he used more than the bed upstairs, a table he used out of necessity, a kitchen stocked with the bare minimum. Not much to look at, or even stay for long. It wasn't home, but it was enough. Certainly nothing like Leela’s home, where history bled through the worn floorboards, through the walls, a place that had been lived in.

Joel didn’t let himself think about it too much. He dropped the box of food onto the table, turning to Maria with his arms crossed.

“Well?”

Maria sighed, staring out the window toward Leela’s house. The porch light flickered weakly, and the house itself looked darker than it had last night. Like it had collapsed in on itself a little more.

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

Joel huffed, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, pretending not to hear the implication behind those words. “Figured.”

“No,” Maria said, sharper this time. “I mean it.”

She turned back to him, her eyes shadowed with something heavier than just concern. She looked tired—worn—in a way that wasn’t just about the town or the thousand responsibilities on her shoulders. It was personal.

Joel exhaled through his nose, already feeling the walls closing in on this conversation.

Maria rubbed a hand over her face. “She’s disturbed. I don’t think she’s had a proper meal in days. She’s having trouble breastfeeding, let alone keeping herself together enough to care for that baby.” She shook her head. “I can’t be there all the time. I’ve got the whole town to run, a hundred things to look after. Tommy’s drowning in work. We're stretched thin as it is.” Her eyes met his, steady and pointed. “You’re my last resort.”

Joel frowned, jaw ticking. “And do what, exactly? Pretend like I've done this dance before?”

“Just be there,” Maria said so positively, like it wasn’t the worst fucking idea in the world. “Make sure she doesn’t slip up with the baby. Help where you can. Just a few days—until Tommy and I can step in.”

Joel dragged a hand down his beard, exhaling slowly. “You have got to be shitting me. You want me to play babysitter.”

Everything in him wanted to refuse. He’d done his part here. Hell, more than his part. He didn’t owe that woman anything. She had a nice home. Pretty face. She had her newborn. And if she didn’t know how to handle it, that was on her. He wasn’t looking to take on another burden. Christ, wasn’t he supposed to be done with this kind of thing? Wasn’t he past the point of taking in lost causes?

But Maria didn’t look like she was giving him a choice. Her voice softened, dropping to something quieter, edged with meaning. “I don’t think she had this baby with someone she knew, Joel.”

Joel stiffened. Maria’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unspoken there, something heavy, something that didn’t need to be stated outright. Still, it landed in his gut like a stone.

She let the silence stretch, let him fill in the gaps. And he did.

“I hope you understand what I'm getting at,” she continued. “I don’t think she wanted this at all.”

Joel clenched his jaw, staring at the floor, pretending like he didn’t hear them. He didn't ask how she knew, didn’t even ask what she’d seen in that house today that had led her to that conclusion.

Because he already knew. He’d seen it, too.

The way Leela couldn’t bring herself to name the baby. The way she looked at the child was like she was something fragile, something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong to her. The way she had looked at him—not with resentment, not with anger, but with resignation.

Like she was handing over the baby because she genuinely believed it was the only way to save her. A fist of darkness curled in his stomach.

He knew what it was like to lose a child. He knew what it did to a person, how it tore through you, how it hollowed them out from the inside. But whatever this was, it wasn’t grief. This was something worse. He prayed he would never have to deal with this.

This was a woman standing on the edge of the deep and the dark, staring down into it, wondering how much further she could fall before there was no coming back. And there was a baby—a fucking baby—at her feet. Yet, she was ready to take that fall.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, rubbing the back of his neck.

But the truth was, he’d already stepped in. Already gotten himself involved. Whether out of desperation or some obstinate, buried need to fix things that were beyond saving, he wasn’t sure. And now, if he walked away, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with the consequences.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller, the walls a little tighter. A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, reluctantly, he sighed. “This is a big fucking mistake, Maria. I'm the last person who should be over there with her.”

Maria nodded, hearing what she needed to hear, relief flickering across her face. “You'll figure it out. I'll be around if you need anything. Thank you.”

Joel didn’t answer. He didn't know what the hell he’d just agreed to, but something in his gut told him it was going to end real bad.

X

Morning light washed over his neighbour's house, soft and cold, as Joel made his way up the steps. It must’ve been the perfect little home once, back when the world was still whole—white clapboard, modest porch with a swingset, somewhere that had been waiting too long for someone to come back home. A place built to last. And maybe, before seasons and silence collapsed, it had.

But time had sunk its teeth in. The paint had started peeling in the corners, the wood of the steps groaned under his boots, and though the windows were clean, there was something hollow about the way they sat in their frames as if no one had looked out of them in a long time. It didn’t have the neglect of a broken-down house, but rather the hush of a place that had lost something vital.

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

Maria had been right—that girl really didn’t have a single clue.

He pushed the door wider and stepped inside, careful, slow, not wanting to seem intrusive but unable to stop himself from taking in the room. It wasn’t what he expected.

Her home wasn’t cluttered, wasn’t in disarray, but there was something about it that felt… off. A mind too busy to bother with the details of living. Against one wall stood two large blackboards hung haphazardly over shelves, filled with complex math equations, numbers and symbols scrawled out in clean, sharp lines. A few pieces of chalk lay scattered at the base, alongside crumpled papers and a wastebasket that never quite caught them. Shelves held solved Rubik’s cubes, closed notebooks, and empty pens stuck upright in a pen stand. On the table, a coffee mug sat with dried stains at the bottom, an imprint of hands that had used it over and over, mindlessly, then set it aside without a thought.

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

A fucking scientist. That was the last thing he’d ever have guessed about her. Dr Leela last-name-something, the resident nerd mom.

He didn’t know what he expected when he climbed the stairs, only that something about the house still put him on edge. It wasn’t just the oddity of it—the blackboards filled with numbers, the pages of equations scattered like fallen leaves—it was the fact that none of it felt lived in. Clinical. Like the house had been built to serve a purpose, but never for a person.

He reached the top step just as he heard the baby girl’s soft fussing from down the hall. The sound made him hesitate. It wasn’t the sharp, desperate cries from the night before. This was softer, almost a coo, the kind of sound that made something in his chest tighten before he could push it down.

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

Leela stood by the cradle, one hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles over the baby’s tiny stomach. It was almost an imitation of what he’d done the night before, but the difference was clear—where his movements had been firm, knowing, hers were unsure, like she was following a set of instructions she didn’t quite understand.

She looked different in the daylight. Dressed neatly in a long, thin nightgown that fell to her ankles, her black hair was left loose, unbrushed, hanging past her hips in uneven waves, obviously never seen the business end of a scissor. The exhaustion was still there—was part of her, woven into how she held herself—but her face was smoother, her shoulders less rigid, like she had settled into something.

The floorboard groaned beneath his boot. Leela looked up. She even tried for a small smile. A little, ghostly quirk of her lips.

“Hello, Joel.”

He didn’t respond. Something about how she looked at him, or maybe how she looked past him, unsettled him. He didn’t like feeling that way—not in someone else’s home, not when he was meant to be in control of the situation. Instead of answering, he stepped toward the cradle, glancing down at the baby.

The baby girl let out a high-pitched whine, stretching, her fingers curling and uncurling before she kicked her little legs. Then, as if noticing him, her mouth widened into a gummy, toothless grin, her round face alight, untouched by the world’s cruelty.

Joel couldn’t help himself. His lips twitched, just slightly, before he shook his head.

“Managed to—?” He gestured vaguely toward her chest before pulling his hand back, curling it into an embarrassed fist against the cradle.

Leela caught on. Her fingers twitched at the pearly buttons of her nightgown. Just a small, involuntary movement.

“Oh… Maria told me to hold her close to stimulate… you know.” She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I fed her one of the bottles she gave me, too.”

Joel nodded. “And?”

Leela looked down at the baby. “She stopped crying.”

He frowned. “That’s it?”

Leela’s fingers tightened against her arms. “I… don’t know how to hold her without making her cry.”

The words made something dark flicker through him, he didn’t have the energy to name it. It wasn’t quite anger, but it was close. Frustration. Exasperation. A sharp-edged bitterness he couldn’t swallow down fast enough.

Joel scoffed. “You can’t hold your own baby?”

Leela looked away, her heart breaking in her eyes before she managed to mask it.

Joel exhaled, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “It’s not all math,” he muttered.

He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he reached into the cradle, slipping a hand beneath the baby’s head, cradling her against his arm, careful, practised. He eased her up, letting her body settle against his forearm, her head resting in the crook of his elbow.

The second she was in his arms, something inside him cracked.

She was tiny. So fucking tiny. Tinier than Sarah had been.

Joel swallowed thickly, feeling the light weight of her against his chest. He hadn’t held something this fragile in years—hadn’t let himself. But muscle memory took over before he could stop it before he could remind himself that this wasn’t the same. It was already clawing its way back to him. He rubbed a slow, steady hand over her back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. She was warm and soft, her tiny fingers twitching against his shirt.

For a second—a half a second—he let himself sink into it.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

The scent of her, like the faded remnants of old cotton, the delicate press of her body against his. A ghost of something long lost. A time when his arms had been full like this when his days had been nothing but cradling Sarah against him, balancing a baby bag on his shoulder, and pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, filled with groceries, with the Texas sun overhead.

A different life. A different world. One he had no business remembering.

Joel forced himself to blink out of it. He cleared his throat, shifting, pressing the feeling down before it could take hold.

“And that’s it,” he said gruffly. “Ain’t that hard.”

Leela was watching him. Not like she was waiting for him to say something—not like she even expected him to. She was watching the way he held the baby, the way she settled so easily against him. Studying him, the way she studied numbers and equations, looking for a formula, an answer.

He breathed out. “Here,” he muttered, shifting the baby carefully toward her. “You try.”

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

Her hands hovered, hesitant, fingers twitching like she wasn’t sure how to move them. Joel could see it—the tension coiling in her shoulders, the stiffness in her posture. Her breathing shallowed, her chest barely rising, as if even that movement might disturb the delicate balance between her and the tiny life in front of her.

But finally, she forced herself to move.

Her hands, unsteady, cupped beneath the baby’s body as if she were handling something breakable, something foreign. It was careful, but too careful—unnatural in a way that the baby could sense. And sure enough, the second Leela pulled her in, her arms locked tight, too rigid, too unsure, and the child stirred. A tiny whimper. Then a sharp, warning cry.

Leela stiffened, her grip faltering. The sound made her flinch, her breath catching, as though she’d been struck.

She barely lasted five seconds before her resolve cracked. She was already shifting forward, already pushing the baby back toward Joel, who took her without hesitation.

The crying stopped almost instantly.

Joel settled the baby against his chest, bouncing her gently, a practised movement. He didn’t have to think about it—his body just did what it knew, routine kicking in where hers faltered. The baby let out a soft, sighing coo, her tiny body relaxing, as if she knew she was back in capable hands.

Leela, however, looked shaken. Not in a dramatic way—she wasn’t crying, wasn’t breaking down—but her hands curled into fists, pressing against her stomach like she needed to hold herself together.

Then, she winced.

Joel’s attention snapped back to her, his gaze dropping to the way she clutched at her lower back, her body tilting forward ever so slightly like the pain had taken her by surprise.

“Hey.” His voice softened. “You wanna sit down?”

She nodded, barely. A tiny dip of her chin.

Joel glanced around. There wasn’t much in the nursery. Just the crib, a long wooden bureau, and a mattress on the floor pushed against the far wall. No chair, nothing to lower herself onto easily.

With a quiet sigh, he adjusted his hold on the baby and stepped closer, offering an arm. “C’mon.”

Leela hesitated. Not out of pride—he could tell—but maybe out of uncertainty like she wasn’t used to being helped. But when she tried to move on her own, another sharp grimace crossed her face, and that was enough.

She let him guide her.

Joel was careful, supporting her weight without making a big deal of it. The baby stayed nestled in the crook of his other arm, still resting peacefully, unaffected by the movement. It wasn’t easy—manoeuvring both of them at once—but it was instinctual.

He helped her lower onto the mattress, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath his touch before finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion. Leela eased back against the wall and settled into the thin cushion. A long, quiet sigh left her lips, her posture unwinding slightly like she’d been holding herself taut for hours—maybe longer. But even then, she still didn’t entirely relax.

Joel watched as she lifted a hand to her face, brushing back loose strands of hair, her fingers pressing briefly into her temples.

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

She inhaled deeply. “It’s only been three... four weeks since I delivered. I’ve just been feeling out of it ever since.”

There was no shame in her tone, no self-pity. Just a quiet fatigue. A statement of fact.

Joel pressed his lips together.

Four weeks. Jesus. That explained a lot. The exhaustion, the stiffness in her movements, the way her body still seemed like it hadn’t recovered from what it had been through. Hell, no wonder she looked like a ghost of herself. The human body wasn’t meant to bounce back that fast—not without help. And from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t the type to ask for it.

“She came too soon,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Leela shifted, tilting her head slightly toward him. "Eight months," she said, voice softer now. "That’s not normal, is it? It’s why she’s so tiny."

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Leela waited, like she wanted him to say more. When he didn’t, she tucked her knees up onto the couch, resting her chin against them.

She rubbed a tired hand into her eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

There it was. Not frustration. Not helplessness. Just quiet, resigned truth.

Joel glanced down at the sleeping baby, still curled against his chest, her breathing soft and even. One tiny hand had fisted itself into his shirt, gripping instinctively—like she knew, on some level, that she had to hold on to something, someone, to stay safe. His grip on her tightened slightly.

Leela’s words sat heavy in his chest. I don’t know how to hold her without making her cry. And now this—I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He’d heard new parents say those words before. Hell, he’d felt it himself, back then. But something about the way she said it—flat, detached, like she wasn’t even fighting it anymore—made something inside him go stiff.

Joel breathed out, shifting his arms so the baby settled more comfortably against him, and she felt so heavy all of a sudden.

Too much quiet, too many things unsaid pressing at the edges of his mind. He didn’t want to sit in it—didn’t want to acknowledge what it stirred in him. So, he broke the silence the only way he knew how.

"You could start by giving her a name," he said, glancing at Leela. "Not that 'baby girl' is a terrible name."

Leela blinked, then looked down at her daughter, studying her as if she were just now realizing that, yes, she still had to name the kid.

After a thoughtful moment, she lifted her gaze back to him. "Do you want to pick one for her?"

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

He shook his head. "I think I'm gonna stick with 'baby girl.'"

Leela let out a small breath of laughter, barely there, but it softened something in her face. She bit her lip, thinking of a name, then murmured, "I always liked the name Maya."

"Maya?" He tested the name on his lips. "I like that. Maya. It’s pretty. Rhymes, too. Leela, Maya."

Leela’s lips twitched at that, and she shifted forward, moving closer without thinking, drawn in by something unspoken. She leaned down, head dipping toward the baby still curled up against Joel’s chest.

And for the first time since he stepped into this house, Joel saw it.

That fondness. It was small, but it was there—the quiet, aching kind of love that didn’t need words. The kind that made itself known in the way her fingers smoothed over the baby’s forehead, tracing delicate lines across her tiny features. In the way her body curled just slightly, instinctively, around her daughter, like even in her exhaustion, she was drawn to protect.

"Maya, Maya, Maya," she whispered, barely a sound, breathing the name into her daughter's ear as if speaking it into existence.

Joel watched her for a long moment, an unfamiliar phantom kick in his ribs. It was too much. Too close to something he didn’t want to touch, something that felt like the past reaching for him with cold fingers.

He should leave. He knew he should. Should’ve gotten up, handed the baby back, given some half-hearted promise to Maria that he’d check in, and then walked out that door.

But he didn’t. Instead, he settled in a little more, stretching his legs out, arms still loosely cradling the child.

He finally broke the silence with, “So, you’re some kind of scientist?”

Leela glanced up at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m more towards math.”

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

People didn’t survive with numbers. They survived with bullets and knives, knowing when to run and when to pull the trigger. You either killed or died. You either protected or raided. You didn’t see too many folks walking around trying to save themselves with goddamned math equations—unless they were Fireflies with delusions of rebuilding the world. That was the kind of thinking that got you shot.

His gaze flickered back to the crib. What the hell kind of life was she leading before all this?

He leaned back against the wall. “And just how long have you been here alone?”

“A long time.” She didn’t elaborate. Just glanced down at the baby, adjusting the folds of the swaddle with careful fingers. Then, softer, almost like an afterthought—“Not anymore.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

His gaze flicked toward the stacks of books on the baby’s bureau, thick with dust on the edges but well-thumbed through. He hummed. “And you do… math?” He made it sound ridiculous because it was.

She only nodded, unbothered. “Analytic geometry and a bit of mechanics. My parents used to work at NASA. I took up their research once I was old enough to understand. They loved to teach me all about it.”

Joel blinked. NASA? Ellie would lose her little mind if she were here.

He studied her again, reassessing. She didn’t look like someone who used to be involved in something that big. Not now, anyway. Dressed in an old nightgown, her hair hanging in dark, tangled waves, bruised-looking eyes that made her seem older than she was.

He hesitated before asking, “And just how old are you?”

“I’m turning thirty soon.” She didn’t sound glad about it. Then again, no one ever did.

But there was something about that number that made his stomach turn. Maybe because of all her intelligence, all her sharp, clinical detachment, she looked young under the weight of everything she was carrying. Or maybe because twenty-nine didn’t seem old enough to have gone through the kind of hell that made a mother flinch at her own baby.

Joel wanted to press further. Wanted to ask why she was alone, how the hell she had made it this long without the baby’s father, how a girl who could do math for NASA ended up here—malnourished, exhausted, hunched over on a mattress like she was carrying the whole world on her back.

But before he could, Maya stirred.

A small, sleepy movement. Tiny fingers wriggled their way free from the swaddle, barely curled, stretching toward the air. The whimpering started softly, then built, that newborn cry that was both fragile and urgent all at once.

Leela straightened instinctively, her hands twitching toward her daughter. But this time, when she lifted Maya from Joel’s arms, she didn’t hesitate. She held her with a little more certainty, a little more care, cradling her close to her chest as if she were nestling something precious rather than foreign.

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

Then, before he could so much as glance back up, Leela started unbuttoning her nightgown, the lapel falling open.

His eyes snapped away so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. “Christ.”

“Oh, god—! I’m so sorry, Maria said to try—”

“’Sall good,” he muttered, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at her. “Just, uh—go for it.”

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

Joel nodded stiffly, still keeping his head turned. But in the silence that followed, his body didn’t quite relax.

He listened. Not just to her, but to everything. The rustle of fabric, the faint, uncertain exhale as she adjusted her hold, the wet, rhythmic sound of the baby nursing, the occasional tiny sigh. A noise so small it barely existed, but it filled the quiet all the same.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, sinking into himself, gaze flickering absently around the room. He took in the details he hadn’t paid much attention to before.

The crib—old, but sturdy. The mess of books stacked against the walls, as if she had been trying to build some kind of fortress out of paper and ink. The curtains were drawn too tight, like she didn’t want the outside world bleeding in. And the emptiness—the distinct lack of anything that made this place a nursery. No toys. No clutter. No warmth.

He knew that kind of space. Knew what it meant when a room felt temporary, even when someone had been in it for years.

“I’m decent now.” Her voice was quiet but certain.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. A blanket was draped over one of Leela’s shoulders, concealing both her and the baby beneath it. His eyes traced over her face, the way she was staring down at Maya—not with the ease of a mother who had done this a hundred times, but with the focus of someone trying to get it right. Like she was handling some delicate equation she couldn’t afford to miscalculate.

The baby suckled noisily, and Joel saw the way Leela’s fingers curled against the fabric, white-knuckled.

"Do you have many children, Joel?" she asked suddenly.

He stilled. The question—simple, almost offhanded—landed like a hammer.

His fingers curled against his knee, tightening. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d asked himself that. But coming from her—a woman he barely knew, holding a baby that wasn’t much more than a handful of weeks old—it hit differently.

Did he have many children? No.

But he had one. Had. That word sat on his tongue, sour and heavy, pressing against the backs of his teeth. He could say it. Could let it out, let it breathe. But if he did, it would only linger, thick and unwelcome, in the air between them.

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

Leela nodded once, quiet and accepting. She didn’t pry, didn’t press—just dropped her gaze back to Maya, adjusting the blanket with slow, careful fingers.

“I understand,” she murmured.

Joel wasn’t sure why, but he believed her. Maybe it was the way she said it—flat, unbothered. Not some empty reassurance, not some half-hearted attempt at sympathy. Just a statement. Honest. And somehow, that made it worse.

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

Joel let out a slow breath and glanced toward the window, toward the faint light filtering through the edges of the curtain. The town was waking up. People were starting their day, going about their lives. Normal. Simple. This? Sitting here in this too-empty house with a woman he didn’t know and a baby who had seen too much of the world already? This wasn’t simple.

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

He turned to look at her, watching as she nursed the baby beneath the blanket. Her head was slightly bowed, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, rhythmic circles against the tiny foot poking free. It was such a small, natural gesture—one he’d seen a thousand times from mothers who loved their children without thought, without hesitation. And yet, coming from her, it felt… disconnected. As if she was mimicking something she wasn’t sure she believed in.

The question settled deep in his chest, pressing against something sore.

"Never." The answer came without thinking. Without doubt.

Sarah had never been a stranger. From the second she was in his arms, slick and tiny and furious at the world, she was his. He hadn’t known what the hell he was doing, but love—love had been instant, bone-deep. A gut punch. A freefall. A terrifying, irreversible thing. It had been impossible not to love his daughter.

That’s how it should feel. But Leela—she looked like she was still waiting to wake up from a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.

Leela exhaled softly, barely a sound, but Joel caught it. It hit him harder than it should have.

"I wish I felt that way," she muttered.

That did something to him.

It wasn’t pity, exactly—Leela didn’t seem like the kind of woman who wanted pity. No, it was a knowing. A recognition of something lost, something stolen before it ever had a chance to be hers. Joel had lost things, too. He understood that kind of grief, even if this one wasn’t his to carry.

Leela had slipped back into that blank, distant sadness, like she was stuck in it, unable to claw her way out. And Joel wasn’t the kind of man who offered words where they wouldn’t make a difference, but Maria had asked him to help, and he’d told her he would. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing. He never had been. Words were never easy for him. Feelings even less so. But he knew how to read people, how to see what they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

So, he did what he could.

"She looks like you," Joel mused, almost without thinking.

Leela hesitated, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. "You really think so?"

He smirked, nodding toward Maya. "Look at that. The eyes, the nose, the hair. That’s all a mama’s girl."

She glanced down at the baby in her arms, her fingers stilling against Maya’s tiny foot. For a second, something in her expression wavered—like she was trying to see what he saw, trying to find herself in this child. "Mama’s girl," she murmured, testing the words on her tongue as if they didn’t quite belong to her yet.

Joel felt something shift in his chest, just a little.

It was something.

Still, his eyes drifted over the room, taking in the stark walls, the empty corners. The air in here was cold—not from the weather, but from the lack of anything. There was no sign of her in this space. No warmth, no comfort, no life. It felt temporary, like she hadn’t put down roots. Like she was waiting for something.

Or maybe like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay.

He exhaled, tipping his chin toward the crib. "Though, she’s gonna be real disappointed when she sees the state her mama’s kept her room in."

Leela’s brows knit together as she looked around as if really seeing it for the first time. "I tried my best. Is it that bad?"

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "It could use a little more work." He gestured toward the crib. "Fix another one of those." Then to the bare space near the window. "Somewhere to sit. Some shelves there." His gaze travelled to the walls. "Fresh coat of paint. Some new lights."

Leela studied him carefully, her lips pressing together. "I don’t want to impose."

He shrugged, leaning back on his palms. "You won't. I like to keep busy."

Leela gave him a look—one of those assessing, sceptical looks he was starting to recognize from her. The one that suggested she wasn’t sure if she could trust him yet. "Are you sure?"

Joel let out a short, dry chuckle. "I was a contractor before the world went to shit, sweetheart. This is a cushy job." Then he cocked a brow. "And I’m fifty-six, not dead."

Leela bit her lip to hide a teasing smile. "Could’ve fooled me."

Joel levelled her with a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "You want me to take that crib back down?"

That did it. She laughed—an actual laugh. Not the polite kind. Not the uncertain kind. A real, full sound, one that cracked through the quietness of the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.

The motion jostled Maya, making her let out a startled cry of protest.

Leela immediately sobered, her expression softening as she adjusted the nursing baby under her blanket, tucking her closer. She began to coo under her breath, "Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mama’s here."

Joel caught it. That shift again. That slight change in her voice when she said Mama. Like she wasn’t quite sure of it yet. But it wasn’t just an obligation or just guilt, or uncertainty.

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Just sat back and watched, letting her find her way.

X

Fifteen days.

That was how long he’d been here. How long he'd been wedging himself into a life that wasn’t his, in a house that wasn’t his, with a mother and child that weren’t his to take care of.

And yet, every night, when the baby cried, he found himself plodding up the stairs like it was instinct. He’d lean in the doorway, watching as Leela sleepily nursed Maya, her heavy arms curled around the tiny, wriggling body. Some nights, she fed her from the bottle, but as the days passed, that sipper gathered dust.

It was slow. Subtle. She was feeding her baby more.

And Joel—he was still fucking here. He didn’t think much about the why of it because he figured if he did, it would only lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer. All he knew was that it felt natural, falling into this quiet rhythm with them. Like it had always been this way.

The couch downstairs became his bed. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, but it didn’t matter much. As long as he didn't throw his back out. It was easier than going back to an empty house. Leela, for her part, never asked him to stay, but she never told him to leave, either. Maybe that was her way of saying she wanted him around. Or maybe she just needed him to be.

"You don’t have to—" she had started one night, catching him setting up his makeshift bed.

"I know," he cut off before she could finish.

He kept his hands busy, too. That helped a lot.

The crib came first. A slow project, one he didn’t rush, because what else did he have to do? He sanded the edges and smoothed them down so there’d be no risk of splinters. He reinforced the frame, extended the width, and even managed to track down some pink paint to liven it up.

It was a stupid thing, but it made him feel like he was doing something. Like he was helping in a way that made sense.

Leela had caught him painting one afternoon, crouched over the crib with careful, measured strokes.

"Pink?" she’d said, standing in the doorway, one brow raised.

Joel had glanced up, brush still in hand. "What? You don’t like it?"

Leela had hummed, considering. Then, softer, "I think Maya will like it."

Something about the way she said it—like she was finally thinking about that, about what her daughter would like—made him grin to himself. He continued the long stroke of paint down the crib.

Then there was Leela. It had been easier, at first, to pretend he was only here for the kid. That his concern for her was secondary. But after the first week, it became clear—that wasn’t true.

She was unraveling.

Joel noticed it even when she thought he hadn’t. The unbearable insomnia. The way she startled awake like she was being wrenched from nightmares. The way her eyes stayed shadowed, dark-rimmed and tired, and how she never seemed to eat a full meal.

Just because he tried not to bother, didn’t mean he didn’t notice. She had once fallen asleep at the kitchen table, arms folded beneath her head. Joel had set a bowl of soup down in front of her, the sound making her jolt awake, eyes wide, gasping and panicked.

She blinked at him, disoriented, pushing her unruly hair out of her face. "I—I wasn’t sleeping."

"Alright," he said, pushing the plate closer. "Eat."

Leela wavered, nose scrunching. "I’m not—"

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

He didn’t bother to push or pry any further. He stopped himself there. Because what the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t Tommy or Maria. He wasn’t the kind of person people confided in. It was better off this way.

So he willfully ignored it. Turned the other way when she wiped her eyes too hard when her shoulders shook just a little when those deep, muffled sobs filtered through the walls at night. Every part of him told him to cross that invisible line—to do something—but instead, he stepped outside, leaned against the stoop, stared at nothing.

One night, he heard it—soft at first, then breaking, like something deep inside her had finally snapped. Anyone reasonable would've gone up to comfort her. Fuck, it was already turning him inside out.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long moment, jaw tight, staring up at the dark landing.

Then he turned around, walked outside, and sat on the porch steps, letting the cold bite into him. Good. He huffed out a wispy breath, quietly waiting for the sounds to pass. This wasn’t his problem.

One unlucky day, the second he stepped into the stables, Ellie gave him a knowing, annoying look. "Jesus, what's worse than shit? Because that's what you look like."

Joel huffed, adjusting his grip on the saddle he was carrying. "Thanks, kid."

Ellie narrowed her eyes, stepping closer and giving him a once-over. "Seriously, you look like hell. Where the fuck have you been?"

Joel grunted, busying himself with the straps, not looking at her. "Been around."

Ellie scoffed. "Been around? What the hell does that mean? You've been busy playing house with the lady at the big house?"

His jaw flexed and fingers tightened on the cords. And Ellie caught it. Her smirk sharpened.

"Oh my God. That’s exactly what you’ve been doing, huh?"

Joel shot her a look. "No."

"Yes," Ellie drawled, crossing her arms. "Dude. I knew something was up. You’ve been MIA. I thought maybe you finally croaked in your sleep, but nope—turns out, you’re off fixing pipes and babysitting."

"I ain’t babysitting," Joel muttered, too quick.

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

Joel let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, shaking his head. "She needed help. That’s all."

Ellie clicked her tongue, rocking back on her heels. "Hmm. Right. Just help. No attachment, no paternal instincts kicking in. Oh, definitely not. Not Joel Hardass Miller. He’s just the neighbourhood handyman now."

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

She grinned, enjoying this way too much. "What? Just saying. It’s kind of adorable. Old man Joel, all domesticated. It's nice."

Joel muttered something under his breath and turned away, ignoring her. Oh, but she was far from done.

"So, uh…" she cleared her throat. "How’s the baby?"

He hesitated.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d started watching that kid. Listening to her. He knew Maya’s different cries now—hungry, fussy, lonely. He knew the way she liked to be held, the way she calmed when he rubbed her tiny back. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would hear her tonight, whether he was there or not.

"She’s uh, good," he said finally. Kept his voice level, unaffected. "Stronger. Sleeps better."

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

Joel shrugged, trying to play it off. "Babies like warm bodies, Ellie. Ain’t that deep."

Ellie snorted. "Sure. And you're a warm bundle of joy." And then, just when he thought she was about to let it go—"You’re gonna miss her, huh?"

Joel's hands dropped to his sides. Ellie wasn’t teasing anymore. Her voice had gone softer, something knowing creeping in.

And he didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t about to start thinking about that. About leaving. About hearing those cries and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the one answering them anymore.

Joel slowly adjusted the saddle and grunted. "You gonna stand there all day, or you gonna help me get this horse ready?"

Ellie sighed, shaking her head, but didn’t push. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad."

"Ellie."

But she was already cackling her goddamned head off. "This is rich. Daddy Joel."

Still, Joel stayed in that big house. Just a few more days. And the more he stayed, the harder it became to keep his distance.

It had started small—fixing things around the house, making little adjustments to help Leela care for the baby, and bringing her food. He fashioned a sling for her out of an old scarf and showed her how to wear it. At first, she’d been rigid, reluctant. But Maya—baby girl took to it immediately, curling into her mother’s chest, small fingers grasping at the fabric.

Joel wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but something about that moment had stuck with him.

Because for the first time, he saw Leela hold her. Not just carry her.

And then there was Maya herself. The little ray of sunshine was growing, filling out. No longer that fragile, underfed thing he’d first seen in the cradle. Her limbs weren’t so thin anymore, her eyes brighter, more alert. She’d started watching things with intent—fixating on his hands when he worked, tracking his movement around the room, making little fists and clumsily bringing them to her mouth.

She smiled more, too. And it did something to him. It shouldn’t have.

He shouldn’t have felt that warm pull in his chest every time her tiny mouth curled into something resembling a grin. Shouldn’t have liked the way her whole body wriggled when she was excited. Shouldn’t have let himself get used to the small weight of her when Leela, in her exhaustion, wordlessly passed her to him, and he found himself rocking her without thinking.

But it had happened, slowly and without permission. And now, when he held her, it felt natural.

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

And then, on what must’ve been the third week, Tommy and Maria showed up at the door. Joel knew it the second he opened it—that this was an extraction.

Tommy stood there with that damn smirk, the same one he used to wear when Joel got him out of trouble—except this time, it wasn't his brother who had been looking for a way out.

"You're officially relieved of duty, big brother."

Joel grunted, letting his brother pull him into a quick hug. He clapped him on the back, but his grip was just a little too firm. A little too final. "Didn’t know I was on duty."

Maria stepped in next, squeezing his shoulder, her eyes warm with something Joel didn’t want to name. "Thank you, Joel."

He didn’t say you’re welcome. Didn’t say anything at all. Just gave a small nod, because that was easier than acknowledging the importance of what he’d done. No need to attach importance to what he was walking away from.

He felt Leela before he saw her.

She stood behind them by the front door, her arms loose at her sides, watching but not interfering. She was dressed in a warm sweater and pants this time, although he liked seeing her in that long nightdress of hers, the one with the pearl buttons.

She didn’t say anything. And neither did he. Because there was no point in goodbyes.

Instead, he gave her a nod—brief, almost impersonal—and then he turned, stepping off the porch, his boots heavier than they should’ve been.

Maria’s voice, quiet but clear, carried behind him as she spoke to Leela like she was approaching a wounded deer. "You feeling okay, baby? Come on, let’s talk."

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

And for the first time in fifteen days, he realized—he didn’t want to go home. Because home meant silence. Home meant absence.

Home meant walking into a house where there was no tiny, fussy cry in the middle of the night. No bleary-eyed woman fumbling with a bottle, no soft, small weight curled against his chest when exhaustion finally won out.

For fifteen days, he had fallen into something. A rhythm. A purpose. A role. And now, as he stepped through his own front door, into the empty space that used to feel normal, Joel realized he’d done something reckless. Something he never should’ve allowed.

He’d let himself care.

X

[I really like this one, so much! I love how sweet it turned out, how JOEL of him it is, and how Leela is just that sweet, confused mother. I think I'm going to really love building on this one! ]

[ taglist : @cuntstiel , @bubblegumpeeeach , @evispunk ]

[partoffantasy]

Tension and Takedowns (Part 1) - Garrick Tavis

⸻ image credits to scribe.jesinia ⸻

summary: when her friends suggest she find someone to release her tension, reader finds herself watching Garrick spar, and her friends waste no time teasing her about it. But when she’s forced to face Garrick in the ring, the heat between them intensifies.

pairing: garrick tavis x fem!reader warnings: tension, sparring word count: 1.9k

Part 2: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The air in the training gym was thick with the scent of sweat and the sound of bodies colliding. The grunts of effort and the sharp cracks of fists meeting flesh filled the space, the sound barely dampened by the padded floors. Cadets sparred all around, all of them desperately preparing for the upcoming challenges. After all, it was common knowledge that few would live to see graduation. Why hold back when tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?

Y/N wasn’t holding back, but she was distracted. Liam’s fist shot out, and she barely dodged in time, feeling the breeze of it against her cheek. “Seriously?” he huffed, stepping back to reset. “You’re usually quicker than that.” “Yeah, well, I have a lot on my mind,” Y/N muttered, wiping sweat from her brow before falling back into a fighting stance.

Nearby, Violet was locked in a match with Rhiannon, their movements fast and fluid. Rhi had Violet pinned for a moment before Vi twisted, using her smaller frame to slip out of the hold and retaliate with a swift jab to Rhi’s ribs. The two grinned at each other, neither gaining the upper hand for long. Sawyer, Ridoc, and the rest of their group stood at the edge of the mat, taking a break from their own sparring sessions. It didn’t take long for the teasing to start.

“I swear, the two of you are wound tighter than a crossbow,” Ridoc said, nodding at Y/N and Violet. “You know, there’s a simple solution to all that tension.” Sawyer laughed. “Yeah, it’s called getting laid.” Y/N rolled her eyes, shifting to block Liam’s next strike. “Oh, really? Is that all it takes?” Violet snorted but didn’t look away from her match. “They’re just mad we have standards.”

“You’re acting like you have options.” Ridoc ducked as Y/N threw a training dagger in his direction, barely missing his shoulder. “Woah, woah! I’m just saying, it’s a war college! You’re supposed to—” “Supposed to what?” Y/N cut in, leveling him with a glare. “Hook up with some guy who probably won’t be alive next week? Great plan, Ridoc.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “You could at least have some fun before you die.” Violet sighed, finally pinning Rhiannon to the mat. “Right, because random, meaningless sex is going to solve all our problems.” “Maybe not all of them,” Rhi admitted, breathless, “but it’d definitely help with some.” Before Y/N could retort, movement on the far side of the gym caught her attention. She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Xaden and Garrick had stepped onto the training mat, their shirts already discarded, muscles flexing under the glow of the lights. The conversation died instantly. Violet, still sitting on Rhi, tilted her head. “Well. That’s distracting.” Y/N swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the heat pooling low in her stomach. Rhi, looking equally entranced, muttered, “Think they’d let us join?”

Liam and Ridoc exchanged glances before smirking. “You know, Garrick doesn’t have a girl,” Liam pointed out. “Maybe you should try your luck, Y/N.” Y/N barely heard him. Her eyes were locked on Garrick, her mouth suddenly dry. His body was carved muscle, broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist, his tanned skin glistening under the training room lights. The sharp angles of his jawline were softened slightly by a hint of stubble, and when he moved, the powerful ripple of his back made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t just attractive—he was devastatingly, unfairly gorgeous.

Her pulse quickened as her mind wandered, imagining the feel of those rough, calloused hands gripping her waist, the press of his body against hers. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to look away, but it was useless. Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Damn, Y/N, if you stare any harder, you might set him on fire." "Or melt into a puddle right where you stand," Sawyer added with a smirk. "Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know why you’re fighting it."

Rhi, still sprawled on the mat beneath Violet, raised a brow. "Yeah, Y/N, you’re always talking about high standards, but Garrick? That’s about as high as they come." Liam snickered. "You should probably stop pretending you’re not interested before we all start taking bets on how long it’ll take you to crack." Y/N scowled, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "You’re all insufferable." "We’re just speaking the truth," Ridoc shot back, grinning. "Now go shoot your shot before someone else does." Maybe she should.

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

A few days had passed since the gym incident, but Y/N still hadn’t quite shaken the way Garrick looked when he fought—or how her friends wouldn’t shut up about it. Unfortunately for her, things were about to get a lot worse. Xaden stood before their squad, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You all fight like reckless children,” he said flatly, scanning the group. “It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long.”

“We’re first-years,” Ridoc muttered under his breath. Xaden’s sharp glare cut his protest short. “No excuse. You’re in Flame Section, and you’re flying with us, which means you need to be better. Garrick is going to make sure of that, since he is the best fighter in the quadrant.” At his name, Garrick stepped forward, arms loose at his sides, but his presence was impossible to ignore. Y/N kept her expression neutral even as her stomach twisted.

He let his gaze sweep over them before speaking. “I don’t care if you think you can fight. You’re going to be better by the time I’m done with you.” A collective groan rose from the squad, but Y/N barely heard it. She was too busy cursing whatever gods had decided to play with her fate.

Training started immediately. Garrick moved through them, correcting form, adjusting stances, and calling out weaknesses with brutal honesty. He was a firm but fair instructor, and his reputation as the best fighter was evident in the way he carried himself. Y/N had done her best to avoid being singled out—until the moment she felt his eyes on her. “You’re up,” Garrick said, his voice smooth but commanding.

Y/N swallowed hard and stepped onto the mat. “Against who?” A slow smirk spread across his lips. “Me.” She barely had time to register those words before he moved. Y/N dodged the first strike by instinct, stepping back quickly, but Garrick was relentless. He pushed forward, his movements fluid and controlled, forcing her to defend rather than attack. Every shift of his body was measured, precise, like he already knew how she would respond before she did.

“Come on, Y/N,” he murmured, circling her. “You’re faster than this.” Heat curled in her stomach at the way he said her name—low, teasing, confident. She grit her teeth and refocused, lashing out with a calculated strike. He blocked it effortlessly, catching her wrist in a firm grip and twisting just enough to throw her off balance. She stumbled, and before she could recover, he used her own momentum to spin her. The next thing she knew, her back was against his chest, his arms locked around her in an unbreakable hold.

Her breath caught. The air between them felt thick. He wasn’t holding her tightly—just enough that she could feel the solid muscle against her back, the heat radiating from his skin. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she knew he could feel it. “Getting distracted?” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to shove down the shiver that ran through her. “Not in the slightest.”

His chuckle was dark and knowing. “Liar.” She twisted sharply, trying to break free, but he anticipated it, spinning her again until she was pinned beneath him on the mat. His weight was braced above her, close enough that she could see every detail of his face—the way his hazel eyes burned with challenge, the smirk that played at the corner of his lips.

Neither of them moved. The world around them faded, the sounds of sparring and training dulling into the background. It was just them, breathing in the same heated space, locked in a fight that had nothing to do with physical strength anymore. Garrick’s gaze flickered to her lips before meeting her eyes again. “You going to surrender?” Y/N’s heart pounded. She knew he was talking about the fight. Knew he was waiting for her to say she gave up.

But there was something else in his eyes, something that made her wonder if he wasn’t asking about something much bigger. Her fingers curled against the mat. “Not a chance,” she whispered. Garrick’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something almost wicked. He left her on the ground. Instead of stepping away, he shifted his stance again, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable.

“Good,” he drawled. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” Before she could react, he lunged. Y/N barely dodged, twisting away from his reach, her pulse hammering as she forced herself to move, to focus. He was fast—too fast—but she refused to make it easy for him. She countered with a sharp kick, but he caught her ankle effortlessly, twisting just enough to send her staggering back.

She caught herself, breathing hard. “Cocky bastard.” He grinned. “You’re just now figuring that out?” Y/N growled and went on the attack again, throwing a series of strikes that he blocked with frustrating ease. He was toying with her, letting her get close before slipping just out of reach, every movement done to frustrate her.

“Come on, Y/N,” he taunted, dodging another punch. “You’re holding back.” “I’m trying not to break your nose.” “How considerate,” he mused, sidestepping her next strike and catching her wrist. “But I can take it.” She yanked free, heart pounding, but before she could fully regain her stance, he moved again. A well-placed sweep sent her sprawling, and in a blink, he was on her again, pinning her wrists to the mat, his weight caging her in. After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Garrick pushed off of Y/N and held her hand towards her.

Y/N took a breath, forcing herself to ignore the lingering heat between them as she took it. His grip was strong, steady, and as he pulled her to her feet, he leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. “Good.” She barely had time to process that before he shifted into a fighting stance again. Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going again?” His smirk was all challenge. “Unless you’re ready to admit I’ve won.”

Like hell. She launched at him without warning, but Garrick was ready. He dodged her strike smoothly, grabbing her wrist and twisting just enough to send her off balance again. This time, she caught herself before he could take her down completely. They circled each other, breaths quick, movements sharper now, the tension between them only growing with each strike and counter. Every time she tried to gain the upper hand, he turned it back on her, forcing her to push harder, fight smarter.

The fight dragged on, sweat dampening her skin, her muscles burning—but she refused to stop, refused to let him have the satisfaction of winning so easily. Then, in one fluid motion, he caught her again, spinning her so her back was against his chest just like before. His lips brushed close to her ear. “Still pretending you’re not interested?”

Y/N froze. Her stomach flipped violently as realization slammed into her. He knew. He had known all along—about the gym, about the things she and her friends had said. Heat crawled up her neck, but before she could recover, he was already stepping away, leaving her standing there, breathless and exposed.

Part 2: Click here

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request Hi, I love your writing! Could you please update either "Danny's grill", "Congratulations! It's Triplets!" or "Phantom's number 1 fan"? Please and thank you

Jason is once again reviewing the map of potential areas Alvin could have been operating in when his burner phone rings. He snatches it up before it can pass the fourth ring, pressing it gently against his ear.

He offers no greeting. It's a tactic he uses to ensure that whoever is calling him has permission to do so. If someone attempts to conform his informants' and allies connection with him, Jason is not about to give them away by speaking first.

"Hey Boss," Honeycomb's voice filters through, edged by that familiar overdramatic southern draw she did when working. Apparently, the clients like listening to her use her accent. "I got eyes on that doll you've been searching for."

Jason sits up straighter. "Where and when?"

Honeycomb is one of the working girls who's been with him since his return to Gotham. She was the first to sign up for his protection, long before he did the whole heads in a duffle bag thing, and was one of his best eyes and ears on the street in exchange.

He didn't know her real name or age- but he was sure she wasn't underage. He made it clear he wouldn't allow it. All Jason knew about Honeycomb was that she had run away from her home in the southern states with nothing but her pretty face, blond curls, hazel eyes, and the clothes on her back.

She was feisty and could charm her way out of most problems with her silver tongue. Her manipulation of her clients was almost an art form, and she could get any information out of anyone with a well-placed hand on the air and a sweet little "darling" on her grubby lips. He often thought she would have been a lawyer if life had been fair to her.

"Just now, on Ruby Street. He was with a man in his late teenage to early twenties. About six feet five inches, black hair, blue eyes, and Caucasian. Alvin was wearing black tights and a red hoodie. The man is in jeans and a white zip-up." Honeycomb rattles in one smooth report, the huskiness of her accent making her articulation more pleasant to the ear. "Seems they were doing a photo shoot."

Jason is already moving towards his bike, switching her call to his helmet. His stomach turns slightly as he grunts, "What kind of photoshoot?"

"Not that kind, Darling. Seemed more like a scavenger hunt, according to Alvin. They are finding specific landscapes and making posses that are answers to some riddles." Honeycomb responds. Distantly, her heels clicking against the concrete echo a little louder, letting Jason know she has wandered into an alley. "I approached Alvin when the man with him went up a fire escape to take a picture with a gargoyle. I offered him my service to him as a cover. Once he confirmed his name was Alvin and he was already with a client, I left before he could get the idea I was attempting to steal his work."

"Good job." Jason boots up his bike, flying out of his hideout without hesitation. He was still twenty minutes away from Ruby Street, but if the pair was going to be a moment, he could close the distance between them and find a trail to follow once on scene.

He questions as he flies through two lanes, ignoring the honking of angry divers. "How did Alvin look? He's supposed to be with one of my contacts, so if he's with someone, it might be a John roughing him up."

I'll deal with Victorian later. He mentally swears How dare he not tell me, Alvin went back to the field after hiding out for so long without a ounce of protection.

"The sweetheart doesn't seem hurt, but I can tell his client is one of those problematic kinds." Honeycombs sighs, the edges of unease slipping into her voice. "He looks at Alvin like he's in love."

Shit. It's never suitable for working folks to meet someone who "loves" them. Nine out of ten times, it was just a wacko who became violent the moment the prostitute so much as hinted that this was only a job to them. Jason had pulled out three women's bodies from the Brown River the last time one of those clients fell in love.

Jason pressed harder on the accelerator. "Are they still there?"

Honeycomb hums "The John is on the roof now, but Alvin is waiting for him under the street pole-Oh shit!"

Jason nearly slams into a nearby car at her sudden yell. "What happened?"

She doesn't answer, but he can pick up the sound of her running and her fast breathing. He knows she is getting out of danger because if there is one thing Honeycomb is as a person, she's a survivor. He wants answers but would rather she focus on getting herself safe first.

He meanwhile, concentrates on the phone calls and the vehicles he's flying between.

It's a few minutes before she gasps. "Sorry, Darling, I had to run. Batman was on the roof with the John."

What.

"Batman just appeared out of nowhere and threw a bucket of mud at the john. Alvin didn't seem to notice, but I did. Batman made eye contact with me, so I ran." She concludes, pushing through her uneven breathing. "I have to go, Darling. Hideout before the Bats lock me up."

"That's alright. Stay safe." Jason tells her, taking a turn sharply as she hangs up the call without another word. The second she does, he double-taps his helmet to connect to the Bat communications.

"Barbie. I need to know what B is up to now."

_________________________________________________________

Bruce watches the Fae shake the mud out of his face after he has scrambled down the fire escape. Tim was at his side in a second, using a handkerchief to gently clean up the Fae's face.

There were a lot of whispered words, but based on what Bruce could pick up from lip reading, Tim had no idea he was up here. He just assumed the Fae got caught up in a juvenile prank.

Oddly enough, that was primarily due to the Fae covering for Bruce.

It was rather disappointing the repealing spell hadn't worked, but the Justice League Dark the mixture of John's Wort, primroses, and marsh marigolds mushed together with water socked in iron during the full moon should have made it possible to force the contact with Tim to break down.

Of course, this had been a desperate attempt, seeing as all the JL Dark had been unsure which method was best when he asked how to get a Fae to leave a human alone.

A lot of debate went into finding a solution, but in the end, Bruce had chosen a mixture repellent. He had even decided to use some holy water and trough in blessed soil and blessed iron just to make it extra powerful.

The magic users had all assured him it would work as long as it touched the Fae skin while Bruce chanted Tim's full legal name. It had felt rather ridiculous dragging a bucket half the size of himself through the city, trying to spot where Tim and his companion were, and even more so when he had sprinted across the rooftop screaming.

"Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake! Timothy Jackson Drake!"

The Fae had been in the middle of taking a photo. He set up his camera on a little tripod and, after pressing the time, had run to face the city- back facing Bruce- raising his arms to form a triangle above his head. Based on fact the camera was slightly lower then the Fae's torso, Bruce could deduct her was attempting to capture himself making the triangle top of one of the most iconic buildings in Gotham.

Spear tower.

He waited only long enough for the flash to go off, so by the time the Fae turned around, he had a face full of mud.

It splat all over his front, covering every inch of what should have set Tim free. The silence followed was louder than anything Bruce had ever heard, even as the Fae calmly picked up his camera and scurried to the ground.

Bruce let him go, wondering why he had failed. Thankfully, it seemed Tim and the Fae were getting back in their car- not the food truck for some reason- and were driving away.

Tonight, Bruce would find its lair and get his son home because letting him take a relaxing vacation was alarming to the rest of his children.

He rushed to the Batmobile, climbing into the driver seat and taking off after the pair. As he was driving, he could have sworn Jason just passed by him, moving like the devil was after him.

Bruce wondered briefly if he should check in on his third oldest but thought better of it when he noticed Cass, Dick, and Duke driving right behind Jason on their own bikes. His children had each other backs.

A few hours later, Bruce stood before a large empty field. He had watched the Fae drive into it and vanish from sight. None of his machines could pick up any hint on where they might have gone, but he was reasonably sure there wasn't any teleportation involved.

Sometimes teleportation left some traces in the airwaves. It's how Bruce could track people using the boom tub or find the Flash whenever Barry went on a craze.

Bruce was thinking that this was the Fae's court and his magical home was being protected by supernatural means. He just had to figure out how to get in and Tim out.

As he was considering the field, a soft, distant roar made him reach for his weapons. He turns one hand poise for a throw, his trusted batarangs in between his fingers, only to become surprised when he recognizes the vehicles driving towards him.

It was his spare Batmobile and four bird-themed motorbikes. His children.

"B?" Dick questions after spinning to a stop and sliding right in front of Bruce. He lowers his window, looking at him with apparent confusion despite the Nightwing mask blocking his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Following a lead on the Fae. What are you doing here?" Bruce asks, lowering his arm but keeping his weapon. He could never be too sure this isn't a trick.

"Following a lead on Tim." Dick responds, stepping out of his car. Two other doors open, and out steps Steph and Damian, both looking posed for a fight. Of all his children, those two tend to be the most territorial and have not taken to Tim being a semi-held hostage well. "Oracle was able to track him through the city cameras after he popped up taking photos."

"hmm"

Jason jogged over to them with Cass not far behind. "Wait,, you got a lead on your cases too? We would check in on Victorian and see if he knew anything about Alvin."

He gestures to those behind him, indicating Cass and Duke, but the daytime hero is not paying attention. Duke was staring at the field, mouth slightly open as if in awe. Bruce straightens once he realizes Duke can probably see or at least detect the magical castle.

"Victorian?" Damian asks, crossing his arms. "Who is that?"

"The owner of the giant mansion we're standing in front of. He's one of my contacts."

"Ugh, not to make you feel crazy, Hoodie," Steph speaks up, placing a hand on the crook of her hip and waving her hand to the field. "But there is literally nothing there

"What are you talking about. This place is bigger than Wayne Manor."

Bruce heard about this. Guests who have been here before or have permission to enter can see glimpses of the Otherworld that Fae deals in. However, it is surprising to know Jason has already been in contact with the Fae before and has not been kept.

Did that throw a wrench in his theory of Tim and Alvin being the same person? Why would the Fae ask Jason to find Tim if he was in the creature's home?

Before anyone could say anything else, a giant gate entrance suddenly manifested mere feet from where Bruce stood. A soft creek was heard as it was thrown open, and a glowing woman in an old mail outfit floated just a foot off the ground on the other side. She eyed them all in an eerie, emotionless face before bending her own into a low bow. "Welcome. My King wishes to invite you in."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

His children shared a look between them, silently letting each other know to be cautious as they followed the floating woman. She led them down an impressive driveway that slowly gave way to a massive mansion.

Bruce fought to keep the surprise off his face. Jason was right. This place was more prominent and grander than his manor. It didn't just scream wealth. It screamed nobility; it screamed royalty.

The group walked into the main hall, some muttering thanks to the bowing woman who opened the doors. "Of course. The King stated that his home would always be open to Master Alvin's kin."

She vanished from sight like mist fading away as soon as they crossed the doorway.

Bruce's eyes instantly landed on the figure standing atop the grand stairs. Tim was gawking at them, wearing nothing but a long, seductive black robe with fluffy collars and wrists. The front of the rob was open, displaying a large amount of chest and thigh, but keeping the significant bits out of sight.

Thankfully.

His skin was glowing, his hair tussled stylishly, and a dozen red roses were in his hands. Tim looked like he was planning a romantic evening in his get-up.

"Oh," He said dumbly. "You're not Danny."

"What the fuck is going on" Jason demanded after a long period of silence.

"Um...I was planning on seducing my friend. What are you all doing?"

"Regretting waking up this morning," Damian demands, pressing a hand over his eyes. "Please get decent. My nightmares are horrid enough."

Bruce nods. "You were Alvin Draper and are romantically involved with the Fae. He seems to be treating you well. That's good."

All of his children stared at him for a long moment before the hall erupted with displeased noises. Bruce was taken aback.

Did none of them know any of this? It seemed obvious to him.

[lazysoulwriter]

My Man, My Rules - Rafe Cameron

There was a fight. Of course, there was a fight.

Because Rafe Cameron couldn’t go one week without being knee-deep in some rich-kid drama.

And as usual, it all started with some guy looking at him the wrong way. Or maybe breathing too close. Or—God forbid—standing within a five-foot radius of her.

So now, here he was, blood dripping from his nose, shirt torn at the collar, grinning like he just won a championship fight, while his friends stood around awkwardly, avoiding her gaze.

She, on the other hand, was livid.

“Oh, great. Just fucking great,” she started, storming up to him. “Again, Rafe? You really have one brain cell, and you let Topper borrow it for the night, huh?”

“Baby—”

“No.” She raised a finger, effectively shutting him up. “I swear to God, Cameron, if you get into one more fight, I will personally beat your ass myself.”

The entire party went silent.

Kelce let out a low whistle. Topper looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Even the guy Rafe had just fought—some dude from Chapel Hill who probably just wanted a beer—was staring like he had just witnessed something far more terrifying than Rafe Cameron’s right hook.

Rafe, though? He just looked amused.

“You done?” he asked, licking his busted lip.

She stepped closer, grabbing his face with both hands. “Oh, I am not done. In fact, I’m just getting started. Because you know what, Rafe? You’re mine. My man. And that means I get to decide if you’re allowed to get your dumb ass into fights.”

He blinked. “I’m… not allowed?”

“That’s right,” she snapped. “Not. Allowed. What the fuck do you think this is? Some fight club for trust fund babies? No, sir. We are done with this. From now on, I make the rules. You got a problem with someone? You tell me. You feel like punching someone? You tell me. You wanna get your knuckles bloody? I will find you a punching bag, Rafe Cameron, but it will NOT be at a fucking country club party.”

Rafe looked at her for a long second. Then, he smirked. “Kinda hot when you boss me around like that.”

She groaned, letting go of his face only to smack the back of his head. “Are you hearing me? You are banned from fighting. BANNED.”

“Banned?”

“BANNED.”

“…Like, for life?”

“Oh my fucking God—”

She turned to the crowd, gesturing wildly. “Does ANYONE else want to tell this idiot what I’m saying before I lose my mind?”

Kelce coughed. “I think she means you’re not supposed to fight anymore, bro.”

Rafe scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, Kelce—”

She grabbed his chin again, forcing him to look at her. “Do. You. Understand. Me?”

His smirk softened just a little. “Yeah, baby. I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you really?”

“I do.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “I promise.”

She squinted, trying to decide if she believed him. Finally, she sighed and wiped some blood off his cheek with her sleeve. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am cute,” he agreed. “And strong. And—”

“Do not make me take it back, Cameron.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

She sighed dramatically but let him pull her away. “Fine. But if I ever catch you fighting again—”

“I know, I know. You’ll beat my ass.”

“Damn right, I will.”

Rafe smirked, tugging her even closer. “My scary little girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes. “And don’t you forget it.”

[salty-autistic-writer]

For @bucktommyfluffebruary, Day 7: Love Notes

Tommy is good at losing things.

Sometimes, his mind wanders off while he’s in the middle of putting things where they belong. And then he forgets where he actually left them.

Today, he can't find his reading glasses. Again. And it's frustrating because he really wants to know what happens in his book. He has two hours left before he has to get ready to leave and he planned to make good use of them, but now he's wasting precious time looking for the glasses that were supposed to be on the couch table. He could swear he put them on the couch table …

He’s alone in the house. Evan is at work. But when Tommy passes their notice board, on which they hung a calendar with important dates circled, a few pictures of them and their extended family plus a rainbow sticker Jee gifted them, his eyes focus on something new. A bright yellow note with Evan’s familiar handwriting on it. Tommy frowns. As he reads, his eyes widen and his lips tick up into a smile. Searching for your reading glasses again, babe? Have you checked the top of your head? :)

Tommy reflexively reaches up. And yeah. There they are.

He chuckles, his heart fluttering. Evan knows him best. He discovers a second note, this one bright pink: If they’re not on your head: Have you looked for them under your pillow?

Tommy does like to read in bed before he falls asleep. Sometimes, he forgets to place his glasses on the bedside table and they slide off his face while he moves in his sleep, ending up under the pillow, the blanket or in the gap between the mattresses. He’s still smiling, but also tearing up because he feels so loved. The notes slowly become a habit.

Evan sometimes struggles to remember passwords, so Tommy pins a note with them to his laptop.

Tommy wakes up in the morning alone, only to walk into the bathroom and find a note attached to the mirror: You look extra handsome today, love :) 

Evan finds a be safe <3 note in his bag, taped to his lunch.

It doesn’t take long until there’s an I’m sorry. :( I love you note. The fight was stupid. Like most fights are. Tommy is still reeling from it. He hates it when they argue and then part ways without resolving the issue. He writes I’m sorry too. Love you and miss you under Evan’s words and takes a picture with his phone so he can send it to him. 

[daddy-dotcom]

Sports Car

Red!Clark x Female Reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, maybe like 1 swear word?

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To say that Clark had been acting strange was an understatement. The once wholesome farm boy was now mouthing off to teachers and riding around on a motorcycle. It was almost as if his personality had done a complete 180 overnight. However, this sudden change had almost no effect on your massive crush on Clark. If anything, his new persona had only increased the amount of salacious thoughts that ran through your mind as you stared at him during class. You chalked up all of his typical chivalrous acts to him just being a nice guy. But his longing glances and lingering touches made you think that just maybe, he might feel the same way about you.

As the bell signaling the end of class rung, you were making your way out of the room until a familiar husky voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

"You're looking nice today, Y/N."

You turned around to see none other than Clark Kent sitting nonchalantly on a desk, eyeing you up and down as if you were on display just for him. Was it delusional to think that he was checking you out?

"That skirt fits you real nice, Y/N." He rose from the desk and walked closer, almost too close, to where you were standing, frozen in place.

"You wear that just for me?" he asked, now inches from your face. Up close, you could see his blushy cheeks and perfect dimples. His pouty red lips that you had daydreamed about looking more kissable than ever. Stunned by his brazen attempts at flirting with you, you paused a minute to consider your response.

"Maybe I did," you reply, shy smile forming on your face. Clark, in turn, began to smile back. It wasn't his usual earnest grin. This time, a sly, knowing smile had overtaken him.

"I knew it," he began, "I always notice you glancing over at me during class when you think I'm not watching."

Your eyes widened as weight of Clark's revelation hit you. Maybe your secret crush wasn't such a secret after all.

"Relax, Y/N," he assured you before leaning in close, "I've been watching you too." He took both of your hands in his before continuing.

"Look, Y/N, I've had feelings for you for a long time, and I know you have feelings for me too. So I think we should stop pretending."

Unsure of what to make of his confession, you ask "so, what? Is this supposed to be some all new Clark Kent?"

"That depends, do you like him?" he quips before pressing his lips to yours. You let him kiss you, hoping that this is one dream that you'll never wake up from. He cups your cheek with one hand while using his other to steady you at the waist. His touch even more dizzying than before. Your hands press on his chest to confirm that this is all really happening before he pulls away.

"You wanna go for a ride?" he asks. While you'd assumed he meant a ride in his car, you fervently nodded in reply, down for whatever he had in mind.

Clark took your hand and led you through the hallways and out to the parking lot, only to find a red sports car with the letters LEX XIV spelled out on the license plate. Confused, you raised an eyebrow and asked Clark, "what happened to the big red pickup?"

"Figured I needed an upgrade if I was going to be driving around with the prettiest girl in school."

Just then, you felt a surge of heat creep up to your cheeks and down to your core. He motions for you to get in the car and you oblige without a second thought. You barely had a moment to fasten your seatbelt before the engine revved and Clark took off. His driving was erratic which had you gripping the “oh shit” handle and squeezing your eyes shut. You could feel the car swerving and you just prayed to God you made it to wherever you were headed. Sensing your uneasiness, Clark's hand found its way from the steering wheel to your bare thigh. Between the new jacket, the car, his behavior, you didn’t know what to make of him. Is it bad that you liked this version of Clark? He was bold and daring and not afraid to make a move, which was exactly what you both needed.

As you made your way further and further down the backroads of Smallville, Clark's hand made its way further and further up your thigh. The tension in the car becoming unbearable as you spread your legs just enough to let him snake his hand up to your soaked panties. Delighted by the surprise, a wicked grin began to form on Clark's face.

"Wow baby, all this for me?" he teased. A breathy "mhmm" was all you could muster at this point because his fingers had pushed their way past your panties and into you. "Why don't we see how wet you can really get?"

He drove another mile or two before abruptly pulling off the road down a dirt path. When he finally parked the car, we were in an empty field just past a thick covering of trees. You moaned at the loss of contact from his fingers, but you could barely comprehend what was happening before his lips smashed into yours. His left hand tugged forcefully on your hair while his right hand went straight for your lips. Before he could even ask, you sucked your own juices off of his fingers.

"Such a good girl," he cooed as he removed his fingers. "Come here baby," he said, reaching for your waist with one hand and pulling you onto his lap with an insane amount of strength.

"We could share one seat,"

"Clark, who even are you right now? What is this" you giggled, pointing between the two of you.

He let out a chuckle of his own before replying, "I think you know what this is." And just like that, his lips were attacking you once more. This time, his kisses trailed from your lips down to your neck with his hands firmly gripping your ass. While his lips got to work on your neck, his hands pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist. You were both a mess of grunts and whines as your hips ground against each other in perfect sync. Inspired by Clark's bold actions, you took matters into your own hands and began unhooking his belt.

"Woah somebody's eager," he teased as his cock sprung free from his boxers. God it was even bigger than you’d imagined all those times you daydreamed about him during class.

"Shut up," you shot back before finally sinking down onto his length. It was at this moment that you lost all control in the situation. Your hips were bound by Clark's tight grasp and he drilled into you from underneath. He was fucking you with such fervor that you had grip onto his broad shoulders to steady yourself.

"Oh my god, Clark!" you practically screamed.

"Not so shy anymore are you, Y/N?"

Growing accustomed to his pace, you began to grind down on his cock as he railed you from below.

"Fuck, Clark, you're gonna make me cum," you groaned.

"I know baby, just let it out for me." His words were enough to send you over the edge, with his name tumbling out of your mouth and your juices completely soaking his lower half. But Clark was relentless. He kept pounding into you until finally you felt his cum coating your insides.

"Jesus, Y/N, I didn't know you had that in you."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Clark."

"We're gonna have a lot of fun together aren't we?" he slurred. You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before replying, "definitely. . .but we should probably get the car cleaned up before returning it to Lex."

"I wouldn't worry about it, I don't think he'll be getting this car back for a while." ;)

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AN: this is my first time writing for Smallville Clark Kent and it was inspired by a tate mcrae song that I’m currently obsessed with. lmk how I did <3

[akawifeyy]

LEMONADE | fic (DR3)

description: as much as he would miss the high-stakes lifestyle of formula 1, daniel ricciardo is ready to start fresh. and the perfect start seems to be in his hometown, where a little girl is running a lemonade stand.

tropes: meet-cute, happy ending, lemonade stand au!, single mum!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: mature content (!!), swearing

| note: i love dr3 soooo much y'all, i hope i did him justice 🫶

It all started with the lemonade stand.

A young girl, probably five or six years old, with curly brown braids tied up in pink ribbons, was standing by its side. She stood at attention like a miniature soldier, her eyes watching the street for potential customers.

The hand-painted sign swinging from the top read "Leia's Lemonade Stand" in blocky yellow writing, and a giant beaker of the refreshment was perched on the counter.

Daniel was intrigued. He patted his pockets, looking for any spare change, and found a wad of bills. "Hey," he greeted the little girl, who looked up at him with owlishly large eyes. "I'd like to buy some lemonade? One glass, please."

She beamed, dashing behind the counter to hand him a cool glass filled with sugary yellow liquid. "That'll be two dollars!"

"Here you go," Daniel said, counting out the money and leaving her some extra change, handing it to her. "Thank you for your service."

As Daniel was turning to leave, you walked up to the girl, who was your carbon copy, just a decade or two younger. You were her mother, Daniel assumed. "What do we say, Leia?" you asked, a proud smile evident on your face.

"Thank you and you're welcome!" Leia chirped.

Daniel took a sip of the cool refreshment, sighing in contentment. "This is delicious stuff. Did she make it herself?" he asked you.

"I helped out a bit, but most of this was done herself."

He outstretched his hand. "I'm Daniel."

"Y/N," you replied, taking it. "I haven't seen you around before. Did you just move here?"

Daniel shook his head, trying to formulate an answer. "I just moved back from, uh...out of the country."

"Oh?" you inquired. "I'm jealous, I've never lived outside of Perth. My parents were born here, I was born here, and now Leia was born here. It's tradition, I guess."

He laughed. "Perth is a nice place. The rest of the world is overrated."

"At least you've experienced it," you griped.

Daniel huffed out a breath, reminiscing on his years of fast-paced travel. City after city, country after country. He never stayed in one place for long. "Yeah, I suppose so. Have you really never been outside of Perth?"

You lowered your head, self-conscious. "I mean, I've visited Melbourne for a weekend girl's trip, but my life has been pretty busy ever since I had Leia. And her father...doesn't help out."

Daniel's attention sparked at the mention of Leia's father. "Is he around?"

You twisted your lips in consternation. "He's alive, but he skipped town shortly after Leia was born. Said he was destined for greater things, or some shitty statement like that. I don't remember, and frankly, I do not care. Leia and I get on just fine."

Daniel grinned. "I can tell." He set the glass back down on the counter, and Leia picked it up, putting it under the stand to be washed and cleaned later. "Thanks for the lemonade. Keep up the good work, hm?" he said to her, and she gave him two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"I'll see you around?" you asked, hopefully in a casual tone.

Daniel nodded, giving you a cheesy wink. "Of course."

Two days later

The doorbell rung half past noon, and you checked the peephole to see who was there. Daniel. He was shifting nervously, wringing his hands out. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" you greeted him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I was wondering if I could get another glass of the lemonade? Leia's done an amazing job with it."

You sighed sorrowfully. "We're all out, sorry. Leia has just started school again, so we haven't continued the business. Maybe we'll make some more during the weekend?"

Daniel pouted. "That blows. I've been looking for a way to talk to you again."

"Sorry." You shrugged one shoulder, and then you realized what Daniel had said. "Pardon me, what did you say?"

Daniel's eyes widened, his face reddening with embarrassment. "Uh, I was hoping to chat with you a bit? If that's alright? I don't want to intrude."

You shook your head, leading him into the living room. A variety of Leia's toys were scattered about, and you bent down to pick them up and move them out of the way. "It's OK, don't worry. My job's remote, so I don't have to leave or anything. Not until two, when Leia comes home from school."

"Great," Daniel said, sitting down on the couch beside you. "I've been bored out of my mind since I've come back to Perth."

You swallowed, not exactly sure of how to respond. "Yeah? Is your past haunting you or something?"

Daniel chuckled. "Not exactly. I'm just used to a lot of hustle-and-bustle, and Perth...isn't really delivering on that."

"Where did you work?" you asked.

He fidgeted with his hands. "Er...I used to be a Formula One driver. I know, wild, but yeah. DR3." He laughed again, but this time it was dry and full of resentment.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Formula One? My sister's obsessed with it. Wow, that's really cool."

"Yeah, it is. But they moved on to better talent, and now I'm back here." He slouched down, avoiding your gaze.

You gently nudged his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you've returned and that we've met."

He gave you a wan half-smile.

For another hour, you two chatted away, talking about your past, about Leia, and about your hobbies. You told him about your Star Wars obsession (aka the reason why you'd chosen the name Leia for your daughter), showing him the vintage R2D2 toy you kept on your bookshelf. In return, he told you about how he used to go fishing with his parents in Lake Monger and about some of his F1 exploits.

Eventually, the alarm you set to keep track of when to pick Leia up went off, marking the end of your conversation. "I've got to go," you apologized.

"It's no problem." Daniel waved a hand, brushing you off. "Here's my number in case you want to keep in touch?" He wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you said, flustered.

"See you around, Y/N," he said as he stepped out the front door.

Text messages between Daniel and Y/N (Takes place a week to two months after their first meeting)

Sydney, Australia (Two months later)

"Come on, Leia," you urged your daughter as you led her through a thick crowd of people in the airport. "Don't let go of my hand."

Daniel was in front, leading you towards the exit, where a glossy crimson Ferrari was parked. "Here we go." He opened the door for you, sliding beside you and helping to buckle Leia in.

You smiled at him. "Thanks so much for inviting us."

"No problem, darling."

The pet name sent a curl of heat through your core, and you looked out the window so you wouldn't have to respond. The view was stunning: metallic skyscrapers, a bustling city center. You couldn't believe that this was what you were missing out on your whole life.

About twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a sleek modern hotel. You saw Daniel's mum wave at you, and swallowed roughly. You prayed that she would like you.

"Leia, be nice," you chastised her before you disembarked from the car. "Use your manners."

Leia bobbed her head up and down. "I know, Mum."

When you walked over, Daniel's mum immediately struck up a conversation with you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I'm Grace!" she introduced herself. "And this must be little Leia." She bent down to shake Leia's hand. "You look just like her."

"Thanks," you replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Grace put her hand on her heart. "Danny's told me all about you. I'm happy to see that you're exactly as I hoped."

Your gaze whipped to Daniel, who turned even redder. One more shade, and he could pass for a bearded tomato. "Really?"

"Yep!" Grace clapped Daniel on the back. "He loves you."

You blinked, but didn't blurt anything out. "We should probably head inside."

Daniel nodded fervently. "I agree."

That night

"You want to explain to me what your mum told me?" you probed Daniel, crossing your arms over your chest.

Daniel covered his face with his hands. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry. She's not a good secret keeper."

"Are you saying that she was lying?"

His eyes peeked out from behind his palms. "Do you want me to say no?"

"Tell me the truth," you scolded.

Daniel sighed and took a step closer to you. "She wasn't. Ever since I saw you at that lemonade stand, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. You're funny, and strong, and independent. I want to prove to you that I won't be like the other one. I'm here to stay."

Without a second's worth of hesitation, you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him down to your height, and kissed him. He moaned softly, his arms snaking around your waist and caging you against the wall. "Fuck, Y/N."

The kiss became more passionate as you tangled your fingers in Daniel's brown curls, and his own found the swell of your breasts underneath your shirt. "You're so perfect," he murmured softly. "Can I?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. Daniel lifted your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy pink bra you were wearing. "Fuck, I'm going to come in my pants like a schoolboy right now. My God, you're a fucking work of art."

You unbuttoned his shirt and loosened the waistband of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Daniel picked you up, placing you on the bed. "The door's locked," he assured you when you opened your mouth. "If we're quiet, Leia won't know anything."

"Good," you whispered. "I don't want to traumatize her."

He laughed, and kissed you again on the collarbone. Carefully, he placed your hands above your head and said, "I want to have sex with you. Is that OK?"

"You don't have to ask, Daniel," you rasped.

Daniel shook his head. "Yes, I do. Consent is not a laughing matter, darling."

You expelled a breath in faux-annoyance, and he continued his mission. One slow thrust, and he was in you, filling your pussy and making you groan with pleasure. "Daniel..."

"Does it hurt?" he asked worriedly. "I'll go slower."

You twisted your head to look at him. "No, it's fine. Just...not used to this. It's been a while."

He pecked you on the forehead, his arms caressing the curves of your skin. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

He drove into you, the movements firm and sure. Soon, you felt the tidal wave of pleasure build up in you like an insistent hum. "Daniel, I'm going to..." you trailed off, the sentence ending with another moan.

Daniel kissed you on the temple, the touch exactly what you needed to tumble over the edge. "Let go for me, darling."

And so you did, the orgasm rippling over you and making you shudder with satisfaction.

He pulled out a moment later, his own orgasm succeeding yours, and he flopped down beside you, one arm wresting you closer to him. "You're stunning."

"When I'm all fucked out?" you teased.

Daniel played with a loose strand of your hair, his eyes bright with happiness. "Yep."

"You're so silly, Daniel," you poked fun at him, tapping his nose twice.

He flicked your nose, and stated the very obvious fact, "But you adore me."

Three weeks later

Daniel clutched the bouquet of tulips in his hand, suddenly nervous. It wasn't the first time he had taken you out on a date. Hell, it wasn't even the second time. Yet each and every time, he was terrified.

You were perfect.

And he was...he was Daniel, the former F1 driver for four teams.

"Thanks for picking me up," you told him as he ushered you to his car. "I really appreciate it."

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "No problem, darling."

You sat down, and then readjusted your position, feeling something poking your back. It was a box.

"Not a ring," he promised when he saw your expression. "I wouldn't have you accidentally sit on your engagement ring, darling."

You scowled at him, but popped open the top. A beautiful ruby necklace gleamed up at you, and you let out a gasp.

"It's my mother's. She wanted you to have it," Daniel told you.

"Wow, Daniel. This is...breath-taking." You hugged him.

"Just like you," he flirted, and you rolled your eyes. "It's the truth."

You extricated the necklace from the box and clipped it around your neck. "How does it look?"

"Perfect." He kissed you on the lips, one hand nestled on the crook of your jaw. "And all mine."

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[heesngirl]

Preview : Heeseung and you happened to end up staying at the same hotel, and given the circumstances, the time without seeing each other, and the emotions of the moment, your intention was to finally make love, but in the middle of foreplay, you were interrupted.

— Heeseung x MC reader. Established relationship, light smut, mention of confidentiality contract (just a joke from the protagonist), pussy eating, face sitting, body worship, emotional and intimate connection. MDNI

Count : 6K

Note : This would be the prequel to "Be Continued". Only the third part remains to be published, which is Heeseung getting a blowjob.

It was enough to get into the back seat of the car for you to finally collapse just as you had been longing for. Whoever dared to say that your job was not hard at all was definitely nothing more than an ignorant, ill-informed person. Although, you also had to take into account the fact that when they invited you to participate in this event, they made it very clear that you would only cover a certain amount of time; however, a certain girl who was going to take over for you in the end could never arrive and did not notify you until the last moment.

You understood that her job was just as demanding or even more demanding than yours, but you mentally reproached her for having offered to participate, and not taking into consideration the fact that her current acting project could take more time than she planned. Later you would have the opportunity to personally unload on her.

For now you had to deal with your energy drop, since at that point you were more tired than a person; Your social battery was exhausted almost at the end of the day, so you were counting the hours to get out of there and go lie down in your hotel bed.

Although, now lying in the backseat of the vehicle you were tempted to sleep, at least during the minutes that would pass on the way to the hotel.

— Hey! Hey! Hey! Don't even think about falling asleep now. Let me remind you that you have an empty stomach and you should eat something first. So you better wait until we get there. — Joo Han scolds, observing your almost unconscious being through the rearview mirror.

— Oppa~ I'm dying, my little feet hurt like hell and I swear I'm more over there than over here, sleep is overcoming me — your protests sound strangled due to the way your cheek is crushed against your arm, and also because you could barely speak. You weren't lying, you were about to fall deeply asleep. — I don't think I can hold out until we get there, let me get some sleep please~ — you say, putting some emphasis on the last two letters.

Being aware of how noticeably exhausted you looked, Joo Han had no other choice but to let you sleep as you begged so much. It was obvious that he would end up giving in.

— Okay, you win, miss. You can sleep for a while, but I don't want to hear you complaining later when I have to interrupt your rest because we arrived at our destination. — he warns with supposed severity, but both of you knew that as soon as you arrived he would let you sleep a little longer before waking you up to get out of the car.

After having received the green light from your esteemed manager, you settle as much as you can in the seat and prepare to fall asleep. Unfortunately, you don't manage it.

At the exact moment you're about to fall asleep, your cell phone ringtone resounds, the sudden noise causing you to jump in place and abandon the task of going to dreamland.

A string of profanities was about to come out of your mouth, each and every one dedicated especially to whoever dared to bother you at that moment. However, all the bad mood along with the sleep and tiredness went to hell in a matter of seconds, and all after having read the name of the sender who requested to have a facetime with you.

— Oh god, my girl is so gorgeous — is the first thing you hear him say as soon as you agree to start the video call. Heeseung looks radiant from the other side of the screen smiling only for and at you. There was no way you could be upset with him, and even less so after hearing that. — How have you been, babe? I'm sorry for not contacting you sooner, but the concert hasn't been over for long and now we're heading to the hotel to rest. — although you were probably aware of it, he still took the trouble to explain since it didn't leave you any material to overthink.

Well, the truth is that since early in the morning you had been leaving him messages hoping that he would read them at some point, something he couldn't do because he was so busy with his responsibilities.

The concert he mentioned was the same one you had planned to sneak into incognito once you were free, but as mentioned before, the lack of organization and time of Jake's actress girlfriend as special guest and second MC in command, did nothing but disrupt and frustrate your plans.

Obviously, Heeseung didn't have that detail in mind, because you assured him that your itinerary didn't even leave a small space to go see him. Your karma for lying to your boyfriend, who was dying to see you in person after what would be two months.

— Hee, you don't have to give me explanations, I understand and take into account your reasons. — you answer simultaneously, getting up so you can give your beloved boy a close-up view of your face. You can notice how he stares at you in a daze for a few seconds. — I had been looking forward to attending the concert. I was right and I was going to surprise you by sneaking into the audience. But, it turns out that Jake’s boo seems to have an altered perception of time and he miscalculated, his recordings were extended and she couldn’t show up at the event. In the end I couldn’t get a replacement and I had to extend my day. — you confess with weariness and a frown, causing Heeseung to laugh at the seriousness with which you approached your tantrum.

— It’s a shame you couldn’t come to the concert. But leaving that aside, wasn’t it too exhausting for you? — the boy was aware of how precarious your social battery was, and even more so after a long day.

— Yes, yes it was. In fact, I was about to fall asleep, but your call came in and well, you know I just couldn't ignore it even if I'm dying — you confess, your boyfriend on the other side of the screen smiles, moved by the honesty of your words and by having that kind of privilege on your part. — Most likely, once I get to the hotel, I'll just have to get in touch with the bed to fall into a coma until the next day. — both laugh at that last comment, because they knew you were very serious.

— You don't deserve less, baby. Make sure you rest well. Just don't even think about going to sleep on an empty stomach — you perceive the severe tone in his voice and you do nothing but look at him ironically. — Don't look at me like that, the last time we slept together you made me get up in the middle of the night because you were hungry and then you had a hard time falling asleep again. I'm worried that you don't sleep your hours straight or that you skip meals. — he had a point in his favor that was simply difficult for you to refute, so you had no choice but to accept it.

— I'll make sure to have dinner before I go to bed. Don't worry too much now, besides, you should eat well and rest too — you remind him back. You're about to add something else but from the driver's seat Joo Han signals you to end the call. — Baby, I have to leave you. It seems it's time for me to get out of the car. I'll talk to you before I go to sleep.

— It's okay, baby girl, in fact, it's time for us to get out now too — you found that kind of coincidence a little strange, but you chose not to give it importance. — I love you, we'll talk later. — and without anything else to say he cut off the video call.

You put away your cell phone and took the bag you were carrying with you. You saw Joo Han get out first so he could go around the vehicle and open the door for you.

As soon as you got out of the car you noticed the slight gathering of people lying at a certain distance from the facilities; something quite strange in your opinion, since information about where you would stay during your stays outside of Korea was never leaked. Even stranger was how suddenly that small crowd seemed to get upset.

As much as your fame was rising, you found it impossible to believe that their uproar was due to your presence.

— That's how small the world is. — Joo Han's voice resonates behind you and you immediately

turn to face him, but he seems to be looking at something or rather someone who is beyond where you both lie standing.

You look away in the direction where your manager has his eyes fixed, and just that action is enough for you to understand the meaning behind his previous words.

You are perplexed, and the boy on the other end is no better than you, since he also seems to not finish processing what is happening at that precise moment. Both of you are there, looking at each other carefully, trying to make sure that what your respective eyes see is nothing more than reality.

Your minds connect… you feel your surroundings stop and suddenly it's just you two in the world, in the same place and time. If it weren't for the people who were hanging around those same places, you would have surely run towards him and even jumped into his arms. At that moment you thanked the universe, destiny and any other omnipotent force for conspiring in your favor.

— Hey come on, we can't stay out here for so long — Joo Han murmurs, making you leave the dream plane in which you seemed to be immersed. — You can talk to him later — he says as he urges you to start walking and enter the hotel once and for all.

You followed your manager's steps walking through the reception area, in the process feeling the weight of a gaze on you, you didn't even have to turn around because you knew perfectly well who it was. Only Lee Heeseung could have that kind of effect.

While you went with Joo Han to request the rooms to stay in, you managed to see how your boyfriend and his group headed towards the elevator. They made eye contact for a few seconds until the doors closed and he disappeared from your line of vision.

His presence in that place definitely altered your entire system, the level of your neurotransmitters increased drastically, you could feel the excitement bubbling and running through your entire body.

— Come on, I'll leave you in your bedroom to rest. — you look at Joo Han for a few seconds, thinking that at this point rest was the last thing relevant to you, the only thing you wanted was to be able to go to your boyfriend and throw yourself on him to kiss him and then both of you catch up.

After a while of boarding the elevator, you finally found yourself on your corresponding floor. Your manager dropped you off right in front of the door, and after giving you some instructions to avoid unwanted intruders in your room, he went to his own.

After a long, tiring day, you finally arrived at your hotel room. You closed the door with a sigh of relief and headed straight to the bathroom, eager for a moment of relaxation. Of course, not before giving your boyfriend the room number via text.

As the cold water fell on your tired skin, you felt the stress and fatigue slowly fade away. The comforting sound of the water enveloped you, and for a moment you allowed yourself to disconnect from everything. Even the disgust against Jake's girl became a non-existent plane.

After a time that seemed eternal to you, you got out of the bathtub wrapped in a soft bathrobe. As you dried your hair with a towel, you heard a soft knock on your room door. You paused for a moment, getting an idea of who it could be, and the excitement rose in you once more. As you approached the door, the knocking was repeated, this time more insistently.

As you opened the door, you were met by the figure of your boyfriend, standing in front of you, with that mix of urgency and devotion etched in his eyes. Before you could say a word, he had already crossed the threshold, closing the door firmly behind him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, lifting you off the ground as his lips sought yours, leaving no room for surprise. His kiss was voracious, hungry, as if time and distance had been a punishment that could finally redeem him.

You didn't have the chance to react at first, but you didn't need to either. Everything in you responded to that intensity, returning with equal vehemence the way his lips moved against yours. The time apart had been torture, and now every caress and kiss seemed like an affirmation that all of that was over.

The whirlwind of emotions stretched on for minutes that felt like a blink of an eye. The labored breathing, restless hands, and the accelerated beating of their hearts filled the small space of the room, as if the rest of the world had vanished. When their lips finally separated, they both looked at each other with a mixture of need and relief, smiling almost at the same time.

Heeseung took a few steps forward, taking you with him to the bed. He dropped down with an uncommon softness on it, dragging you with him to keep you close. One of his hands went up to your face, outlining your cheek with a tenderness that contrasted with the fervor of his first gestures. His eyes looked at you as if he wanted to memorize every detail, every shadow and every light of your face.

— Baby girl, I've missed you so much — he whispered tenderly, letting his words fill the intimate space you shared. — Every second away from you felt like an eternity. You don't know how much I've longed for this moment.

You were touched by the honesty of his words and the intensity of his emotions. In that special moment, despite your reserved nature, you allowed your own feelings to be freely expressed.

— I've missed you too, baby — you answered in a soft voice, allowing yourself to be more vulnerable than usual. — It hasn't been easy being away from you for so long, but now that we're together again, I feel like everything is in its place.

Time seemed to stop as you lost yourself in the mutual glow of your gazes. You threw yourself

against his lips once more, kissing him more calmly but with so much love in between. Lee smiled so pleased by your action, also because after you separated you didn't last long before planting another kiss on him, and another, and another... and a few more. He was melting internally, he loved this side of you that only he could bring out.

— Yes, you definitely missed me as much as I missed you — he jokes with a lively tone. — Which surprises me. Hadn't you boasted that you wouldn't miss me and could be at peace without me?

At his words, you lowered your head, hiding your face against his chest to hide the embarrassment you felt. Despite your attempt to hide your emotions, Heeseung put his arms around you and caressed your back softly.

— As expected, it was nothing more than a joke, and I ended up swallowing my words — you admit, simultaneously raising your face to look him straight in the eyes. — It hasn't been easy being away from you, Hee. I was aware of how much I need you by my side, even in the busiest of times.

Your words comforted him, and you couldn't even imagine how much, so his way of letting you know was to hold you closer to his body and lean in to leave a kiss on your forehead.

— Now you understand how I've been feeling these past few days. not being with you even for a measly second. It's not easy being away from you, babe, but that just made me realize that we're getting more and more in tune. — his words were so unfiltered, you felt touched by his sincerity.

— You know? This makes me realize how much I needed a moment like this with you. Besides, I just discovered that I can be as cheesy as Jake's girlfriend or Hoon's little sunshine. — both laugh because of such a statement.

— Don't compare yourself, never do, you are you and that's what makes you so wonderful. I'm aware of how loving you really are, when it comes to the affection that comes from your heart, which makes me feel loved. — he declares, his eyes never leaving yours as he pronounces each word. — Also, remember that there's Jay's girlfriend. — he adds, and ignoring a little of the romanticism you give him a little punch in the chest for that last thing he said. But he shrugged it off and just laughed.

— Yeah yeah, you're all so lucky to have gotten such wonderful girls like us to notice you. — you mocked with great pride.

Heeseung laughed ironically, a mocking smile playing on his lips. Then, he turned gracefully, leaving you cornered against the mattress while he hovered over you.

— I can't deny what you say, — he admitted with a mischievous glint in his eyes. — I really was lucky enough to get the wonderful girl that I boast of admiring and loving so much today. — with shining eyes and a pounding heart, you reacted completely touched by Heeseung's words.

Your lips met in a fiery kiss once again, a whirlwind of emotions enveloping you, dragging you into an exclusive world where time faded away and only the two of you existed. Your hands, driven by an overwhelming desire, gripped his shirt tightly. Your trembling fingers sank into the fabric, crumpling it in your fists as you pulled him towards you with an urgent, almost desperate need that demanded the immediate union of your bodies. That demanding attitude, charged with unbridled passion, further ignited the spark in Heeseung, who responded by intensifying the kiss. His tongue made its way between your lips, invading your mouth with a voracious warmth that seemed to devour you from within.

The soft murmur of their sighs mixed with the echo of their racing hearts, creating an intimate symphony that reverberated in the room. Every second that passed increased the intensity. His lips, skillful and demanding, explored yours as if he were seeking to memorize every texture, every flavor. The touch of your bodies generated an almost tangible electricity. Every movement, every touch between you, amplified the connection, the mutual heat enveloping you in a frenzy that gave no respite.

Heeseung's hands found your waist, his long, firm fingers holding you with a strength that, far from intimidating you, ignited your senses. When his lips began to slide from yours to your jaw, his warm breath caressed your skin, sending shivers along your spine. The kisses slowly descended to your neck, where his mouth stopped, leaving a trail of delicate bites that drew barely contained moans from your lips.

Your hands, now bolder, slid down his chest. Each caress was a message, a silent call that Heeseung interpreted perfectly. Slowly, your fingers sought the edge of the garment, pulling it up with clumsy movements, but loaded with intention. Noticing your intentions, he moved away just enough, raising his arms to make your job easier. With a swift movement, you slid the shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor without caring where it ended up. Now, with his torso exposed, your fingers traced the contours of his body. Every muscle beneath your hands seemed to tense at your touch, and the heat emanating from him enveloped you like a flare.

Heeseung let one of his hands venture past your waist. His fingers traced a downward path, caressing the curve of your hip until they found your bare thigh. The fabric of your bathrobe was barely an obstacle to his touch. His hand, warm and firm, rested on your skin, his fingers brushing over it in slow but determined movements. That caress sent a shiver through your body, a shudder you couldn’t hide and that he instantly sensed.

With his lips busy exploring the delicate curve of your neck and collarbones, Heeseung left small bites and wet kisses, tracing a path that made you arch your back, seeking more of him. His mouth was like fire against your skin, a searing heat that contrasted with the trembling that ran through your limbs. Each kiss of his was a mark of possession, as if he wanted to claim every part of you, but at the same time an act of Adoration, laden with reverent desire.

Your hands left his chest to run down his back, your nails barely grazing his bare skin, causing him to shudder a little, drawing a low growl from his lips. His reactions, so raw and genuine, fueled the frenzy that burned between the two of you, leading you to lose yourself even more in that moment.

Heeseung lifted his head, his dark, lust-filled eyes meeting yours, which shone with a mix of longing and vulnerability. His breathing, heavy and ragged, barely allowed him to utter his next words. As much pleasure as you both felt, Heeseung knew he needed your consent. He didn’t want to take anything for granted.

— Will you grant me this night? — he asked in a hoarse voice, desire permeating every syllable. His gaze lowered to your swollen lips, then back to your eyes, searching in them for the answer he so craved. You could tell how needy he was, the internal struggle to maintain his sanity evidenced by the turgidity of his erect member beneath his leather pants. — I don't want this to be just an impulse, I want it to be our moment.

— Honestly, I don't know what you're waiting for to tear this robe off my body and take me once and for all. — you reproached him, your tone suggestive and defiant, each word a whisper full of promise.

You loosened the knot, but left the garment barely closed, as if you wanted to prolong his torment a little longer. His gaze lowered to the small space that opened in the fabric, revealing the softness of your skin, and his jaw tensed. Seeing the flash of desire in your eyes, he lowered his face to capture your lips in a shorter kiss this time, creating a path that would explore every inch of your body, opening the robe further in the process.

His lips left a chaste kiss on your chest, before he pulled away, taking a moment to admire the naked splendor before him.

— I have no words to explain how much I love what I’m looking at right now. My baby is beautiful, so, so fucking beautiful. — he murmured huskily, his words laden with adoration. Then, leaning forward, he began to sprinkle kisses over your bare skin, each contact of his lips sending a shiver that raised goosebumps across your skin.

His mouth moved in a deliberate rhythm, leaving a trail of heat from the curve of your collarbone to your ribs. He continued down with devotion, stopping at your thighs. His warm breath contrasted with the coolness of the room, and the brush of his lips over the smoothness of your skin made you arch your back slightly.

When he reached your knee, he planted a deeper kiss, as if to mark the moment, before repeating his action on the other leg. But just as his mouth began to approach the heat pooling between your thighs, you stopped him, squeezing his face between your legs. Your thighs instinctively closed around his head, trapping him in a gesture that was both one of vulnerability and power.

Heeseung's reaction was immediate; a low, guttural growl escaped his throat. He couldn't hide how much he enjoyed that contact. The pressure of your thick thighs against his face seemed to unleash something wild inside him, an overwhelming satisfaction that was reflected in the dark glint of his eyes.

— Wait, Lee Heeseung, where's my confidentiality agreement? — you teased disdainfully, momentarily breaking the tension with a bit of humor.

He closed his eyes and let out a light laugh, the vibration of his chest resonating against your legs. The joke wasn't new; you'd mentioned it before, but he hadn't expected you to bring it up at that moment. However, he seemed to love that even in the midst of passion you maintained that playful spark that fascinated him so much.

When he opened his eyes, he did so slowly, as if he wanted to make sure you caught every second of his gaze. From his position between your legs, he watched you intensely. His pupils, dilated with desire, seemed to devour you, and the mischievous curve of his smile was as confident as it was dangerous.

— Why would I make you sign that shit if this won’t be the only time I have you like this? — he replied rhetorically while his voice took on a serious and almost mocking tone. The arrogance in his expression disarmed you, but it also ignited something inside you.

Without warning, Heeseung slid his large, warm hands over your thighs, holding them firmly. His fingers pressed against your skin with a mix of possessiveness and tenderness, sending a wave of heat straight to your belly. Slowly, he opened your legs, creating a space that seemed insufficient for the desperation that was drawn on his features.

The moisture between your legs seemed to invite him, and his face was at the exact level, so close that you could feel his breath caressing your skin. His lips delicately brushed the most intimate area of your body, but he didn’t move immediately. Instead, his eyes searched yours, waiting, connecting, as if he needed to make sure you were with him on every level: physical, emotional, and beyond.

From your position, you watch as he licks his lips eagerly, a provocative dance that awakens every fiber of your being. You move a little closer, and close your eyes, letting the anticipation envelop you, yearning for that contact that seems like a distant whisper. However, instead of what you wanted, his lips slide down to the inside of your left thigh. Surprise and a slight flash of annoyance lead you to tap your fingers against his forehead, but he only laughs, a sound full of complicity that lights the fire inside you even more.

— Stop torturing me, you don’t know how much I need you right now. — you whimper, giving him a reproachful look as your mouth turns into a small pout, a mix of helplessness and desire.

But Heeseung, far from taking pity, takes his time, enjoying every moment. His lips alternate kisses between the soft skin of both thighs, a game that heightens your frustration. Just when you think he will finally give in to your pleas, he stops, leaving a kiss on your mound of venery before dropping down beside you on the bed.

You turn to him, confusion and disappointment reflected on your face, while he remains serene, staring at the ceiling as if he were not the architect of your longing. The need to reproach him for his actions bubbles up inside you, but before you can articulate a word, he makes a gesture with his hand, pointing to his face.

— Baby, don’t just stand there doing nothing. Come and sit on my face. I long to eat you in that position. — he orders you with a voice full of raw desire, a mix of authority and lust that makes every corner of your body vibrate.

You don't need him to repeat it. In an instinctive movement, you stand up and let the bathrobe fall, the cool air brushing against your bare skin. Your body reacts to the contrast, your nipples hardening as your breathing quickens. You know what's coming and the anticipation is already raging inside you.

With a determination you barely recognize as your own, you approach him. His eyes, dark and bright, follow each step you take, devouring you with their gaze, and you feel his desire pierce the space between you. You climb astride his body, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his torso. The fabric of his pants brushes against your wet lips, and the contact sends shivers down your spine. His erection, hard and prominent, presses against your center with a delicious insistence, drawing a low, guttural gasp from your mouth.

That sound, that sign of how much he wants you, becomes an incentive for you. Slowly, you begin to rub against him, seeking that friction that further ignites the fire already burning in your belly. His hands move up your thighs, his long, firm fingers leaving a trail of heat that makes your legs shiver.

— Fuck... You have no idea how much I love you. — he growls, his voice barely a whisper muffled by arousal.

Your movements become more desperate, your hips undulating against him in a rhythmic dance that steals your breath. But his urgency overwhelms yours. In one determined move, his hands move up to your hips, holding you firmly and guiding you towards his face. Your breath hitches as you feel the warmth of his breath caressing your most sensitive skin.

You carefully settle yourself over his mouth, but he’s not about to wait. His arms wrap around you tightly, his fingers digging into your thighs with an almost primal need. He opens you wider, making sure every part of you is exposed to him, vulnerable and within reach of his tongue.

The first contact is an electric shock that makes you arch your back and moan, your hands instinctively seeking support on the headboard of the bed. His tongue slides with precision, tracing slow, deep circles before zeroing in on the exact spot that makes you shudder. His technique is a mix of mastery and desperation, as if he can’t get enough of you.

— You’re so good to me. — you sigh, your voice cracking under the weight of ecstasy.

Every movement of his brings you closer to the edge. The way his tongue alternates between gentle caresses and intense thrusts makes you lose any trace of control. His hands don’t stay still; his fingers run over your hips, moving down to caress your buttocks, squeezing them hard to force you to move more rhythmically on his mouth.

Your moans fill the room, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth working tirelessly on you. Your body shakes, your thighs trembling as the pleasure builds in ever more intense spirals.

He doesn’t stop. With every moan you let out, his movements become more fervent, more demanding. You can feel the pride emanating from him, the delight in your every reaction. He watches you from below, his eyes darkened with lust, enjoying the sight of your face contorting in ecstasy.

— You’re mine… All mine, baby. — he whispers against your pussy before sucking you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, a bolt of pure pleasure coursing through every nerve in your body.

Your breathing is a mess; words aren’t enough to express what you’re feeling at that moment. You grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving on instinct, seeking to prolong those sensations that have you on the brink of madness.

— Hee, I’m close. — you whimper desperately, at the same time as you begin to move around in search of more friction. Just as you’re about to come undone in his mouth, a knock on your door brings you both out of the moment.

Both you and he freeze, not knowing exactly what to do, as your minds remained clouded and it was difficult for you to process quickly. Another knock sounds, but this time more insistently.

— Has she fallen asleep already? — you heard someone question from outside and you immediately recognize that voice as Sunoo's.

— It's possible, but I don't think so. Let me call her to check. — the other voice that resonates you also recognize instantly, it was Jungwon. Instantly a call comes into your cell phone, that's when you finally react and get off Hee's body.

You take the robe and cover your body again. You help Heeseung get out of bed and quickly lead them to the bathroom, you leave him locked in there. You arrange the robe and your hair well, then finally open the door.

— Wonie! — you exclaim happily but nervously as soon as you see the boy in front of you. Yang smiles in response.

— I'm here too. — Sunoo points out indignantly at being overlooked because of Jungwon's presence.

— Yeah, hello to you too — you greet in an effort to get out of the way, causing Sunoo to look at you with contempt. Jungwon and you laugh at Kim's expression. — What brings you here? — you ask, continuing a normal conversation.

— We brought a surprise for you. — Won answers and simultaneously he and Sunoo step aside, revealing the female presence that accompanied them.

— Surprise! — the young actress sings, doing jazz hands and smiling widely.

You wanted to throw yourself at her, because the truth is that you hadn't been able to see her for a while either. However, the memory of you working overtime made the love fade away and instead you did the bitter thing of closing the door in her face. However, three hands push, preventing you from completing your action.

— Why aren't you with Jaeyun? — your question wasn't meant to be mean, it was simply the first thing you managed to ask. The actress's face twisted into a grimace of discontent, as she hoped that her presence would really excite you.

— Why do you say it as if I couldn't be away from him? — she counterattacked, somewhat offended.

— Because that's actually how it is — Sunoo confirmed, earning a punch on the arm from the other girl. They both looked at each other in disgust after that. — And do you intend to leave us standing here all night? — Sunoo reproaches you and you do nothing but roll your eyes.

— Don't you have your own rooms? — you reply, crossing your arms and looking at him mockingly, provoking the other girl. At that moment Jungwon had to intervene before the worst happened.

— Come on, let's all hang out together! Look, I bought these snacks and sweets that you might like — you appreciated her intervention and her innate ability to persuade you with food. — Also, she hired a skincare service and the person should be arriving soon.

— Okay, let's all hang out together. But let me inform you that I will not be lending my room for this sleepover attempt — you notice how the expressions of Sunoo and Jaeyun's girlfriend go from excitement to disappointment in just a second, and yes, it was because of your refusal in the end. They were already making themselves comfortable in your bed that undoubtedly had to be well-ordered... according to them.

— But why not?! — the two aforementioned complain in unison.

— I don't have enough energy to have to clean everything after you leave here, in fact, I was about to get dressed and go to sleep and you interrupted me. — you had to lie for the sake of the boy who was still locked in your bathroom.

— Okay, I guess we'll take my room since Won and Jongseong's room is occupied by the latter, Jaeyun and Riki watching a soccer game. In Sunoo's room is Hoon doing FaceTime with his little sun and you don't want to lend yours. We have no other option. — the actress admits. — Go get dressed, we'll be waiting for you over there, it's number 23. Please don't take too long — and without further ado, the three of you prepare to leave.

You're about to close and enter your room but a doubt invades you and that's why you make them stop halfway down the hallway.

— How did you know my room number? — the truth is you didn't remember having exposed your location to someone else.

— Oh that, your boyfriend spilled the beans on Won and he told us. — Sunoo clarified causing you to give yourself a mental blow.

Without making any noise, you entered your room again, got dressed in silence, and then left to meet up with your friends.

And Heeseung? Well, he had to reflect on his actions, since they were practically interrupted because of him.

— I do not allow copies or translations! This content was originally created in Spanish and published on Wattpad.

[malk1ns]

february 7 @ rangers, 3-2 win

NEITHER of them playing??? my god, they're purposely trying to make this harder on me i think.

previous installments: 1 2 3 3.5

Whenever Sid isn’t allowed to travel with the team, he chafes.

Normally it’s from injury. The dark days of the concussion and neck injury aren’t that far behind him, but even with those memories lingering in his mind Sid’s much more used to the monotony of being out hurt: check-ins with Vyas, long sessions with the trainers, at-home rehab exercises, and not a lot more. At least he gets out, though, to Cranberry for his appointments and PPG to watch home games, and in his free time whenever he wants to go.

This is different. Sid and Geno are supposed to be sequestered, stuck in Sid’s house while the team waits to see if the pregnancy took and the lawyers argue over Geno’s unplanned mating bite.

The first few days were the worst. Geno was distraught, barely able to be in the same room as Sid without looking like a kicked puppy, and constantly on the phone spitting out upset-sounding Russian as he paced through Sid’s home.

Sid gets it, kind of. Geno’s a professional, this is part of what he does for a living, and he made a mistake, tied himself to Sid without meaning to because he lost control in the middle of what was essentially a job for him. There’s no easy hockey comparison, but Sid imagines making a mistake of that magnitude during a game and thinks he’d probably be reacting much, much worse than Geno is.

The bond Geno tore into them isn’t going away, though, and eventually he drifts back to Sid’s side.

He’s hesitant at first, tentative and apologetic, but Sid eventually manages to convince Geno that he’s not mad.

It’s not how he expected to get bonded, really. But Sid had come to terms years ago with the fact that it might not be up to him. He spent his entire life being warned that alphas can’t always control themselves around an omega in heat—that’s why he had to be so careful once he got a little older and realized the value of his breeding rights.

And he could do worse than Geno.

Sid doesn’t go more than a couple hours without having flashbacks to Geno holding him down and crooning in his ear while his knot swelled inside him. His face gets hot and his scent must turn, because Geno always looks at him.

He won’t touch Sid, though, no matter what Sid does.

Part of why they’re stuck inside is because the team is convinced that Geno’s too aggressive to be in public. The unexpected bite is held up as fairly damning evidence, and the specialists argue that in the early days of the bond settling Geno might catch someone looking at Sid and go feral.

There’s a part of Sid that wouldn’t mind seeing that, but he really, really doesn’t think it would happen. Geno had one moment where he lost control, sure, but he’s been respectful to a fault since, even when Sid’s been trying his best to change that.

They sleep in the same bed because the one time Geno tried to use the guest room neither of them got more than half an hour of sleep. Sid initially hoped that maybe he could start something that way, but Geno stays on his side of the bed, touching Sid’s hip gently before pulling back.

It leaves Sid cold every night. He’s determined to change things. Technically he won’t know if he’s pregnant or not for another week when they’re able to run a blood test, but Sid knows his body intimately, and he knows it didn’t take this time—and the idea of having to wait for Geno’s touch again until he goes into heat next is untenable.

“Fuck,” he swears, letting the knife clatter from his hand and leaping back from the kitchen counter. “Oh, damnit.” 

He sticks his finger in his mouth and eyes the knife balefully. He’d woken up before Geno for the first time all week and had the idea that he’d have breakfast waiting when Geno came downstairs, set out on the table like a good little omega might for their alpha. 

Instead, his finger slipped while he was trying to chop tomatoes for an omelette and now he’s bled all over the cutting board.

“Sid?” comes Geno’s sleepy voice, and Sid cringes, turning to face the kitchen door.

“Morning,” he mumbles around his finger, watching as Geno frowns around the room and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Sorry.”

“You hurt?” Geno says, ignoring Sid’s apology and the mess in favor of crossing the room and tugging Sid’s hand down from his mouth, cradling it in his own palms. “Oh, lyubimyy, you’re bleed, let me help.”

He tows Sid over to the sink, running cool water and pushing Sid closer to the counter so he can stick his hand under the stream. Geno stays close behind him, a tall, warm presence at Sid’s back, and Sid shivers.

Geno curls his hand around Sid’s hip. “You okay?” he says quietly, leaning down to peer over Sid’s shoulder at his hand. “Looks like it’s not so bad.”

“Yeah,” Sid says breathlessly, pulling his finger back from the water and fumbling for a paper towel. “I think probably just a bandage and I’ll be fine.”

He steels himself for the rush of cold when Geno steps away from him, but it doesn’t come. If anything, Geno presses against him more, sliding his hand from Sid’s hip to his low belly.

Sid goes still. He’s afraid if he so much as breathes too loudly, Geno will realize what he’s doing and put that respectful distance between them again.

“Don’t think it take this time,” Geno says, rubbing his palm over Sid’s stomach. Sid wants to go liquid, to fall back into his alpha’s arms and let Geno have his way with him, but he grits his teeth and stays upright. Geno’s scent this close, calm and happy with an undertone of arousal that’s become all too familiar—and frustrating—to Sid over the last two weeks, is almost too much; Sid’s going to start slicking up his sweatpants soon.

“It didn’t,” he replies breathlessly, shifting his hips back the littlest bit, pressing against Geno’s body. “I mean…we won’t know for sure until they test me next week, I guess, but I don’t feel like it did.”

“Hmm,” Geno hums. He’s still moving his hand over Sid’s body, slow and warm. “Guess we have to try again.” He puts his face down to Sid’s neck, rubbing their cheeks together before he inhales open-mouthed over Sid’s scent glands, fitting his teeth to the marks he left. “Smell so good,” he groans, pulling Sid flush against his body.

Geno’s tongue on Sid’s neck almost sends him into a swoon. His throat has been so sensitive since he woke up the day after Geno bonded them; the slightest touch is enough to make his skin prickle and send shivers down his spine. Geno’s focused attention is almost too much, and Sid gets hard so fast he feels dizzy.

“Geno, please,” he gasps, reaching back blindly and groping at Geno’s side.

Geno’s mouth drags down the back of Sid’s neck as he sinks to his knees, yanking Sid’s pants down and shouldering his legs apart.

Sid doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed before Geno has his tongue up his ass.

“Oh fuck,” Sid gets out, bracing himself against the counter just in time to stop from falling. Geno’s big palm on the small of his back encourages him to lean forward and stick his ass out further.

Sid’s face burns, but the shame of the position falls away as Geno spreads him open and licks at him, obscene in the morning quiet of the kitchen. Sid’s dripping wet now in response to the stimulation and Geno’s arousal, and all he can do is hold on.

Geno’s holding Sid so tightly Sid wonders if he’ll have bruises later, dark purple fingerprints smudged all over his ass and thighs. They’ll hurt when he sits down. The thought makes his dick throb, and if Sid weren’t so unsteady on his feet right now he’d reach down and take himself in hand.

Geno pulls back and presses two fingers to Sid’s hole, pushing in with no warning and no pause. Sid jolts, but Geno curls his fingers and strokes against something inside him that makes Sid’s stomach twist.

“So tight,” Geno murmurs. “I’m only one who has you like this, yes?” He pets the rim of Sid’s hole with a third finger, ducking down to suck at Sid’s balls.

“Yes,” Sid wails, legs shaking as his dick twitches and leaks up against the cabinets. “It’s just you, it’s just you, please.”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Geno soothes. “I get you there.”

If Sid were able to do more than clutch at the edges of his sink and moan, he’d beg Geno to tug him down onto the floor and knot him right there in the kitchen. He feels frantic, hot all over and desperate for more, but all he can do is gasp open-mouthed as he stares blindly out the window above the sink and let Geno do what he wants.

Geno knows exactly what to do, how hard to thrust, when Sid’s ready for him to add a third finger and worm his tongue in alongside. And when Sid’s so close he’s practically out of his mind, scrabbling at nothing on the countertops, Geno knows when to wrap his other hand around Sid’s dick and stroke him once, twice, until Sid’s coming all over his nice wooden cabinets.

He almost falls, but Geno catches him around the waist and eases him down, positioning him in Geno’s lap. Geno’s dick is between his legs, nudging against his balls and over-sensitive dick, and Geno wraps his arms around Sid’s waist to move him, humping up between Sid’s thighs as he chases his own pleasure.

Sid lets his head fall back against Geno’s shoulder, turning his head into Geno’s neck and mouthing at his tendons. Geno’s scent glands are right there, and Sid thinks he might be drowning, totally surrounded in scent and the feel of Geno’s arousal building in the back of his mind where the bond is.

When he scrapes his teeth against Geno’s glands, not even enough to leave a mark, Geno shouts, clutches him close, and comes all over Sid’s legs.

Sid clenches his thighs around Geno’s knot, shivering at the feel of it pulsing against him. That was in him not two weeks ago, and if Sid gets his way he’ll have it in him again soon.

He’s not letting Geno avoid him, avoid this, anymore. Geno mated him, and Sid wants everything that’s meant to go along with that. And Sid always gets what he wants in the end.

[pastelaspirations]

Oh... my... g o d. You. You get it. You understand. I have found another enlightened, likeminded individual somehow by complete accident, I'm about to lose it, I swear-

I am going to ramble now. I don't know how else to say this other than y e s. You are absolutely right.

I don't think you understand. What you said is like my exact headcanon. I'm not even joking

Canon Ink is soulless. S o. The angst potential for that is off the charts. Both internal and external, babyyy. M a y b e a lot of it is internal (which is how I like to write it a lot hehe ✧˖°.) He has no soul, so he can't love, right??? So he can have intense self-loathing because he doubts all his feelings and actions. He can't feel. All his feelings are artificial because he needs his vials to even "feel" them in the first place. So h o w can he tell people; his friends, his family, anyone, that he loves them in good conscience? He can't. So this might lead to him pushing people away and to drown in crippling self-doubt.

It can be external too. Perhaps people doubt him. How can a soulless being love? How can they even feel? Are their feelings even real if he can just pick and choose what he wants to feel at any moment? If he can just pop the lid off a vial and have that emotion, how can one argue that is anything other than frighteningly artificial?

But our boi. Error's like n a a a h. He knows. S u r e, Ink's vials help him feel, but they help him express what is already there. If Ink's vials really only worked by that simple "take this to feel this" logic, then wouldn't Ink feel the exact same to every situation and person?? If he took a happy vial to feel affection for his friends, wouldn't he theoretically feel the exact same to Nightmare or someone? The vials can't discriminate. How would they know who Ink was supposed to like or dislike?

That extends to Error himself. If the vials really worked on that simple black and white thinking, then Ink's pink vial would work by feeling romantic love and affection for anyone. If the pink vial simply equals the feeling of love and affection, it wouldn't matter who it was, Ink would feel those feelings for that person. But he doesn't. He can differentiate love between his family and his friends. And depending on the story, Error might be the only person he feels this sort of romantic love for when he uses his vials to help him feel.

So, case in point. To Error and many other people who care about Ink, Ink's vials do not give him the ability to feel. They allow him to feel what is already there.

Ink's got a whole lot of self-doubt of that being true though, partly because of his own self-esteem and maybe because other people trying to convince him that it's true. But Error doesn't believe it. He's got proof to the contrary. And he's going to reassure Ink as long as he needs to... as long as it takes for him to finally believe it <3

G o d. I'm sorry for rambling, it's just. That's literally my exact headcanon and I don't know how to stop infodumping about my headcanons-

I could have just... referred you to my ao3, I guess. That honestly might have been quicker. Like, this is such an ingrained headcanon of mine, that I write about it almost subconsciously at this point?? I don't know which ones even have it, I just know at least two touch upon it

Anyway, yes. I agree with literally everything you just said, it's incredible. I'm so sorry for literally. Sending a w a l l of text. Apparently I'm your guy to talk about this crap to as well, I guess-

Can you guys tell I have a favorite pair of sillies yet . . .

[moroniccats]

Notes That I’ve Written in The Complete Sherlock Holmes Volume 2 While Probably Half Asleep:

“I can’t believe that cataract surgery already existed in 1894!”

“DIS DRAMATIC BISH”

“Some have blue yonder”

“They just can’t stop holding hands can they?”

“Heh heh ‘curiously misshapen butt’”

“HOLMES DO NOT FLIRT WITH A MURDERER.”

“Lestrade does not have time for this shit.”

“WRIGGLE”

“Watson is so ready to deck Lestrade”

“When will people learn to STOP SAYING THINGS IN FRONT OF WATSON???”

“Watson, darling, get some new adjectives.”

“Proof that Sherlock Holmes is a cat 26373738488”

“dog holmes”

“Still a better hyperfixation than ash.”

“WATSON YOU MUST BE A GOSSIP GURL”

“GOOD FOR THE HORSE!!!”

“He was shot. And nothing of value was lost.”

“I love that Watson was just willing to let him die.”

“That’s rough buddy.”

“☝️🤓 according to my calculations…”

“Bish, you don’t know his life!”

“The autism of it all.”

“🐑”

“Holmes needs his emotional support Watson!”

“This absolute silly Billy.”

“I’m trying to decide whether or not I feel bad for you.”

“YEAH I’LL BET THE KID WAS TRAUMATIZED”

“Spoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooky 🙄.”

And now presenting: Me Being Disappointed (But Not Surprised) When Watson Simps:

“Alright Watson, since you guys just reunited, I suppose I can let you drool for a bit.”

“Why are you OBSESSED with his eyes?”

“I think at this point we can safely say that Watson has a hand kink.”

“Watson I swear, if you don’t get it together…”

“WHY WERE YOU WATCHING HIM FOR TWO HOURS.”

“We GET IT. YOU LIKE HIS EYES.”

“Not the long thin fingers again…”

“Watson. Honey. You are JUST embarrassing yourself.”

“WTF DO YOU MEAN ‘THAT SUPPLE FIGURE’?”

[luckymousey]

Thoughts about Ace’s dreams (parts 249-256) (mostly things I liked)

⚠️English is not my first language and there will be SPOILERS if you haven't seen Ace's dream⚠️

THEY UPLOADED BOTH ACE AND TREY’S ENTIRE DREAMS, LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ehhhh, well, I was planning to also write about Trey’s dream, but I felt this was getting too long, so maybe the day after tomorrow I guess?

Warnings?: swearing and possible gramatical mistakes

Soooooo, we left it when Grim was shaking Ace like a soft drink, let’s start!

Ace telling them to stop pranking him is ironic considering he’s the one who pranks everyone everytime (I bet he once pranked Deuce by giving him a store bought egg and told him a chick would appear from it if he gave him enough warmth)

SEBEK STARTING TO EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO ACE, I ALREADY LOVE HIM SO MUCH, I know he is just doing it for COMPLETELY different reasons, but yeah (tbh, I started loving him more when he admitted liking reading books, I’m also a bookworm :3)

And he’s so determined to fight Malleus, awww, he loves him, but he also knows that they can’t let Malleus’ negative emotions take over him.

The part where Ace asks Sebek if it’s something bad to live in a dream that you can be happy in, is like ( ; _ ; ), so fucking sad and selfish, he is like accepting the fact that it was not reality what he was living, but he was so fucking scared to accept reality itself and he really didn’t consider other people’s opinions (personally, I feel I would LOVE living my dream life, but I’m sure that with time, I would feel that everything around me is fake, beause my real friends wouldn’t be there, my real family would’ve be there, everything I love wouldn’t be there, and that would make feel me so miserable)

Ace saying that if Malleus is left alone in the real world because of his own fault reminds me a lot of the time he told Riddle that he had no friends because of himself, it might have sound cruel, but really, Malleus, my boy, what you’re doing is not good 😭 (and he’s, I do think that Ace’s comment to Malleus was also unnecessary, but let’s be realistic, they’re both doin wrong things)

For some reason, I feel Ace would be GREAT as a lawyer, maybe some rude comments about the other party, something that’s not tolerated in trials, yes, but he’s quick when it comes to biting back.

Ace not wanting to fight Malleus because he calls themselves “ordinary students”?? EXCUSE ME!? That’s not my Ace! My Ace fucking fought against his dorm leader knowing he was way weaker than him (I repeat, he’s so fucking scared of accepting the reality, like, we can see it thanks to these little things, the little changes in the character, he prefers to be a coward than to lose his friend 🥲)

I want to say this again, there are some parts and lines of Ace that reminds us of the Heartslabyul Arc (like when he said he won he listening to someone who looks down at others), but there’s a big difference: Ace was not scared to fight against Riddle, but he’s now scared to fight against Malleus, and yes, Malleus is one of the 5 best mages in the world, but this is not about the opponent, it’s about the fact that he will change his whole personality to get what he wants, in Heartslabyul Arc’s case: beating Riddle and becoming dorm leader (that was out of pure rage tho), in the Diasomnia Arc’s: hiding in his dream, because there, Yuu can stay with them forever.

ACE RAN, I KNOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRAMATIC EXIT, BUT I COULDN’T STOP IMAGINING HIM RUNNING LIKE AN ANIME CHARACTER WHO’S EMBARRASSED AND RUNNING AWAY WITH A VERY NOTICEABLE BLUSH ON THEIR FACE

Sebek not understanding Ace’s words and desire to stay in the dream is understandable for me, he had no friends before, and in this point of the story, he is still not very close to his classmates, so he doesn’t understand why a friend is so important for Ace (and Malleus is more like a person who he admires, but he idolizes him so much that I doubt he calls him “his friend”, while Lilia is seen as his master and Silver more like a competitor).

I don’t know if you noticed this, but I love imagining different scenarios when something happens, so when everyone was explaining to Sebek why Ace got angry and why it was (partly) his fault, I imagined them trying to explain something to a baby.

ORTHO ADMITTING HE WOULN’T BE AS WORRIED AS HE’S BECAUSE OF IDIA, HE’S THE BEST LITTLE BROTHER ONE CAN HAVE 🥹🥹🥹🥹

And Sebek realizing that Ortho is right, awwww, I can understand why some people hate him, he is constantly shouting and being kind of rude, but I see him like a kiddo who’s still learning.

I used to watch the episodes without sound because I usually watch them at night, but how that I got wireless headphones I can’t unheard the way they said “Cater Diamond”, they’re like, “KeiTO DaiAMonDo”, I know that's how they pronounce it, but I really can’t not laugh everytime I think about it.

Idia and Leona agreeing they’re just helping because they want revenge!?!? That’s so funny for me, they’re straight up insulting Malleus in front of Sebek.

And after that, the moment where Silver scolds Sebek arrives.

THAT'S RIGHT SILVER, YOU TELL HIM, YOU TELL HIM, SHOW HIM WHAT YOU LEARNT FROM YOUR HANDSOME FATHER, I LOVE YA SEBEK, BUT YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN

Honestly, the reason I'm so excited is because I’m trying to prepare myself for that part.

Silver LITERALLY rubbing on Sebek’s face the fact that he reacted like Ace when he told him everything was a dream is something I didn’t know I needed to hear, it was so satisfying. (I’m going to admit it, I just love people getting scolded because of something they did that was clearly bad)

“REFLECT ON YOUR ACTIONS!” Is something I feel Lilia usually said when he punished them as kids and then Silver learnt it (i bet all my money that Lilia constantly used that phrase when the kids didn’t want to eat his nutritious food)

Some of the characters being surprised by Sebek sudden lowering of tone is something that will always make me at least chuckle, it doesn’t matter if it’s in the manga, the game, the novel, fanfics, fanmade comics…; it’s just so fucking funny for me.

When Silver said it was better to have Ace as a friend so he can help the, in defeating Malleus sounded so bad, like he was already planning how to become Ace’s friend to use him (don’t hate on me, I know he didn’t intend to, but if you read that phrase without context, you will definitely think he’s a villain)

LEONA, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN WITH LEAVING ACE BEHIND BECAUSE HE WON'T BE OF MUCH HELP, ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME!? YOU DONT GET TO LEAVE MY BOY BEHIND.

AND YOU TOO, CATER!? YOU TOO!? I THOUGHT YOU WERE A GOOD SENPAI BECAUSE YOU PROTECTED DEUCE AND GRIM IN YOUR DREAM, FUCK THIS AND HE WANTS TO MESS UP WITH ACE, DONT, LEAVE MY BOY, WELL, DONT, DON'T LEAVE MY BOY, WAKE HIM UP

Deuce doing his delinquent pose when he got frustrated of thinking to much, hehehe, I love that pose

YESYESYES, DEUCE, GRIM, YUU, GO GET YOUR TSUNDERE-ORANGE-BOY

Ortho don’t worry about them, Yuu and Grimm have gone through 6 overblots together (I’m going to cry so fucking hard if Grim ends up over blotting because of all those fucking black stones he eats), and now they’re with the seventh one

Oh, damn, Cater should be an actor, I really thought he was going to leave Ace behind.

FORGET WHAT I SAID ABOUT YOU, CATER, I LOVE YA SO MUCH

Cater like a proud older brother 😭: “I’m happy Ace got such good friends”

Omg, Cater is so intelligent, by just having contact with ‘darkness’ once he already knows how it works (but he’s really putting the hand in the fire just for his junior, Trey is one of the most understood characters, but he’s also so underrated when it comes to his relationships)

Wait, wait, wait, I just thought about this, it might be something dumb, but it really just appeared in my mind: Cater doesn’t want to get very close to anyone because of his trauma of constantly having to move and, as a consequence, he has to cut off all his relationships done in the place: and now, he’s literally doing anything possible to save his friends (if he now can consider them as friends), I don’t know if he started to open up, but it would be so heartwarming to see 😭🥰

I love when the characters say: “eh?” Yes, buddy, eh, eh, eh 🦆

All the Caters saying: “Aye, Aye, sir!” It’s soooooooooooo peeeeerfect

“It might hurt a little, but be patient, Acey~” -KeiTO DaiAMonDo, 2025

NAURRR GIRL, THE SUDDEN FIRE!? That was too fast, both Riddle and Trey would be way more dissimulated if they were trying to discover if there’s really a fake Cater.

Leona said they weren’t going to help Cater because he didn’t ask for it, but I like to think he’s trusting him (I know that wasn’t the case, let me be delulu)

And Leona calling Cater “Heartslabyul’s number 3”??? THIS IS GOING STRAIGHT TO MY MAFIA AU

Riddle’s change of tone from rude and strict for Cater and sweet and kind for Ace!? 😂, yeah, that’s definitely not happening irl

“You can have a happy life here, blahblahbla” oh, shut up, I know you’re darkness, but shut up

Ok, Leona, I know you trust Cater and everything, but please, let Silver and the rest help him, he’s going to disappear with the darkness

*right in the other part of the island*: Cater saying how ugly everything looks, not giving a fuck about the danger he’s in 😃👍

ACE ADMITTING HIS INSECURITIES, NOOOOOOO, MY BOY, YOU'RE PERFECT THE WAY YOU ARE, YOU ALL WILL DEFEAT MALLEUS WITH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP (or not)

Like, I don’t know how the hell the darkness manage to say the most contradictory things 🤣, Deuce would never say he’ll learn from Ace, over his dead body

Awww, Leona trying to break Idia’s tablet just because he asked if he was talking about himself (he was right)

HJKSJKHKHJHKJSHKJ, EVERYONE IS BEING SO ✨SLAY✨, SILVER SCOLDING SEBEK, CATER SMACKING ACE WITH THE TRUTH, WHAT'S NEXT!?!? TREY FINALLY GIVING MRS. ROSEHEARTS WHAT SHE DESERVES IN RIDDLE’S DREAM!?!?

“At that time, I couldn’t say anything properly…thank you.” “It’s too lame to only challenge those who you can win against!” “Cater-senpai…this is so unfair…isn’t it!?” “I only have to wake up, right!?” You heard that? That’s the sound of my hearts breaking, and the fact that he’s crying while trying to smile??? ANIPLEX, YANA TONOSO AND TWST, YOU BETTER PAY FOR THE REST OF MY THERAPY SESSIONS 😭😭😭😭😭

The fact that both Ace and Deuce’s last memory to wake up is their reunion in book 6 is so special, so tears-flooding-down-my-cheek reaction from me 🥹

ACE IS BACK MY PEOPLE, HE HAS FINALLY WOKEN UUUUUUP

Cater saying: “Leona, guys! Help us!” In such a princess and cheerful way, he would nail it in EAH’s Damsel in Distress class

Ace first words to his friends was literally about Deuce’s way of talking…that’s so him ✨🥹✨

Deuce and Grim hitting Ace, yes my people, those are my little stupid boys

And Cater’s excuse for using magic against Ace was literally: the ends DOES justify the means

And Ace telling Yuu that next time they wake him up it needs to be more gentle!? I don’t know if that was romantic or not, but Ace is definitely someone worthy to be Malleus’ love rival; he was the only one who directly dreamed with Yuu!

My first reaction when Ace reminded Leona of what he did at the Magift Tournament was: “don’t talk to me or my man like that again”

“I wasn’t crying! And you all came running to me looking pretty happy!”…OF COURSE WE WOULD BE HAPPY, YOU DUMBASS, OHANA MEANS FAMILY AND FAMILY MEANS NO ONE IS LEFT BEHIND

And then Cater takes a photo of Yuu, Adeuce and Grim to celebrate they’re back together, yessssss

For the third time, Ace’s lines are like a reflection of what he said in the Heartslabyul Arc: he told Trey it was his fault Riddle became like that, because he constant spoiled him; and now, bam, he tells Silver he and Lilia pamper him too much

As usual, Ortho snitches on everyone because he is a pure angel who doesn’t want to get bitches, so he tells the truth about Sebek 😈, let’s go, Ortho, you’re doing great, who will be your next victim?

Near to the end of his dream, Cater uses the good old one: if you bother us too much, I’ll tell Riddle😈

“Red demon”!? HAHAHAH, LEONA KNOWS ABOUT NICKNAMES, LET LEONA GIVE YOU A NEW NAME TO YALL

Then we’ve Idia: “Actually 🤓, we’ve to visit the red demon, BUT, I plan to wake his best pacifier.” (Man, Idia is just slaying with anything he’s saying)

ADEUCE STUTTERING AND THEN SHOUTING LIKE MAGICAL GIRLS TO CHANGE CLOTHES IS MY TOP 1 FAV MOMENT IN THE WHOLE DREAM

And, of course, Idia’s new line: “This is! The fresh scream filled with torture feels so good!”

(Unpopular opinion: Cater should’ve been filming the WHOLE time)

Another mirror-reflection-scene: Ace wanted to make Malleus apologize, just like in the Heartslabyul Arc with Riddle.

And last but not least, Ortho snitched on Sebek for the SECOND time, that smirk of his, he knows what he’s doing, that boy, that boy is so dangerously intelligent.

And in the end, we didn't get Ace's brother's face reveal 🥹

I'm going to do a satanic ritual

This is the end of my opinions on Ace’s dream, hope you enjoyed it!

[dandysworldhcs]

Small Headcanons for my dear boy Dandy:

- Dandy is the type of guy to say "Golly gee" and "Fiddlesticks" since being used to being a children show, or do not know any swears at all.

- Dandy will talk on hours on end, no matter what topic, next episode, last episode, that one episode that he liked , he will yap and he will make the other toons listen.

- Dandy will get lost in a store, especially if he haven't been in it before, adventurous little fella (imagine almost losing your job because the toon you supposed to take care of went missing for an hour, couldn't be me)

(+ Note :I hate when people Villainized Dandy ,what the term again, he morally grey not a monster)

By your non dearest , uh... Evidently Scientifically Anon™

So long suckers *disappear into nothing*

YOUR SO RIGHT HE WOULD SAY GOLLY GEE

[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch.12

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot​ @itsyellow​ @lmarina2000​ @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle @elianamarie-blog @1970sbitch @depressed-but-make-it-cute @loversjoy @raktajinoaddict @trisaratops-mcgee @faith-alons26 @mrsdarcyinlovewithbuckybarnes @writersmulti

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,394

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, mild violence, and as always - Butcher.

A/N: Life is messy and so is this chapter. But we're finally here after too long of a hiatus. Again, I thank you all for your patience and hope it's to your liking.

Much to your dismay - and most likely his as well - Butcher did not return that night to your bed. Which had been plenty warm thanks to him giving you plenty to think about in the car. Another cold shower to shock you into the day ahead, a rushed cup of caffeine, and you'd managed to get to work on time and in a…tolerable mood. By the time you had finished your shift, your mood had improved from tolerable to okay. And once you were knocking on Hughie's apartment door, Annie greeted a pleasant version of you.

“Perfect! You're right on time,” she beams.

“You look particularly perky,” you comment, watching her glide about as she gathers her things. Hughie just shrugs, smiling at her buoyancy with you.

She pulls a ball cap snug to her crown. “Homelander has started his apology tour. Both he and his entire team of wranglers have been fucking insufferable. He's like a man-child stuck in the corner with the PR dunce cap.”

Annie shrugs on a mini backpack, swoops in and wraps an arm around your shoulder. “And you got me out of the tower before I blew every fucking fuse in the building. Soooo, yeah. I'm glad to be anywhere but there right now.”

She blows Hughie a quick kiss, which he makes a show of catching, and practically lifts you through the door. She jams her sunglasses on, hissing, “Let's go, go, go!”

For the first few minutes, you stumble after her as she winds you over a convoluted route through the city. Finally you just step onto the subway as the doors begin to close, and slump into a seat next to her. Annie sighs briefly before digging into her backpack. She rummages until her hand emerges with a couple of granola bars and hands one to you.

“So, this Torsten guy,” you ask as you unwrap the treat. “What do I need to know?”

Annie shrugs after a bite. “He's surprisingly down to earth for some of the people he's made costumes for. Before they became really famous, I mean. Sassy on a good day. Not much to say. But he'll do great work. He always did for me.”

You almost ask her for the nitty, gritty on the Seven. And Vought, and Stormfront. And especially Homelander. But you don't see yourself spontaneously obtaining the ability to rip his head off, and therefore have no desire or intention to meet him any time soon. Plus you know Annie has been through it already. Hughie admitting to manipulating her the way he had in the beginning had shocked and appalled you. You never thought he had it in him. But things were supposed to be different now, and you wanted to help keep it that way.

Instead, you sit in what counts in New York as semi-comfortable silence, making quick work of the snack. Soon enough the train pulls up to a stop in lower Manhattan and you follow Annie's lead. More for her benefit than yours, you do your best to not draw any attention to either of you. You can't imagine what it feels like to have little to no anonymity like she does.

Within two blocks from the station, Annie turns you down a more cramped alley, reaching a small steel door tucked just off the pavement. She knocks twice, then twice again. When it swings open she pulls you in behind by the sleeve. 

It's dim for a small second before you turn a corner and enter a warm, welcoming parlor. You see one wall lined with bolts of fabric, the other with a few mannequins sporting custom suits, one with what you presume is a prom gown. But you see no signs of any supe work done here.

Just as you see an archway with a curtain, a sewing machine beyond just peeking behind, a wry old man with wild white hair passes through it. “Starlight!,” he grins, a crisp hint of German in his accent when he greets her.

“Hey Torsten. It's so good to see you. I know we’re both on a tight schedule, so I'll make this quick. This is Y/N, my friend I told you about.”

“You are the lady who needs a gown for a gala, correct?,” he inquires as he shakes one of your hands in both of his, peering at you over half-rim glasses.

“Yes, and unfortunately on short notice.”

“And you need full range of motion is my understanding. Are we expecting…trouble?” Before you can reply he winks. “No need to answer.  Your reasonings are not for me to know nor pry. If you're comfortable, I need to begin measuring you right away. You can tell me your ideas as I go. Yes?”

You nod and Annie finds a bench to sit on as he begins to work. He flicks and tracks a soft measuring tape about you, tossing you fabric and color ideas, muttering numbers in between. He is quick, precise, and you see exactly what Annie was talking about.

In a matter of short minutes, he drapes the tape over his shoulders and strides back through the curtain. He returns with a rack of what you assume are sample dresses. “Starlight, you know how your movement is when working. Help her compare these silhouettes, please.”

When Torsten disappears behind the curtain again, you turn to Annie. “He's …efficient?”

She nods. “Very. He's no bullshit. I've always liked that about him. I wish he could be my designer at Vought. But he's too good for those soul sucking leeches.” She pulls out a beige, chiffon dress off the rack with a teasing look. “So? Are we going with a puffy princess theme?”

“Go to hell,” you laugh.

You set to the task of raking over the samples your new tailor has presented. It's easy to shove aside anything overly glitzy or flashy. The mission requires you to be subtle, not draw attention. By the time your fingers skim over the last sample, you feel like a fish out of water.

“Help me out here, Annie. What would you look for?”

She contemplates the rack. “Well what are they teaching you? Are you sneaking in weapons?”

Your stomach drops for a split second when you feel the words form on your tongue; Billy is teaching me jiu jitsu. But you swallow them back and shrug, unnerved at how close you just came to letting the cat out of the bag.

Why don't you tell her all your wet dreams about him while you're at it?, the little voice sneers.

“Umm…what about the less you know the better? How far does that go?”

“I need a little context to be helpful here,” she deadpans behind a sequined nightmare.

You clear your throat before answering, “I think…some grappling stuff? Definitely some hand to hand. And some weapons training, but I doubt I'll be able to sneak anything into the event.”

“Okay. So our priorities are mobility, subtlety and classy enough for black tie.” Annie swipes out three of the samples and shoves them into the flashy reject pile. “Absolutely no mermaid cut.” She taps her chin before adding four more. “And nothing poofy, or has excess fabric.”

After a little more refining, the two of you manage to trim the choices down to three. Torsten returns to eye each one, glancing at you in between his silent judgements. “Do you favor one over the others?”

You shake your head.

He smiles slowly. “Would you like me to surprise you?”

You glance at Annie, who nods emphatically. “He's never been wrong. Trust me.”

You shrug. “What the hell. As long as I have it by the event, and I can take care of business, I'll leave it in your hands.”

“Wunderbar. I will begin immediately.” He shakes your hand. “Starlight, which of you should I deliver it to?”

^^^

You had made far quicker work of getting your dress taken care of than either of you expected. In which case, Annie had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before returning to Vought. You snag some quick delicacies at a food truck and slink off to one of Annie's favorite spots at the closest park.

Sitting on the bench, watching others wander about the park and each other, you eat your fill, making conversation with Annie between bites with a bit of contentment. A rare feeling with all the chaos that usually drowns your life. And you allow a little gratitude to silently wash over you.

You glance at her, certain Annie must be more grateful to have this brief moment this evening than even you. You catch her eye as she gives a slow smile. But the look in her eye doesn't seem to be gratitude. It's almost mischievous. Or suspicious.

You stare back, waiting. When her smile just grows, you shrug. “You know I'm not telepathic right?”

“Mmhm.”

“So what's the look for?”

“You just look happy. Like really happy.” She shrugs back. Then without missing a beat, “You got laid, didn’t you?”

You gape at her. “Jesus, Annie! That was subtle! No, I did not. Not that it's your business.”

“Shame,” she giggles. “I don't know what they taught you about body language last night, but they sure as hell didn't cover how to check your own. So…” She tilts her head in a dramatic flair of pensiveness. “Glowy, not getting laid. But your frustrated tone says you wish you were.”

“Oh God, Annie…”

“So must be new, something budding-” Annie stops dead. You stare back, aggravated as a new look on her face appears, dramatics and teasing gone. “Oh.” Her eyes widen a little. “Oh wait. Holy shit, you're seeing someone.” Then conspiratorially, “Are you in-?”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence,” you snap, your chest tightening. This was not happening. This was not supposed to be happening!

“Okay, okay, sorry.” She shifts in her seat on the bench to turn towards you. Full attention now and you resist the urge to squirm. “But you…you have someone, don't you? You're seeing someone.” She smiles, more reassuring now. “That's a good thing. Right?”

“I don't know,” you sigh. “It's-”

You hear more than see her eyes roll. “If you say ‘it's complicated’...”

“It is. It's complicated.”

She scoffs before lowering her voice. “I'm one of the Seven and my boyfriend is a former supe-killing vigilante, now a prominent member of the FBSA. And that's just the shorthand version.You wanna talk about complicated?”

You nod in defeat at that. “Then maybe you of all people will understand when I say…”

The words are difficult to catch, put them in a way that won't have you completely spilling your guts. You're in big trouble if Annie, whom you see fleetingly, is already catching a whiff of your feelings. You can only imagine Hughie's face if she figured it out and relayed it back to him. And Butcher..?

“Understand what?”

You turn to face her with a tinge of earnestness. “I don't know what this new thing is with this - person I'm seeing. But it's new, and complicated and exciting. And so very fragile. Which is why I would hope you, of all the people I know and talk to, would understand when I say I'm trying really fucking hard to keep it away from work. From this life we all live. For as long as possible.”

Not a complete lie, the little voice chirps in your skull.

Annie gives you a sympathetic look. “Yeah.” She heaves a sigh. “Fuck, yeah, I understand way more than I want to.” Just as you think you're off the hook, she asks, “Can I at least get a name? Tell Hugh-?”

“No,” you answer sharp, quick and unyielding. “No. I think this…thing should develop a bit more before I…you know.”

“Fine. If that's what you want, I'll keep your secret lover on classified.” Annie wags an eyebrow at you. “You just want to make sure they can rock your world before bringing them around, huh?”

“You're insufferable, Annie. Hughie is rubbing off on you.” The two of you share a few giggles over the bad innuendo before your phone buzzes in your pocket. You pull out the interrupting device and feel a jolt run through you. Speak of the devil.

The Boys about to clock out. Ditch Tinkerbell and get to the Flatiron in an hour.

“Is that them?,” Annie teases, pretending to crane her neck for a peek.

“Just Butcher,” you reply, sighing in exasperation to hide your eagerness. Maybe finally another rolling session. “More work, and on the double.”

Annie scoffs as you both begin to gather your things. “God, definitely keep him away from your love life.”

You prickle a bit, nearly remind her that she and Hughie technically met only because of Butcher in the first place. But then, from what Hughie had told you, Butcher had also made sure that their beginning had been one big, manipulative lie. And they both had been nearly killed for it. So you take advantage of Annie not even entertaining Butcher as an option, and nod tersely.

“Guess I should head back to work, too,” she sighs. She adjusts her cap low on her head again. “I'll escort you back along the way. Home or straight to the office?”

^^^

After a brief stop at home, you stroll through the office door with perhaps a touch of barely concealed enthusiasm. “Where's the fire?,” you call across the space.

“Did your lil britelite friend scurry back to her ivory tower?,” he ignores your question as he hunches over something at his desk. 

“Annie went back to the tower,” you answered, emphasizing her name, turning down the TV and its news babble as you pass.

“Good. Have fun shopping for yer prom dress? Giggling about like proper schoolgirls, I'm sure.”

You sidle up next to him at the desk, a witty retort forming before you get a glance of the papers stretched under his fingers. Dashes, letters, numbers and polygons catch your attention. “What's this?”

“Frenchie's work. Or the half-ass he could figure out anyway,” he grumbles at the chemical compounds.

“And? What did he find?”

“Still fuck all. Said the shit ain't adding up. And still nothing on that arsehole Walsh. This Persuasion shit is gonna persuade me to drink if we don't get anywhere soon.”

“Is that why you got a hold of me?”

Butcher finally turns from the science scrawling  to greet you. But the trademark smirk you're expecting is missing. “Nah. I needed you to get your pretty ass up here for training.”

“No ambush this time?”

He shakes his head. “No. I already cleared the space.”

You peek over your shoulder. Just as he said, the area was already cleared, floor bare and ready to go. How you didn't notice that upon walking in is beyond you. You begin to feel on edge. Is this a new lesson? Is he putting your new body language decoding to the test already?

You watch him as you follow him over to the open area of the office. Butcher gives no indication of his intentions, not any that you can read that is. But you can feel something off with him. Unreadable as ever. It's honestly beginning to get a little old.

You keep him in your peripheral as you start to move into position for your usual warm ups. He stops you short, saying, “Not this time. We're switching things up.”

“No warm up?”

He pegs you with a hard eye. “You think they gonna let you stretch out there when shit goes sideways?”

“No.” You stare back. “But I'm not out there just yet. Shouldn't we-?”

“Get your hands up.”

You do it almost in knee jerk response at his tone, an eerie level compared to his usual roguish cadence. It's …unnervingly calm for Butcher.

Your hands are barely up in time to catch his right arm as he swings at your head. 

Whatever lightheartedness there had been while out with Annie, it's all withered now. You step into him out of reflex, expecting he's setting up for a review of a throw. Butcher however has other plans, and you narrowly duck out of reach as his left hand snatches forward. You stumble back, back, back.

“What are we doing?” It comes out a little breathless as you watch him, not daring to blink. He had by no means gone full speed. But it had been too close even at that. Just the right amount of effort to put you on your toes, make you wary.

“Told ya - mixing things up. Right time you get your hands a little dirty.”

“Dirty how-” You're cut off as you manage to block a knee coming at you with your hands. It leaves you stumbling. “Butcher, the fuck?!”

“You can't go out there with just grappling. You know that.”

He's nearly on you in one long stride, and you duck past his left arm as he jabs. But you dodge too carelessly, right into his right hand. You flinch as you brace for a punch, but he grabs the back of your neck instead. His other arm becomes a vice. You're wrapped tightly against him and you try to catch your breath as he stares down at you.

“You do know that, yeah?” When you don't respond he continues with some frustration. “If I had a knife in my hand, the rest of it would be buried in your bloody guts right now. And a gun? Not a fucking chance.”

“I get that,” you bite out against his tight grip. “So what do you mean by getting my hands dirty?”

“I mean some shit that's a lil bit meaner.” He lets go and steps back to wag a finger at you. “If you think I'm gonna teach you to play fair, yer wrong.”

You take a couple steps back, trying again to read him, practicing your other new skills. The tension in his shoulders and chest tell you he's irritable. What's new there? His eyes give no other clues. His tone is still too level. You still can't figure out what's going on with him.

“So what dirty trick comes first?”

Butcher swings again, no warning. You step into him for a more careful block. He counters, locking your arm in his and you flinch again as he stops just short of headbutting you. His forehead presses against yours instead.

“That was easy, right? Throwing my skull about. And I've broke many a fucker’s face with that. But I've broken my own a time or two in the process, some I can't even remember. So don't ever do that unless you really fucking have to. Got it?”

Before you can say anything he pushes away from you. “What you do go after is all the tender bits. Eyes, nose, ears, throat, and everything with the short and curlies. Nothing is off limits.”

You nod.

“Say it!”

You blink at his snap and bark back, “Nothing is off limits! So what the fuck do I do to it?” You cut him off before he can answer. “Actually, no. I'm not doing shit.”

“Beg your fuckin’ pardon?,” he growls.

“The fuck is your problem, Butcher.”

“Oh, I'm looking at it.”

You quickly weigh your options of how to handle him, trying one last time to get a read on him. Then take a deep breath and throw the sane ones to the wind. “Stop pussyfooting with me. Give me a straight answer.”

His silence is heavy and glaring.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Another beat. “You could've taught this no different than the other times. What do you want?”

He keeps his lips sealed. He's been ornery before. But this is bodaciously aggravating. You feel hot, and not in the way he usually makes you feel.

“What is your problem asshole?!”

Finally a crack, and it slithers into that all too familiar smirk across his face. “Guess I didn't tell ya before.”

“Tell me what?”

“You look good enough to eat when you're this mad.”

And we're back to the other hot.

Oh no. You're not letting him get off that easy. “Give me a straight answer, or I'll walk.”

The smirks slightly falters. But his eyes still glint back at you. With that, you turn to call his bluff, catching a glimpse of the TV again as you do so. It's a news segment on the upcoming gala. Several photos of previous Vought parties and galas roll across the screen as the anchors give their spiel, showing off the supes.

“When you'd get the bullocks?”

A hand grabs yours. You didn't even hear him cross the floor. He continues, “You never talked to me like that before. Not really.”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “Thought that was the point. Growing a backbone and all that jazz before I have to go waltzing with those Vought pricks.”

The huffy tension in him slides just a little. “It is,” he admits. Finally. He glares at the TV. “And I don't nearly have enough time to teach you all you might need.”

You look back at the TV just in time to see a picture of a Vought Christmas party with Homelander and Maeve…

Oh.

…shit.

You turn back to Butcher, unsure what to say. All the options that came to mind felt pointless as your brain scrambles. What do you say? That was over a decade ago? There won't be any supes at the gala? You're gonna be fine? And then the words are out your mouth before you think, before you can catch them- 

“I'm not her.”

His eyes latch onto you, and surely as fast your own slip, he replies, “No you're fucking not.”

It has no bite to it, but it hits you in the gut all the same. And by the way he rapidly blinks, you realize it hit him, too. He rubs a hand over his face. Softer, almost hard for you to hear, “I meant…you're not. And I never taught her enough to not be either. Even if I had… it wouldn't've been fucking enough against him anyway.”

The uncertainty of what the hell to say to that is heavy, choking. Maybe it's your own foot in your mouth. It's almost certain you'd bungle it more and you were lucky enough he was still here in the office with you, let alone holding your hand. You don't know what the fuck to do.

Should've thought more about that widower thing, huh?

Butcher withdraws his hand. “That straightforward enough for ya?”

You nod, your brain no longer scrambling. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

He nods. “Yeah. Good.” He backs up, making a come hither motion. “Let's try this shit again. Start over.”

You can read him plenty well now. Because he's closed off, the subject is not to be brought up again. You feel more than see it in his shoulders, the way his mouth is set, the forced air of nonchalance. There's only the slightest undertone of anticipation, as if he's half waiting for you to leave.

“I'll take you home when we're done,” he says, a hidden message there in his eyes. Not a heated one with lusty promise but the closest to an olive branch he probably knows how to give. You might have asked for a straight answer. But you were damn sure not getting an apology. And you felt that he wouldn't hear one from you either.

You nod slowly. “Ok.”

^^^

You're not certain but the session felt short to you this time. Only an hour or so of Butcher walking you through all the vicious little ways you can hurt somebody. Simple tricks to remove an ear barehanded, where to strike at the throat, how little pressure it actually takes to blow out a knee. But even in that time you had become tired, more tired than normal it seems. You never quite shook off the heaviness of that moment and you noticed it clung to him, too, when he followed you into your apartment.

The idea of small talk to break the silence makes you almost cringe, so you turn to your bedroom to change into your sleep clothes. When you return, you walk out to find him leaning against the counter, staring into space. You pull him from his thousand yard stare by squeezing two of his fingers. You want to offer him some food but instead it comes out as, “You can stay.”

Butcher looks at you, mulls something over. Before he can say it, you offer an olive branch of your own. Not the only one you can think of but the only one you know he'd take.

“I want you to stay.”

Butcher eyes grow just a little softer. Then he nods. “Yeah. I'll stay.”

He pulls you into him, and you wrap your arms around him for an embrace that is too short for your liking. He gestures to your bedroom. “You're knackered. Get you some sleep.” Then after a beat, “I'll be here when you wake up.”

You nod, trying not to feel slighted and wish him a good night. As he heads to your couch, you try to just feel grateful that he's even here and hadn't ripped your fucking head off for your slip back at the office.

The rollercoaster of the day, however, leaves you just as restless as it does tired. You toss and turn into the wee hours of the morning, not quite asleep, not quite awake. Somewhere in that limbo you slip out of bed and pad back to your living room. You find him standing at the end of the couch, staring out the window, his dark eyes sweeping the rooftops and the skyline. As if searching the dark for something.

You don't say anything. Instead, you gently lace your fingers with his and pull him till he slowly turns away from the curtains. Butcher follows silently as you pull him down to the couch, and without a word crawls in behind you like the night of his injuries. Without a word, he pulls his coat over the both of you best as he can. And only then do you finally drift to sleep.