#especially if he comes back with white hair and/or red eyes...

[nanamisbbygirl]

best tutor ever :)

includes: geto x reader x nerd!gojo

summary: your boyfriend, geto, thinks its only fair if you find a way to say thank you to your nerdy little tutor for helping you ace your midterm.

cw: college au, threesome, kinda cuck geto, unprotected p in v, voyerism?, inexperienced gojo, established relationship (geto x you), oral (m. receiving), praise kink, pet names (pretty girl, baby, sweetheart etc), bimbo-ish reader, cream pies <3

"satoru!" you beam, opening the door for him. the white hair boy blushes, taking a step into your dorm room, thinking it was just another study session. which is why he's surprised to see your boyfriend sitting on your bed, leaning back, arms resting behind his head.

"hey, man." geto raised his eyebrows, greeting your tutor with a bit of a cheeky grin. "y/n wants to tell you something, don't you sweetheart? tell gojo what you got on your midterm."

you look back towards gojo, a smile painting your face as. you shyly tell him, "96%, apparently it was the highest mark in the class!"

gojo can't help but smile alongside you, pulling you into a hug, forgetting that you're boyfriend was right there. "great work! i knew you could do it!" he praises.

"and what do you say?" geto interjects, causing heat to creep up your neck and onto your face.

"thank you, satoru." you say softly, hands tracing over gojo's chest, making his heart skip a beat. he knew it was wrong, but you were so cute, all smiley and giddy. his core swirled with excitement knowing that he had helped you out.

what happened next made gojo think that he was day dreaming, seeing how you got onto the tips of your toes, giving him an innocent kiss. your eyes had closed, your cherry flavoured lips brushing against his. he was in awe, before panic set in, seeing how geto was right there.

yet, geto remained unfazed, chuckling to himself. "what? never been with a girl before?"

gojo shakes his head and geto seems assumed. "figured as much."

you went back in for a second kiss, but this time gojo had to stop you, looking back at geto who was more than relaxed on your bed. he cocked his head to the side, hoping your boyfriend would speak up and scold you. instead, he only laughed.

"whose idea did you think this was, hm?" he paused, "besides, look how eager she is to thank you."

both sets of eyes trailed back to you, as you stood with your thighs pressed together, doey-eyed and inching towards your tutor. you nodded, "please satoru, let me say thank you."

gojo felt his words getting stuck in his throat, especially as you began lowering your body to the point where you were kneeling in front of him, biting your lip in anticipation.

"okay," he breathed out, helping you take off his belt, his fingers getting shaky at the thought of what was to come. you softly smiled, unzipping his pants and carefully tugging at his boxers.

"look su he's already so hard!" you say, looking back at your boyfriend who is stuck in between a concentrated expression and a smile. "but he's not as thick as you." you giggle, not realizing how red your comment made gojo.

geto laughed dryly, starting to sit up a little, giving you some instruction: "c'mon baby, play nice. put him in your mouth, but not all at once, okay? satoru isn't used to it, you don't wanna send him into shock, do you?"

"hehe, no." you giggled while shaking your head. you then grabbed a hold of his shaft, taking in how pretty it was. like you mentioned, it wasn't as thick as geto's, but it was definitely still big. veiny too. with a pink flushed tip that matched the colour of his flustered cheeks. sliding it up and down in your wrist, gojo huffed out in relief.

taking a second to stop and spit on your palm, the white haired man let out a pile of curses, head starting to tilt back as you continued. when he looked back down to see what you were doing, he braced himself for the electric feeling of your lips sucking on his tip. your glossy lips did just that. cupping around his cockhead, your tongue grazing over the slit.

"oh my god!" he moaned, hands at his sides in fists, not sure what to do with them.

that's when he felt geto standing beside him, taking a hold of one of his hands. gojo hadn't even noticed the other man getting up. geto unballed his hand, guiding it towards the root of your hair.

"grab her hair like this—she's into that shit." gojo nodded, taking a fistful of hair into both his hands, holding you securely in place as you gave little kitten licks to his now leaking dick.

"your tongue feels so good-" he whined, letting you widen your mouth, easing himself into your mouth, gagging slightly as he felt the soft plushiness of your throat.

to describe what he felt would be practically impossible, as every moment you were blowing him was pure bliss. his eyes were shut, panting out as he buckled his hips forward, deeper into your mouth. he could feel geto's eyes locked onto him as he defiled his girlfriend.

"m gonna cum, fuck y/n—can i cum in her mouth?" he quickly looked to geto, pleading for permission.

the black haired man has his hands crossed over his chest, shaking his head. "not yet." with his words you stop and he can feel himself becoming desperate to orgasm. "wouldn't you rather cum in her pussy?"

gojo's convinced he may have creamed himself at that question, but when he flickered his attention down to his dick, it's throbbing to the point where it hurts. geto sits himself down on the bed, guiding you over and kissing your head. he reminds you to be a good girl before calling gojo over as well.

"take off her clothes."

gojo tries to regain control of his own body, reaching forwards towards the hem of your shirt. nervously, he strips you of your top, revealing your baby blue bra. he memorizes the lace pattern, and the little bow that sits right in between your two breasts.

"she wanted to wear it for you, said blue was yer favorite." so pretty, he thought, not realizing he had let those thoughts slip out of his mouth in real life.

you laugh coyly, letting his hands fall to your waist, looking for the zipper to undo your little skirt. he finally finds it and in doing so, the skirt falls, bunching up at your ankles. gojo's mouth hangs open looking at your matching set—and how your panties are crotchless.

geto helps take the skirt away from your feet before beckoning you to give him a kiss. his fingers look for your cunt, as he carefully traces your sticky wetness, looking back at gojo.

"bend over, baby, let satoru take a good look at your pussy." you lean onto geto, bending over as you’re told while giving gojo a clear view of your dripping cunt.

"i just wanna fuck you so bad," he admits, stumbling on his words.

"c'mere baby," geto coos, maneuvering himself on the bed so that his back is to the bed frame, and his legs are spread, leaving enough room for you to lay in between. you rest there, letting your boyfriend's strong arms hold you in place, providing some kind of comfort.

you send gojo a dazed look, "c'mon satoru, aren't you gonna fuck me?"

he thinks he's starting to taste colors, your voice is just so entrancing. he feels like he's floating over to you, trying to shuffle down his pants even more, loosing his breath over how sensitive the tip of his cock is.

gojo puts it right along your sticky fold, you're so wet, just for him. he would have never thought this would be his first time with a girl— especially when her boyfriend was right there. but both of you seemed to be watching him with such intensity that it didn't feel wrong or dirty, just lustful.

his throbbing dick pushed forward, entering your hole, stretching out your walls. he studied your reactions; how your toes curled, your body tensed, mouth opening. your head tilted back onto geto's shoulder, looking at his eyes before returning your gaze back to geto. he was fully inside, his own body recovering from the tsunami of relief and pleasure that was washing over him.

he was pulsing.

he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold out, his face flushing at the thought of cumming so early.

"go on." geto ordered, "fuck her like she deserves."

the other man's words set gojo off. he couldn't hold back, his hips jutted forward, rolling into yours. you let out little whimpers, sighing at each lewd motion.

his large hands found your inner thighs, gripping into them with such strength he was sure he was going to leave marks. he too, let out soft moans, closing his eyes, feeling every inch of your warm insides. your body reacted to him so nicely, clenching around him like you needed him to survive.

"you're being such a good girl," geto whispered into your ear, and at that you clamped around gojo's cock again, making him crazy. "look at poor satoru, he's basically melting over your pussy."

you flashed a crooked smile, bracing yourself with geto's arms as gojo's strokes quickened. he could hear your quiet panting, how you moaned with your eyes closed, yet, he also couldn't ignore the stares your boyfriend was sending him.

"she's being so good for you, and you're not even gonna touch her clit?" he question, a bit of a scoff lingering in his tone. gojo gulped, feeling embarrassed for ignoring the most sensitive part of your body.

he inched his fingers closer to your cunt, touching the precious bud, massaging little circles into your body. the way you reacted to it was making him dizzy. you were just so tight, sucking him in, shivering over having your intimate area touched by him.

geto rubbed the tip of his nose against your ear, continuing to feed you quiet praise, "you're doing so good, look at how well you're taking him. you look so pretty like this, baby."

even gojo was gawking at the way your pussy seemed to devour his cock. he bottomed out again and again, each time as spectacular than the last. your velvet walls clung to his veins, embracing his greedy tip. he didn't want the moment to end.

he felt himself snap out of it as he heard geto's voice call his name: "tell her how good she is, satoru, she'll be gushing over you in no time... isn't that right, baby?" he got distracted by your flushed face, bringing you into a sloppy kiss as gojo's cock went deeper and deeper.

"you look so sexy like this—in those panties. fuck." he feels like he's babbling like a broken record, he'd never been a sexy talker, he'd never even gotten this far with a girl before. his words start slurring together as he continues: "all fr'me."

you nod your head rapidly, gojo's fingers increasing their speed, making sure your clit is anything but neglected.

"yeah, fuck, are you gonna cum on my dick, pretty girl?" he hears your tiny little respond, barely able to manifest any words, fucked dumb by your tutor, who was equally as ruined in that moment.

"fuck. cum. on. my. dick." he grunts, meeting each word with a thrust. he feels himself becoming weaker and weaker, his own orgasm creeping up as well.

that's when he feels the full effect of your high—your cunt radiating with energy, squeezing him for everything that he's got. your eyes clam shut, and it takes your boyfriend's strong arms to hold you down, your legs attempting to shut closed around gojo's body.

"yeah, that's it good fucking girl, yeah fuck—me too, i'm fucking cumming, i love this pussy—ohmygod-" he choked, feeling how the final throb in his cock let out, causing him to let his white liquid paint your insides, filling up your little hole, making him feel so warm.

your pussy is so comforting, he's ready to die in there, feeling the way your precious sex is attached to him. his dick softens, surrounded by both your cum, ignoring the way it's leaking out of you so slowly.

geto is kissing your cheek, whispering who-knows what to you. gojo doesn't care what he's saying, he's in a state of euphoria. you look so good, so compliant, so soft and lewd. he doesn't want to pull out, he wants to stay like that forever.

"what do you say, baby?" geto asks again, and you look at him with wide, teary eyes.

"thank you, satoru," you say, voice still shaky.

"fuck you don't have to thank me," he can feel the way his hair has stuck to his forehead, sweat rolling down his body. the high is finally wearing off, and he realizes if he doesn't pull out now he never will.

he watches the way more cum rolls out of you, decorating your pussy as well as his balls. he's too busy catching his breath to hear what geto is telling him, that is until he feels a tissue box hitting against his arm.

"i know you're unexperienced but you gotta clean up the mess you made, don't ya think?"

gojo blushes, taking the tissues from him, trying his best to wipe up his cum. your legs are trembling as he spreads his seed over your sensitive slit. he winces too, when the brings the tissue over his tip, but he figures it's only right to clean up.

when he's all done, he sees the way you and geto are feverishly making out. he awkwardly gulps, zipping his pants back up. you pull away from your boyfriend, looking at him with innocent eyes.

"thank you satoru," you repeat, "i had lots of fun, maybe we should do it again sometime!" he nods, wanting to add something to what you said, but it's too late, as geto has regained your attention, his hands fondled your breasts, feeling up your entire body.

at that point, he thinks it's best to leave, embarrassment filling his brain at the thought of what he just did. he doesn't say anything else, quietly slipping out the door, counting down the days until your next study session.

[levigarden999]

bluelock!men ⟡ favorite positions

chars : ⭒ shidou ryusei ⭒ michael kaiser ⭒ yoichi isagi ⭒ seishiro nagi ⭒ itoshi sae ⭒ kunigami ⭒

warnings : smut , +18 , p!v , rough!sex , f!orgasm

₊⊹ shidou ryusei

doggy. there’s no other way. shidou loves to fuck you hard from behind, large hands grasping your hips and occasionally smacking your ass. his cheeks flush hard while he sees how perfectly your ass bounces every time his hips slam against yours. shidou loves to take control, he’s absolutely addicted to the way you whine and plead for more against the pillow. and he obeys – he gives you more just like you want, to the point his cock is smeared with your white cream and your ass cheeks are red from all the smacks he’s given you.

₊⊹ michael kaiser

reverse cowgirl. yup. the position where you’re only allowed to see kaiser’s feet while he’s staring at your bouncing ass with his arms behind his head, a cocky smirk on his stupidly handsome face. he has a superiority complex which definitely reflects to your bed activities as well – he tells you to fuck yourself on his cock and make yourself cum, and if he cums before you, you know the only way you'll come tonight is by your own hand. there’s no way he bothers to finger you or anything if he doesn’t feel like it. i’m sorry but this man is a selfish lover. luckily, his cock feels so damn good that you almost every time fall apart on top of him, hands gripping his thighs as you clench around his shaft. during those times, he sometimes, sometimes, grabs your hips and begins to slam his hips up against your poor, tired pussy.

₊⊹ yoichi isagi

missionary. isagi is a passionate guy who gives his all to things he loves – soccer and you. he’s not a mean one who has a dirty mouth in bed, even though he can get quite rude towards the opponent on the field. but to you – he’s the perfect, loving partner who makes sure you cum first, always. he fucks you with slow and deep strokes which makes the air leave your lungs, his other hand skillfully rubbing your clit as he breathes softly against your neck. isagi tells you how good you are to him, he praises you while his hips roll perfectly against yours, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. but okay, he can be a little mean once you’ve came, since he starts to seek for his own release. and how? leaning back, wrapping your legs on his shoulders and pounding into you shamelessly.

₊⊹ seishiro nagi

riding. nagi absolutely loves to watch you from under his half lidded eyes as you fuck yourself on his cock. he often thinks that every other sex position is a hassle, but riding is something he genuinely enjoys, because he gets to guide your movements and help you cum with little effort while admiring your beautiful body and face as you fall apart. nagi is careful, always making sure you don’t grow tired or hurt yourself. honorable mention with nagi is the fact he obviously loves you sucking his cock as well - especially under the desk while he's focused on playing on his computer.

₊⊹ itoshi sae

doggy/pronebone. sae is also a selfish lover. literally if you think this man gives a damn about your pleasure, you’re delusional. he loves to fuck you from behind, he loves to dominate you and make you take what he gives. of course, sae wouldn’t ever force you to anything – he has normal human morals after all. but once he gets going, you need to be prepared to the fact he will push your face or whole body down on the mattress and fuck you hard to the point your legs are trembling and you’re seeing stars. luckily, his cock pounds right against your sweet spot, making you aggressively clench and cum around his shaft. he tells you you’re such a good girl, that you’re taking him so well, and the second you think he’s slowing down – he only grabs you by the hair and pulls you back up against him, hips continuing to smack against your ass.

₊⊹ kunigami pegging WHO SAID THAT

[katsukikitten]

The red dress is perfect on you, a deep crimson color that matches his eyes and that alone has Katsuki salivating. Then your body has to look perfect in everything to him, especially when you doll it up in clothes you don't normally wear. This was for a hero event, awards to be given although Bakugou didn't care much for the fanfare of it all, he just liked being number one.

Although he is happy when there are times like these, you who fusses angrily over your few gray hairs, who plucks a few that are "too close" to framing your face, clad in lipstick as you snarl at your pretty reflection. Katsuki likes the greys, likes the signs of aging on your body even if you loathe it entirely. To him it is proof of the passage of time well spent and together.

His eyes fall down to your cleavage, smirking as he comes behind you to help with the pearls your sharp claws are struggling to clasp.

"I can give ya a pearl necklace ya know. All natural." He has a wolfish grin, clasping the necklace as he stays with his pelvis pressed to your ass. Your brows furrow, another snarl as you look at his reflection.

"Katsuki, you already have. Our first year anniversary, remember?" A roll of your eyes as you tap the round iridescent pearls. He sucks his teeth playfully, broad hand coming around to pet your throat before his digit traces a sloppy and uneven half circle just beneath the pearls.

"Lemme give you another set." His crude gesture earns your ire. A sharp glare at his reflection that makes his cock jump against your ass. Fingers coming to brush hair from your shoulder, his eyes momentarily lingering on the few starlight strands of grey before they move back to your skin hungrily. Envisioning you on your knees with something just as pearly white as your necklace although a bit sticky.

"You're fuckin insufferable." You scoff, still a fixed glare on his reflection before you reach for another beauty product. Only for him to grab your throat roughly, to crane your neck until you're looking at him, nose to nose, ass to his pelvis and you're reminded of all of the times he's held you like that. Stared into your eyes as he sloppily rut into your tight cunt giving you every last drop he had.

"But ya love it. Ya love me."

"Yea, somehow I do." Katsuki grins wider when your tone comes out breathy, a sound he loves to hear. Moving to close the gap, to let his tongue slide over yours when you give the tip a light nip, "But you hate being late more Suki. You always blame me."

"How can I not when my wife looks so fuckin hot in anything she wears? 'sides, I can stand to be a little late."

[bittersweetcreep]

Bring You Home Chapter 3 Yandere! Batfam x Wayne Daughter! Oc

Ch.1 Ch.2 Part 1 Ch.2 Part 2

The drive to the Wayne manor filled Martha with anticipation even if her hands were shaking with the jitters and her mind is coming up with a million ways for things to go wrong. But she's able to hide her feelings well, but Roseanne knows her daughter like the back of her hand and she knows when her anxiety is eating her up.

Reaching next to her the redhead squeezed her daughter's hand with reassurance. "They're going to love you, sweetheart, so don't you worry your pretty little head, ok?" Lady who was seated in the back seat sat up to comfort the girl with a head nuzzle. This calmed the ombrénette's nerves a little. Martha gave her mother a smile and scratched behind Lady's ear, grateful for their reassurance. "I'm just nervous about meeting my brothers and making a good impression." "They will love you, Martha. I'm sure of it."

After some time, they finally reached the gates of the Wayne mansion that must have hidden security cameras because those gates opened up for them right away, as if they knew their arrival. Driving in Martha looked around at the beautiful scenery that is the Wayne manor, now don't get her wrong she grew up in a rich suburban neighborhood but this is the Wayne manor and most places can't compare to that. Roseanne drove them up to the manor parking her car in the driveway, and as Martha was getting her things together, Roseanne reached over to give her daughter a forehead kiss. "Have fun, Mari." "I will." With that said, Martha grabbed her bag, then got out of the car and opened the back seat for Lady, who jumped out. With one last goodbye, Roseanne drove out of the Wayne gates and off to a client as the duo watched her go. Martha looked down at her animal companion and asked, "You ready?" Lady in response turned around and started walking to the front doors of Wayne manor. "I guess you are." The ombrénette followed shortly after.

Taking a deep breath, Martha steeled her nerves and was going to ring the doorbell until she saw they have a beautiful old-fashioned door knocker that would be criminal not to use. So she swung the hinged to strike the plate 3 times and waited. Not even a second later, one of the double doors opened to reveal a elderly english gentleman with balding grey hair, a black mustache, and blue eyes. He was wearing a butler uniform that is comprised of a black suit, a red vest over a white button-up shirt with a black ascot tie, and a pair of black dress shoes. 

Alfred froze at the sight of Martha for the same reason Bruce cried upon seeing her. 'My word, she looks so much like her ladyship. It's nice to see those features again.' Truth be told, Alfred didn't realize he was staring down at the poor girl. He only realized his inappropriate behavior when Bruce called his name and brought him back to reality. Being the gentleman he is, Alfred gave Martha an apologetic bow, "I apologize for my ill-mannered behavior lady Martha, I didn't intend to offend you." Being bowed to left Martha feeling perplexed. "It's quite alright, sir. There's no need to bow. And pleas, Martha is fine. Oh, and this is Lady." The belgian malinois greeted the man with a happy tail wag. "It's a pleasure to meet you two. Especially you, Martha." Alfred couldn't help the soft smile spreading across his lips as he stepped aside to let both Lady and Martha inside. "Ladies, welcome to the Wayne manor. I hope you'll enjoy your stay." Lady was the first to step inside as Martha followed behind her.

Waiting for them was Bruce and his two sons, the blue eye ravenette Tim with a curtain mullet haircut and his younger brother the green eye spiky ravenette Damian. This was a peculiar situation standing in the Wayne manor with the Wayne family welcoming her as their own, but she wouldn't be intimidated by that. With zero hesitation and all confidence, Damian strutted his way towards his sister to offer his hand to which Martha took. "We finally meet dear sister, you have no idea how much I've been waiting to meet you and your companion. Speaking of which, may I?" With Martha's approval Damian happily got down on his knees to shower Lady with pats and scratches with a delighted smile, while Bruce stepped up to pull the ombrénette into his arms and introduce her to Tim who also offered his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. I have so many questions to ask you." Martha took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "I'll try to answer to the best of my abilities." Before she could put her hand back to her side, Damian took it. "You must meet the others! Come with me, sister! They should be at the pet house!" Damian didn't really give her a choice as he ran while holding her hand, leading her to this 'pet house' with Lady and Tim chasing after them. One thought this was a fun game of chase, and the other one shouted, "You can't just take her, Damian!"

Damian led them to the backyard past the garden and greenhouse to an open green field where a charming cottage connected to a cowshed sat. They went inside the well maintained shed where Damian introduced Martha to Bat-Cow. Martha has been waiting for the moment to meet the famous Bat-Cow since seeing that bat-shape pattern covering her eyes like a mask. So, seeing Bat-Cow in person was an experience in of itself.

Damian had to give Bat-Cow her breakfast and asked Tim to fill up her water, to which he left to gather the waterhose accompanied by Lady who followed after him. Martha asked if he takes care of all his animals himself, to which Damian explains yes as Bat-Cow and the rest of his animals are his responsibility, which earns him a look of respect that filled up his pride. While the boys did their thing, Martha took to petting Bat-Cow's snout. "She's a beauty, Bruce told me you rescued her from a slaughterhouse?" Putting the cow's food in her feeder Damian answered as the siblings watched her eat. "It's a long story, but at the end of it, I adopted Bat-Cow before she could get slaughtered." "I'm assuming she was close to that 18 to 24 month range?" Damian stroked the cow's coat for a sec before answering. "She just turned 18 months, and when I asked to keep her, there was no argument . I turned vegetarian right after that." Martha patted Damian's head with a proud smile. "You gave Bat-Cow a chance to live a life full of care and love. You should feel proud of that Damian, because for what it's worth, I'm proud of you." Damian melted under her touch and praise as he soaked up all of his sister's attention. 'Being praised feels nice, I could get used to this.'

Tim came back with the hose interrupting their moment as he filled up Bat-Cow's water bowl. Not seeing the belgian malinois with him Martha asked about Lady's where abouts. Tim casually pointed his thumb towards the entrance of the cowshed. "She's sunbathing with Titus." Damian's green eyes lit up as he grabbed Martha's hand again, leading her out of the shed as he spoke. "This is the perfect opportunity to meet Titus!" As the ravenette pulled her hand Martha thought with amusement. 'He sure likes to pulling me around.' Martha let herself be pulled to see a wholesome sight of Lady and who she assumed was Titus cuddling up together, soaking up the sunlight. Seeing how content their animal companions are made the ombrénette leaned towards Damian to speak. "I think we should let them be." "Agreed. Let's go inside there's one more you haven't met yet." "Not without me you won't." Tim spoke as he walked out of the cowshed. With that said, they all headed inside the pet house.

Stepping inside, Martha was greeted by a tuxedo cat rubbing up against her leg. "Meet Alfred Pennyworth, I named him after Alfred." Damian spoke with pride as Martha stroked the cat for a bit. After a few pets, Alfred wandered off to do his own thing. Wanting some of his sister's attention too Tim slid next to her to converse. "Bruce told me you liked my choice of camera and said you liked how they are designed with a vintage look and how they can instantly print out photos." "Guilty, you think i could see some of the photos you took with it?" Taking her by the hand, he led them down the hall to a dining table where a photo album sat. This area of the house has an open-plan style connecting the living room, kitchen, and dining room together.

Tim sat her down and began to show off his photo album he put together just for her visit, with all of his photos he's most proud of. There was a photo of a luxurious two story library colored in white and gold with shelves upon shelves of books to read. The next photo was of a sidewalk in Gotham with an aesthetically pleasing line of blue rose bushes covered in snow with old style street lamps lighting up the dim snowy sky. "Wow, these are amazing, Tim! How long have you been practicing photography?" Tim thought back to his childhood, trying to pinpoint when, but truth be told. "I've always handed a camera in my hands as a kid taking photos of everything." This amazed the ombrénette. "So you have had the passion from the start?" "I guess I have." Turning to Damian, who was seated by Martha's side, asked about his art hobbies that Bruce has mentioned. Happy it was his turn to show off, the spiky haired ravenette led them to his art studio that was behind the door next to the living room.

The first thing she saw was an amazing painting of a green eye jaguar on an easel, to which she studied for a bit and took the time to look at all of its features. Damian already knew her praises were coming as Martha looked at his painting with admiration, but he wanted her praise after showing off a sculpture and sketch of his. So he did just that. Grabbing his sketch book off his desk, he showed off his amazingly detailed swan sketch to his sister with confidence. "I must say I admire your skills, Damian." "Just wait until you see my recent sculpture." To which he showed her a round painted disc of clay that has a queen bee surrounded by bits of honeycombs and dripping honey. "This is incredible! You did this yourself?" Puffy up his chest Damian confirmed he did. "You're such an artist." After all is said and done, they went back to the dining table to play the board games Bruce said Martha would bring with her.

Setting her bag on the table Martha pulled out two different wooden board games with their own set pieces. One was a 12x12 grid that came with two wooden bowls topped with lids and the other was a 9x10 grid board with a 3x3 square on both ends of the board right in the middle. It is also divided into two halves by what Martha called a "river" when asked, with wooden checker-like pieces.

Once Martha situated herself she gave them the choice to start whichever game they wanted to play. "We can play Go." She pointed to the board paired with the wooden bowls. "Or we can play Xiangqi." She pointed to the board with the checker-like pieces. Before the two brothers could bicker about which one they should play a all to familiar voice spoke up. "Rule number one Puppy, never give those two a choice. It'll be dawn when they settled on a choice, so don't give them one. We're playing Go." Looking up from the wooden boards Martha saw an all to familiar face coming down the hall. Smiling she stood up from her chair to head around the table to greet who both bothers discovered was Jason. Martha stepped over towards the ravenette with the white highlight embracing him into her arms, to which he vehemently returns with a smile and affection that he rarely shows. "Hey there, Puppy. Have you been a good girl?" "I've been the best girl." Martha took the man's hand, pulling him over to the table. "You should join us." Jason let himself be pulled to the table and seated himself across from Martha while the two younger brothers noticed their familiarity with one another.

It was decided they started with Go to which Martha began to explain the game. "The objective of the game is to control more of the board then your opponent by enclosing areas on the board with your stones and capturing your opponent's stones too." Lifting the lids off of the bowls shows one is filled up with black stones and the other is filled up with white stones. "Who ever has the black stones has the first turn, then white and so on so forth." Taking a black stone Martha placed it down on a intersection on the board. "On a turn players they will place their stone on the intersection on the board like this." Then the ombrénette pointed to the four intersections around the stone. "These areas are called liberties, where a open intersection connected to a stone is called a liberty. Here they're four liberties." Picking up the stone she then placed it at the bottom of the board. "Place it down here and you get three liberties." Then she placed the stone on a corner of the board. "And here you get two liberties." Gathering more stones Martha placed three in a small L shape and two horizontal from each other. "The next thing to know are units. Stones of the same color that are connected are known as units, a unit will share liberties." Pointing to the two horizontal stones Martha begins to explain. "Here the unit of two stones has six liberties." She then slid her finger over to the L shaped stones. "This unit of three stones have 7 liberties. Another thing to know is captureing." Placing a single black stone down Marth grabbed four white ones she then placed around the darker stone. "When a unit's liberties are occupied by a opponent's stone the surrounded stones have captured the opponent's stone." The ombrénette took the black stone placing it in the lid of the bowl of white stones signalling it's been captured. "You can also capture units this way too." Taking a stone from each box Martha continued. "When both players are unable to gain more control of the board or are unable to captur their opponents stones they have to pass their stone to their opponent." She place the white stone in the black stone box lid and did the same with the black stone. "After two consecutive passes the game is over. The players will score the amount of intersections they have enclose but minus any stones that were captured by the opponent. Also because black gets the advantage of going first white gets compensated for going last. The amount should be agreed on before playing the game."

Looking around her Martha asked if they have any questions to which there was none, and so the game begun. Jason thought Martha and him should go first as to show the two boys how a match looks, the two ravenettes know what Jason's doing but Martha thought it was a good idea. "I doubt Todd even knows how to play." Damian passive aggressively commented to which Jason smugly responded. "On the contrar, I do. Our dear Martha was kind enough to teach me how to play." Damian called bullshit but Martha confirmed she did. "I taught him when I was younger, and we would frequently play together. So he's quite familiar with the game."

"You've known him since you were young?" Tim questioned. "Yes. He has taken me under his wing since I was 12." Damian give Jason a sharp look offended he would keep his sister hidden from him this long, and Jason? He mouthed suck it to the little demon. Tim decided to dig deeper. "How did you two meet?" Jason glared at him as Martha gave a bittersweet smile. "I was abducted-" Before Martha could finish Damian sat upright from his chair concerned. "You were abducted?" "I was, for half a month. But Jason got me out of there." As much as Damian and Tim wanted to pry for more information Jason's glare told them to drop it so they did, for now.

"So Jason, what color would you like to play as?" The gun wielder picked up the bowl full of white stones making his choice. "I'll stick with my usual stones." Martha was left with the black stones which she slid over to herself. "Very well, and the usual 4 extra points for white?" "Yes." As it was explained to everyone beforehand black started the turn order and since Martha is playing black she was the first to set her stone down. Then Jason was next to set his white stone down and it was back to Martha's turn and over the turn order went.

The beginning of the match had a slow burn process, nothing intense at the moment but Damian still watched like a hawk. Tim on the other hand silently grabbed his sister's attention to see if he could pick her brain. "You know, ask questions get to know you better while you play. If that's not too distracting I mean." Capturing one of Jason's stones she placed it in her wooden lid as Martha turn to look at Tim with a teasing smile. "I can multitask Tim. But yes, you can ask me anything."

Starting out small Tim asked if she has any nicknames. "Well Jason likes to call me Puppy but I've been been called Mari since I was a kid." Next was her love life as Bruce requested to know if she has someone she's pining for or is already in a relationship. He would ask himself but there's a different of comfortability from a father asking about his daughter's love life then a brother asking. "Do you have anyone special in your life at the moment?" Damian who was observing the game perked up at the possibility of Martha having someone she's romantically interested in or worse being in a romantic relationship with someone unworthy of her. So Damian listened to see if he needed to take care of anyone. "Not at all, maybe not ever. Although that has mostly to do with my romantic orientation." Curious Tim asked her to elaborate. "I'm aromantic. Meaning I'm someone who experiences no romantic attraction to others, although that doesn't mean I can't love anyone I just love in a different way. As for sexual attraction I find both man and women appealing." "A aromantic bisexual? Haven't heard that pairing before." Tim spoke mainly to himself.

Jason tried captureing Martha's unit of three but was unsuccessful as she deflect his attempt by placing down stones making that three into a T before he could make his move. Tim continued on his questioning. "What was your childhood like?" At the surface level Martha looked serene but her eyes held this sadness that Tim couldn't shake off. "Lonely, but not to lonely. My mom is a wedding planner, a popular one at that so she's usually swamped with clients. Elias my uncle used to watch over me while she was at work. He took great care of me filling my mother's absence but after he passed away I was left alone to take care of myself as I was old enough to do so. That's when it got a little lonely but mom is still here so I'm not totally alone." Even if she seemed fine her brothers were not fooled and they could feel the sadness radiating off of her in small waves. Jason with a comforting hand reached over to the ombrénette taking her hand into his as Tim rubbed her back in sympathy and Damian looped his arm around her elbow hugging her arm in a rare but needed show of affection. Blinking the water from her eyes Martha gave a grateful smile. "Eli past away 4 months ago so my grief isn't totally gone."

With a careful voice Tim asked what was her uncle like. "He was an honorable man with many stories of war to tell, he had the scars to prove it too. As a kid I would doze off in his lap as he told me depictions of all the times he was rendering aid to his fellow comra but made it appropriate for my age until I was old enough to tell it in full. Eli acted more of a parental figure than a godfather as he was the one who signed me up for martial arts, took me to my fencing lessons, he'd cheered me on at my gymnastic torrances and taught me the medical skills and knowledge he knew as a veteran and even helped with rehabilitating Lady. He was there through it all so when he passed..." Taking a steady breath Martha steeled herself and continued. "Losing him was really hard as he wasn't just my support but a constant presence in my life." "Unlike a certain redhead who couldn't be bothered with bereaved leave, just leave a grieving 15 year old with no support to do funeral preparations because that was a great idea." Jason spat with contained rage as his eyes flicker green the pit's rage rising within himself for a brief moment. With a defeated sigh Martha shut down their most repeated argument before it even began. "Jason we're not doing this." The stern finality in her voice made it clear they were to drop the subject as the ombrénette placed her stone next to one of Jason's severing his four liberties to three. Jason's reaction gave them a small glimpse of Martha's family dynamic that Tim was more then familiar with. 'Always working, rarely seen or home, comes by for a split second to pull you in just enough then leaves again. That what it was like with my parents and I bet on my stolen spleen it's like that with Roseanne too. Is she even-' "Are you happy now?" The ravenette didn't mean to speak out loud but he did. Those ombré blue eyes shift over to his direction as the corner of her lips curled upward. "Don't get me wrong I'll always miss my uncle but I'm more then content with how things are and wouldn't change a thing about it."

Hearing that should of been enough but it wasn't, Martha deserved more then an absent mother. Although Tim knew better than to voice his opinion. Turning to the boy hanging on her arm the ombrénette asked if he had any questions for her. "In fact I do. What are your hobbies?" Placing a white stone on the board Jason has finally captured one of Martha's stone only to have his own stone captured 5 swift turns later. "Well, to be honest I don't have much hobbies besides training, swordsmanship, and martial arts." "I believe you practice muay thai, krav maga, and fencing am I right? Muay thai and krav maga are respectable choices of martial arts, although I'm not much for fencing, but watching you has piqued my interest." Martha paused, blinking at Damian in surprise as Tim winced at the unsubtley of his brother's words while Jason gave a knowing look as he quickly mumbled. "Go figure." "How did you know that?" The young ravenette smoothly explained they found her Instagram to which she nodded in understanding although she didn't see the point of asking about her hobbies if he already knew but brushed it aside anyway. Hearing that training was also her hobby the young man asked about it. "I see my lessons as a part of my training, but outside of that, I usually go to Jason for some extra training and sparring sessions. It's one of the ways we bound together." Jason not so secretly smirk, smug he has one leg up from his brothers which annoyed them.

Pushing away the urge to deck Jason Damian continued to question his sister. "What do you like to do for fun?" "Well besides playing Go and Xiangqi, Jason would take me to this shooting range called Firearm Field-" At this point both brothers have resigned to the fact that Jason has been the only one of the family to have some kind of relationship with Martha in her younger years, which was completely unfair. The selfish bastard should of told them about Martha sooner instead of keeping her to himself. "-and I love to play with Lady in our agility course the most out of our games of tug of war and catch. Although if I had to choose between the two I'd go for catch mostly because I favor her doggy disc ball." Now this is more of Damian's speed. "Yes, I saw a short of you two playing in that agility course of your's on Instagram, and I knew then Titus must have his own. Alfred has already made the necessary preparations he is just waiting on my instructions to set it up, but I don't have an idea on how to engage him into play." Damian wasn't lying because he really didn't know how to engage Titus into playing on an agility course as Titus's range of commands didn't involve the set-up of one. So Damian really did need help, but he was also casting out a line and hoped his sister would take the bait. "I don't mind coming over again, just tell me whenever is convenient for you." If tomorrow wasn't arrange for discussion plans to remove Roseanne and at this point interrogate Jason Damian would of said tomorrow. He would have really liked to spend time with his sister that day, but at last, it wasn't meant to be. "I'll check with Father."

After taking a mental note Damian then ask about any food and drinks she likes. As Martha thought of her top choices she captured one of Jason's stone when he made the mistake of placing it down unknowingly surrounded by three of her own. "My top three food choices would have to be a avocado and spinach egg salad, classic banana bread and frozen chocolate covered strawberry banana yogurt bark with nuts. They're delicious, easy to make and the ingredients aren't expensive." As the duo took turns placing down their stones Martha didn't realize she was falling into Jason's trap resulting in 4 of her stones being captured. After giving him props Martha continued to answer Damian's question. "As for drinks I like hibiscus lemonade and blue tea latte for the same reasons. Very tasty, easy to make and they need non-expensive ingredients." As Tim took out his phone to text these preferences to Alfred, Damian had remembered his father has said Martha is also a vegetarian which pleased him very much.

Just as Martha has placed her stone on the upper edge of the grid captureing one of Jason's stone Damian has asked yet another question about food, specifically the sweeter kind of food. "Do you have any favorite desserts?" As Jason place down a stone Martha answered her brother. "I'm not much for sweets but on my birthday my uncle would always get me a french strawberry tart from Gotham's Cozy Corner, even before I was even old enough to start working there. And Jason would sometimes bake me raspberry linzer tart cookies, It's nice." Feeling sentimental Jason reached over to pat the girl's head as he watched her place down a stone. "Although when everything is to much and I need a break, I'd make myself some candied strawberries and set up a bath." Jason just noticed three of his stones circled one of Martha's. It just needed one more to be captured. So he placed down his own stone and took her black stone for himself. "You take baths to relax?" "Yep, I'd drop in a bath bomb, have the diffuser runing, place down a tub pillow, and set up a tray for my candied strawberries. It's very relaxing and helps me reset." After continuous back and forth of placing down stones and Jason captureing yet another of Martha's stone neither couldn't gain any more control of the board so as in the rules they passed on their own stone to the other ending their match.

After they scored their open intersections and subtracting their captured stones they're scoring ends with Jason originally having 35 points but subtracting 5 captured stones with a compensated of 4 points equaling to 34 points, and Martha originally having 43 points but subtracted 7 captured stones equaling to 36 points. Jason flopped back into his seat as he folded his arm dramatically and stared up at the ceiling. "God dammit, I was so close!" "Yes you were." The ombrénette said with a fond smile as she watched her brother's antics then turned her head towards Tim and Damian. "I hope watching us helped. So, who wants to go first?" Before the younger ravenettes could wrestle one another for first dibs Tim's phone ring notifying an incoming text. Jason snatched Tim's phone before he could, checking to see who texted the young teen as said teen made a fuss over his stolen phone. Checking this new message to see it was Bruce who has texted Alfred prepared lunch and to come out to the greenhouse.

"Looks like you two will have to wait until next time. The old man says Alfred made us lunch out in the greenhouse." Tim let out a exasperated groan as Damian crossed his arms with a scowl. "This is completely unfair I didn't get to play a match." Damian vexed out. "Maybe when I help you with Titus's agility course we can play a match too? And Tim you could join us." Martha negotiated. Tim accept the 'until next time' proposal and Damian was going to hold her to that promise.

After packing her game and it's pieces into her bag all four siblings then got up from the table and headed out of the Pet House where Titus and Lady waited for them. The young dog owners whistled for their companions to follow them as they all made their way to the greenhouse where Alfred stood by his master with a small box in hand and Bruce who is seated at the head of the dining table waiting with food and drinks ready for both them and the canines. 'Greenhouse dining room? Fancy.' Martha thought as she was guided to be seated next to Bruce who greeted her with a smile to which she returned. It seems they'll be having tofu egg salad sandwiches with watermelon feta and cucumber salad. As for dessert, there's a mouthwatering lemon and strawberry trifle cake and for refreshments, it seems they'll be drinking strawberry hibiscus iced tea if the little taste from her straw has anything to go by. Taking a bite of her sandwich she noticed the older ravenette had his attention on her. "I know the boys must have already asked you more than enough questions, but if you're still in the mood, I would like to ask you questions of my own while you eat." Still chewing her food the ombrénette nodded her head to give him the green light to start asking. "What is Rose's parenting style?" Swallowing her food Martha answered Bruce's question, seeing nothing wrong with him asking how she was raised in his absence. "She isn't around much and is more preoccupied with work than anything else, but when she is around she's quite lenient... maybe to lenient." Martha admitted. "Dose her parenting affect your relationship with her in anyway?" "Not really. Our relationship has always been the same, which is lukewarm as bad as it sounds." Bruce suspects because of Roseanne's lenients and absences is the reason they have a lukewarm relationship in the first place, something he'll keep in mind. "I know your current answer will be Lady, but I'll ask anyway. Who's your closest and most important relationship in your family? Someone who you trust the most." Pausing mid bite, Martha shifted her eyes to Jason, who was chowing down his third sandwich. "You're not wrong about it being Lady, and it also used to be Eli too before his passing. But currently, my most important human relationship besides is Jason." As she said, his name Martha turned to give the said male a smile that he returned, both knowing the special connection they share. And Jason is absolutely beaming with arrogance as he can feel the jealous auras of his brother's and the fucking bewilder look on the old man's face is pure gold.

Bruce wasn't aware Jason had any relationship with Martha and was honestly pretty miffed his son didn't say a word of it. Maybe if he introduced her sooner, then they-. Stopping Bruce took a deep breath and calmed himself before asking his last question. "Do you have any role models?" Eating the last bite off her plate the ombrénette answered his question. Although Bruce suspected the answer was going to be- "That would be Jason." his son. "I mean, Eli was also my role model before he passed." Martha elaborated more.

As everyone finished the final bites off their plates, Bruce motioned for Alfred to hand over the small box that had Martha's name on it. "Who would like to join me going through Martha's baby box?" He didn't need to ask twice as everyone immediately huddled around him, ready to go through Martha's baby mementos. Opening up the lid inside was a small light brown platypus plush with different shades of purple flowers on top of its head, a teal pacifier, casted baby hands and feet, white baby shoes and underneath all of that is a stack of her baby pictures. The room was in a peaceful silence as everyone looked over Martha's mementos and photos together. There was one of her sleeping in a crib swaddled in a blanket, another of her playing with the dangling toys on an arch toy and more photos of baby Martha being baby Martha.

Once satisfied with everything he's seen, Jason picked up Martha like a football startling the poor girl as she let out a surprise yelp gaining the others attention. "It's been fun, but we'll be taking our leave now." Turning towards their butler, both Jason and Martha gave the elder man their thanks. "Thanks for the food Alfred." "Yes thank you, it was delicious." Alfred gave a small bow appreciating their thanks. "It was no problem, young masters." As Martha reached out to grab her bag from her chair Damian called out to Jason. "Where do you think you're taking my sister!?" Damian yelled as he marched over to snatch Martha out of his arm but was unsuccessful as Jason moved her out of his reach. "All you need to know is that we have business to attend to, right Martha?" He isn't wrong. Crime Alley needs their attention at the moment as someone is stirring up trouble. "Yes, we do. Thank you for having me. I hope we can do this again." Damian began to protest, but Bruce silenced him. "You're free to leave." With that Jason, Martha, and Lady left. As soon as the three were gone, Bruce called out to his son. "Tim." Knowing what his father wants, he'll gladly see what they're hiding. "I'll look into it." Damian let out a huff as he crossed his arms.

[d1nkyduck]

The Shadow's Resolve

The Shadow’s Resolve. - Neglect. Verb. … To give little attention or respect to; to disregard. To leave undone or unattended to, especially through carelessness. To fail to do something due to thoughtlessness or carelessness. Lack of due care or attention; negligence. Introduction/Synopsis: In which instead of raising just yourself you have to raise Bruce’s “charity case”. Now look where it’s gotten you, stuck trying to get your “family” out your hair, multiverse shenanigans, and having to Scooby-Doo this shit. Oh Wait! Time travel too!? A/n- English is my first language so this writing and grammar is going to be ass. This is beta read and has been beta read so much it is now burned into my skull. Enjoy! (Please let me know if you see any mistakes, all will be updated and fixed as soon as possible.)

Your Reading: Prologue 4/7 Though she says these things she looks just as happy and unfazed. She may be an air head. The teen who has been identified as Kenji huffs and comes back into the conversation. “Don’t sound so worried, Aveline.” Kenji says sarcastically, nudging her lightly with her elbow. He then turns to you with a questioning look. “Did you collect the rest of the information for the project?” You pause and think. Shit what project!? “Uh-” Before you can make up some half assed excuse a female teacher sternly calls for the three of you. “You three come along now. The buses are leaving now.” Kenji picks up what apparently is your school bag while Aveline hooks her arm with yours and rushes off with you to the bus. Kenji annoyedly calls after but follows. After an annoyed stare from the teacher, you three boarded the bus. Quickly you three slide into a seat and the teacher completes the roll call. Once the bus gets moving Kenji opens the bag, which is claimed to be yours, and takes out a set of notes. “Woah, these look great. We're sure to pass the project with this. Nice work dude.” Kenji comments with a hopeful smile. “Aw, they look super cute! I love the little doodles beside some of the notes” Aveline says pointing to some of the floral doodles. Based on your analysis of the two you have come to assume: Kenji is an athlete characterized by his spiky, somewhat unkempt brown hair and blue eyes. He adorns a red baseball cap worn backwards. Though he is of mixed ethnicity, he currently possesses a tan complexion. In terms of attire, he is dressed in a red track jacket featuring a theme inspired by The Flash. Beneath the jacket, he has on a plain shirt in white and black, complemented by matching shorts. He sports knee braces themed after Green Lantern and white socks, paired with a set of well-used sneakers. Aveline was this super popular and cheerful transfer student. She's got super brown hair styled in two pigtails at the back and two braids in the front. Outfits-wise, she's rocking a loose Green Arrow themed jacket paired with a black skirt and a white button-up shirt. She's even got a little Plastic-man tie to match! For her legs, she's got on some thin leg warmers that go with her Black Canary theme, plus black socks and chunky heeled Mary Jane pumps. Sneakily you slipped in some questions about the project into the conversation and the two gave you helpful information so you could better piece it all together. In a simple and short summary, it was a biology project about the floral mutations caused by pollution in Gotham. Respectfully, the teacher was tree hugger and wanted kids to study how the pollution has caused both equally good and bad mutations around Gotham. After the numerous times you fought Poison Ivy you could get an A+ and then some bonus points. When you finally get your hand on the notes you supposedly took, they are surprisingly good and well written. It was like all of your knowledge on the subject was put into words and then on paper. Based on what Kenji and Aveline said, the last thing to do was to make a poster of sorts and make it all pretty and presentable. No slides, teachers want creativity and photos. Bonus points for models. Deciding to play your new character, you all split the work in three. Kenji would get the photos since his mother was a reporter and photographer. Aveline would write the information down and make it all fancy and cute. All you had to do Was make a 3d model on your assigned plants. The Naked Man Orchid (Orchis Italica), The Shame Plant (Mimosa Pudica) It is also referred to as the sensitive plant, shy plant, touch-me-not, and sleepy plant, and finally The Flying Dick Orchid (Caleena Major). Masterlist

[fromtheseventhhell]

When Jon comes back to life and gains a "ghost" moniker to match with Arya, so we get the "Ghost of Harrenhal" leading in Harrenhal and the "Ghost of the North" leading in the North

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

series masterlist

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[blank-potato]

my kid's better than your kid

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.” “Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat. “Absolutely not! This is about accountability.” “There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—” He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.” You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Or You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, hair pulling, mirror sex, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, breeding kink, sexual overstimulation, John Walker is a biter, No Superhero AU!, slow burn, enemies to lovers, dead spouse (I killed off his wife oop), John being a good dad, Ava Starr cameo

WC: 12.0k

A/N: I feel like John would be one of those dads who's coaching from the sidelines at their kids' game, so I wrote this. I'm also obsessed with him right now so expect more fics

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Some might call you intense or insane.

A little crazy, definitely.

There’s a fire in you, always has been, and when it comes to your daughter, you didn’t play around. Every aspect of her life was important to you, especially her Saturday morning soccer games.

Though you didn’t know what intense was until you saw that dickhead across the field. Blonde hair, a trimmed beard, built like he probably hits the gym four times a week. His biceps flexed under his white shirt every time he threw his arms up at the ref, which, to be fair, was often.

If he weren’t so obnoxious, you might even find him hot, but you totally don’t find him hot. He was pumped up, red in the face, and just as invested in the game as you were. Pacing like a coach who got fired but still showed up anyway. He was shouting directions, clapping like his kid was about to be scouted, and cheering like it was the World Cup and not just a rec league game on a patchy field behind a middle school.

He was showing you up, so you started cheering louder for your kid. Because if this is a competition, you're damn well not losing it.

“That’s it, Lily! Give ‘em hell!” You shout, your daughter just smiles at you and goes back to playing, used to your competitive nature.

The man takes notice of you and looks at you like he isn’t also acting like a lunatic before cheering even louder. That rubbed you the wrong way. What gave him the right to look at you like you were the problem?

Then it happens.

You watch as your daughter gets slide-tackled for no reason.

And the ref? Doing fuck all about it.

“What was that call, ref?” you shout, already on your feet.

“I—” the ref starts, backing up as you approach. 

You trudge towards him, angry but trying to maintain a look of composed fury, like you weren't two seconds from setting the field on fire. 

The ref was used to your antics, and now every time he saw you storming towards him, he’d be sure that he’d be going home with a headache.

“No yellow or red card? She got slide-tackled,” you bark.

“It’s—”

“She didn’t even have the ball!” you snap, the words ripping out of you like they’ve been waiting. You’re so fired up, so high on rage and love and disbelief, you swear you could take flight.

“It was an accident, so there’s no need for that,” a voice cuts in, calm and condescending in the worst possible way.

You turn, and it’s him, the guy from across the field. The look on his face, the matter-of-fact tone, the casual smugness oozing off him like cologne. You hate him instantly. It was that easy.

“I’m guessing that was your son that ran over my daughter,” you say, each word clipped like you’re trying not to launch them at his face.

“Ran over?” he snorts. “Talk about an exaggeration.”

“It’s soccer, these things happen. You don’t have to throw a tantrum just because your kid's team is down two,” he adds, smirking like he thinks this is witty banter and not a declaration of war.

You scoff, hands on hips, already stepping into his space. The ref backs off like a man realising he’s standing between two charging bulls. This wasn’t a sideline spat; this was two planets colliding, and he wanted no part of the fallout.

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.”

“Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not! This is about accountability.”

“There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—”

He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“That’s it! Take this off the field,” the ref finally blurts, hands up, voice cracking. “The kids have a match to play!”

You exhale sharply and hard through your nose, fists clenched at your sides. You try to calm yourself down, jaw tight, heart pounding. You sit and look out at your daughter, brushing grass off her knees and already back in position. 

She's tougher than you give her credit, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to put that guy’s head in the ground. 

After the game, her team, the Honeybees, lost after a few missed goals and lots of questionable calls, but your daughter was still laughing with her friends, unfazed in the way only kids can be.

You, however, were still stewing in quiet indignation when you spotted the world’s biggest jackass, in your humble, entirely accurate opinion, making his way toward you.

“Oh. It’s you,” you say, arms crossed automatically.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your loss,” he says, all fake sincerity, like he wasn’t two seconds away from being shoved into a juice box cooler.

“How mature.”

“I try,” he replies with that same maddening, self-satisfied grin.

You narrow your eyes, ready for whatever condescending nonsense he might say next. If he says “good effort”, you’re swinging. Choosing not to let him fuck with you, you tell him what’s what. 

“Your team only won because of the ref’s bad calls,” you say, arms still crossed, tone sharp enough to slice fruit.

“Oh really?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow like he’s genuinely amused. Like this is his idea of foreplay.

“Yeah. My kid was dynamite out there.”

“So was mine,” he says back instantly.

“I mean, sure, but my kid has the most assists on her team,” you say, trying to keep your cool, even as your voice edges higher.

“Assists,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “Not goals.”

You blink at him. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with mock innocence, hands raised like he’s never been petty in his life.

You press your lips together, biting your tongue so hard it might bruise. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t want to, but it slips out anyway.

“My kid can out-pass, out-hustle, and outplay any other kid on that field.”

He grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“Well, my kid can run circles around your kid while tying his cleats.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Alright then, my kid was able to run a full field drill without missing a pass when she was five.”

“Well, mine could do cone drills backwards while coaching his teammate through theirs.”

Your eye twitches at that and he delights in seeing you so bothered.

“Lily has a killer left foot and once scored a hat trick with a stomach bug.”

“And Tommy is a human wall on defence.”

“Oh, please. Lily once did a bicycle kick and landed on her feet. What’s Tommy got?” You say, crossing your arms. 

“Perfect attendance and a clean penalty record.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘clean penalty record’ but you keep it moving.

“Lily brings orange slices for the whole team.”

“Tommy brings strategy diagrams and pep talks.”

You pause, blinking. “Are we… bragging about how nice our kids are now?”

“Seems like it.”

You both go quiet for a beat, then he adds with a smirk, “Still doesn’t mean your kid’s better. I think you should admit to defeat.”

You step forward, just enough to make a point. “I’ll admit defeat when the Honeybees start losing because of their own mistakes, not because your future linebacker throws elbows like he’s in a bar fight.”

He actually laughs, and it’s a little too charming for your liking. Before you can wrestle with what that means, you hear a voice. 

“Dad!” his son calls from across the field, waving dramatically. “Hurry up, you promised we’d get ice cream!”

He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with that same smug glint in his eye.

“Again, enjoy your loss,” he says, already turning. “And get used to it. The season’s still young.”

You narrow your eyes. “Until next time, Captain Suburbia.”

He chuckles and starts to walk away, but pauses, turns back with a smirk plastered on his face.

“John,” he says. “My name is John.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

“Uh, what are you doing?” 

“Hiding.”

“From?” Your friend, Ava, says as she looks around for the apparent danger. 

“John.”

Ever since that day, you were livid with the dickhead you knew as John Walker. You had never hated someone so much from just one meeting. You never wanted to see him again, but you did while shopping.

Ava takes a peek, “Oh, the hot soccer dad? Which one is he?”

You never described him as hot but Ava figured from the way you were losing your mind over him, you thought he was. 

“Blonde, beard, tall and wearing a blue shirt.”

Ava sees him in the fruit and veg aisle and hums in approval, “Is he single? He’s right up your alley, no?”

You nudge her arm. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn't see him with anyone at the game…” You say your voice drifting off before you're back to your senses. “Whether or not he's single is irrelevant! He’s a complete asshole.”

“Just because he's an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not good in bed.”

The death glare you give her is intense and could be considered lethal, but she laughs it off. 

“Let’s be honest, if you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t be so riled up.”

“Oh, please, I’m not into evil blonde men.”

Is he hot? Yes. But his evilness outweighs the hotness. 

“Well, the evil blonde man is coming your way.”

You look towards the end of the aisle to see that Ava was right, so you immediately duck down behind a tower of soup cans. 

“Please come out from over there,” Ava whispers but you protest, hoping you can camouflage yourself and become one with the cans.

Ten seconds pass, and you hear your name in that familiar voice and know you’ve been caught.

“Oh. Hi.”

Your attempt at being nonchalant is honestly pitiful, but not more pitiful than him knowing you were hiding from him.

“Don’t mind me, go back to whatever this is,” He says, gesturing to your hunched-over, goblin-like stance. He reaches over you and grabs a can off the shelf, walking off without another word. 

“See? No need to panic. He was perfectly civil,” Ava chimes in.

“Only because he caught me in a state of weakness. He has the upper hand, and he’s already plotting against me. I can feel it.”

“He’s a soccer dad, not a supervillain,” Ava sighs, helping you off the floor, concerned about the effect he was having on you, but then again, she was always concerned about you. You regularly lose your mind at your daughter’s soccer games so she has just cause. 

“I need to grab the wine, I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Ava says, and you nod, letting her walk off. 

You had to circle back around to get the limited edition coffee you had become obsessed with anyway. You get to the aisle and your eyes widen when you realise that there’s only one left. Your hand flies to grab it, you can already imagine it in your trolley, and it looks good. It looks happy, like it's ready to be at home in your pantry.

But at the same time, another hand wraps around it, the hand belonging to John, because fate was still playing in your face. 

“You.”

You thought you were done with him for the day. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

John raises an eyebrow, not letting go. “Come on. Be a gentleman and give it to me,” You say, trying to force a smile. 

Your grip tightens, so does his.

“I don’t think so,” he says smoothly, as if he weren’t just on the verge of sparking a full-blown aisle standoff. “It’s the last one.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have to go across town for another,” You say, your eyebrows knitting together. 

“Cry about it.”

You tug on it a little, but he doesn’t budge. The item wobbles dangerously between your hands.

“Are you even trying?” he asks. He was so good at being a smug bastard, you wonder if he was born like this or if he honed this craft. You open your mouth to really let him have it, but you don’t even get the chance. 

Without another word, he snatches it clean from your hand in one smooth move, drops it into his trolley like he just won Olympic gold, and starts walking away, whistling.

You stand there, mildly offended but mostly impressed.

“Oh no, you did not just—” you march after him.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Better luck next time.”

“I hope it’s expired!” you shout after him.

You stop walking and watch as he struts off with your coffee like he was the King of Aisle Seven, you were planning his downfall in at least three different ways.

And two of them involved shopping carts.

After the grocery store incident, you were looking forward to having a reprieve from John Walker. But it was like fate or something more evil was forcing the two of you together. You have a PTA meeting the next night, and who do you see there but John, who was now becoming a permanent fixture in your life. 

You sigh and sit in the only empty seat, which was next to him.

“Let’s not even speak,” You suggest you say as soon as your butt hits the seat.

“Fine with me,” John replies as he crosses his arms, looking away from you. 

You sit there tapping your foot. It was almost painful being silent when everyone else was having conversations. Especially when you were next to a thief. You didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him properly for swiping your coffee.

You finally break, “What you did yesterday was shitty.”

“And I thought we weren’t going to speak.”

“I’ll be sick if I don’t call out injustice when I see it.”

John laughs, and you want to strangle him. “You’re still thinking about that? I’m constantly on your mind, aren’t I?”

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat climbing up the back of your neck. How dare he even suggest that? Yes, you were thinking about him, but only about all the ways you wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap under your breath.

The meeting starts before he can muster up a comeback. You catch yourself zoning out as the agenda drags on, filled with tedious updates about the bake sale and a desperate plea for chaperones for the 3rd-grade trip to Lake Maribelle.

You swing your leg absentmindedly and accidentally bump his shin. It’s genuinely an accident.

“Did you just kick me?” he whispers.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t taking up half the space with your big—”

“You’re unbelievable—” He interrupts, turning his body to face you.

“—gangly legs, then you wouldn’t have gotten hit,” You whisper your sentence over his.

Your whispered bickering is only interrupted by the teacher at the front calling both your names.

“You’ll help chaperone the trip to Lake Maribelle?”

With all those expectant eyes on you, how could either of you say no?

“Yeah…”

“Of course…”

You both reply sheepishly at the same time.

“Great, I’ll sign the two of you up.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Stepping onto the bus, you watch as Lily disappears to go sit with her friend, leaving you with a slight pang of loneliness. You head to the front and slump into your seat, next to who else but John, because you can’t even be surprised. You really needed to start arriving at places earlier to avoid sitting next to him, but here you were.

It’s a four-hour ride, and you can already feel your exhaustion creeping in. You try to keep yourself alert, but your eyes are heavy. Before you know it, your head tilts to the side, falling onto his shoulder.

John glances down at you, noticing how tired you look. He’s always been perceptive like that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts slightly to give you more space. But when he feels you drift further, he gently shifts, adjusting his posture. His shoulder feels like a small slice of comfort amidst the exhaustion.

He lets you use his shoulder the whole ride. You looked quite peaceful when you weren’t trying to rip his head off, quite beautiful too. John catches the thought and tosses it out. He couldn’t be caught slipping, you were his mortal enemy after all.

The bus reaches the camp, and suddenly, it jerks to a stop. Your head flies forward, but before you can react, John’s hand shoots out, catching your forehead in the palm of his hand just in time.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little embarrassed but too tired to really care.

He just hums in response, his fingers lightly grazing your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “Quick reflexes.”

Hoping off the bus, you notice the camp leaders waiting to greet the kids. You stand off to the side ensuring everyone gets off the bus when you notice one of the teachers, Miss. Lucas, sidling up next to John, laughing a little too loudly at something he barely said. Your eyes narrow without even realising it, and your fist subconsciously tightens. It’s like a sudden surge of irritation hits you.

The worst part is that you don’t even know why you're so bothered. You’re pretty sure it's just your general distaste for him as a person, and anything he does seems to irritate you. That felt like the easiest explanation. No need to dig deeper into that nagging feeling in your chest, like someone’s poking it with a stick. You shake it off, willing yourself to focus on something else, anything else.

After you get the kids all settled in for the first activity, though, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The exhaustion. You’re winded in a way you don’t remember being before. You try to shake it off, but it’s clear that you’ve reached your limit for the day. This trip wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and now, even a simple walk feels like you’ve run a marathon.

You take a deep breath, looking around for a moment to regain your composure. There's no need to make a bigger deal out of it. Just power through, you tell yourself. But it’s harder than you expected, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just the physical exhaustion that's weighing on you.

But at least John was out of sight. You didn’t have to see him on the nature walk or the obstacle course, but you’d have to supervise the canoeing together. You make it out there first, sitting on the dock as the kids are getting in the canoes with the instructors. A smile tugs at your lips as you see how excited Lily is, her face lighting up as she waits for her turn, then spotting you in the crowd. She waves enthusiastically, and you wave back, your heart swelling just a little at the sight of her so happy.

“Nice day out,” John says, looking out at the water. You’re shaken to your core. Not just because you didn’t hear him walk up, but because of what he said. What was this? A normal conversation starter?

You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off by Miss. Lucas' syrupy voice slicing through the moment like a dull butter knife.

“It really is, and John, you really should wear sunglasses. With how blue your eyes are, the way the sun hits them is just distracting,” she purrs, twirling a lock of her overly straightened hair.

It’s laced with flirtation and just enough condescension to make your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes — hard.

John notices.

“What? You don’t like the sun?” he asks, amused now, that sharp gaze flicking to you like he already knows he’s poking the bear.

“I like the sun,” you answer evenly.

“Then what were you rolling your eyes at, huh?”

You’re so tempted to say exactly what’s on your mind. To call out Miss. Lucas’s thinly veiled thirst trap of a compliment, but you catch yourself. The last thing you need is her holding some petty grudge against Lily over adult nonsense.

So instead, you force a too-sweet smile and say, “None of your business.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained.

Miss. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s still lingering like a wasp at a picnic.

John tilts his head, a grin still playing at his lips. “Touchy.”

Stepping into your space, he does that thing, that infuriating thing, where he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to break any rules.

You guys just couldn’t seem to be near each other without someone stepping over the invisible line.

“And you’re observant,” you shoot back, voice low. “Someone might think you’re a little obsessed.”

His brow lifts. “Is that right?”

“You know what? I’m sorry, I'm being rude. Let me ask you this,” you say, your voice sweet and dangerous all at once, “Do you like water?”

“What kind of question is—?”

Splash.

He never finishes.

You shove him clean off the dock, and he crashes into the freezing lake with a satisfying crash. A few heads turn at the sound, followed by laughter, mostly from the kids.

John surfaces, sputtering, slicking his hair back with both hands as he glares up at you like a betrayed golden retriever.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts.

“Oh no,” you gasp dramatically, hand to your chest. “Is it? I had no idea.”

He blinks the water from his eyes, slow and deliberate, before gripping the edge of the dock with both hands and pulling himself up in one smooth, effortless motion.

It’s… a problem.

You might hate the man, scratch that, you definitely hate the man, but God help you, he had the audacity to look good doing literally anything. The sunlight caught the drops of water rolling down his arms, his shirt plastered to the ridges of his abs and the degenerate part of your brain wanting to see them with his shirt off. 

His hair dripped, tousled and messy in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. It was like watching someone climb out of a cologne commercial.

You bite your lip instinctively, then immediately cover it up with a cough and a scowl.

He strides toward you, soaking wet, every squelching footstep a declaration of petty war. You’re forced to crane your neck to meet his eyes as he stops in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” he says, water still dripping from his sleeves, “that one of us knows how to act like an adult.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips twitching despite yourself. “You sure it’s you?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, then turns and walks down the dock toward the cabins, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a hundred silent thoughts you’re too proud to say out loud.

You watch him go and tell yourself it’s because you want to see if there’s the off chance he falls in. 

Definitely not because of the view.

You’re watching your back the rest of the day, fully expecting some form of petty revenge. A frog in your shoe, a cold fish under your pillow, maybe even your toothbrush mysteriously tasting like lake water. But nothing happens.

No pranks. No payback.

You’re in the clear.

Now, sitting by the campfire, the sky a hazy lavender above the treeline, things feel… calm. The kids are running wild around the open field, fireflies blinking to life as marshmallows roast and someone strums a guitar softly in the distance.

“Hi,” a small voice says beside you.

You turn and see Tommy, John’s son, standing there with a hesitant smile.

“Hey, having fun?” you ask, shifting to make room.

He nods and sits next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The nature walk was pretty cool, and me and my friends loved  the obstacle course. And the canoeing was fun too… even though you pushed my dad in the lake.”

You groan lightly, a hand going to your face. “Yeah, about that…”

The guilt hits, a pang of embarrassment. You knew your behaviour was juvenile. Funny, sure, but maybe not your finest moment, especially in front of the kids.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was pretty funny,” Tommy admits, “And I know you and my dad have problems.”

You feel even more ashamed that it was bleeding into your kids' lives too.

“My dad can be a lot,” he says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “But he’s just… I don’t know. He tries really hard. Especially for me.”

It helped you understand John a little better. The bluster, the sarcasm, the stubborn streak a mile wide… It wasn’t just pride or ego. It was effort. The kind that comes from someone trying to do right, even if it comes out messy. You could appreciate that because you were the same way.

And if he’d raised such a polite kid, then he couldn’t be all bad. Not even close.

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Tommy asks.

“Not lately,” you say, then gesture toward the table behind you. “But you can have some marshmallows while you wait, if you want.”

“Sure!” he says, lighting up as he grabs a stick and starts roasting.

John comes back to see something he wasn't expecting. The bane of his existence, laughing with his son and roasting marshmallows. Tommy didn’t warm up to most people that easily, so when he sees him lighting up with you, his opinion of you shifts. Maybe you weren’t an evil witch. 

You still got a bucket of freezing lake water poured over you the next morning, though. 

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You’re out running errands, finally—blissfully—alone. Lily’s spending the weekend at your parents' place, which meant you had time to catch your breath, clean without stepping on glitter, and maybe finally recover from the whirlwind that was the school trip.

You understood John better. You still thought he was annoyingly smug, sure, but maybe not completely irredeemable.

But you weren’t getting ahead of yourself. He was still the same cocky asshole you met yelling across a soccer field... right?

Just as you’re mulling that over, tongue in cheek, deciding if you’d imagined all the softness, you feel your car begin to slow down.

“What the—?”

You frown, tapping the gas. Nothing. A few panicked beeps. Then a sputter.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road just as the engine completely gives out, your car coasting to a reluctant stop.

“No, no, no!” you shout, slamming your palms against the steering wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when you finally had a few hours of peace and you were this close to getting Thai food and going home to binge terrible reality TV.

With a heavy sigh, you get out and open the bonnet, even though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Wires? Steam? A glowing red light labeled you’re screwed?

You’re standing there, staring blankly into the guts of your car, when you hear it, a car slowing down behind you and parking behind you. 

You barely glance back, already waving them off. “Thanks, I’m good—”

But then you hear a too-familiar voice say, “Well, that doesn’t look promising.”

Of course.

You turn around slowly.

And there he is.

John Walker, ladies and gentlemen. 

“Need a hand?” he asks, already strolling over like he’s been waiting his whole life to rescue you.

“I uh…” You start becasure you’re so tempted to say “I got this” but the moment your eyes look back at whatever the fuck is going on in your car, you sigh.

“Do you have a toolbox?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the boot,” you’d said, thinking nothing of it.

Then he came back, popped the hood, and casually peeled his shirt off with a warning: “Don’t read into anything. I just don’t want grease on my shirt.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, a little too quickly.

You didn’t say anything, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you from watching. Because damn. The man was all broad shoulders, and strong arms that had no business looking that good twisting bolts.

You could’ve watched him work all day.

“Try starting it,” he called, interrupting your horny thoughts.

You slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It’s a miracle.

“Thank you, seriously.”

He leaned over the hood, smug smile fully loaded. “No problem. That should get you moving, but you definitely need to take this to a garage. I can come with you, if you want.”

Seeing the way your face contorts, he follows up with an explanation before you start berating him again. 

“You’ll need a ride home after, won’t you?”

“Oh, true… I guess I’ll take you up on your offer. I mean as long as I'm not keeping you from Tommy, am I?” You say as you watch him put his shirt back on.

“No, he's at his grandparents’ place.”

“Oh same with Lily,” You admit.

“Guess we have some errands to run together then.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You arrive back home in his car and say “Home sweet home,” because you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking about. Ever since you watched him fix your car, haggle down the price of your repair with the mechanic and drive you home, you’d been in a bit of a daze. A ‘John Walker is the perfect man’ daze to be exact.

“Do you ... wanna come in?” You say, the words escaping you, but what you didn’t expect was his reply.

“Sure.”

You welcome him in, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as John casually walks around your house. 

It was clean, for once and cosy too, filled with little signs of your life with Lily. Pictures lined the walls: school plays, messy birthday parties, soccer games. Her drawings were stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets.

“This you?” John asks, voice tinged with amusement.

You turn to see him holding a framed photo from the shelf, a younger you, maybe around Lily’s age, standing proudly in a baseball uniform, cap askew and a dirt-smudged grin on your face.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah. I peaked in Little League.”

He chuckles, eyes still on the photo. “You look like you were about to take someone out at home plate.”

“I probably did.”

He glances over at you, that familiar smirk on his face. “Not much has changed then.”

You snort. “Are you calling me aggressive?”

“I’m saying I’d definitely want you on my team,” he replies, setting the photo down gently. “You were a force to be reckoned with, no doubt,” he says with a chuckle.

“Always.”

“Are there more?” he asks, leaning a little closer with that annoyingly charming glint in his eye.

You cross your arms, sitting back a little as you narrow your eyes. “Nuh uh. We are not going through my baby pictures.”

“Yes, we are.”

And five minutes later, you were both on the couch with a photo album spread across your lap.

“You even look like a soccer ball in this one,” he teases, pointing to a photo of you in a puffy striped onesie.

“I bet you were an ugly baby,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’ll have you know I was adorable. Practically a Gerber baby.”

He flips a page and pauses. “Is this you or Lily?”

“That’s Lily,” you say, your smile softening.

“She looks just like you.”

“I like to call her my twin,” you laugh. “And she hates it.”

Time ticks by, and you barely even notice it. The room has dimmed with the setting sun, shadows creeping in, and a warmth building low in your stomach. You’ve been flipping through photo albums for what must’ve been hours, laughing and teasing each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then you hear it, John’s stomach growling, loud and unmistakable. You glance at him, and he’s already giving you a sheepish smile. Clearly, you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I was going to order Thai,” you say casually. “If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

He hesitates for only a second. “I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, takeout containers spread between you, Real Housewives playing in the background. The chaotic drama on screen contrasts with the quiet ease between you.

It had been so long since you’d just relaxed like this with someone—someone who wasn’t Ava or Lily. And it felt good. Easy. Right.

“I have a suggestion, feel free to say no.”

“Hit me,” John says, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion behind you.

You bite back a grin. “I have a bottle of whiskey that’s begging to be opened. Wanna throw on some music and help me put it out of its misery?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Why not?”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You shouldn’t drink around him. At this point, you were touchy and honestly just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. You’re not too drunk but definitely tipsy enough to say whatever comes to your mind. 

“I haven’t seen Tommy’s mom around. Did you guys split up?” you blurt out, half-curious, half-dreading the answer. You feel a drop in the atmosphere as his hands seem to tighten on the glass. 

“Sorry, you don’t need to answer. That was weird of me to ask…” You're trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh no, it’s okay, she uh,” he says quietly. “She passed a few years ago.”

You pause, your posture softening. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “Still tough without her, but we manage.”

He glances down, like he’s trying to ground himself before continuing.

“I’d like to say I was a good husband, but I was always away in the army. I could’ve been better before she…” He trails off, eyes now solely focused on the liquid swirling in his glass. 

You stay quiet, wanting to listen rather than rush in. 

“When I came back from my last tour, she was already sick. But for a while, we were okay. We were happy. Then she got worse. It was hard seeing her like that when she was so full of life before I left. I felt like I had missed so much, and when she…” He pauses again, his voice catching in his throat like he was being choked. 

“Tommy’s the only thing that kept me going after. I’m always scared I’ll mess things up with him and miss the important stuff. That I already am.”

He exhales sharply, almost laughing at himself. “Shit. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” you say gently, shaking your head. “And I can tell you’re a good dad. Anyone can. He's such a sweet kid and he adores you.”

He looks at you then, and for once, there’s no smirk, no one-liner. Just quiet gratitude.

“Thanks,” he says. “That means more than you know.”

You both take another drink, the burn lingering in your throat like something you don’t mind holding onto for a while.

“What about you? I noticed there aren’t any pictures of Lily’s dad around,” he asks, voice softer now, like he’s not just making conversation anymore.

“We got divorced ages ago. He was a total disaster.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

 “We got married too young, had Lily, got divorced two years in and… I honestly can’t even remember the last time he showed up for her. No birthday messages, no calls. Nothing.”

You pause, trying not to let the anger twist your words.

“It’s a shame because she’s so amazing,” you add, staring into your glass. “And her dad doesn't give her the time of day and never has. She deserves so much better than that, and I wish I could be everything for her, but I…”

John’s quiet, listening. Really listening, giving you the space that you gave him. 

“It’s hard doing it on your own,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you get that.”

He nods slowly, then offers a small, warm smile. “It’s his loss. She’s a kick-ass kid with a pretty kick-ass mom.”

You laugh, the real kind this time.

“I genuinely thought you were about to fight me the day we met,” he says, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You grin. “I was about to fight you.”

“Very hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel exhausting to let someone in.

“Okay, Mr. Tight-White-Shirt,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks instantly. “Ah, so you were ogling me that day.”

Damn. You walked right into that one.

“A woman can’t appreciate the male form?” you say, all mock innocence.

John laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drink. The music shifts, a different song now, low and smooth, some classic jazz number that’s always sounded like warmth and memory and late nights.

You perk up instantly. “John, we have to dance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“C’mon!”

Before he can argue, you’re already pulling him to his feet drunkenly. He hesitates for half a second, then relents because, of course, he does. His hands find your waist, cautious at first, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t remember the last time I slow danced,” you murmur against his chest.

“Same,” John says quietly. “In all honesty, it was… probably my wedding.”

 “Damn, me too,” You let out a low laugh. “Did you go all out?”

“We tried,” he nods. “We had lessons and everything. I remember practising in our tiny apartment, knocking over chairs and swearing a ton.”

She grins. “I bet you were shit.”

John, very much in ‘John’ fashion, gasps. “Correction, I was the shit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna show you. Get ready to be dipped.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, suspicion written all over your face. “No way. You’ll drop me.”

He smirks. “I won’t. Trust me. I’m strong and very capable.”

Before you can protest again, he spins you, just fast enough to make your stomach flip. And you squeal, laughing as you come back into his arms.

“See?” he says, proud as hell. “Didn’t hurt a hair on your pretty head.”

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless, heart thudding in your chest for reasons that have very little to do with the dancing.

“I hate to say it,” you murmur, “but that was quite smooth.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might think you like me.”

You look up at him and realise, you’ve never been this close to him, unless you count getting in his face at a soccer match, but this was different. It was a whole new type of tension. 

“Whatever…” you say, but it comes out with no bite. Not even close.

Maybe because you’re tipsy, but under the dim lighting of your living room, with the jazz still murmuring in the background and that stupid, crooked smile on his face.

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek before you even fully realise what you're doing.

“I like your beard,” you blurt out, your thumb lightly grazing the line of it.

He blinks, surprised, not because of what you said, but because of how gently you said it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a little quieter now.

He’s not able to get another word out before you’re kissing him, soft and tender. His hands cup your face as he kisses you like there’s a magnet pulling you to him. Your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, hands desperate to touch skin. He lifts you off the floor, your lips not breaking contact. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands cup your ass as he walks you over to a wall. Pressing you against it and kissing your neck like he’s trying to consume you. “Oh, John…”

Breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

Your back hits the wall again, but gently this time, his lips brushing over yours before pulling back just enough to ask, “You sure?”

You nod, breathless. “Go.”

He carries you like it’s effortless, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other gripping the bannister as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top, he kicks the door open with his foot. The room is dim, the late evening light bleeding through the curtains, but neither of you cares. You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His mouth is on yours again before it hits the ground.

You fall into the bed together, tangled and wild and urgent, but with something else beneath it all. Something tender. Like every kiss and touch is catching up on lost time you didn’t even know you missed.

“Mind if I leave marks?”

“You can,” You gasp out and he goes to work, biting and sucking your skin. In all honesty, your drunk brain needed a memento, a way to remind sober-you that this wasn’t some sex dream. 

You feel his strong hands wrap around your wrists, and he squeezes them. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his presence. 

“I want you,” John breathes and it sounds so good hearing it. Like you had both finally done away with pretense and given in to what you wanted to do since you met which was rip your clothes off and fuck eachother senseless. 

He starts kissing his way down your body, taking  his sweet time in making you feel good. Reveling in the way you react to him.

When he reaches your panties, he doesn’t hesitate to tug them off his teeth and the sight of him doing that nearly kills you. 

He starts eating you out like a man possessed, his beard tickling your inner thighs. He needs your pussy on his face and he needs it now. As he licks and sucks, driving you insane, your legs start slowly closing, trying to shy away from how good it felt. He catches them, prying them back open. 

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod but he wants more than that.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll keep my legs open for you,” You say and you think you’d do the splits on his face if he wanted. 

“Good girl,” he smirks before going back to ruining you. It had been too long since you felt like this, but even then, you had never felt like this. You were feverish and sensitive, fighting to keep yourself sane. You never recall feeling like you were dying of happiness when anyone else had gone down on you. Must be the John Walker effect.

The more you struggle and shake, the more pressure he applies. His hand rests on your stomach to hold you in place as he sucks on your clit.

Feeling the pleasure growing, you instantly try to muffle your moans with your fist. He moves his mouth away from your aching core and reaches up with one of his hands, moving your fist away. You look at him with reverence and surprise.

“You don’t need to hide…” He says, his other hand still moving inside you, “I want to hear you.”

You don’t speak right away. You just look at him, this man who had once driven you absolutely insane, who now felt like the only person who could see through all the armour.

“I’m not used to being seen,” you finally whisper.

“I know,” John says, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I see you.”

He moves back into position between your legs, and you let him have every moan you have. 

“John!” 

You finish, back arching, legs trembling and clenching down on his head with your thighs so hard you’re scared you might kill him. 

But he doesn't stop, instead going faster. “H-hey!” You moan out as you kick your legs around, which he clearly takes as a challenge.

Wrangling your legs and pinning them over your head, your body now in the shape of a backwards C.

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you up,” John comments and you shiver at how good that sounds. 

He gets up on his knees, continuing to lick at your trembling folds as he fingers you even faster, adding a third finger that had you moaning in desperation.

It's like he's set your whole body on fire, the feeling of your lost orgasm threatening to push you straight into another one.

“John, it’s so…” You croak, your eyes focusing and unfocusing. “Think I’m gonna cum again.”

At this point, your voice is hoarse, each touch he’s giving you making you scream and cry out like you’ve never done before. 

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You nod, your eyes gassy with tears, “Wanna be your…your good girl.”

You could feel something coming, as he goes back to sucking on your clit, his fingers massaging your G-spot. 

It only takes a few moments before you're letting your body relax and squirt all over his fingers, the pleasure washing over you in waves. You’re too undone to make a noise, breathing heavily and choking on air. There are a few seconds where you think you’ve died.

He unfolds you, and you lie back down on the bed, needing him instantly. 

“John,” You whine, reaching out for him, and he’s right there, pulling you into his arms and taking care of you.

“What about you?” You ask. He had just about taken you to heaven and believe me you wanted to return the favour.

“Next time.”

Your heart flutters with the thought of a ‘next time’.

“Okay,” You snuggle against him and fall asleep together in pure bliss.  

You wake up in the morning, expecting to feel John’s arms around you. But there's no one there. You sit up and look around, but find nothing. No note explaining where he was and his car's no longer in the driveway.

You came to the conclusion, he woke up, saw you and decided that it was a mistake. It was disappointing but you’re used to being disappointed.

So much for ‘I see you’. 

So much for ‘next time’.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

The next couple of days are a blur, it’s back to business as usual. Soccer practice, laundry, answering emails with a fake sense of urgency. To anyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed, but not to your daughter.

“I saw Tommy yesterday,” she says casually as she sets her backpack down.

“Oh? How is he?” you ask, trying to sound neutral.

“Great, but his dad didn’t look too happy…”

Your ears perk up at that. He was also miserable? Good. It was his fault anyway… wasn’t it?

“You don’t look happy either.”

You flinch at how blunt she is. You should’ve known, there was no hiding anything from her. She might only be a kid, but she could read you like a book.

“Lily…” you start, but she cuts you off with the maturity of someone far beyond her years.

“Just be adults and talk to him…”

“It's not that simple,” Your voice is shaky with uncertainty. You're not even sure you'd be able to speak if you were face-to-face with him again.

“Well you need to especially since I’m going over to Tommy’s today.”

“You what?” you say, nearly falling out of your chair.

“You said I could,” she adds quickly. “Last week, before… whatever this is.”

Damn it. She was right. You had completely blanked on that. It was before the whole thing with John went bust.

You were conflicted with how you felt about John, but you wouldn’t let your issues affect her. 

“Fine, go get your stuff. We leave in five.”

You drive over to his place, your heart dropping lower and lower as you get closer to his house. Your fingers grip your steering wheel like it’s your lifeline. 

“You’re not coming in to say hi?” Lily asks almost incredulously.

“I think it’s best I don’t. I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up. Have fun!”

Lily doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at you, brows raised, lips pursed like she’s debating whether or not to push. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of your judging looks? You didn't like it one bit. 

But in the end, she sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and grabs her bag. “You two are so dramatic.”

He sees her first, ruffles her hair, then his gaze shifts past her, locking with yours through the windshield. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. You look away first.

Then you drive off, trying not to think about him. 

Hours pass, John is very much on your mind the entire time, and before you know it, you’re back at his house to pick up Lily. Walking your way up the driveway, you feel your nerves creeping in. You hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell.

“Hey,” John greets you, opening the door—and he looks just as good as the last time you saw him, maybe even better.

“Hey yourself,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

There's the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, and then Tommy appears, greeting you with a wide grin.

“It’s time to go already?” Lily calls from behind him, voice dripping with faux innocence. She was laying it on thick.

Before you can answer, Tommy jumps in. “Can you and Lily stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure how to say no politely.

“Dad, convince her. We’re having your famous spagbol,” Tommy adds, eyes hopeful.

You catch the look on his face—so earnest, so excited—and then turn to John. An easy smile creeps onto your face despite yourself. 

“Famous, huh?”

John smirks. “It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

By the time dinner is ready, it feels easy with him, dangerously easy. You sit around the table with him and the kids, laughing between bites of spaghetti, the kind of domestic quiet that used to feel foreign now curling around you like a blanket. It felt so right. But still, there’s that persistent whisper in the back of your mind — If he wanted this, really wanted this, he would’ve stayed that night.

Before you can spiral too deep into your own thoughts, Tommy pipes up brightly, “Can Lily and I have a sleepover?”

You glance at John, caught off guard. “Lily and I should really get going, plus Lily doesn’t have anything to change into.”

“I brought clothes and my toothbrush,” Lily says far too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “And why did you do that if you were just supposed to stay for the afternoon?”

Lily and Tommy exchange a look — a guilty, sheepish look that screams we planned this.

John chuckles under his breath, clearly catching on. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing at you. “I could set up a spot for Lily in Tommy’s room.”

“You should stay too!” Tommy adds enthusiastically, eyes shining with innocent matchmaking energy.

“I don’t have any pyjamas to sleep in, Tom,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“You can borrow my dad’s!” he says like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You blink. These kids were really committing to the bit.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” You begin, your voice a little quieter, your gaze flicking to John.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I have a guest room. It’s yours if you want it.”

His voice is calm, but there’s something soft in it. An invitation. Like he wanted you to stay. 

“It’s decided then,” Your daughter interjects before you can try to squirm out of it.

You had been tricked by two 9-year-olds; this was a new low. 

The hours drifted by as you sat in the living room, all watching a movie together.

Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but all you could think about was John. The fact that sitting just a few feet away, but still felt so far away. 

Though if you had turned your head to look at him, you would’ve seen him looking back at you. His gaze would tell you everything you wanted to hear, but alas, that isn’t fate’s plan. 

The movie ends, and the kids groan when John tells them it’s time for bed. It’s a whirlwind, as they rush around tuckering themselves out. Entering Tommy’s room, you go over to Lily, who’s already in bed, ready for you to tuck her in. You pull the blanket up to Lily’s chin, smoothing her hair like you do most nights, your voice soft in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Remember, be an adult,” Lily says, reminding you not to be a coward, essentially. 

“Goodnight, Lil,” You reply before kissing her forehead. Maybe, just maybe, you’d consider her words. 

“Goodnight, Mom,” she murmurs, already half-dreaming.

You stand slowly, and as you turn to leave, you notice Tommy looking at you. His eyes are peeking out from under his blanket, lids heavy but alert.

You pause. “Do you want me to tuck you in, too?”

He hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, like he’s not quite sure he should, but wants to anyway.

You gently and carefully tuck him into his covers like you had with Lily. “There,” you whisper. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye. “Thanks, Mom.”

You’re shocked hearing him call you ‘Mom’. You glance down at him, already drifting off, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

You swallow and manage a quiet, “Goodnight,” brushing his hair back gently before slipping out of the room. What you don’t know is that on the other side of the hallway, just out of sight, John is standing perfectly still.

He’d heard it too.

He didn’t know how to respond to it either, wasn’t sure what it meant or what came next, but for now, he was just… happy. Happy that his son felt safe with you. 

Later that night, you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, your thoughts louder than the quiet hum of the house. The shadows shift with the streetlight outside, but your mind stays frozen. You were wearing his shirt, and he was on your mind. It smelled like him, and you could imagine his arms around you. You bury your face in it, wishing that he was with you and not in a room down the hallway. 

You needed to confront what happened that night. You hadn’t talked about it since. It lingered like static between you, unspoken but never forgotten. And you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter, not when it meant everything. 

You needed to know if he wanted you when you’re both sober.

So, gathering every ounce of courage, you throw off the blanket, slide quietly out of bed, and make your way down the hall to his room. The floor feels colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just your nerves.

You stop in front of his door.

Raise your fist.

And then… freeze.

You stand there for what feels like forever, five minutes, at least, your knuckles hovering midair. Your heart pounds loud enough to fill the silence, your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if that night was just a mistake?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it startles the living hell out of you — your fist, already midair, connects squarely with his face.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as John stumbles back, one hand instantly flying to his nose.

“Shit,” he groans, squinting in pain and trying to blink away the surprise. “You can throw quite a punch.”

“Oh my god, John. Holy fuck. I am so, so sorry,” you ramble, panic surging through you as you hover uselessly in front of him. “Let me get ice, I’ll fix it… just, don’t die.”

You spin around and scuttle off toward the kitchen, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your heart’s thudding like a drum solo. The freezer is a disaster. No ice trays. Who doesn’t have ice trays?

You spot something. Grab it.

Moments later, you return with a sheepish expression and a frozen bag clutched in your hand.

“I couldn’t find an ice tray,” you mutter, pressing the bag gently to his face, “so I got peas.”

You sit down with him on the bed, holding the bag of peas to his nose. “That won’t bruise or anything, right?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Worried about my handsome face, are you?” John jokes, and you’re just glad he has a sense of humour about it. 

You groan and drop your forehead onto his shoulder, mortified. “This was not how I pictured this going.”

His hand gently touches the small of your back. “You were coming to talk to me, right? About… us?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. Before I assaulted you.”

“Let’s start there,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a crooked smile. “Because I was kinda hoping we’d finally talk about it too.”

“Really? It didn’t feel like that since you ran,” you say, voice low. You were trying not to sound hurt, but you were. He weighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and moves his bag of peas off his face to look at you.

“You’re right to be mad. I just… I panicked when I woke up next to you.”

“You were regretful,” you say, attempting to finish his sentence. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts like he’s about to protest.

“No, no—that’s not it at all. I was scared. That if you saw me when you woke up, you’d think it was a mistake.”

He takes a breath, shuffling closer. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re such a pain in the ass, always calling me out and keeping me on my toes. But also kind, and funny, and you make me feel so… alive.”

His hand lifts gently, your cheek resting against his palm. It feels perfect, like this is what fate had in store all along.

“I'm an idiot for running but I do like you. I’m falling for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, heart racing. “I’m falling for you, too, John Walker.”

Pulling him in, your hands still cold and wet from holding the bag of peas, but he doesn’t care. You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—like if you stop, everything might collapse around you. 

The two of you pull your clothes off each other's bodies but there's no rush. Each layer that comes off brings you that much closer together.

Now completely naked you sit in front of him and you can see why he has all that confidence. His fingers tangle in your hair and he's about to kiss you when you stop him.

“Will they hear?”

“There's a couple rooms between us, they won't hear as long as you're not too loud.”

“We both know that's going to be a challenge,”You say, recalling the way you were hollering when he ate you out. You're surprised that none of your neighbours issued a noise complaint.

“You need to try or I'll have to find something to gag you with,” John suggests, his voice low and sultry.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

He pressures you back into the bed and bites your neck hard enough to leave a big mark.

“You better hope no one asks about that.”

“Let them ask, you can explain to them exactly what I did to you.”

The marks don't stop there. By the time he's done you look like you've been attacked by a wild animal. Hickeys and love bites littered all over your skin, each one a testament of John's desire for you.

“Need you inside me,” You pant out already guiding him towards you with your legs. 

He looks down at you with hooded eyes the anticipation eating you alive before he wraps his arms around you and carries you off the bed.

“Where are we—?” You start but don't finish as you notice he's plopped you down right in front of a mirror.

It's the perfect solution for when someone wants to fuck you from behind and see you fall apart of their cock. Thank everything for whoever invented mirrors.

He lightly kicks your feet apart, hands gliding up your body before resting on your boobs.

You getting back against him, trying to feel him and needing him to fuck the daylights out of you. It had been long enough and you were tired of waiting. 

“Impatient, aren't you?”

“I just need you. Don't make me suffer,” You pout, the mirror capturing the needy look in your eyes. 

“Well, who am I to say no to you?” He says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in.

Anticipating the screen you were about to let out, he covers your mouth with his hand.  Only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the room. 

“Look at yourself, look at how quickly you feel apart for me,” John whispers against your ear. And he was right. You were a complete mess after only a few thrusts, eyes watery as your neck arches into him.

“So good,” You manage to get out without screaming. He grabs you by the hair, exposing your neck too him as he gives you a few more hickeys for good measure. Rocking your hips into you as he paints your neck with his lips.

Suddenly, your hips are being lifted into the air as he wraps his arms around you as if getting ready to suplex you. The way he starts fucking you is just as disorientating as a suplex would be. He's hitting your sensitive spot dead on turning your legs to jelly as they dangle in the air.

He's manhandling like you're a doll and you love it, especially when you can see it all happening in the mirror. The way his veins on his arms were popping with effort as he milks his cock with your pussy like you're a fleshlight.

“That's it, breed me, John.”

Hearing you say that only made him double his efforts.

“Is that what you want? Want me to get you pregnant?” John says, his fingers gripping your hips, clearly excited at the prospect. You nod desperately like you need to have it or you'll die.

You gasp, whimper, cry and reaching out for anything to keep you quiet.

“N-need you to fill me up,” You stutter out, “Need your cum in me.”

Then you're given a brief break when he pulls you back from the mirror, tossing you back into the bed. But two seconds don't even pass before he's feeding his cock back into your needy hole.

“J-john!”

You squeal a little too loudly and never you know it his hand is on your chin guiding your own panties in your mouth. 

“Such a pretty sight,” John says as he cages you, fingers intertwining as he pins you against the bed.

 You know you won't be able to keep going much longer. Wrecked doesn't even begin to describe what you were and your orgasm was about to knock you into a whole new dimension.

Feeling his cock twitch, you lock your legs around his waist and he finishes deep inside of you which triggers your own orgasm. His hot cum fills you up, painting your fluttering walls as he effectively breeds you.

The both of you lay there catching your breath as your orgasms pulse through you. This was what life was about; having sex with hot single dads. 

You come back to your senses, just barely and have an evil idea.

Seeing the opportunity fate had presented you for payback, you flip your positions climbing on top of him and riding him into overstimulation. A strangled cry that was supposed to be your name falling from his lips. 

“Baby…” John whimpers as his body tenses up, abs contracting like he's already about to cum again.

You could get used to having him at your mercy, bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep it together. 

“I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me and only me.” You pulling him to your lips by his hair. He groans but he's into it, he'd let you have your way with him just as much as you let him have his way with you.

“Only you,” He replies and you believe it. 

Your hand away from his hair, letting John's head hit the mattress, before going in and leaving your own string of love bites. He bites his lip, all but writhing under your soft touch. 

“Someone might see those.”

“Then you can explain to them what I did,” You say throwing his words back in his face.

You keep fucking until you tire yourselves out, your bodies sticky and heaving. It was as good as you imagined it would be and you're kicking yourself for not giving in earlier.

John's hand rests on your thigh tracing little patterns as you play with his hair when he asks a very pertinent question.

“Are you on birth control?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you are in fact not on birth control. With the downright sad lack of sex you were having before John walked into your life there was no reason to be on it.

“No”, You gulp,“We'll talk about it in the morning?”

John hums in agreement and holds you against his chest in a vice grip that screams “You're mine.”

In the morning, you’re happy to feel John’s arms still wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder, his breath slow and even. Peaceful.

“Who wants pancakes?” you call out, later in the kitchen, sliding a golden stack onto the table with a grin.

You have a slow, sweet morning breakfast—the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas, laughing over spilt flour and slightly burnt edges.

“Oh! Let me go get the syrup. Can you show me where it is, Tommy?” you ask.

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hopping up and heading toward the pantry with you, eager to help you find it.

Back at the table, Lily narrows her eyes at John, clearly sizing him up. Then, dead serious, she delivers:

“If you hurt my mom, you die. Understood?”

John blinks, caught off guard for a second, but then a slow smile tugs at his lips. He knew exactly where she got that intensity from.

“Understood.”

“Good,” Lily says, her expression finally softening. “You make great spagbol so I'd hate to have to kill you.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

It’s been a few months since you and John started dating — the kind of comfortable, lived-in months where you had keys to each other's places, regularly took the kids out together, and fell asleep on the couch on each other. 

Unlocking the door, John and Tommy step inside, and they’re immediately hit with the scent of burnt toast, a low hum of music, and the unmistakable energy of mild chaos. They were here to pick you and Lily up to carpool to the Saturday morning game, but it looked like they’d walked into a warzone, and at least it smelled like pancakes.

“Morning!” Tommy calls out as he looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Oh hi, guys,” you pant out from somewhere in the kitchen, out of breath and flustered. He doesn’t need to be able to see you to know you’re going through it.

Lily’s sitting at the dining room table, calmly sipping orange juice like she’s been through this before. Tommy runs over and sits beside Lily, swiping a pancake off her plate.

“Mom’s having a meltdown,” she says, totally unbothered. “It’s pretty intense. She yelled at the coffee machine.”

John raises an eyebrow and walks to the kitchen, and there you are, wearing one sock and a hoodie that you actually stole from John, batter on your cheek, surrounded by open containers and the remnants of pancake making.

“It’s so good to see you,” You cry as you practically jump into his arms. You let go of him so you can continue your spiral when he stops you. 

“Honey, you’re running around like a headless chicken. Let me help,” John offers.

You hesitate, then sigh and reach into the mess on the counter and pull out a hairbrush. “Can you finish braiding Lil’s hair for me? She’s lost her lucky cleats, and I need to find them before we leave.”

“On it.”

He kisses your forehead, warm and steady, before heading into the kitchen.

Lily watches him approach with guarded suspicion. “Please don’t mess this up.”

John grins. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

He ruffles her hair on purpose, just to rile her up, and she bats his hand away with a huff and a laugh. 

Meanwhile, you’re darting around the house in full-on panic mom mode — lifting couch cushions, checking under the bed, even inside the fridge for some reason (you never know), until finally, you spot the missing shoes. Inside her toy chest, naturally, buried under a plastic tiara and two mismatched Barbie legs.

You walk back into the dining room to the sound of laughter, Tommy’s head thrown back as John tells some ridiculous story, funny voices and all. Lily’s giggling along too as he finishes tying off the braid with surprising skill.

You lean against the doorframe, heart swelling. It’s loud, it’s messy, but it’s yours. And in that moment, it hits you: this is what happy looks like.

“Found it,” you say, holding the shoes up triumphantly.

John looks up, grinning. “See? I told you everything would come together.”

You smile at him. This is perfect; he’s perfect.

“Are we ready to go?” you call out, grabbing your bag and keys.

They respond in a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Almost!” as shoes squeak across the floor.

Clambering into the car like a small tornado, Tommy buckles in and grins over at Lily. “Losing team’s parent buys ice cream,” he declares.

“Ohhh, bold move,” you say, raising your eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’re buying ice cream,” John says smugly, sliding into the driver's seat, glancing at you like he already knows today’s outcome.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, smirking as you start the engine.

This was the kind of happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention—and all it took was yelling at a hot dad at a soccer game.

Masterlist

[onlyheluvsme]

Please please please please please can you do reader being abbys gay awakening and putting those muscles of hers to good use in unholy positions (because i know owen just did missionary and doggy and called it a day)

omg dont get me started on owen,,, love him but i scream at my screen whenever i see him. my girl deserves to be fucked properly, cus ikkkk she would pull out all the stops [especially if she knows its her first time w a woman,,, sweet girl just wants to impress u]

˗ˏˋabby's first time´ˎ˗

gay!awakening abby's first time — mdni, lowercase intended, mentions of: oral, virginity, strap-on, vibrator —*ೃ༄ pls leave reqs !!

you sat on the bed across from abby, it was sweet how she couldn't look you in the eye. she currently had one hand cupping ur right boob, the other fisting the bed sheet next to her leg.

"its okay abby, you can lick them" you refer to your breasts — which happen to be on full display in front of her, abby's already red cheeks go even redder.

"i've never..." abby sighs embarrassed, looking at the her hand cupping ur breast, "i've never done this before, i don't know what to do" she whispers, eyes down casted.

with a small smile, you took the hand cupping your breast and squeezed it firmly. her eyes immediately shot to your hand as it guided hers along your chest. abby had never even thought about a woman in sexually before you, never been with one either. she had countless experiences with her ex boyfriend owen but they never made her this nervous. not even when he had taken her virginity.

the hand abby had gripping to the bed sheet began to slowly loosen its hold as her eyes followed you drag her fingers over your taut pink nipple. something inside of her warmed at the sight of her larger hand in yours, how soft and pretty you looked under her hand.

without thinking, abby's drooling mouth came down onto your nipple. her hands coming up to grip ur torso, stabilizing you to her mouth. she almost felt embarrassed until your hands came up to brush her hair behind her ears and softly pet her as she sucked.

"see? nothing to be nervous over" you whisper, her eyes blown out as her lips and teeth hungrily pull at your right nipple then shifting to the left.

"how about we make this even?" you whisper after a few minutes of letting her explore your chest. the first boobs she'd ever had the privilege of touching that weren't her own.

you lightly pulled her face back and brought your hands down to the hem of her tank top,

"can i take this off you?" you gauge her response, all you receive is a quick nod of her head. her arms go up as you lift the black material over her head, revealing only a white sports bra.

taking advantage of her flustered expression, you climb into her lap with both legs on either side of her thighs. its almost instinctive the way abby's large hands tack themselves to your hips, lighting pushing you down onto her.

abby's eyes came up to look at yours, nervousness and affection on full display. with a small reassuring smile, you brush back any stray blonde hair that fell from her braid,

"can i kiss yo-" she cuts you off with a feverish kiss, pulling you tightly into her, one arm on the back of your neck and the other wrapped tightly around your torso. you couldn't believe abby had never been with a woman before this, it seemed as though she had been keeping this part of her under lock and key.

you push slightly forward, making her fall back onto the bed and press your entire upper body against hers, feeling the warmth of her skin. with hungry kisses abby's hands come down to your hips and pushes them into hers — attempting to create any kind of friction.

"you wanna feel me baby?" you whisper against her mouth, slowly beginning to rock yourself on her. she pulls back from the kiss, her eyes shoot to yours in worry, the last thing she wants to do is mess up.

"its okay baby, look we'll do it together" you kiss her cheek, taking her hand from your hip you run it slowly down your body making her shiver. abby's chest heaves with anticipation as you slowly make your way down to your panty line; and she finally lets out a shaky breath when your hands slip past the fabric and hit your soft wet cunt,

"fuck" abby whispers, she'd never touched a woman's cunt before and she felt almost angry, wishing she had known how soft and warm and lovely it was. you let her hand have its independence in your panties as you let her explore, what you don't expect is for abby to quickly flip you guys over.

with a gasp, you find yourself flat on you back, abby sits up and while making eye contact she pulls back the pink lace of your panties, leaving your cunt cold to the world.

"see baby you just needed a little push" you praise her, but it goes unanswered as she spreads your thighs to find your cunt glistening in slick.

"oh fuck" she repeats, her eyes going slightly hazy at the sight, how the fuck had she never thought of wanting this before? you watch as she heaves out a breath before grabbing your legs pulling you closer to her, then your thighs,

"abby? what are you-" your cut off by abby's hands coming down to grab ur hips pulling your cunt up to her face and wraps her arms tightly around your waist holding you to her.

your head hangs upside down as she holds you up, your legs bending back over her shoulders, and hands shooting to the bed attempting to find your balance in the upside down hand stand like position. her mouth latchs onto your cunt, exploring everything her tongue could.

"my g-god abby" you moan out, stars beginning to line your vision as blood rushes to your head. all you receive in response is a moan to your cunt as she finds your clit.

she pulls back with a soaked mouth, "it's suppose to feel good when i do this right?" abby questions looking down at you as she begins to stick her tongue out and massage your clit, her eyes on you the entire time.

"y-yes baby, feels so good" your eyes closed, head going limp against the bed as you lost all effort to hold yourself up. abby returned to her agonizing licking, her tongue is soft and curious as she explores the first cunt she ever had in her mouth.

all abby could think about was how good you tasted to her, how sweet your little moans sounded in her ears whenever her teeth would lightly scrape against your clit. every little jerk you attempted with your hips was useless against her strong hold. the image of her arms wrapped so tightly around you causing you to leak into her mouth even more.

"wanna come.." you moan making an attempt to rock yourself on her. yet she pulls back with a final suck to your clit making you whimper.

"can we try something?" she says, the warm air hitting your cunt deliciously. all you can give her is a delirious nod, if her mouth was that good for her first time, you can only imagine what else she's thought about.

your body is softly lowered back down, your back fully flat to the bed. you let your eyes close in bliss for a split second and open them to find abby taking out a pretty pink strap on from underneath her bed with shy eyes.

"what's this?" you tease, theres no way she should have one — she'd never been with a girl before you.

"heh.. when i told nora about..." she looks away shyly, "when i told her about us, she gave it to me as a joke" abby looks back at you with red cheeks.

"well it's not a joke now baby is it?" you slowly began to spread your legs again as she stood in front of you,

"do you wanna fuck me with it? hmm abby?" you tease her with your pink cunt on full display.

her red cheeks turned a darker shade as she shook her head yes. all she wanted to do was make you come, her own orgasm being the last thing she was worried about.

slowly making her way over to you, abby fumbled around with the strap until she had it secured to her body.

"are you sure-" you cut her off by pulling her face to yours, not letting her nerves take control.

"fuck me abby, please fuck me" you whisper against her mouth, soft kisses between words. that surely made her weak, so she grabbed both your thighs and collected them to her chest. abby left soft kisses to your shin and then spread both legs with her hands leaving ur cunt on display.

you felt her hand come down to you cunt and in slow circles as she massaged you clit and lined the pink cock to your quivering hole.

"abby please" you whine, the feeling of your previous almost orgasm already having you on edge,

"shhh baby" abby kissed your leg and slowly slid inside you, filling you up completely. your mouth immidately went to an o, eyes rolling back. abby waited for a moment, watching your face before slowly rocking her hips back.

her eyes shot down to where the pink cock entered you, already covered in your slick,

"fuck" she whispered to herself, this was enough to make her come just from looking.

abby's hips started, back and forth, rocking into your wet cunt with fever. her eyes were darting everywhere, your face, your bouncing tits, your soaked cunt. the scene was too much for her when all of a sudden you pause her,

"wait baby" your hand goes to her bicep to pause her movements and you turn to the pillow above your head where you hide a small vibrator.

"put this between you and the strap" you hand her the small vibrator on the third highest setting. her wide eyes look at you with shock, abby knew this was going to destroy her. with shaky hands, abby takes the vibrator from your fingers and fits it between the strap and her cunt, right on her puffy clit.

"want you to feel good too" you tell her, moving your hips again signaling her to fuck you but what you don't realize is the absolute wreck you just gave abby. her eyes have completely shut and the grip she has on the bedsheets on either side of your head displayed her muscles.

if she thought just the sight of you beneath her was going to make her come, this surely was going to do it. her hips attempted to return to their previous pace but this time they jerked and rocked feverishly as abby herself found the vibrator rocked against her every time she fucked you.

"feel good baby?" you wrap your legs around her waist and arms around her neck, attaching yourself to her. the act makes her push farther inside of you, the vibrator pushed against her clit.

"fuck fuck fuck" abby's hips rocked sporadically and unevenly as she drove herself to an orgasm by simply fucking you. her mouth found yours in a hungry kiss as she chased her orgasm.

"baby i'm gonna come" you whine into her mouth, abby's hand comes down to massage your clit,

"fuck fuck fuck abby!" your back arches off the bed as your orgasm shoots through you. abby's thick arms quickly come around your torso and lift you off the bed to her chest as she fucks you into her own orgasm. the rolling of your hips causing the vibrator to rub against abby's clit.

you go slack in her arms and with a few more thrusts, abby sees stars — her own come shooting down her leg, not fully squirting but enough that a heavy stream goes down her leg and into the mattress.

after a few minutes of abby tightly holding you to her, still filling you with her pink cock, do both of you finally catch your breath. abby gently pulls out of you and takes off the strap and vibrator, laying you gently on the bed.

this is when owen would put on his boxers and tell abby he'd see her tomorrow, so you can imagine her shock when you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her to the bed next to you,

"i can't believe you've never done that before" you kiss her sweaty neck.

her arms come to wrap around your naked body, holding you to her completely — the feel of another woman wrapped so tightly to her making her feel so in control.

"i have a feeling it won't be the last time" she whispers against your head, knowing now she's had you, she wont be able to stop.

[abby masterlist]

[lazy-ahh]

I THOUGHT OF YOU BETWEEN THE BLOODSHED

pairing jason todd x gender neutral reader

jason todd comes home to you with bruised knuckles and a heart too full to name. the red hood is all sharp edges and violence, but with you? he's just jason—achingly tender, disarmingly soft, hands that break bones cradling your face like you’re something sacred.

"you taste like gunpowder," you murmur against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. his breath is warm, a little ragged, like he’d sprinted up the stairs just to get to you.

"that’s ‘cause i was shootin’ people," jason huffs, but there’s no bite to it—just that low, rough voice curling around the words like smoke. his hands are big where they settle on your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your hip bones like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

you hum, tilting your head to kiss him again, slow and lazy. his mouth is chapped, the faint metallic tang of blood lingering from where he’d bitten his own lip too hard earlier. but he sighs into it, lets you lick into his mouth like you own it, like he’d let you take anything from him if you just asked.

when you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, dark with something that makes your stomach flip. the white streak in his hair is mussed from your fingers, and you reach up to smooth it back, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. he leans into the touch like a cat, a quiet rumble in his chest.

"missed you," he mutters, like it’s a secret. like he’s embarrassed by it.

you snort. "you saw me this morning."

"still missed you."

his nose bumps against yours, clumsy with affection, and you can’t help but smile. jason todd, red hood, the crime lord who’d put a bullet through six men’s kneecaps tonight, is nuzzling into your hand like he’s starved for it.

his fingers trail up your sides, over your ribs, like he’s counting them. when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "thought about you. when i was out there."

"yeah?" you tease, but your heart stutters anyway. "what, in between breaking bones?"

"especially then," he admits, and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, catching on the swell of it. "kept thinkin’ about how you’d laugh if you saw me. how you’d roll your eyes at me for bein’ dramatic."

you do roll your eyes now, but he just grins, that crooked, boyish thing that makes him look younger. makes him look like jason, not the red hood, not the ghost of robin. just yours.

"you’re such a sap," you tell him, but your hands are gentle where they frame his face, where your thumbs trace the scars on his cheeks.

he turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm. "only for you."

and god, if that doesn’t make your chest ache.

for some reason, tonight felt more... intimate. more warm and safe. soft and right. so right. the two of you sitting on the couch, with you situated on jason's lap as you cuddled and shared soft, tender kisses.

and you can’t help but stare.

because up close, he’s beautiful.

the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheeks when he blinks, long and dark like ink smudged on paper. the faint scar cutting through his eyebrow, a story he’d shrug off if you asked but you love anyway. his nose, slightly crooked from one too many fights, and the way it brushes against yours when he leans in, clumsy and sweet.

his lips are chapped, but they’re warm, and they part so easily under yours—like he’s been waiting for this, like he’d let you take and take until there’s nothing left.

and his hands. god, his hands. big and rough, knuckles bruised and fingers calloused from years of gripping guns and knives and the edges of his own rage. but right now, they’re gentle. one cradles the back of your head like you’re something precious, the other tracing idle patterns on your hip like he’s memorizing you.

you reach up, thumb brushing over the white streak in his hair, the strands soft between your fingers. he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a second—like he’s savoring it, like he’s starved for it.

and you think, this. this is the jason no one else gets to see. the one who sighs into your touch, who lets you trace the scars on his skin without flinching, who kisses you like he’s trying to say something words could never hold.

"what?" he murmurs, catching you staring.

"nothin’," you whisper, but your fingers don’t stop tracing the curve of his jaw. "just thinkin’ about how pretty you are."

his breath hitches, just a little, and you watch the way his throat bobs when he swallows. "pretty?" he echoes, voice low, disbelieving. like no one’s ever said it to him before. like he doesn’t know what to do with the word.

"yeah," you murmur, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. "so pretty it hurts."

his cheeks flush, just a little, and he ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it. but you catch it—the way his lashes flutter, the way his grip on your waist tightens, just for a second. like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

"shut up," he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. just that quiet, aching vulnerability he only ever shows you.

your hands reach for his face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the high curve of his cheekbones. his skin is warm under your palms and you tilt his head up just enough to see the way his lashes flutter, the way his lips part—just slightly—like he’s already waiting.

and god, he’s beautiful like this.

you press the first kiss to the corner of his mouth, soft and teasing, feeling the way his breath stutters against your lips. the second lands on the bridge of his nose, right over that little scar he never talks about. the third finds the dip under his eye, where his skin is unfairly soft, and he lets out a quiet, shaky exhale, his fingers tightening where they grip your waist.

"fuck," he whispers, voice rough, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your fingertips.

you don’t stop. you kiss the crease between his brows, the spot just below his ear, the sharp line of his jaw—every touch feather-light, reverent. and jason melts, his shoulders slumping, his head tipping back against the couch like he’s surrendering. like he’s letting you take him apart piece by piece.

when you finally press your lips to his, it’s slow. sweet. his mouth is warm, yielding under yours, and he makes this quiet, desperate noise in the back of his throat when you suck gently on his bottom lip. his hands slide up your back, fingers trembling just a little, like he’s not sure whether to pull you closer or hold himself back.

you pull away just enough to murmur against his lips, "let me worship you, dearest."

his breath catches, and for a second, he just looks at you—eyes dark, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen and parted. then he’s surging forward, crashing his mouth against yours like he’s starving for it, like he’s trying to say yes, yes, yes without words.

and you let him. you let him take, let him press you closer, let him kiss you like he’s drowning and you’re the only air left in the world.

he kisses you like a man starved, all rough edges and clumsy hunger, but you slow him down with a hand fisted gently in his hair. "easy," you murmur against his lips, and he whines—actually whines—high in his throat, his hips jerking up against yours like he can’t help it.

you swallow the sound, kissing him deeper, slower, until his frantic movements still and he’s just shaking beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. his breath comes in ragged bursts against your mouth, his chest heaving, and when you pull back just an inch, his eyes are blown black with want, his lips slick and parted.

"please," he gasps, and it’s wrecked, broken, like he’s begging for something he doesn’t even know how to name.

you shush him with another kiss, this one lingering at the corner of his mouth, then trailing down to his jaw, his throat. he tilts his head back with a groan, baring the column of his neck to you like an offering, his pulse fluttering wild under your tongue. you bite down—just a tease, just enough to make him curse—and he arches off the couch, a strangled "fuck—!" tumbling from his lips.

his hands scramble at your waist, tugging at your clothes, but you catch his wrists, pinning them gently to the cushions above his head. his breath hitches, his thighs tensing beneath you, and when you finally meet his gaze again, he looks ruined.

"let me take care of you," you whisper, and his throat works around a swallow, his lashes fluttering.

he nods, once, sharp and desperate. "yeah. yeah, okay—please."

and so you do.

…1.4k full of soft jason- WHAT CAN I EVEN SAY TO THIS AHHHH I NEED MORE BUT MY BRAIN IS SO AHHHHHHH sorry, guys—i'm hopeless at writing anything steamier than slow kisses and yearning glances and whatever this is. maybe someday, when i've deemed that my skills are worthy enough, there'll be a part two. maybe-

[multistan-247]

dilf!sukuna thinks it’s annoying how much you ogle him over the dumbest shit—but the smug tilt of his mouth says he eats it up. he was well-maintained for a man who ate the food for three people and went to the gym whenever time allowed him. infact, his trainer was surprised at his muscle definition, and asked tips from sukuna instead. his sharp words and scowls had mellowed, along with the addition of a few lines on his face, countable strands of grey in pink.

he's bent over the bonnet of his car, white tank soaked through and through, painted to his back. he was a sight for sore eyes, your husband, as he grumbled something about "fuckin' mechanics overcharging for shit—"

every muscle is on display, thick biceps flexing as he props the hood open with one arm, veins trailing down to thick, grease-smudged fingers. his wedding band flashes when he lifts his hand to rub at his lightly stubbled jaw, staring at the dozen hundred engine parts, deep in thought, that did something to you that you could never explain. one of the reasons why some of your fights never lasted for more than 2-3 days.

you hated summer, always whining about the heat and the stickiness that comes with it, but suddenly had a new-found liking for it.

"been calling your name like five times, woman. the fuck you starin' at?" he grunts, huffing as he lifts his top to wipe at the sweat collecting at his forehead. dilf!sukuna, whose abs peek out when he shifts, glistening like a damn oil painting, that stupid tank top riding up just enough to flash his happy trail and that sinful v-line you ached to trace with your tongue.

“if you’re gonna keep eye-fuckin’ me, at least be useful and grab me a cold beer.”

you roll your eyes, already halfway there to the fridge because—how do you say no, especially to a man like him when he's standing there, looking like that?

shirt clinging to his frame, grease staining his fingers and cheek like it belonged there, sweat trailing down his neck like it knew where it was going. you hand him the beer, and he pops the cap on the edge of the car hood like it's nothing. he takes a long swig, jaw flexing, throat working, and the scene before you seems to roll in slow motion. you shake your head to clear yourself of the haze that seems to consume you from head to toe, settling into a quiet ache between your legs.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes catching yours over the bottle like he knows what he's done. he always does.

and sure, this image of him reminds you of your apartment from before, the one you guys had before the bungalow. annoyed yells over the trail of socks he'd strewn around the place, or the way he'd let the dishes dry in the sink for more than two days, which would ultimately lead you to snipe at him, do the dishes yourself, or when you were at your limit, you’d shove at his chest, wild with irritation and sweat-slick fury, only for him to grab your wrist, drag you close, and say “do that again, I dare you."

the last time that happened, the AC had given up mid-argument. the place was already small to begin with, landlord couldn't care less about maintenance, the mess didn't help either. july was a damn furnace and you both were pissed, breathing in each other's heat, too hot and too stubborn to back down. and then, you had yielded when his calloused hands sought purchase on your waist, pressed you up against the counter, kissed you like he was picking a fight with your mouth, pawing at the silly excuses for clothes like he couldn't get it off you fast enough.

his name spat out in anger turned into unwilling moans he pushed inside of you—thrust after brutal thrust. he bent you over the kitchen counter like he owned it, like he owned you. one hand palming at the fat of your hip, the other in your hair, yanking you back so he could hear the way your voice broke each time he drove into you.

the sharp slap of his hand across your ass had you jolting forward, only to arch back with a desperate whimper. the sting bloomed, made your hips snap back to meet him harder, clenching around his cock, your body was begging for more. it earned you low, mocking words and a harsh tug to your nipples.

“where did all the fight go, hmm?"

he'd murmured into your damp neck, the vibrations of his words the last thing you remembered, your cunt clenching around him helplessly till the moment he found release in you, breathing heavily.

now? you’re here again. sweat trailing down your back. his hold, bruising the skin around your waist, pulling you flush as fingers tangled in his spiky, short pink hair while you chase at his lips like he’s your last meal. his hold, tying you to him, to this moment.

you're barely catching your breath when he mutters,

“when did you say nanami’s bringing the lil’ brat back?”

you blink, brain fried. “not ‘til evening."

he grins, his eyes flaring. “good. now get on the hood. haven't even started on you yet.”

maybe you do hate summer. but if this is what it looks like on him, you’ll happily burn for it.

A/N: had to get this out of my system. my ovaries are sobbing. currently summer here, it's soooo hot. and I'm prepping for exams. haven't written or posted in years. hoping this fed you as much as it fed me. might make this a series, based on requests. feedback is welcome!!

all rights reserved © 2025 multistan-247. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[rodolfoparras]

Don’t cry over spilled milk (or do)

Pairing: The Milkman x Male reader

Content warnings: 18+, anal fingering, Francis is one vocal fellow

Thinking about Francis Mosses who’s always been considered the perfect top, mostly because of his size- getting to bottom for the first time in his life.

Down on all four, with his ass in the air big fat cock uselessly hanging between his legs, and feeling himself flushing red from being in such a vulnerable position.

Besides the embarrassment brewing in his gut, he feels restless just laying like that , so used to being able to see what his partner is doing to him, now he can only rely on the feeling of your two thumbs prying his cheeks apart, and exposing the sensitive flesh to the cold air.

Goosebumps raise across his skin, a sharp breath escapes his lips and he can feel the impatience growing inside of him. “Come on come come on just hurry up!,” he hisses out, feeling even more vulnerable from the way your gaze seems to be burning into the pink flesh of his ass.

“Patience love” you say, hand firmly landing on his cheek, and as much as he’s embarrassed to say it, the action manages to silence him.

His dark eyes glare down at the bright white sheets, thumbs fiddling with the loose threads of it, trying to ignore how his face must be as red as the cheek you just slapped while you freely ogle at him.

“Anybody told you that you look pretty like this hm?” You say, thumbing curiously at his puckered rim, but not adding enough pressure to push your finger inside him.

Another wave of embarrassment washes over him, and he feel the urge to cuss you out with every curse word to exist in the English language but he knows but he knows by doing so you, you’ll further prolong this.

So he clears his throat, swallows down his pride before he mutters the word “No,”

A contended hum escapes your lips, your hot breath washing over his skin and this time he knows your face is just a hair away from his puckered rim. “Well you are,” you say, words as firm as your grip on him. “So so pretty”

And you’re so so close yet so far away.

He clears his throat again, swallows the last bit of pride in him before he utters the words “Please just please-“

“What is it sweetheart? What do you want hm?” You say, amusement clear in your voice. He can even feel the way the tip of your nose drags along his bottom half, doing everything and anything in your power to wind him up and he doesn’t know how much more he can take before he combust.

“Please just please fuck me!” He cries out, tears threatening to spill from his glassy eyes but all the air is suddenly punched out of his lungs when you slip the tip of your finger inside.

There’s a slight sting that comes with the stretch, body momentarily tensing as you carefully work your finger inside him”Oh! Oh oh fuck!”

“Francis? You okay?” You say, carefully massaging the pink flesh.

With each brush of your finger tip; the burning sensation dulls a bit and he feels himself relax back onto the sheets, a soft hum rolling off his tongue before he manages to properly answer you. “Good, it’s good,” he hums out, as he further relaxes into your touch.

Eventually the stinging sensation completely subsides and he starts feeling empty with only your fingertip inside. “More, please more,” he grunts out hips subconsciously buck up into your hand.

“Such a demanding little thing” you say to him as a chuckle escapes your lips but you don’t waste a second working your finger deeper inside of him til you’re buried knuckles deep, and tactically grazing the wall of nerves that sends sparks of pleasure through his body, specially down to his dick.”Mmph-God! Just- ah just like that”

This isn’t something he’s felt before, your touch feels ever so intoxicating especially when your calloused finger grazes the sensitive wall of nerves and before he realizes what he’s doing he finds himself begging for more, greedy as ever and drunk on pleasure.

It doesn’t take much before you fulfill his wish, pushing two fingers past his puckered rim, the stinging sensation briefly returning , as he gets used to the feeling of having two thick digits inside of him. “Come on sweetheart, you can take it yeah? I know you can” he hears you say, familiar word spilling past your lips and for a brief seconds he imagines the times he’d been the one to say it when he had someone under him.

Eager to prove himself, he starts fucking himself back onto your digits, something that starts off slow as he gets used to the stretch before he increases the pace. “Ugh fuck - fuck feels so so good yes yes yes!!”

By this point he doesn’t register when you work a third finger inside of him, only registering the fullness that comes with it and the way your hand slides between his legs, gently palming his ballsack

“Look at you love, haven’t even fucked you yet you’re already so close to cumming,” You say , puncturing every word with a thrust to his prostate while tugging at his hard and weeping dick.

Francis couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re taunting him, couldnt care less about how pathetic he looks like this, all he can care about is how every thrust - every stroke, has him inching closer to his orgasm.

“Please oh god please -“ He cries out, begs and pleads sounding something akin to a mantra, fingers practically digging holes into the mattress and the muscles in his thighs cramping up from how hard he’s fucking himself onto your hand.

It doesn’t take much before he feels his toes curl, pulse roaring in his ears as a wave of hot white pleasure washes over him.

“Ah ah God ‘m cumming ‘m cumming please-“ he cries out, feels himself spill all over the sheets and his thighs, body shaking as you continue to milk his cock.

“Stop- stop, please.” He finally slurs out, once there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum coming from his cock, hand blindly pushing you away from him before he finally slumps down onto the mattress.

Exhaustion creeps up his bones, eyelids feeling heavier than ever and all of a sudden he feels himself fading away in the dream land.

“Ah, ah ah,” he hears you say, the sound of your sharp voice snapping him awake. “We’re not done here,”

[zepskies]

Wanderlust

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: Your wandering hands are keeping Ben up at night.

AN: My nightly daydreams led me to Soldier Boy this time. 😂

I was imagining the Break Me Down-verse for this one (shortly after Checkerboard), but it can also be general Soldier Boy x Reader.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Fluff, innuendo, Sleepy Ben, implied smut.

You traced down his back with light, trailing fingers.

Lying next to him in bed, with scraps of moonlight filtering through the closed blinds in the window as your only guide, your mind was still drifting even though you should’ve been sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself.  

You drew invisible patterns across his bare skin. Ben was warm, always warm, even though the AC was making the room almost frigid. You knew it was the ever-present radiator in his chest that made him your own personal heater.

You propped your head up better with an elbow on your pillow as you laid on your side. You then let your hand drift over every dip of muscle between his shoulders, every small freckle you knew just from memory, then down and down his spine.

You flirted with the idea of inching down the sheets, where his bare ass would greet you. From there, you supposed you'd decide what wandering direction your hand took next.

“If you don’t go to sleep,” his deep voice rumbled, “I’m gonna wake up and fuck you again.”

You bit your lip against a giggle, but you didn’t quite succeed.

“It sounds like you’re already awake,” you remarked.

Ben grumbled incoherently in response. He was tired, you knew. He’d just come back from a week-long mission with Butcher and Co. for Supe Affairs. Hence the long night you two spent catching up.

If you were honest, you were still tingling between your legs. Your thighs and ass were a little sore too. Likely they’d be sporting a few fingerprints tomorrow.

You didn't mind it so much though. You two now had a safe word for that kind of thing.

You smirked, sifting your fingers through his hair. It was getting long again. Maybe you’d trim it for him tomorrow, since you both had the weekend off.  

Your hand meandered down the back of his neck, just to begin dragging your nails up and down the slope of his back.

“What does that feel like to you?” you asked curiously. You often wondered how much his invulnerability affected the way he felt things, especially the way you touched him.

“Like a tease,” he muttered.

You applied some more pressure with your nails. Not the way you’d scored his back about an hour ago, when he’d had his sinful mouth all over your body, but enough to be more than a tease. Enough that it would’ve left an angry, red trail on your own “fragile” human skin.

Still, you weren’t able to leave any marks on him. Just a faint whiteness of pressure against his skin that soon returned to normal when you moved your hand away.

“How about that?” you asked.

“Like you’re playing with fucking fire,” Ben said, though you heard the smirk in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You smiled too.

“We'll pick this up in the morning,” he made sure to add, though he was already halfway back to slumber, from the sound of it.

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, laughing lightly. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder. “G’night, babe.”

“Mhmm,” he responded.

He groaned deep in his throat and turned over onto his back. Your smile remained as your body tensed in anticipation, but all he did was slide an arm under your waist and curl you towards him, trapping you against his chest. His hand splayed against your lower back, heavy and warm.

His lips brushed your hair away from your forehead and lingered there. He closed his eyes and let out a deep exhale. You did the same, relaxing against him. Your hand came to rest against the steady thrum of his heart.

Moments like this with him still managed to surprise you…but admittedly, less and less the longer you lived and shared together.

A girl could get used to it though.

AN: Lol should she have pressed her luck? Let me know what you think of this one! 😉💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next we have a little hurt/comfort drabble, A Simple Touch:

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

▶️ Next Story: A Simple Touch

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD Tag List (Part 1):

Including the BMD tag list on this, since that's what my heart was imagining. 😂

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @vavafaure1994 @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx

[snail-day]

This is Love, Right?

Part two of Can My Friend Join?

Next part: It's all your fault, isn't it?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

Sum: You're starting to grow used to Suguru, maybe evening learning to accept his love.

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Cameras, Obsession, Manipulation, trapping), Really toxic relationship, dubcon, oral (F and M receiving), Brief smut, Reader is going through it. SatoSugu (Just a warning in itself), Angst

WC: 4.7k

A/n: Listened to a random Mitski playlist and it lowkey made me depressed while writing this, expect some fluff after this one.

This is love.

You keep telling yourself that, don’t you?

Even as silent tears streak down your cheeks in the furthest bathroom—the one tucked away from the master bedroom, the one even Satoru’s Six Eyes can’t reach.

This is love.

The way Satoru leans down, his snowy white hair falling across his forehead in that effortlessly tousled way, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips before heading out on a mission. His crystalline blue eyes, so striking they feel otherworldly, linger on you for a moment too long before he straightens up, a lopsided grin pulling at his lips. Suguru follows, his dark hair tied neatly back, though loose strands frame his sharp, beautiful face. He gives you a casual wave, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint, teasing smile as he murmurs, “I love you.”

You’ve never seen Satoru happier than he’s been since Suguru joined your relationship. Happier than back when it was just the two of you, curled up on the couch, his long legs stretched across the cushions while you laughed at some cheesy anime. Back then, his laugh was unrestrained, carefree. The way his shoulders would shake, his hand coming up to push his blindfold up and wipe away a tear—it felt real.

You miss those days.

You didn’t cry as much back then.

But they love you, don’t they?

They still pay your tuition, still ensure your life is cushioned and cared for. Suguru, always measured and composed, suggested once, “Maybe you should switch to online classes.” His voice was soft, his tone coaxing. It made sense, didn’t it? His reasoning was sound: “There was a special grade curse at the school the other day. We just worry about you, baby.”

Suguru always seems so calm, his velvety voice soothing and warm yet guarded dark eyes giving him an air of quiet authority. You begin to find comfort in that. However, the weight of his presence feels heavy, suffocating even some days.

Satoru, on the other hand, radiates energy. His presence fills the room like sunlight—blinding, inescapable. His tall, lanky frame always seems so relaxed, but you know better. Behind the teasing lilt of his voice and his constant grin lies a man who rarely lets his guard down. The way he looms, leaning just a little too close, reminds you of the distance he refuses to let exist between the two of you.

They worry about you so much. Yet whenever you voice concern for them, they hush you. Suguru’s deep voice reassures you, as if he’s talking to a child, while Satoru’s lips curl into a too-bright smile, his hand patting your head like you’re something fragile.

They love you. They take care of you. It would be selfish to leave them, wouldn’t it?

And Satoru—he’s never been this happy.

He’s working less, smiling more. Suguru’s return has lifted a weight off his shoulders. He’s not carrying the burden of being the strongest alone anymore. You can see it in the way his smile softens when Suguru speaks, in the way his gaze lingers on him longer than it ever lingers on you.

And yet, you tell yourself:

This is love.

Still, you wonder… wasn’t Suguru supposed to be going to therapy? You think back to his promises—vague, half-hearted reassurances—but did he ever actually leave for a session? Ever join a voice call?

You don’t recall.

You try to push the thought away, like so many others. Ignore the red flags. Focus on the green.

The relationship has its moments. You’re growing used to Suguru.

Especially your drunk self—the one that gravitates toward him, curling up on his lap like a loyal dog, seeking out his touch and the warmth of his arms. He always accepts you, his large hands stroking your back or brushing through your hair with a tenderness that feels almost too loving, almost cruel. You wonder what side of yourself that is, the part that craves his affection so desperately, the part that lets the lines blur between love and dependency.

You might even say you’re learning to love him—or at least the version of him that exists in the quiet of the night. The version that pulls you close under the weight of darkness, his voice low and unguarded as he whispers, “I love you.”

It’s in those moments that he feels human, almost fragile. A man with calloused hands and a broken heart trying to mend himself through you.

And it’s hard not to wonder—are you really learning to love him, or are you simply surrendering to the inevitability of it all?

Satoru, though… he never used to cuddle at night. Even before Suguru entered the picture, he always sprawled out in his ridiculously expensive sheets, claiming restlessness from the constant hum of his cursed energy. He needed the space, he said, and you told yourself he deserved it.

Suguru, however—Suguru surprised you.

At first glance, he didn’t seem the type for soft affections, but you quickly learned otherwise. Every night, his arms would find their way around you, wrapping you in a firm but gentle embrace. His warmth seeped into you, grounding and comforting, as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His lips would brush your skin with soft kisses, a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him.

Sometimes, his deep voice would murmur, “Sorry we came home so late,” heavy with sincerity. Other times, his words were more vulnerable, whispered just above a breath: “I love you,” spoken in the dark when he thought you were asleep.

It’s hard not to love him in those moments. Hard not to feel your resolve slip as his presence surrounds you. His breath fans against your neck, steady and warm. His rhythmic breathing eventually syncs with yours, as if his body is learning the cadence of your every inhale and exhale.

For those fleeting moments, you almost forget the cracks beneath the surface.

Other good moments were the intimate ones, the kind that left no room for doubt about how thoroughly they possessed you.

Suguru’s lips would meet yours in slow, deliberate kisses, his touch soft and coaxing, as Satoru’s tongue worked between your legs. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room, clouding your vision and overwhelming your senses. Satoru’s tongue moved with precision, his mouth relentless as he lapped at your cunt, delving deep until your mind felt as hazy as your breathless moans.

Suguru’s fingers never faltered, rubbing tight circles around your clit in perfect rhythm with Satoru’s ministrations. Their combined efforts dragged you over the edge again and again, your body trembling and giving in to the relentless waves of pleasure.

It became impossible to think of anything else—impossible to care about anything other than the bliss they brought you. Their hardened cocks stretched you beyond your limits, filling you completely, their stamina nearly too much for your quivering form.

Suguru would cradle your face in his hands, his dark eyes soft yet intense as he cooed sweet nothings. He’d murmur praises, soothing and possessive, as Satoru pressed the tip of his cock into your overstimulated, leaking cunt. The stretch made you gasp—a sound Suguru captured with his lips, his kiss slow, methodical, leaving you no room to shy away.

Satoru’s hands gripped your hips harshly, his long fingers digging into your flesh, ensuring you stayed exactly where he wanted you. You could already tell the marks would bloom into bruises by morning, a physical reminder of their claim. Suguru, ever attentive, would turn your face gently toward the camera, his voice a low murmur against your lips. “You’re such a good girl,” he’d praise, his thumb brushing your cheek before pulling you into another kiss.

When they were finally spent, when your body gave out completely, Suguru always carried you to the bath. His embrace was steady, grounding, as the warm water soothed your trembling form. You’d lean against his chest, your body limp, lulled by the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

Sometimes, Satoru would join, his tall frame slipping into the water beside you. Their voices would soften as they spoke over you, discussing mundane things or recounting their mission. Occasionally, a kiss would press against your temple—a fleeting gesture, tender and claiming all at once—as you drifted in and out of sleep.

For a little while, it felt like you belonged.

And then, when he thinks you’re asleep, Satoru murmurs, “I knew you’d come around.”

You’re never sure who he’s talking to—Suguru, the man who swore to eradicate non-sorcerers? Or you, the girl who’s finally learning to love the monster who holds her at night?

It’s in these moments that you find yourself slipping out of bed, mumbling an excuse to use the bathroom. Suguru always lets you go with a teasing “Come back fast, or I’ll come get you.” You never linger long enough to see if he’s joking.

Once inside the furthest bathroom, the one that feels like your only sanctuary, you clutch the edge of the sink and sob. Quietly, so no one hears. Until your knees give out and you’re on the floor, shaking and clutching yourself.

This is love. Right?

They loved you. So why were you crying in the bathroom?

Why did each love bite feel like a brand, etched into your skin with every lingering gaze in the mirror? Why did their cum, warm as it seeped down your thighs, burn like it was searing itself into you, a mark you couldn’t erase? Why did the blank, soulless stare of the camera lens feel like an accusation, making you flinch away from any piece of technology?

Before too long, you would wipe your tears, force a smile to your lips—steadying it just enough so it wouldn’t wobble—and return to Suguru’s waiting arms. His hum would vibrate against your back as his dark hair tickled your neck. He’d cradle you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Goodnight, baby,” he’d murmur, and you’d close your eyes, pretending his embrace felt like comfort instead of confinement.

But mornings brought their own discomforts.

You found yourself rifling through the master bathroom, searching the countertop with rising panic. Where is it? The nagging thought ate at you.

Satoru, brushing his teeth beside you, glanced over with those striking blue eyes. His tone was soft, almost too casual. “What’s up, baby?”

“I can’t find my birth control,” you admitted, the words trembling as much as your hands.

“Did you misplace it? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.” He walked over, his long arms wrapping around your waist. A kiss brushed the top of your head, his voice gentle but firm. “Go ask Sugu. He’s the one who organizes everything.”

So you did. Suguru was at the desk in the living room, working through a report. From over his shoulder, you could see the numbers—charge rates, payments for missions—enough to know your schooling costs barely amounted to a fraction of what they earned in a single week.

“Your birth control?” he repeated absentmindedly, his tone light, almost dismissive. “You’ve been misplacing that a lot, haven’t you, baby?”

His words felt condescending, like you were a child searching for a lost toy.

“Where is it?” you asked, voice still soft but with a growing edge of desperation. You were five minutes late—exactly.

“Ah-ah, no need for that tone, baby,” he chided, his eyes still glued to his paperwork. “Check the kitchen counter. Your purse? Maybe your school bag.”

It took thirty agonizing minutes of searching, panic simmering under your skin, before you found it—perched on top of the fridge.

You stared at it for a moment, unmoving. You would have never put it there.

Suguru’s behavior had become harder to ignore. There were moments when his touch lingered, his eyes softened, and his voice carried a wistful tone. He had baby fever—you could tell. Maybe it was tied to the twins he lost.

You’d asked him about them once. His face shuttered, dark and unreadable, and he didn’t respond.

You tried asking Satoru, but he had simply glanced away, his usual bravado vanishing for a moment too long.

You decided not to ask again.

Some questions weren’t meant to be answered. You had a sinking feeling the truth lay buried somewhere with the higher-ups, in a place you weren’t allowed to tread.

Suguru’s baby fever didn’t fade, no matter how much you tried to ignore it.

When the three of you went to the store, you’d catch that soft smile tugging at his lips whenever he saw a child. It wasn’t the type of smile he gave just anyone—it was warm, tender, hopeful. And it was always followed by a kiss pressed to your temple. A gesture you used to pull away from, but now, you found yourself smiling through.

Sometimes, he’d suggest wandering into the baby section, his tone casual, almost playful. “Just in case. Want to see what’s out there.”

The words always made your skin crawl.

Because no matter how innocuous they sounded, your mind couldn’t help but spiral. It always went back to the hidden birth control, the misplaced pills, and the monthly pregnancy tests he insisted on. He’d stand there, watching you pee on the stick, his arms crossed but his expression almost serene—waiting, anticipating. He wanted to know right away.

You tried to shove those thoughts into the furthest corner of your mind. Tried to convince yourself it was all harmless.

Satoru, by contrast, didn’t seem to care much for babies. He never lingered in the baby aisle and rarely commented on Suguru’s behavior. But he’d hum softly, his hand clasping yours, and flash you a loving smile.

You liked to think that as long as everyone else was happy, Satoru was happy.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Occasionally, when they left for long missions, the apartment felt suffocating in its emptiness. You’d pad softly through the vast, cold space, the silence amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes darted around, searching for the hidden cameras you knew were there. You weren’t sure where they all were, or when they liked to check the footage, but you’d found one blind spot: the hallway closet.

You moved slowly, deliberately, ensuring you didn’t do anything that might raise suspicion. Even though you were alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

All because they loved you.

Slipping into the closet, you nestled yourself on the floor, silky yukatas hanging above like a shroud. Your laptop glowed faintly in the darkness as you opened it and began your quiet rebellion.

You searched for apartments—something small, something within your budget. Each listing felt like a whisper of hope. You lingered on them, imagining the freedom they promised, before methodically deleting your browser history. Clearing the cache. Erasing every trace.

It was a silly idea. A foolish one, really.

But for a few stolen moments, it was yours.

It didn’t seem so silly after the heated argument with Satoru when he got home.

He was already overstimulated, frustrated, and teetering on the edge of losing his patience. Those moments were the worst—when the teasing lilt in his voice faded, replaced by something sharp and mean. His cerulean eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, turned cold and calculating, the glow of his Six Eyes adding an eerie sharpness to his gaze.

All he wanted was release. That was all.

“It shouldn’t be a big deal,” he said, his tone flat but brimming with expectation.

Except you weren’t in the mood.

“I’m sorry, Toru, I just—”

“I do everything for you, and you can’t even provide me with a little comfort?” His words came out harsh, the grin curling his lips into something too sharp to be soft. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. His presence always felt overwhelming—broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted face framed by stark white hair, and a lean body that seemed to hum with restrained power. You swallowed hard. Did he get taller?

“I just got off my period, so it’s—”

“It’s what?” His voice cut through your hesitation, his hands flexing as if he were trying to leash himself. “Come on, baby. Just a quickie. Or let me use your mouth.”

The fight drained out of you before you even realized it.

You ended up on your knees, the cold tile biting into your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your flushed face. His long fingers twisted tightly into your hair, guiding your head as if you were nothing more than a puppet for his pleasure. His pale chest rose and fell steadily, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin catching the light, glinting like cruel punctuation to his earlier frustration.

The tip of his cock pushed past your lips, the stretch almost unbearable as he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts. His head tilted back, exposing the sharp lines of his jaw, tightening with every wet sound that filled the room. A low groan rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating in the space between you like a growl of satisfaction.

Your throat burned, gagging and gasping as you struggled to adjust. Your hands clutched at his thighs for balance, fingers digging into the hard, taut muscles beneath his impossibly smooth skin. His hips began to move with more force, his breaths growing heavier, the faintest smirk curling on his lips as he reveled in your struggle.

His moans grew louder, rougher, until with a sharp tug of your hair, he pulled out. Hot ropes of cum painted your face, the heat of it stark against your flushed skin. You blinked through the haze, barely catching your breath, the sting of humiliation bubbling up in your chest.

Before you could even reach for something to wipe yourself clean, the sharp click of a camera shutter echoed through the room.

You didn’t need to look up to know what he was doing. You could already imagine him grinning at the screen, tapping a few buttons with casual ease. You could picture the caption as clearly as if he’d whispered it into your ear:

"Our girl is so beautiful, isn’t she? <3"

The thought sat heavy in your chest, a mix of shame, anger, and something else you didn’t want to name.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Satoru turned sweet again.

He brought you a towel, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he wiped your face. “Come on,” he coaxed, his voice softening. He guided you to the bathroom, his fingers lacing with yours, and drew you into the shower.

Under the warm water, he washed your hair, his hands threading through your strands with care. His crystalline eyes softened as he began to tell you about his mission, his lips quirking into a small smile. From the counter, he produced a small box of mochi, your favorite snack.

“You’re everything to me, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. His arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressing against your back. “I’m going to marry you one day. You know that, right?”

And just like that, the storm passed, leaving behind only his affection.. 

Your heart sank at the mention of marriage. With them, you knew they’d find a way to make it happen—the three of you, bound together, no matter how impossible it seemed.

After the shower, you slipped into bed, craving the comforting warmth of the sheets. It was a small solace, a fleeting moment where you could envelop yourself in something soft and familiar.

Satoru liked to cuddle during naps, and true to form, his lanky arms found their way around you. He pulled you close, his chest pressing against your back as he nuzzled into you. His kisses came next, peppered across your lips with deliberate exaggeration, loud and obnoxious.

You used to giggle when he did that. You used to squirm and laugh, batting him away as he grinned and pulled you closer.

But now, you stayed still, letting him press his kisses and settle into a nap with you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d giggled like that. Or the last time you’d laughed at all.

On their next mission, you had exactly six hours.

Exactly six hours for a stupid idea. A fleeting thought. 

You’d planned this carefully, down to the second. When they asked where you’d be, you made some excuse about a doctor’s appointment. It was believable enough—Suguru always asked to see the summary of your visits when you got back, a habit you knew was less about care and more about control.

But this time, you lied.

There was no appointment.

Instead, you booked a one-way trip. Far, far away from Tokyo. Far enough that they wouldn’t be able to find you, at least not right away.

The States. It was the only place you could afford with the small stash of cash you’d scraped together over the years—birthday cards, Christmas cards, anything you’d managed to squirrel away without raising suspicion. You even bought a prepaid flight gift card, ensuring it couldn’t be traced back to you.

No suitcases, no sentimental keepsakes, nothing but the clothes on your back.

Before you left, you scrawled a simple note, placing it where you knew they’d find it. Just three words:

"I love you."

Ironic, isn’t it? 

As you sat at your terminal, the minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You told yourself a 14-hour flight wouldn’t be so bad. It was freedom, wasn’t it? The first real breath you’d taken in months.

But then, a familiar figure caught your eye.

Megumi.

He wasn’t alone—the other first-years trailed beside him—but it was Megumi’s gaze that stopped your heart. His dark eyes widened when they locked onto yours, a flash of recognition that made your stomach churn.

Your anxiety hit you like a freight train, crawling under your skin, seeping into your every bone as they walked past. Megumi glanced back at you one more time, his lips parting just enough to mouth the words: “I’m sorry.”

And then you saw it—his hand reaching for his phone, his fingers already dialing.

You didn’t have to guess who he was calling.

Your heart sank, but you told yourself it wasn’t his fault. You knew Megumi had his reasons—his own happiness to protect, his own precarious balance to maintain. He was trying to survive too, wasn’t he?

You understood. You really did.

But understanding didn’t make the fear any less suffocating.

You cried the entire car ride home, your sobs tearing from your throat, raw and uncontrollable.

Satoru didn’t even glance your way. His icy, dull gaze stayed fixed on the window, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might snap. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by your muffled cries and the hum of the car engine.

In the passenger seat, Suguru sat quietly, his expression unreadable. His hands rested on his knees, fingers drumming absently, as if the tension in the car didn’t weigh as heavily on him.

Poor Ijichi-san gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, clearly caught in a situation he didn’t want to be in. He glanced at you through the rearview mirror—sympathy flashing briefly in his eyes—before he quickly looked away, the moment shattered by Satoru’s cold, piercing glare.

The car felt suffocating, like the air had been sucked out, leaving only the weight of your despair and the oppressive silence of the two men who claimed to love you.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched the familiar sight of your apartment complex slip past the window. Panic prickled at the edge of your already frayed nerves, your grip tightening on the fabric of your clothes. A small sniffle left your nose, your voice coming out hoarse and broken.

“Where are we going, Toru?”

You turned your gaze to Satoru, hoping for an answer, for anything—but he didn’t look at you. He didn’t respond. His profile was cold, distant, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Your stomach twisted, guilt clawing at your insides. You must have hurt him. He always clung to your love like it was his lifeline. You must have broken that lifeline, snapped it in two with your attempt to run.

You shifted your gaze to Suguru, hoping for some clarity, but his face gave nothing away. His dark eyes flickered toward you for the briefest of moments before returning to the road ahead, his expression as still and unreadable as ever.

The car veered away from familiar streets, the urban sprawl giving way to the shadowy embrace of the woods.

Your chest tightened.

Every nerve in your body screamed as the car crept deeper into the forest, the tall trees looming like silent sentinels. Your mind raced with grim possibilities. Were they planning to leave you here? Like an unwanted dog, cast into the cold for daring to run away?

But then, just as the panic began to claw at you, your gaze caught the sight of something familiar—something that made your heart sink even further.

The tall, imposing torii gates emerged through the mist, their vibrant red striking against the muted greens and grays of the forest.

Oh.

The Gojo Estate.

“I don’t think I can trust you enough not to leave again,” Satoru said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically calm, almost detached.

He wasn’t usually the one to chide you—that was Suguru’s role. Suguru, who would dole out punishments with a sharp tongue or a chilling, parental tone, as though you were a misbehaving child. But now, Satoru’s words held a gravity that made your chest tighten.

“So,” he continued, his crystalline eyes fixed ahead, “I figured here, you could have a few more eyes on you. Maybe even enjoy it more. Who knows? You might even come around to the idea of being Mrs. Gojo or Mrs. Geto. Your pick.”

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“We already filled out the documentation. You’re married.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, the weight of them crashing into your chest. Your mind spun, unable to comprehend the sheer audacity of it, the sheer finality.

You felt chained.

Like a dog, tethered to their will, stripped of freedom, and locked away under the pretense of love.

They didn’t say anything as they walked you through the grand, silent halls of the Gojo Estate, and for that, you were almost thankful. The air was heavy with whispers and disdainful glances from the servants. A non-sorcerer? Their murmurs carried through the air, sharp and cutting, as though your very presence was an affront to their world.

When you reached the bedroom, Satoru’s hand guided you forward with surprising gentleness, his fingers brushing yours as though nothing had changed. He led you to the edge of the plush, sprawling bed, and you forced a small, trembling smile to your lips—a weak attempt at peace, at hope.

His bright eyes softened, and for a moment, you thought maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him.

But then his hands caught your wrists.

A light kiss brushed your lips, so soft you barely registered it over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. The faint click of the cuffs was almost lost in the quiet, but the cold metal digging into your skin was impossible to ignore.

He stepped back, his expression unreadable.

It was Suguru’s voice that filled the air next, low and calm, like a lullaby that promised nightmares.

“You’re going to provide us an heir,” he said, his smile almost serene, even as your eyes widened in horror. “It was Satoru’s idea, actually.”

His smile deepened, almost teasing, as though he enjoyed the shock and betrayal etched across your face. “And you’re not leaving this room until you’re safe and pregnant.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating you.

Suguru’s tone carried a quiet, unmistakable happiness, as though this was something he’d always wanted. Maybe it was—he’d always longed for a child, hadn’t he? You turned your gaze to Satoru, searching for something, anything.

But all you found was the lovesick smile he gave Suguru.

Not you.

Your chest tightened as tears pricked your eyes, the overwhelming urge to scream, to sob, to lash out building inside you.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you sat there, the cold metal biting into your wrists, the weight of their love crushing the last sliver of hope you’d held onto.

You had grown numb.

Must be from all the love, right?

[bochowssinner]

🪽 GUEST.

summary: your mama gave remmick permission to come in whenever he wanted, not knowing what he was, and he wanted you first. but remmick has a problem of playin' with his food.

warnings: fighting, light choking, hair pulling, spitting, biting, and a lil freaky.

a/n: y'all loved my other remmick post so i made another. bad at endings, sorry.

your mama had always been sweet, perhaps a little too sweet. especially when a white man stood on your porch one afternoon and offered to cut the grass for free. nobody did anything for free around here, at least that you were aware of. and what white man would do any kind of work for some black people? something wasn't adding up, and only you noticed.

that afternoon he saw you... it had been like a punch to the gut. something that made him want, something that made him.. ache. now here you were, trapped in his arms, just what he wanted. just his type.

“quit fightin’ so hard.” remmick’s voice was a near order as he stepped closer, forcing you back until you bumped against the edge of the kitchen counter. he lifted you higher, strong enough to maneuver your body without much effort at all.

“you sound.. sweet like this.” his hand around your throat loosened slightly, a few gasps of air escaping your lips. he leaned closer, nose brushing your ear, voice low and gravelly.

“what’s that pretty mouth taste like?”

you were pretty when you squirmed, really, it was almost sexy how hard you were still trying.

remmick’s hand squeezed your neck again, tilting your head to the side and back, forcing you to expose the long column of your pretty throat. “i'm gonna find out,” he murmured.

his tongue slid from his mouth, slick with spit and unnaturally long, and you instinctively screamed in disgust as loudly as you could, tilting your head back away from him as you struggled in his firm hold. remmick tsked. now that just wouldn’t do. he didn’t like that sound, or that struggle.

his thumb pressed on your windpipe enough to cut off more airflow while his other hand tangled roughly in your hair, yanking that pretty head back. he leaned closer, mouth just above that exposed neck, breath hot enough to send a shiver down your spine. "you know, you oughta be nicer.” his tongue flicked out, a quick tease of the skin. "you’re real vulnerable like this.”

his tongue traced an invisible line down the curve of your throat, lips pressing softly against you. he held you like a vice, body flush against yours, hand wrapped so tight in your hair it bordered on painful. "maybe I’ll make that pretty mouth scream again,” he murmured, teeth nipping at your collarbone. “just not in disgust this time.”

you reached up and grabbed a chunk of his hair and yanked his head away from your neck. he didn’t like that at all. in a quick, fluid motion, his hand gripped your wrists and slammed both against the edge of the counter, effectively trapping both your hands in one strong grip.

he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear. "do that again, and i’ll do worse than just bite you.” his fingers pressed into your skin, enough to leave little red spots. “i like my hair right where it is, thank you.”

then you spat. right on his lower lip. you weren't any stronger than him, but god forbid you let him bite you with those teeth. that was a bit more than the usual struggle, enough to break his attention. he raised a brow, eyes narrowing as he licked the saliva from his lip. it would’ve been funny if it hadn’t just taken him off guard.

"careful now.” his tone was still low, still thick with a sinful edge, but that sharp hint of warning was clear. he shifted his grip, pulling your head back a bit more as he leaned forward. if you wanted to spit.. he’d have a good way to shut you up. “spit on me again, and I’ll make sure that voice is hoarse for a week.”

“what makes you think you can just spit on me, huh?” he murmured. that ain’t how you should treat a guest, is it?”

"i ain't let you in—" you protested, breathing heavily as he craned your neck back in an uncomfortable position.

“no,” he chuckled, breath hot on your ear as he pulled back far enough to watch your face. “your sweet lil’ mama did.”

he leaned closer, lips just above your pulse. “your sweet ma let me in and told me i could stay as long as i needed to. said i could have a seat at the table and everything.”

his teeth scraped your skin. “so i think that does make me a kind of guest.” that was the last thing you heard him say before he sank his sharp teeth into your neck, piercing every vein along the way.

[cutehoons02]

Bad Romance

Desire:Unleash Jake pt Sunghoon pt

*pairirng: CEO dad vampire Park Jay x baby-sitter human Girl

*pairirng: grumpy x sunshine

*pairirng: Jay has only one wish: to be a good father and always be there for his daughter. Jenù was born from a meaningless one-night stand, and six months after her birth, a staff member at the Park Society found a baby girl with forest-green eyes and tiny red flecks, Jay’s same smile, and the same birthmark on his neck. She came with a note from the girl who couldn’t handle becoming a mother—especially not to a child who was half-human, half-vampire. Since that day, years passed. Jay had fired over twenty babysitters human, vampire, witch, and more—until one day, Sunghoon’s girlfriend told her best friend, who was struggling financially, that Jay was looking for a new babysitter. From that moment on, your life, as well as Jay’s and Jenù’s, changed forever. You are bold, dangerous, always sarcastic and you adore Jenù. But to Jay, a vampire over 300 years old, you're a dangerous distraction, especially when you're around his daughter. He's gruff and strict, only softening when he's with her, and in his eyes, you're just a reckless young woman… with blood that tempts him too much and a mouth that's far too bold.

*pairirng: At first Jay finds you extremely annoying and thinks that you are just an irresponsible girl but slowly she falls in love with you, you love teasing him, Jenù (Jay’s daughter) many times takes your side, warnings, overprotective dad, a lot of kisses, bites, Blood reference, masturbation (f) reverse cowgirl, (bath sex) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) Jay would like to put on family with you, jealousy, white lies, possession, Jay is a secular vampire, +18, pet names (little human,treasure,maiden)

19k (🍷)

Being a twenty-two-year-old girl in Seoul in 2025 was a form of legalized fraud. When you were little, they told you that you could become anything if you behaved well if you were pretty and kind to everyone, if you got good grades both in school and at university—but it was all bullshit. At twenty-three, you had become an exhausted student, an underpaid barista, and a living statistic in Gen Z burnout.

You went back and forth from your university like it was a punishment mission: classes at 9 a.m., then a huge gap until 5 p.m., and in between a barista shift at a coffee shop that looked cute only on Instagram, infested with screaming fans and idol-themed drinks that all tasted like sugar, bubblegum, and despair. The café you worked at was in central Seoul, where all the K-pop agency buildings were, where the idols trained, andrecorded music and so every day, you had to witness a swarm of crazed fans coming in to buy coffee or snap photos just because, once, their favorite idol had taken a picture and signed an album at your "K-pop themed" café.

The coffee you served was awful, the K-pop playlist? As repetitive as a nightmare on a loop. And don’t even get started on the pay. It was trash. Only your vanilla-whipped cappuccino gave you some reason to exist in the morning as you walked into the shop, still with toothpaste in your mouth and zombie's eyes after staying up the night before to study. And it was that very coffee that saved you today. Your best friend was already sitting, stunning as always, with two cups in her hands, and she handed you one with a smirk.

"You look like a zombie but an adorable one!" she said, ruffling your hair. "I am a zombie. A living, labor-exploited zombie. Used and abandoned by God." You yawned and dropped into the chair with the dignity of a wrinkled T-shirt. She giggled, and you envied her a little always so fresh, fragrant, happy, dating a vampire CEO who took her around the world like she was a model and not a former student from your department.

"At least you have a boyfriend who takes you to Paris and New York. I’ve got a professor who smells like ginseng and depression," you said, eyeing the latest designer bag she had resting on her thighs and shivering at the sight of the bite marks from Sunghoon’s fangs. She bit her lip, which was never a good sign—especially since you’d known her since high school.

"Don’t be mad, okay?" she said with that pouty little smile, and you immediately rolled your eyes. "If you say ‘don’t be mad,’ it means I will be mad," you said, closing your eyes and resting your head on the table. "I gave your resume to Jay Park." You groaned and curled further into yourself. That name gave you chills worse than the morning cold.

Jay: the other CEO and Sunghoon’s business partner, one of the richest and most famous company owners in all of Korea. The aristocratic, brooding vampire with that predatory gaze, zero smiles and zero emotions.

"You’re insane," you snapped, glaring at your best friend. "He’s looking for a babysitter, and you love kids," she said like it was a normal thing to hand over your CV to that man. "Jay Park isn’t looking for a babysitter. He’s trying to scare the human race into extinction. And I don’t like him." "Don’t be dramatic. He has a daughter, and she’d adore you. Jenù is a sweetheart," your best friend said, sipping her cappuccino. “His daughter, maybe. He’d throw me into the Han River after my first yawn."

She laughed and leaned closer to you. "He’d give you room, board, and a real salary. No more rent. We could use my old apartment as an office or study space, and you could finally stop serving frappés or coffees with idol faces on top." You shivered again because deep down, the idea was horrible but the offer was tempting. And… the only beautiful thing about Jay Park was his daughter: Jenù. You’d seen her twice, and both times, you saw a small, shining heart trapped in the darkness of a broken father.

The Park Society building rose in the heart of Seoul like an elegant shadow: a black glass tower carved into the sky, surrounded by soft lights and windows that looked more like a Gothic castle than the headquarters of a modern multinational. It was a place where power had a very specific scent: amber, smoke, and control. With trembling fingers, you adjusted your spaghetti-straight hair as you stared at your reflection in the mirrored elevator. Your makeup was simple, almost student-like—or maybe too simple, considering all the perfect vampire women who worked for him—but the black blazer over your white shirt gave you just enough of a grown-up look to distract from your smart jeans and the only pair of heels you could walk in. In your mind, heels were for graduations, parties, or… interviews with billionaire vampires. You hated them, even though you studied fashion and knew a heel could turn any basic outfit into something chic. But when the doors opened, the scene was surreal. Humans rushed back and forth, buried under phones, laptops, and documents. Vampires, flawless like living statues, walked silently among them as if the entire world were a board game and they were the main pieces. Everyone moved under one name: Jay Park. Jay wasn’t just one of the most powerful vampires in Korea—he was a living legend in both the human and supernatural worlds. For over three centuries, he’d been turning bankrupt companies into empires, and random numbers into frighteningly accurate predictions. And then there was his charm: deadly, cold, magnetic. Yet somehow, every woman dreamed of having him. He was intelligent, carried himself like an old-world gentleman, always had a sharp remark ready, and was the kind of man or rather, creature who could break you with a single look or word. But for the past few years, the world had discovered one detail that made him… just a little bit human. He had become a father.

The news had exploded in the tabloids like a bomb. A half-human, half-vampire child had been found on the doorstep of the Park Society building, wrapped in a violet blanket with only a letter in her tiny hands. From that day forward, Jay Park swore he would give everything for Jenù, his daughter and he did. With obsessive control. With fierceness. With protection. With love. Jenù was adorable. Barely four years old, but already had the face of a little star: huge wine-colored eyes, golden skin inherited from her father, and a smile that melted even immortal hearts. Under her father’s strict supervision, she’d already become a model for famous brands—probably earning more in a month than you did in six. And you? You were just standing there with a crumpled resume in your bag, half a hope, and a heartbeat pounding way too fast. Because you knew—everyone knew—that Jay only wanted the best for his daughter. And he had already fired twenty-nine babysitters. You, with your all-too-human clumsiness, your big mouth, and your incurable curiosity, silently prayed not to become number thirty. You sat down on the black leather chair in front of the marble desk of his secretary, a woman in her fifties with a tight bun and a powder-pink tailored suit. She didn’t even look up from her screen as she said, in a monotone voice,

-Mr. Park and Miss Jenù are expecting you. You may go in.- The phone rang at that exact moment, and while she answered with chilling professionalism, she gave you a small hand gesture, pointing toward the dark double doors behind her.

When you stood up, your heart was beating in your temples, and your fingers clutched the strap of your bag tightly. Your heels, though uncomfortable, suddenly felt like they were made to give you strength. The secretary led you to the door, and just before opening it, she whispered with a hint of a smile, -Good luck.-

Yeah… that was already a bad sign. If Jay Park’s secretary told you good luck, you knew you were in trouble. But honestly, what did you have to lose?

Nothing. Worst case? He wouldn’t like you, and you'd see him maybe twice a year—at your best friend’s birthday and Sunghoon’s. So, when the door opened, a scent enveloped you instantly: the sugary sweetness of fruit gummies mixed with something much older, deeper, warmer… like aged whiskey in oak barrels and ancient blood.

The office was huge, silent, bathed in soft light filtering through heavy curtains. The desk stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked all of Seoul, and behind it, staring at his monitor, was Jay Park. He was typing something on the keyboard with fast, precise hands and didn’t even lift his gaze when he spoke in a deep, neutral voice:

“Introduce yourself briefly. Tell me your work experience, and whether you’ve worked with children. Speak now or you can leave, I don’t like wasting time.”

Damn. Welcome to corporate hell, you thought. With an aristocratic vampire as your judge. But you didn’t look at him right away. Your eyes were immediately drawn to her. A little girl with long brown hair tied into two messy braids and large forest-green eyes speckled with reddish flecks, catching the light like gemstones a clear sign of mixed blood. She stared at you, serious and curious, with an unopened candy in her fingers.

You crouched slightly and smiled, offering her your hand, which looked so big next to hers.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/n.”

Jenù looked down at your hand, touched it with fingers slightly cold but strangely warm like a heart that hasn’t decided whether to beat or not and then, solemnly, said: 'Nice to meet you. I’m Jenù.'

She showed you her little teeth, a mix of human and vampire, and you giggled. “The candies you’re eating… those are my favorites too,” you whispered like it was a secret between partners in crime. “But when I was in elementary school, I ate so many I had to get four cavities filled because of all the sugar.”

Her eyes widened, then she laughed a clear, bright sound that cracked the tension in the room. 'Daddy only gives them to me when I do something good. Like… saving the world.' You leaned forward, resting your hands on your knees like you always did with kids. 'Oh? And what good thing did you do today to earn them?' Jenù wrinkled her nose and said proudly, 'I helped Uncle Hoon hide some documents before that annoying yelling lady found them.'

You barely held in a laugh, but a smile escaped your lips. 'Oh yeah, that counts as saving the world—at least a little.' Then she looked at you with a solemn expression and repeated, 'Work experience. Have you worked with children? Speak now, we don’t have much time.' You froze for a second, then burst into a light laugh.

“Wow. You’ll make a perfect heir to your dad’s company. You’ve learned well.” And only then did you lift your gaze toward him. Jay was watching you. Still, unmoving, mouth slightly open as if he hadn’t expected someone to walk into that room and ignore him completely. As if seeing his daughter laugh like that so naturally, was something he missed… or feared. But you didn’t look away. You didn’t bow, and you didn’t care about the social gap between you. You looked at him like a man who didn’t scare you yet, and that threw him off.

Jay clenched his jaw, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower.“You’re not like the others.” And you, with a boldness that surprised even yourself, replied, “Good thing. Otherwise, I’d already be out that door, right?” Jay clenched his jaw again as you extended your hand toward him. It was such a simple, common gesture, but the way you did it straightforward, without hesitation, with that annoyingly human and confident gaze caught him off guard for a moment.

Still, he took it. The contact was brief, but enough to confuse you.

What was that spark? Fear? Anxiety? Warmth? Desire? You couldn’t tell.

But he was… too much. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/n. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at Sunghoon’s birthday and my best friend T/l’s, who’s also his girlfriend.” You smiled, a little too brightly for his stiffness. “I’ve worked with kids a lot even back in high school. Right now, I work at an idol-themed coffee shop… which is babysitting, but with screaming thirteen-year-olds obsessed with photocards and smoothies with idols’ faces on them that cost almost as much as dinner.”

Jay looked up from your resume and fixed his sharp gaze on you.“You talk too much.” You laughed lightly, brushing some hair from your face.

“It’s one of my superpowers. It usually works well with kids… and customers who haven’t had their coffee yet.” From the desk, Jenù stood up on tiptoe, came closer, and studied you from head to toe. Then she grabbed your hand in her small fingers. 'Daddy, look!' she said, pointing at your decorated nail. 'She has a tiny teddy bear on her finger! I want one too!' Jay raised an eyebrow, and his gaze dropped to your hands.

“Not very professional, but… I suppose it’s better than the red witch claws the last babysitter had.” Jenù laughed out loud, and you leaned closer to her. “When you’re older, you’ll be able to have them too. But for now… maybe we can draw them on with markers. What do you think?”

'Really?!' she beamed, eyes sparkling.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” Jay interrupted, his voice low and controlled, but irritated at seeing his daughter so enchanted by a woman who wasn’t his mother—or grandmother. You turned to him calmly and replied with a steady tone, “You don’t crush a child’s imagination, Mr. Park. You adapt it. And besides…” You turned back to Jenù with a warm smile. “It’s a small promise. And small promises are meant to be kept.”

Jay gave a low, almost inaudible growl—like an animal being disturbed. But Jenù ended the conversation with a decisive tone: 'I want her. Daddy, I like her as my babysitter.' She turned quickly to you and grabbed your hand again. 'Do you know how to do braids?' “I can do braids, ponytails, crown twists, even bows made of hair. Want me to show you?”

Jenù nodded eagerly. 'Daddy took two months to learn! He watched a bunch of TikToks and YouTube videos and kept messing up!' She covered her mouth with her little hands, and you did the same, laughing softly. “Two months? Really?” you asked curiously, glancing at the man in the suit sitting across from you. 'Swear!” she laughed. “The first time I looked like a cactus!'

Jay gave her a look, but it wasn’t stern. It was intriguing. Slightly amused by what was unfolding. And silently, he watched the scene with a strange gleam in his eyes. His daughter was at ease. Smiling. Bonding with someone in mere minutes—something that never happened. You gently tapped her nose.

“But hey, don’t tease your daddy too much. He did something really sweet for you. Not every dad would learn how to braid hair for their little girl.” Jenù lowered her gaze and nodded as if those words had landed right in her chest. Then she ran behind the desk, and Jay picked her up with almost shocking tenderness, lifting her in one fluid motion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered something in his ear.

He turned back to you. “You start this weekend,” he said, voice flat, but eyes sharp and fixed on you. “Don’t make me regret letting you near my daughter.”

You smiled. “I won’t, Mr. Park,” you said. “I get attached to children easily but only to them. Adults… are more complicated.” Jay raised an eyebrow. “Welcome to hell, then.”

Jay Park’s apartment looked like it had been pulled straight out of a luxury design magazine. The moment you stepped inside, your eyes widened and you muttered under your breath, "Why wasn’t I born into some rich, aristocratic family too…"

The enormous sofa in the center of the living room looked so soft it could probably swallow anyone who dared sit on it. In front of it, a massive 55-inch TV was embedded into a wall of matte black glass. On the low shelf below, a perfectly aligned series of framed photos caught your eye and instantly melted your heart.

Jay and Jenù smiling, goofy, captured in candid moments of quiet intimacy that no one would ever expect from a centuries-old vampire with perfect hair. There were photos of them at the pool, at the beach, dressed for the mountains with Jenù riding on Jay’s shoulders. All four birthday photos were there too every year—with him, his daughter, and the ever-present trio: Jake, Heeseung, and Sunghoon, Jay’s best friends and Jenù’s honorary uncles. From the open kitchen with its central white marble island, full of fancy utensils and high-end appliances. you could see Namsan Tower rising over the misty hills, bathed in the golden glow of sunset.

“It’s… breathtaking,” you whispered to yourself, more than to them, as your eyes wandered around the house. Jenù grabbed your hand and tugged you down the hallway.

'Come see my room! It’s the best room of all the rooms!' Her room looked like a private theme park. It had everything: miniature castles, stuffed animals, tables with puzzles, “educational” human toys… and some things that had to be vampire toys (like a doll that moved its eyes on its own and had tiny fangs—and stared at you for a bit too long for your comfort).

But it was her actual bedroom that took your breath away. A gothic Disney princess kingdom: blush pink and black velvet everywhere, a canopy bed with hidden lights, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hand-embroidered pillows, and closets full of dreamy little dresses. You wanted to be a kid again just for one night to sleep there and play with all the toys you used to dream about having.

'And… that’s Daddy’s room,' she said, pointing to a sleek dark door. 'You can only use it if there’s an emergency,' she added, extremely serious.

Behind her, Jay appeared like an elegant shadow, leaning against the doorframe.

Rule number one: no entering my room. Ever. Unless it’s a real emergency.”

His eyes scanned you from head to toe. “And by ‘emergency,’ I don’t mean ‘I need the Wi-Fi password’ or ‘where are the chips.’”

You raised an eyebrow and muttered dramatically,

“I have no intention of entering the wolf’s den… oh, wait, the wrong creature. You’re a vampire.” You bit your lip, and Jay shook his head slowly while Jenù giggled, covering her mouth. Jay shot you a sharp, slightly intrigued look. He then led you to what would be your room on the nights you stayed over. It was simple but elegant a queen bed, a reading nook, a private bathroom, and… a breathtaking view of the Han River.

You walked over to the little table by the window and noticed a neatly printed sheet of paper. There were two columns, one titled "Human Rules", the other "Vampiric Rules", and above them, bold text read:

HOUSE RULES – FOR EVERYONE’S SURVIVAL

(Edited 7 times, updated after the Exploding Plush Incident)

Human Section

No candy after 7:00 p.m. (Unless it’s Saturday and Jenù has saved the world.)

No watching TV shows with a yellow or red warning icon.

Never leave Jenù alone in the bathroom. NEVER. You must stay with her at all times.

Do not wake up Daddy if he’s resting after a “red” meeting.

No incense or garlic in the kitchen. (Seriously.)

Vampire Section

If you hear whispers or strange noises at night, ignore them. It’s probably the neighbor. Or… maybe not.

If Jenù says there’s a shadow under the bed, it’s probably just her imagination—but check anyway. Safety comes first.

Do not open the small fridge on the left. You’ll only open it if I tell you to because it contains blood vials from the Blood Bank—the specific type Jenù drinks.

If I say “disappear,” then disappear. But stay within three meters of Jenù.

If you need to call me about a problem… count to 3. Then call. (Doesn’t apply to real emergencies: fire, blood, accidents.)

You burst out laughing.

“This is the most dramatic list of rules I’ve ever read. I’m 22, not 3—I can handle myself,” you said as you scanned the quirky guidelines. Jay shot you a death glare. “They’re not funny. Those rules could literally save your life.” “Wow, okay, Dracula 2.0, but seriously live a little. I’m not worried, and more importantly, Jenù will be fine with me.” He crossed his arms, voice dropping lower.

“Even if you’re the best friend of Sunghoon’s girlfriend, that doesn’t mean I trust you. Not yet and maybe never. I don’t know who you are, I don’t know if you’re good for my daughter, and I’m not about to find out the hard way. So follow those rules, and we’ll get along.” Your smile faltered for just a second before you lifted your chin and replied,

“Then watch me, Mr. Park. It doesn’t take much for me to prove I’m capable of what I do and I do know how to take care of a four-year-old. Maybe you’re the one keeping her too tightly bound to rules that are… a little questionable.”

For a moment, silence. Only the muffled sound of Jenù giggling in the other room. Then he turned away. “Dinner’s at seven. And don’t you ever presume to tell me what’s right or wrong for my daughter again.” 

It had been almost two weeks. Two weeks in which, to your surprise, you were still there. Still in Jay Park’s house, still “working” for him—though by now, it felt less like a job and more like a secret, comforting routine you’d grown to love. Jenù had slipped under your skin with the same ease she used to grab your hand when crossing the street or when telling you her wild dreams full of dancing bats and floating castles.

Every day, after your university classes, you pick her up from ballet or theater. Her cheeks always flushed, her bun always undone—and the moment she saw you, she’d run into your arms with the biggest smile and two tiny teeth… a little sharper than the day before. And she’d look at you like you were more than a babysitter, something she secretly wished all her friends had too. One evening, in the bathtub, while she played with bubbles, she nearly gave you a heart attack by flashing her canines proudly:

'Look, they’re coming in! Daddy says it’ll be my ‘change’ soon… Are you scared?' You’d fake-faint in fear at her little growl and she’d burst into laughter, sending water flying everywhere. Colorful bubbles filled the bathroom, and every day the bath bombs smelled like something sweet or floral. It had become your favorite part of the day—watching her relax and play with vampire-shaped toys, rubber duckies with fangs, or little fish that sprayed water. You often made a mess together in the kitchen, and she’d solemnly swear:

'I won’t tell Dad, I promise. Not even under hypnosis.' She’d pinky swear it, and every weekend you baked something: chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, muffins… One time you even decorated them with bright red sugar “fake blood.” When Jay got home and saw them, he stood in front of you, arms crossed, voice low and sharp:

“You just put fake blood on pastries for my daughter to eat. Do you have any idea how irresponsible that is...”

He didn’t get to finish. You burst out laughing right in the face of his CEO-dad-vampire attitude, and something in him softened for the first time since you’d met. He huffed… then actually smiled. A real smile with fangs on full display: long, slender, lethal… and disturbingly attractive to your messed-up mind that kept whispering you should stay away from him.

That evening, after washing dishes with Jenù—covered in flour and syrup, with a bat-shaped crêpe you named “Bat-crepe”—you both snuggled under a pink-and-black blanket on the couch.

“Have you ever watched Monster High?” you asked. She gave you a suspicious look, raising one eyebrow just like her father.

'Daddy doesn’t let me watch horror stuff.' “It’s not horror, I swear! They’re girls… monstrously fashionable. One’s Dracula’s daughter, one’s a mummy, another’s like… a super-stylish werewolf. And they all go to a school for magical creatures. My favorite’s Draculaura—I wonder who yours will be.”

Jenù was quiet for a moment. Then she said, 'If you say it’s not scary… I trust you.' You pulled up YouTube, found the first episode, and as the bright, catchy theme song started, Jenù began bouncing her shoulders.

'I like the music!' she said, waving her arms, and when Draculaura, Cleo de Nile, Frankie Stein, Lagoona Blue, and Clawdeen Wolf appeared on screen, she pointed. 'Her! The one with the fangs! She’s so pretty!'

“That’s Draculaura! That’s exactly her!” you nodded. “She’s like 1600 years old, totally vegan, and always has trouble with her wings—but she’s adorable.” Jenù slowly nestled against you. It was the first time she did it without thinking, without saying anything. She gave you her tiny, warm hand, and in a soft voice while watching the show, she whispered:

'I wish I could go to a fashion monster school too.' You gently stroked her forehead. “You already do, sweetheart. You’re a stylish little monster.” She smiled, and you swore right then and there you never wanted to move from that moment again.

The sharp sound of the door opening broke the spell on the couch. You and Jenù turned your heads in perfect sync, like a well-rehearsed choreography. Confident footsteps echoed on the polished parquet, followed by the soft creak of shoes being taken off and set neatly by the entrance.

Jay was home.

You watched him walk into the living room: hair tousled from the wind, jacket slung over his shoulder, tie slipping through his fingers. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt and yes, you lingered there a second too long. His skin was warm-toned, golden-amber in color, so unlike Sunghoon’s pale, moonlit coolness. Sunghoon looked sculpted from Nordic marble.

But Jay… Jay was like liquid honey over dark stone. With every inch of skin revealed, your cheeks burned hotter. You couldn't stop staring as he loosened his custom-tailored suit and then, his eyes locked with yours.

He froze. Time seemed to hang off his frame. His eyes narrowed, sharp—like he was reading you like he knew exactly what was running through your head. His jaw tightened just slightly.

Shit. You felt it. Knew it, without a word. He didn’t like that look in your eyes, too curious, too bold but… he didn’t look away either. Luckily, Jenù broke the tension, bounding toward him with bubbling excitement.

“Appa! We’re watching Monster High! There’s Draculaura! She has teeth like mine!” Jay crouched slightly to catch her as she launched into his arms. He shot you a look sharp enough to cut through bone. You braced for his usual complaints.

“Monster High?” he asked, turning slowly toward you. “I told you I don’t want her watching scary stuff. She’s too young.” You raised your hands in mock surrender, flashing a diplomatic smile. “Jay, come on. The scariest thing in this show is how Ghoulia talks. Maybe Cleo’s shrieking fits. But monsters? They’re fashion bloggers.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like you putting ideas in her head. Influences form now. Today it’s Draculaura, and tomorrow she’s wearing black capes and bat-winged platforms.”

You bit your tongue to avoid pointing out those exact shoes were already part of two Korean brands’ fall/winter collections but before the argument could escalate, Jenù took control.

“Appa, why don’t we all watch it together? Just one episode. Then you’ll see if it’s okay.” Jay kissed her forehead, sighed, and nodded. “Alright. I’ll go change first. Ten minutes.” He gave you one last glance slow, calculated. A look like velvet… with blades sewn in.

A mix of unspoken disapproval… and something else. You looked away, pulse a little shaky. You squeezed Jenù’s hand, reminding yourself where you stood but when the theme song kicked back in and the little girl began to dance, for one perfect moment, you forgot everything.

Everything… except her little fanged smile and maybe, just a little, that golden vampire who would be back in ten minutes. When Jay returned to the living room, he paused in the doorway. The scene was almost surreal.

You and Jenù were curled up together, eyes glued to the screen, giggling at an absurd scene where Cleo de Nile ranted about how everyone dressed at school and how she was the only one with real taste. Jenù laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth with her hand. Then she looked at her father, eyes shining:

“Appaaaa, this cartoon is so good! I wanna go to a school like Monster High!” Jay raised an eyebrow, dropped his tie on the sideboard, and gave her a strange little smile tender and oddly conspiratorial.

“For you, my little one… I might just build you one.” He brushed her hair back, and your heart pinched for a second. The deep voice, the strict face… and then that look, that melted only for her. Jay came over and sat on the couch next to Jenù. But she turned to him with a firm look: “No! I wanna sit here!” and before he could respond, she crawled right into his lap, curled into his chest, burying her little head into the crook of his neck.

Cleo screamed again onscreen. Jenù giggled. Jay cracked a joke: “She sounds just like you when you can’t find your pink headband.”Jenù smacked his chest with her hand: “Appa! Not true!” “Alright, Miss Fashion—who’s your favorite?” you asked Jenù with a grin.“The same as yours! Draculalla!” she shouted, mispronouncing it adorably.

“Draculaura,” you corrected, giggling.

“Yes, her! She’s pink and black and makes braids better than Appa!” You scooted closer—partly because Jenù reached out her hand to pull you in. Your knees brushed Jay’s. You felt… warmth. He gave you a glance, then murmured with that deep voice:

“Careful… You’re starting to look like part of the monster family. And no one gets out of that." “Wow. Romantic threats, Jay. Very on-brand,” you muttered, eyes rolling playfully. “Watch the sass… or I’ll put you in time-out with Cleo,” he said, smirking faintly.

Jenù quickly cut in: “Appa, be nice! I like her. I love her.” Jay raised an eyebrow. “And what have I taught you about saying that, Jenù?”

She straightened her back, proud as ever: “That you only say ‘I love you’ if you  trust someone.” “And you’ve known her barely a month…” he started.

But Jenù shut him down with that fearless honesty only children have: “But I do trust her. A lot. And I like her so much.” She took your hand in hers, small and warm. You squeezed it back, your heart melting. Jay watched. Something inside him broke or maybe healed. Something he didn’t quite recognize: the warmth of your presence, the blind trust his daughter gave you, your hands always linked—ready to go anywhere and something shifted inside him. A knot. A flicker a need not just physical (though that was there too—boiling under the skin every time he looked at you)

No. This was something deeper. More dangerous than hunger. More terrifying than blood.

What if she belonged here?

He barely had time to process the thought before the three of you burst into laughter—Ghoulia was babbling nonsense in zombie-speak on the screen. The room felt alive and you were there, part of it all. Because you brought light and joy into a house that had been drowning in routine.

You had just tucked Jenù into bed and now stood outside Jay’s study, nervously biting your nails. Tomorrow, near the university campus, there was going to be a party for final-year students—and you needed to go.

It had been months since you spent a weekend with people your age instead of watching cartoons and drawing bat wings. You loved Jenù and your job, but you missed the wild, carefree side of yourself. So, tonight... you were going to tell a tiny white lie to your boss. And honestly? You hated lying—especially to him, the vampire with a dangerously attractive pair of fangs that could rip through you at any moment if you pissed him off.

You took a deep breath and knocked, heart hammering in your chest.Jay was seated at his desk, bathed in the amber glow of a desk lamp. The light carved out every line of his sculpted features. His shirt was undone halfway, revealing golden, defined muscles and a faint blue vein tracing along his neck. In one hand, he held a blood pouch, still half-full. In the other, he scrolled through corporate reports on a curved screen.

He didn’t even look up.

“Come in.” His voice was rough, slightly annoyed, but you stepped in anyway, clinging to the hope that your little lie might work. He looked infuriatingly indifferent, flawless in his world of silence, power, and spreadsheets. And yet… you couldn't help but look at him.

You caught yourself thinking—with a pout that betrayed a hopeless crush—“If he wasn’t Jenù’s dad…”

“What do you want?” he asked, eyes still locked on the screen. You took one step closer and tried your best innocent and slightly dramatic voice.

“Tomorrow… I won’t be able to take care of Jenù.” At that, Jay finally looked up.

“Why?” His tone was cold, direct almost too sharp for a man who had just been drinking blood. You hesitated, you could still bolt. You could say something stupid and backpedal but your best friend—who also happened to be Sunghoon’s girlfriend had warned you:

"Vampires detect lies. They hear your blood shift, your heartbeat, your heat. Be careful. Fake it well, and maybe he’ll say yes."

You decided to risk it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you said, “I have an extra class tomorrow night. Advanced coding. I need to work on some content for my final project. Graduation’s close and I… really want to do well.” Jay stared at you and then silence fell heavy silence. You could hear your heartbeat in your temples. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

“…Fine.” Your eyes widened. “Wait—seriously? Like… that’s it?” A genuine smile broke across your face. Jay leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. His shirt gaped a little more, exposing more of that honey-gold skin, and your eyes automatically drifted to it.

“Yes. You’re good with Jenù. I never said otherwise. And if this class is important, I won’t stop you. Your grades speak for themselves.” “Wow. No CIA interrogation this time?” you asked, half-laughing. Jay glanced at the blood pouch in his hand and muttered, “You might wanna go before I change my mind.”

You dipped your head slightly partly in gratitude, partly to hide the color rising in your cheeks. It was the first time you felt… like a real accomplice.

“Thank you. Really. I promise this won’t become a habit. Skipping weekends, I mean.” Jay’s eyes lingered on you a second too long. Then he ran his tongue over his bottom lip and your gaze followed.

Your stomach clenched, and you felt the urge—the craving—to press your lips to his and just taste what those sharp, beautiful lips felt like.

“Don’t,” Jay said softly. “Because it’s not just my daughter who trusts you anymore.”

For a moment, something cracked inside your chest. It was the first time Jay had acknowledged anything beyond duty. The first time you weren’t just the babysitter and you were lying to him. You bowed slightly, instinctively. But it was more than that, it was a mask to hide your guilt.

Jay frowned. “What are you doing?” “Thank you. Politely. Not used to that in your world of shadows and fangs?” You tilted your head with a half-smile and as you turned to leave the study, you could feel his eyes still burning into your back.

And just before you stepped out… You thought (just maybe) you saw him smile but maybe…It was just the light.

Music thumped from the poolside speakers, neon lights rippled across the water, and your head swayed gently, your body moving with the beat. The party was buzzing with final-year students desperate to cut loose before diving back into exams and thesis deadlines—and you were one of them.

You were dressed lightly....okay, not even gonna pretend. You wore a top that barely covered your chest, hugging your curves like a second skin, a low-rise skirt that showed off the glint of your belly piercing, and your sun-kissed skin shimmered under the lights. Cowboy boots make your legs look longer, sharper, and stronger. You smelled like summer and something exotic, your favorite perfume.

You laughed with your best friend as if life were easy. Like responsibility could wait one more night. You were 23, and this was your moment. If not now—when? and then, you felt it. A presence behind you. A hand at your waist. A tall guy with light eyes and a rehearsed smile leaned down—just enough to speak close to your ear over the music.

-Easily the most beautiful girl I’ve seen tonight... maybe the whole semester,- he said, voice smooth, practiced. You turned with a half-ironic smile. “Wow. That your go-to line, or do you save it for special occasions?”

He chuckled. You didn’t but... you didn’t step away either. Your body was warm, your mind slightly hazy, and God...it had been months since anyone made you feel wanted. Not that you were interested. Your thoughts were already somewhere else.

Tall. Golden skin. Half-unbuttoned shirts. A daughter who felt more like your little sister. Jay Park.

You cursed yourself silently, there was a cute, young, available guy wanting to have fun, like most people your age and all you could think about was him.

That grumpy, overprotective vampire of a man who only thought about work and his daughter, and never himself. You remembered those looks, the ones he thought you didn’t catch.

When you bent over to pick up a toy or laughed too loud with Jenù, the way his eyes burned through you, then quickly turned away. You wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him. To feel him over you—those large, strong hands gripping your hips.

That rough voice telling you he wanted only you, to learn how he liked it, and what made him lose control. What it felt like to be taken by him slow and then ruthless until you forgot where the babysitter ended, and the woman began.

God, you needed to have sex...but not with this guy. You stepped back, scanning for your best friend, catching her on the far side of the party and chatting with a group of friends. You tried to move toward her, but the guy behind you was a little too persistent.

“I’m not looking for attention tonight,” you told the guy in front of you. -Are you sure?”- he replied with a sly smirk. -Your friend’s already taken. But you… you don’t have a mark. I can see it. Smell it.-

You froze. You thought he was joking until you looked closer. The fangs were real. The glint in his eyes was too red to be normal. Panic rose like acid in your throat.

A rogue vampire. You stumbled back, heart pounding, then bolted for the bathroom, you slammed the door shut and locked it. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone.

No answer from your best friend. Your cousin? Offline. The rest of your friends? Miles away and none of them were fucking vampires. You stared at the emergency contact you swore you’d never use...Jay’s number. Meant for Jenù’s emergencies, not yours. Especially not after lying to him about tonight.

You hit the dial with shaking fingers: One ring. Two. Three-

“What is it, Y/n? Done with studying already? Missing Jenù too much?” His voice was dry, sarcastic, and cold. “Jay…” Your voice cracked as a tear slipped down your cheek. “Jay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, I...there’s a vampire. Outside the bathroom, he followed me, he knows I’m unmarked and I can’t find M/t and...” Your voice broke, the fear was raw now and our heart thundered.

Then....silence. When he finally spoke again, his tone had changed deeper, calmer, almost... human.

“Hey. Breathe. Where are you? Send me your location. I’m on my way. Are you alone?” You couldn’t tell if he was angry or terrified but you whispered, “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to lie. I’m M/t’s best friend. Sunghoon’s girlfriend. I...” “It doesn’t matter right now,” he cut you off. “Just listen to me: don’t open that door. Lock everything. Be silent. Try to text M/t. If you see anyone you know at the party, message them.” You nodded, even if he couldn’t see it. And in your chest, beneath the fear… there was something else.

Something twisted and dangerous a part of you wanted to see him. To hear his voice in person, to feel his arms around you, telling you it was okay. Maybe even...just maybe, he’d look at you and admit he couldn’t stop thinking about you. That he didn’t just want you as Jenù’s babysitter. That he wanted you underneath him, whispering his name as he finally gave in to the pull you both felt. But no, that was just your broken little fantasy. The one that lived in the dark, when your fingers weren’t enough anymore. Right now, you were just a terrified girl locked in a bathroom and outside… was a vampire who wanted your blood and maybe your body.

And Jay was coming but you didn’t know if you were trembling from fear…or from the guilt of lying to him.

The music still pounded through the walls, muffled, but the sound that froze your blood was something else. Two sharp knocks at the door and you thought the worst, until you heard his voice, the one you’d come to know all too well these past months, the one that sent shivers down your spine.

“Open the door. I'm Jay. Now.” Your heart shot to your throat. That voice was unmistakable, deep, and pissed. You knew he’d make you pay for this.

When you opened the door, your best friend was there, eyes down, shoulders hunched like a kid being scolded. Jay must’ve already gotten to her. Behind her, Jay himself. Tall, in an all-black suit, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled by the wind and stress, and he looked pissed, radiating fury. But the second his eyes landed on you, they softened just enough to make you crumble.

“I’m sorry,” your best friend whispered so low it barely existed. Jay scanned you from head to toe, and you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him in a trembling hug. “Thank you… really. Thank you for coming.” He stiffened for a second, then sighed, slowly resting his big hands on your back, pulling you closer, he didn’t want to be soft with you, he didn’t but it was too late.

“It’s over. You’re safe,” he said, low and close, holding you. After dropping off your best friend and making her swear not to tell Sunghoon, Jay warned her with eerie calm:

“Sunghoon will know the second he’s back. He’ll smell the alcohol, the other humans or vampires. Go shower before he gets home, and I’ll lie for you. I’ll say you went for drinks in Seoul with Y/n if he pushes. But from now on...you owe me.”

She nodded, biting her lip. Before leaving, she kissed your cheek and whispered, “Text me when you get home.”

When the car started moving again, Jay was silent...too silent and his eyes were fixed on the road, hands clenched on the wheel. You nervously bit your nail.

“I’m sorry…” you said, turning toward him, and wrapping your arms around your bare legs. “Shut up,” he said, eyes still forward, jaw tight. “I didn’t mean to… I mean were you sleeping?” you asked, your voice cracking, thinking this was it. He’d fire you. Erase you from his and Jenù’s life. All your fault. “I was trying to get my daughter to sleep. You know, the little girl you told you had to study for your thesis and rest. And I get it—that watching a kid every weekend is exhausting and you deserve to live your life. But you could’ve told me. I would've let you go. Instead, while she was showing me your drawings and asking where you were, you were in front of a mirror putting on makeup to go dance with some hormone-driven idiot or worse, into a fucking party with rogue vampires.”

You bit your lip, crossed your bare legs, and caught him glancing at your thigh a second too long. His jaw clenched. Finally, he turned toward you.

“So… how was your ‘computer science class’? The music sounded very… academic.” “Well, yeah… the DJ had a PhD in bass drops,” you muttered, trying to break the tension. He clenched his jaw again, then slowed the car and looked at you. His eyes had darkened—nearly black, flecked with red. His fangs were slightly visible.

One part of you panicked. The other… got turned on. “I left my daughter alone at night to come pick up a little girl who, one, lied to her employer. Two, lied to an innocent child. And three thought it was a great idea to go to a party full of drunk idiots and rogue vampires dressed like… a slut.”

His words hit you like hot blades. But the alcohol gave you courage—or recklessness. “You’re not my father, Jay. I have every right to live my life like any girl in her last year of university. I work too much, I earn too little, and sometimes I just want to forget that my life is a mess—with a vampire dad boss who looks at me like I’m a ticking time bomb and is always grumpy and full of himself!”

Jay laughed. A short, bitter, deep laugh that made your skin crawl. “No. I’m not your father who’s always grumpy with you, but I am the father of a little girl who sees you as home. And if you get lost, if you fall apart… she’s the one who pays the price. Got it? She loves you. And I’ve never seen her grow attached to anyone ‘outside’ our circle like she did with you—not Jake, not Sunghoon, not even Heeseung.”

Silence fell again in the car and you bit at your nail. Your cheeks were burning—and so was your chest. You looked at him, hands tight on the wheel, and without thinking, the words slipped out like sweet venom.

“Maybe that’s exactly what you want, Jay. What you keep trying to ignore something new. Something that makes you feel alive again. You want me to crash, to fall—so you can stop feeling guilty about wanting to love again.”He froze at your words. His knuckles turned white on the wheel and his gaze turned dark, hungry. He spoke through clenched teeth, low and hoarse like a strangled growl.

“You drive me insane. So shut up until we get home. ”You closed your eyes and curled into the seat, turning to face away from him.

Jay pulled into the underground garage with a sharp brake. He broke the silence with a heavy sigh, then turned to you and found you asleep. Curled up like it was something you did often. Your bare legs tucked to one side, head tilted, breath slow and uneven, smudged makeup, lips slightly parted. You looked innocent… and infuriatingly tempting even in your sleep.

“Why the fuck are you always a problem… even when you’re not awake?” he muttered through clenched teeth. He ran his hands through his hair like he could rip you out of his mind. He couldn’t leave you like that, not in that microscopic skirt that wasn’t a skirt, not with that scent on your skin that still made his blood burn. He opened your door with a snap, stared at you one more time thinking how beautiful and dangerous you were to his mental state, and then lifted your bridal style like you were his.

Your body molded to his naturally, your face nestled into his neck, fingers grazing his shirt. You curled into him and that cold heart of his sluggish and half-dead for years, started beating louder. He cursed under his breath. You were the only one who made him feel like a teenager again.

He rode up the elevator with you, the hum of the motor the only sound in the metal cage. He looked down at you nestled against his chest like you were made to fit there and for the first time, he thought: he should let you go but he wasn’t capable of it.

“Tomorrow I’ll tear you apart… I swear I’ll break you with words and then piece you back together just to do it again,” he murmured under his breath. He walked into the apartment without a sound, straight into his bedroom not yours and even he didn’t know why. Maybe he just wanted to wake up and see you there. Maybe he just wanted to remember you were real. And maybe… tomorrow morning you’d  see the vampire side of him. He laid you down on the bed like you’d always belonged there. Your legs slightly parted, skirt ridden up so far he caught a glimpse of lace. One breath more, and he’d see the thing that had haunted his nights for weeks.

He hated you. You were supposed to be just Jenù’s babysitter not a walking temptation calling his name every damn day. He cursed softly, his voice rough and low. He wanted to see you like that every day—naked, moaning his name, tied to his bed, tears of pleasure in your eyes.

“So that’s how you like to be...half-naked in public like no one can see you. Like you don’t know you’re already mine…” he whispered, voice gravelly. He turned around, grabbed one of his oversized vintage band shirts, and dressed you with slow, precise movements, almost reverent. His fingers brushed your too-warm skin, too alive for someone like him. He lifted you gently and slid off your top and that ridiculous excuse of a skirt. He tried not to look because deep down he was still a gentleman but his jaw was tight.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Not enough. Not when you were nearly naked in his bed. He pulled the shirt over your head and laid you back. It drowned you and yet, it suited you more than that skimpy outfit he’d hated the second he saw it.

He stepped into Jenù’s room. She was asleep, cuddling the teddy bear you’d gifted her, her breathing calm. He knelt beside her, fixed a strand of hair and kissed her forehead softly. Guilt hit him hard. Because you weren’t just a crush, a temptation. You were dangerous for him, for Jenù, and for the life he’d spent years carefully building. He returned to his room. You were still there. In his bed. In his shirt. In his life. Legs half-covered, neck exposed—that damned neck he wanted to bury his face in, kiss, bite, mark. He wanted to sink his fangs into your skin and feel you scream from pleasure, from need. Taste you. You’d haunted his every thought since the day he first saw you, at Sunghoon’s birthday party.

“You’re ruining me…” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed, exhausted. Then he climbed in beside you, turning his back so he wouldn’t touch you because if he did, he wouldn’t stop. Just as he was about to turn off the light, you whispered his name softly, like a plea from a dream. “Jay…” He closed his eyes tightly, turned, gently brushed a strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers, then turned off the light and stayed there, facing you, watching you sleep. Desiring you. Hating himself. Knowing deep down that tomorrow, he couldn’t pretend anymore.

Your head throbbed, not painfully, but with that thick, fuzzy sensation that made you curse the loud music and the neon drinks from the night before. Your eyes were still closed, skin flushed, but there was something against you—solid, muscular, slightly cool… but too alive. Holding you tight.

Oh no. Jay.

As pieces of the night fell back into place like dirty puzzle pieces stained with adrenaline and shame, you remembered it all: - how he looked at you when he found you - how he growled your name carrying you away and most of all, how you yelled he wasn’t your father, with shaking knees and burning cheeks while his eyes looked starved.

You felt nauseous not from the alcohol, but from the humiliation. He would fire you. He’d scream. He’d hate you. You slid your arm off his torso and buried your face in your hands, pouting. “Run, Y/n, before he wakes up. Just go. Get out before he opens his eyes and destroys you.” Quietly, you began to slip from the sheets. One arm held you tightly, his bare bicep wrapped around your waist like silk and fire. His face… was relaxed.eyes closed, lashes long, lips slightly parted in an unconscious pout. “If he weren’t a CEO with blood-stained hands and centuries of pain, he could be a model,” you thought, biting your lip at how unfairly beautiful he looked even asleep. Carefully, you freed yourself. His arm fell away, and you exhaled like a secret agent dodging a trap, you placed one foot on the ground no sound a second of peace.

Maybe…you made it but then.... “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, raspy from the night, laced with dangerous promises. You shut your eyes and whispered, “Shit.”

Hand to your forehead, you turned to face him. Jay was awake, dark eyes locked on you like blades. His hair was messy, yet he looked as perfect as ever. He lifted slightly from the mattress. “I… I was just…” You didn’t finish. His cold, firm hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back down onto the mattress. He hovered over you, one knee on the bed, eyes burning into you from above. Your gaze dropped, cheeks blazing from the heat of his not-quite-human warmth. “Sorry,” you whispered. He laughed quietly—low, poisonous.

“You're sorry?” he hissed. “Sweetheart, you can shove that where the sun doesn’t shine. Maybe it’ll help you think clearer next time.” His hands clutched your wrists tighter. You laughed nervously, trying to deflect, “Didn’t think you’d be into dirty talk at eight in the morning. Figured your priorities were more… milk temp for your kid or which headband matches the bows today.” “I don’t like girls who lie. Especially not to me, or my daughter.” His hand gripped your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. His touch was gentle, but the grip was firm, anchoring. “You didn’t just put yourself at risk. You broke the trust of a little girl who says your name every night, who looks for you in her dreams, who prefers you over everyone except me. If something happened to you, she would’ve broken. And I would’ve broken with her.” You swallowed hard, cheeks burning. But he wasn’t done. “I’m not your father but under this roof, I decide what you do. You’re my responsibility. Mine. Got it?” You rolled your eyes. “And what if I don’t want to be yours?” you challenged. “Then get out of this bed. But if you stay… accept that you’re in my world now. And sweetheart, I don’t play fair. Especially not with troublemakers like you.”

You didn’t want to leave. You pulled him closer. “God… you sound like you crawled out of a teen vampire drama,” you teased. “Half Dracula, half psycho. Maybe a little pathetic too.” He raised a brow, leaned in, eyes sharp slits. “Careful. Poorly written vampires don’t end well.” “Oh no,” you mocked, “will you make me vanish or glare at me with that immortal CEO pout? Maybe scold me for corrupting your daughter with my scandalous human morals?” Your smirk faded when he bared sharp canines. Real. Dangerous. Irresistible. You reached out, voice low. “Can I?” He didn’t move. You touched the tip of a fang. Sharp as a blade. He growled low, animalistic. “Going for a vampire of the year?” you whispered. “Got the deluxe kit or just the base model with sexy teeth and moody angst?” That did it. His eyes flared. “Little girl…” he growled. He grabbed your face and crushed his lips to yours. It wasn’t tender. It was hunger, anger, and raw need. You’d teased him from day one, and he had tried to resist, but now he couldn’t. At first, you froze. Then you melted into him. His kiss was fire and desperation. You kissed back with trembling hands tangling in his messy black hair. Your tongues danced and challenged. “Christ…” he muttered as you tugged his hair. “You’re a torment.” “I know…” you whispered.

You dared explore his mouth, brushing your tongue along a fang. He growled and gripped your waist hard. His cold hand slid against your hot skin, thumb drawing circles, making you moan. Each kiss hit like a blow, and breaths came shorter. It was a storm. “I can’t stand you…” he murmured against your lips. His hands held you like you were slipping away like he’d already lost too much. You pressed into him, feeling exactly how much you affected him. “Too bad. You’re kinda cute when you’re not being a grumpy CEO dad.” His gaze darkened. “Don’t push me.” He kissed your jaw, voice shaking you. He kissed down your neck, canines brushing skin that smelled like mango and coconut. He wanted to bite, to sink those fangs in, but instead, he kissed, licked, sucked, marking you with heat and possession. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” he whispered. “Yes. And I’m not stopping,” you rasped. He chuckled darkly. “You’re trouble, Y/n.” Your fingers found his hair, pulling. He smiled against your skin, hearing how much you wanted him. “Remember…” he murmured, breath ghosting over you, “…when you called me crying, said a vampire tried to bite you because 'you hadn’t been claimed'?” Your heart stopped, then raced. You opened your mouth, stammering, but his kisses silenced you. “Don’t you think,” he said, lips at your ear, “…if anyone had to do it… it should’ve been me?” Your body shook. You moaned, feeling his dominance, his heat, his hunger.

You lifted a leg, pressing it to his side. He growled. “You thought you could just put on that tiny skirt, down some drinks, and I’d stay home while you paraded around like temptation incarnate?” “I just… I wanted to…” “You wanted attention,” he snapped. “But mine comes with a price.” His eyes were red now. Aroused. Hungry. “I’ve wanted your blood since the first time you walked into my office.” Eyes wide, you clung to him. “Please… don’t hurt me.” His smile turned wolfish. He grabbed your chin. “If you want to be treated like a princess, you’ve got the wrong immortal. I’m not here to save you, sweetheart. I’m the one you should run from.” Then his fangs sank into your skin. Pain exploded, sharp and hot. You screamed, but his hand clamped over your mouth. His bite was more than hunger. It was possession. Desire. A fire ran through you. Your breath came in pants, trembling, moaning under his mouth. You should’ve been afraid. But it wasn’t fear. It was want. Shameful, burning want. He drank deeply, slowly, rhythmically. Your name was a whisper on your tongue. Your body collapsed against his. “J… Jay…” you whimpered. He kept drinking, precise, controlled. Then, finally, he pulled away. His lips were crimson, tongue licking your wound clean. “You are…” he breathed, “…the most dangerous thing to ever happen to me. And now that I’ve tasted you…” He cupped your face gently, reverently. “…I’m never letting you go. Not even if you beg.”

It had been a week since he kissed you since he made you feel alive and maybe even important to him. A week since his fangs had pierced your skin, since his breath had turned molten and his voice had scratched your soul. And since then… silence. Jay had gone back to being the man you met months ago cold, arrogant, irritable, and infuriatingly professional. Every morning you received a message, always the same, as if you’d just started working together and hadn’t been living under the same roof for months: “Take her to the park between 6 and 7 PM. Don’t forget the snack and avoid the hottest hours. The full moon is coming and she’s sensitive to the sun. Don’t wait up. I’ll be late. I have work to do.” And every time you read “I have work to do,” you couldn’t help but think it was just an excuse to avoid being near you.

He always shut himself in his office. At dinner, he sat at the head of the table and spoke only to his daughter, as if you were invisible and one night, when he saw you still awake at the kitchen table with your Communication and Multimedia notes spread everywhere, he didn’t say much. Just a sharp glance, a mug filled with blood he barely touched, and a biting comment: “Didn’t know coloring PowerPoint titles were considered academic now.” You’d let it slide until that night. That night, you stood up, barefoot, wearing just a pair of shorts and an old oversized sweatshirt. Not to provoke him, but because you were tired of pretending nothing happened, tired of being invisible.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Your voice came out raw, almost breaking. “Do I have the plague or something?” He tensed, eyes fixed on his mug. “I’m not avoiding anyone. I have a life to manage, a company to run, a daughter to protect. I don’t have time for adolescent drama.” You stopped a meter away from him, watching his clenched fist. “Strange. A week ago, you didn’t seem so uninterested. You kissed me, bit me, crawled under my skin and now you act like I’m nothing.” He turned sharply. “You’re a girl. You’re not ready for what’s inside me. I made a mistake giving in to a stupid impulse. The kiss, the bite both mistakes I regret.”

His words shattered something inside you. “I’m not a girl. I raise your daughter every day. I gave up parties, skipped classes, lied to people because I thought it was worth it. That you were worth it.” He laughed, short, bitter. “Right. Like that night at the party. So responsible, right? Alcohol lies, and an outfit that was more sin than fabric.” Your chest tightened. “That night I messed up. But you… you made me feel alive. You looked at me like no one ever had.” He stepped closer, face tense, the air around you shrinking. “You make me something I shouldn’t be,” he spat. “Her mother left her. I won’t let her lose me too.” Silence fell like a slap and you stared at his clenched fists, his tight jaw. Then you whispered, “You’re just a coward.” You brushed past him, tears burning not just from anger, but heartbreak. You slammed the bedroom door behind you. And Jay? He didn’t follow but the mug he held… shattered in his hand.

That afternoon, golden light poured through the living room windows. The TV was off, the silence broken only by the occasional pencil falling to the floor and the soft tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. You were deep into a complex yet fascinating visual semiotics assignment, surrounded by sticky notes, half a cold coffee, and colored pens. Your shoulders ached for a break.

Jenù sat on the rug with a little illustrated workbook from preschool, coloring sea creatures with an almost sacred focus. Every few minutes, she’d toss out questions some adorable, others just to get your attention. “Do fish know they can’t talk?” “If you lived underwater, would you be a long-haired mermaid or the kind with shells?” “Is pink allowed in the ocean? I’m using it anyway!”

You chuckled without looking up, refusing to let yourself soften because Jay didn’t want you to because he was distant, and because he had made you feel like a mistake. Jenù stood abruptly, hands on hips, and gave you her best vampire pout, flashing her baby canines.

“Are you scared now? I could suck your blood!” You smirked. “Not scared, little Dracula. I know you too well and you can’t bite with baby teeth.” She crossed her arms, ready to giggle, when the ding-dong of the front door echoed through the room. Jenù’s eyes lit up and she bolted instinctively.

“Daddy! You’re early!” she shouted but it wasn’t his voice that followed. It was female. Deep. Velvet-smooth. You turned around to see Jay, coat still on, and beside him… a woman. Tall. Beautiful. Pale skin, dark hair in a messy bun, endless legs in black pants, and a razor-sharp smile. You caught sight of her fangs. She looked like exactly the kind of woman Jay wanted in his world.

Jenù quickly let go of him and ran back to you, holding your hand as if anchoring herself. “This is Y/n! The best babysitter I’ve ever had! But not just a babysitter—she’s one of my best friends. She makes perfect braids, watches Monster High with me, and cooks way better than the mean witch-nail lady we had before!” Then she looked at her dad. “Don’t send her away. She’s better than all the others.”

Your heart skipped. Not just because of Jenù’s sweetness, but because of the cold, sharp tension that suddenly filled the room.“She’s my daughter’s babysitter,” Jay said curtly, without even looking at you. The woman laughed, lips blood-red, baring her perfect fangs.

-Oh, the babysitter? What is this, the thirtieth one? Cute...” She looked you over. Cute, for a human.- You bit your cheek to keep from snapping. The humiliation, the jealousy, the rage, you swallowed it all. Jay said nothing. He placed a hand on her back… and left it there too long. Jenù looked back and forth between the two of you, a bit confused.

“We’ll be in my office,” Jay said flatly. The woman turned to you before following, offering her hand. You shook it—and she gripped too hard. Her nails grazed your skin like claws.

-Careful not to get too attached, dear,-she whispered with a wicked smile. -Vampires… change their minds quickly.- She let go and disappeared into the study with Jay. You stood there frozen, Jenù’s little hand still clutching yours, your heart pounding. Only when the office door clicked shut did you realize what you were feeling? Jealousy. And for the first time… you wanted to drive him mad the way he was driving you.

It had been over two hours since dinner, simple tomato pasta with grilled veggies, which Jenù had arranged on the plate like tiny flowers. She giggled as she chewed, proudly explaining how well she had colored the jellyfish in her underwater workbook. Now you were in the bathroom, steam fogging the mirror. You knelt by the tub with a towel over your knees while Jenù washed her hands and brushed her "LITTLE TEETH"—her nickname for her baby vampire teeth. You smiled at her pink pajama, the one with teddy bears—too sweet for a half-vampire, but adorable.

“Mmm… I don’t like that lady,” she mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste. “The one with shiny lips and claw hands.” You glanced at her through the mirror.

“Oh no?” “No. She laughs too much and looks at me funny. Why are they taking so long to work?” You bit the inside of your cheek. From Jay’s study, you could hear nothing but the clacking of keyboard keys and... laughter. “Your dad... has a lot of work. Sometimes meetings run late.” She didn’t look convinced but theatrically spit into the sink. “Is that why we spend so much time together? You nodded. “Exactly. But I don’t mind. You and me? We’re a team.”

When you left the bathroom—Jenù in her jammies, hair damp—you saw her, standing in the living room like she owned it. Leaning casually against a shelf, laughing at something Jay said, her hand lightly brushing his arm, her smile just a bit too sharp to be real. The moment she saw Jenù, she crouched and chirped in a sing-song voice:

-Sweetheart, you look beautiful! Those little fangs—such a perfect baby vampire! Though this pajama…- she laughed softly, -...a bit too human, don’t you think? You have special blood, you know?-

Jenù gripped your hand tighter and answered firmly: “It’s my favorite. Y/n gave it to me. She also got me a teddy bear at the fair and I like sleeping with him.” Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jenù then pulled Jay’s arm.

“Daddy. Tonight, I want you to tell me a story.” The vampire woman’s smile faltered. She shot you a sharp glance—part threat, part promise: I know what you feel. And you’re going to lose. You didn’t flinch. You greeted her coldly, and she vanished into the night with a trail of sweet, cursed perfume. Jay and Jenù disappeared into her room, and instead of leaving, you followed. You sat on the edge of the bed as he began the story.

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who lived in a castle as big as the sky. But she had a secret: her heart beat for two worlds—the world of humans, and the world of shadows.” Jenù snuggled against him, holding her bear.

“And was her daddy a king?” “No,” Jay said, brushing her hair. “Her daddy was a guardian. Someone who fought monsters in the dark… to keep her safe.” “Even if the monsters were inside him? Or close to him?” He paused. Then whispered, “Especially then.”

She yawned, her eyes finally closing. You gently covered her with a blanket, touched Jay’s arm, then left the room. But with each step away, a growing emptiness pressed into your chest. You have made your decision. Shoes on, bag in hand you were just about to walk out when Jay appeared in the hallway, sleeves unbuttoned, standing right in your way.

“Where are you going?” he said, watching you as you bent down to put on your shoes. You turned, determined not to cry, because you wanted to leave that house.

“To my place,” you said quietly. “At this hour?” Jay asked, slightly irritated, as he watched you stand.“I don’t mind babysitting Jenù,” you said flatly. “I’m happy to be there for her until I graduate... and even after. For her birthday, for the important moments. Forever, if she wants me to be.”

His eyes darkened, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak. “But I can’t live here. I don’t want to live in a house where vampires walk in wearing stiletto heels, red lips, and acid laughter. Where you… have fun while I help Jenù with her homework.” Jay stiffened, looking at you with a hint of anxiety at your words. “It’s not what you think.”

“No?” You lifted your chin. “Then what is it? Because I know you like me, and I know you’re holding back, but I don’t want to be one of many. I don’t want to be the babysitter who watches your daughter while you find someone in your league, someone perfect for you and for Jenù, because I…” Your voice cracked, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “I could fall in love with you… and you would break me.” Jay fell silent, then took a step toward you. “I can’t afford that. I can’t be weak with you. I can’t want that.”

You looked at him and sighed because you knew he’d never fight for this. “Then let me go,” you said as you grabbed your bag. But for once, he ignored every instinct. He didn’t listen to the vampire inside him the cold, calculating one who stopped loving the day his heart was broken, the one who wouldn’t let you in, the one who was afraid terrified of losing you and making you suffer.

He grabbed your wrist with that usually controlled strength and turned you to face him. His eyes, pitch black with faint red glimmers, flared like glowing embers. He lowered his head until his lips were just brushing yours and whispered, hoarse, hungry, sincere: “Fuck it… I can’t take it anymore. I want you in my life more than anyone else.” And he kissed you but it wasn’t like that time in his bed, after the party when you were drunk on adrenaline, music, and boldness.

No, this kiss was different. It tasted of long-repressed desire, of raw need finally unleashed, of his craving to have you, to show you how much he needed you. He bit your lower lip gently, and you moaned his name between parted lips.

“J-Jay…” He laughed softly against your mouth, that deep, maddeningly sexy laugh you’d only heard when he was with his daughter.

His hands grabbed your ass firmly, and without a word, he lifted you like it was nothing effortlessly, with the confidence of someone who’s fought a thousand battles and had supernatural strength. You clung to him like a koala, legs wrapped around his waist, fingers buried in his raven-black hair—soft and just long enough to grab.

You rubbed against him, feeling his erection pressing hard against you, and that’s when he growled low in his throat and degraded you with a whisper in your ear: “Not tonight, baby. I’m not just going to fuck you against a wall—I want to make you tremble. I want to make you feel so good you forget your name. I want you unable to walk tomorrow without thinking of me. I want to hear you moan my name and how crazy I make you.”

He kissed you, wet and hot, just beneath your ear, then moved slowly down your neck, licking the spot where the mark from his fangs still lingered. Your voice broke, and you stammered something you’d never said out loud: “I-I can’t resist you anymore, Jay…”

He paused and looked you in the eye, voice low: “I know. I can’t resist you either. Since day one, you’ve been driving me insane. Ever since I had you in my bed, every morning I wake up hard as hell, and I have to jerk off in the shower thinking about you on your knees all mine. But I want you to know something: I’m not just some asshole. Not with you. I want to take care of you, for once… I want to live without fear.”

He kicked open the door to his room and closed it behind him. It was dark, deep, dominated by a large black canopy bed with dark silk sheets but amid all that darkness… you were the light. He laid you down gently like you were precious, and his gaze traced every inch of your body. He brushed his fingers slowly over your hips and whispered:

“So beautiful… so bold… and you still don’t know you were born to be mine.” He unzipped your hoodie with one swift pull, stripping it off and leaving your breasts bare, your breath shallow, still in your sweatpants. He bit his lip and said, “Christ, you’re perfect.”

But you didn’t just lay there. With trembling fingers, you unbuttoned his shirt. His skin was golden, sculpted, tight muscles flexing under your touch everything you’d dreamed of feeling since that kiss. You dragged your nails down his abs, tracing every ridge, and he shuddered under your touch, eyes half-lidded. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Wanna play, little human? Tonight I’ll show you what it’s like to be under me… to be loved by me. And you’ll beg me never to stop.” His kisses trailed slowly down your neck, hot and wet, each bite leaving small marks—branding you with his possessiveness. He sucked your skin until it turned red, whispering against your flesh:

“Tomorrow, I want to see you covered in my marks. So everyone—those boys at university—know you’re mine.” You shivered at the sound of those words because you knew how protective he was with Jenù but with you… there were darker shades. Hungry. Possessive. His red-black eyes lingered on your chest, and the way he looked at you made you feel completely naked—even though you weren’t. One of his hands grabbed your breast, squeezing it firmly, making your back arch.

“S-sensitive…” you murmured, your voice breaking from pleasure. “Perfect,” he growled softly. “I love it when you’re sensitive.” Then, without warning, he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, his tongue tracing wet circles around it, his fangs lightly grazing the taut skin. You buried your fingers in his hair, holding back a desperate moan. “Look at how you react to me…” he whispered against your skin, slowly, cruelly licking your other breast. “I bet these breasts would be perfect, full of my milk, swollen with my seed and my future children,” he growled, a thin strand of spit soothing his little bites. You stared at him, eyes wide. A shiver ran down your spine at the way he spoke… as if he was already living the future he imagined with you. It scared you but excited you more than you wanted to admit. “J-Jay… don’t say that…” you moaned as you felt his hand tighten around your breast. “Why not?” he hissed against your belly, moving lower. “Sooner or later it will happen. You’ll be full of me—inside, outside, everywhere.” He kissed your lower belly while touching the piercing on your navel that drove him crazy, then looked into your eyes. “Lift your hips.”

You obeyed, and your sweatpants and panties slipped off in one smooth, quick motion, leaving you completely exposed before him, your thighs trembling, your breath caught. He looked at you and cursed under his breath, dark and rough: “Fuck… you’re perfect.” Instinctively, from shame and modesty—you hadn’t been naked in front of anyone for a long time and you were afraid you wouldn’t live up to his expectations—you tried to close your legs, but he slid between them, grabbing you firmly. “Don’t you dare hide from me,” he growled. “Not when you have such a beautiful pussy. Shiny, swollen… wet for me. Do you see how much you want me?” He started kissing you there, between your legs, with that disarming slowness that hurt. His lips followed a cruel rhythm: soft circles, small figure eights, his tongue grazing your clitoris with surgical precision. Your body tensed, and your hands searched for something to hold onto. All you found was his hair. “J-Jay…” you moaned, voice breaking. He chuckled low, predatory, as if he knew exactly how hard you were fighting not to beg him. “What did you say?” he whispered against you before giving another slow lick along your lips. “I didn’t hear you well.” Then one of his fangs brushed your clitoris, and a shiver ran down your spine. “Fuck…” you gasped, pulling his hair.

“You’ve got a long tongue for such a sweet girl,” he growled. “And now look how slick your fucking human pussy is… Christ, I could kill for this taste, I could stay down here for hours watching you lose for me.” A finger slipped inside you slowly, wrapped in warmth and your wetness, and he cursed, forehead resting on your belly. “So tight… so ready and only for me, right?” You nodded and whispered, “I need you… please.” “Please…?” he repeated. “You’re desperate, huh? I want to hear you beg. Say my name.” he chuckled. “Jay…” you sobbed. “Please, fuck me. Do it with your fingers, with that damn mouth. Make me feel something that breaks me.” Jay was obsessed with you, and without warning, he pushed in a second finger; you felt yourself being stretched, your thighs opening wider, clutching the sheets as if they could save you from him. “Baby,” he murmured, voice broken by hunger. “You’re so full and warm… Christ, I’d get drunk just on you.” He kept moving inside you, his fingers curling against that spot that made you see stars, while his mouth devoured you mercilessly again. “You’re mine. Mine, got it? No one else gets to see you like this. No one will touch you like I do.” His fingers moved inside you like they were born for that gesture while he pumped inside you, and at the same time his tongue made perfect circles around your sensitive clitoris, then suddenly deeper, fiercer. As if his body knew exactly when to push you over the edge and when to cradle you in torment. “I-I’m coming, Jay…” you stammered, voice broken, and he smiled with that dark, indecent grin. “Good. Come. Show me how beautiful you are when you break for me.”

He didn’t give you time, and his lips returned to your pussy as if it were his favorite meal. There was no hunger for blood in his eyes anymore, only desire, only thirst for you… without warning, he pinched your clitoris with his fang and you screamed. He covered your mouth with his hand and growled into your ear, “Want to wake Jenù?” he growled softly. “Want her to hear her babysitter getting fucked with her employer’s fingers?” Tears streamed down your face—from pleasure, from shame, and pure excitement. “I’m sorry…” you whispered against his hand, unable to control your trembling, and with your other hand, you tangled it in his dark hair, pulling him even deeper between your legs. Jay groaned but didn’t stop; his fingers hammered inside you, curved, calculated, and his tongue sucked with the precision of an expert demon. Then, shivering, you came against his mouth and his fingers, and he didn’t stop. He took everything from you, drinking your essence as if it were sacred, and when he pulled away, his lips glistened. The same fingers that had destroyed you, he brought to his mouth and slowly sucked them, moaning. “Your taste… fucking perfect. Human but with something of mine inside you now. Can you feel it? You’re mine. You always were.” And he kissed you. A kiss full of your own flavor, and you, still trembling, still lost, gave it back to him. “Stay with me,” Jay murmured against your lips. “I don’t want to wake up one day without your scent on these sheets.” You couldn’t even answer. Your body collapsed against his, exhausted, warm, alive, and you fell asleep tight against his chest. But Jay… Jay didn’t sleep. He watched you in the dark while your breathing slowed, and every now and then his hand moved, caressing your side, then traveling up your belly, kissing your shoulder, your neck, the hollow behind your knee—and you… even in sleep, moaned softly. He was obsessed, thinking only about how easy it was to push you to the limit, how your body responded only to him, and he wanted to wake you again with his mouth between your thighs, wanted to hear your voice break again, wanted to bite you, make you his in the most absolute way. She’s mine. Even when she sleeps, even when she doesn’t know it, and for the first time in centuries… Jay Park felt alive.

It had been a few weeks since that night when he made you realize he cared about you and wanted you with him, and with all his might, he was pushing away the idea that he could love someone other than just his daughter. Things had changed—or maybe they had simply transformed.

He was no longer gruff, cold, or distant with you; on the contrary, he was spending much more time with you and Jenù. Every opportunity seemed good to involve you, even in moments you honestly never imagined could involve a 300-year-old aristocratic vampire.

Like… going to the movies. Yes, you heard that right the movies, not the private theater in his house but the one shared between humans and vampires in downtown Seoul. You, Jay, and Jenù sitting almost in the back row watching the new Disney movie Lilo & Stitch!

Jenù was clutching her favorite stuffed animal, you were holding her hand, and Jay… Jay was on the left, with a huge popcorn bucket on his lap. Halfway through the movie, when an emotional scene made Jenù’s eyes and yours glow, Jay leaned toward you.

“So humans cry even for an animated doll?” he whispered with a cocky smile, and you threw a popcorn straight at his face. Jenù laughed like crazy, and that’s when the battle started: flying popcorn, stifled giggles, sneaky hands trying to grab the popcorn bucket before the other a silent but beautiful disaster. Jay was laughing, and at that moment, you thought: maybe this is love, or maybe it’s a wonderful trap, because little by little, you were falling in love with that 27-year-old man who, in his vampire form, was 300 years old…

That afternoon at university, Sunghoon called to say he would pick up Jenù from kindergarten and take her to dance. You replied with a simple “ok,” already mentally preparing to take the crowded subway, but then you immediately saw a message from Jay saying: “I’ll come get you.”

You sighed because surely he and Sunghoon had made plans, and you thought: God, no.

Being seen outside the university in a shiny black Aston Martin at four in the afternoon? It was mortifying. Plus, you were wearing your dad’s hoodie, and battle-worn faded jeans, and you weren’t wearing any makeup or looking presentable for someone like him… yet, there he was. Parked in front of the entrance, headlights on, the door already open as per his gentleman status, and you got in.

That unmistakable scent aged whiskey, leather, something ancient and warm that smelled like him wafted into your nostrils, and you felt better seeing him dressed not for work either. He wore slightly dressy pants but a Ralph Lauren sweater that hugged his muscular chest, and his hair was so messy you smiled because he must have run his hands through it countless times.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, glancing at you sideways.“Just a headache, a bit tired the graduation is coming, and I can’t wait to finish to figure out which master’s to do.” Jay didn’t answer right away. He stretched his arm toward the back seat and handed you a warm carton. Hot chocolate. When you opened it, you saw it was covered with marshmallows, and you looked at him.

“How do you know that’s my favorite?” He raised an eyebrow, sly, and smiled. “I watch you carefully.” “Stalker,” you whispered as you started to drink, and he smiled. Then you shivered an unexpected chill ran down your spine. “Can you turn up the temperature?” you asked, your hands warming thanks to the hot chocolate’s heat. “It’s already 23 degrees.” Without a word, he moved closer and pressed his cold forehead against yours. “Fuck… you’re burning up.”You put your hand to your forehead—he was right, you were burning.“You have a fever.” His tone was authoritative and cold, but protective. Almost… tender. “You need to rest.” “Yes, Dad,” you teased, and he looked at you, his red eyes slightly narrowed, letting you drink in peace. But beneath that calm… he was already reckoning with how much he was getting attached to you a small human, too stubborn, too fragile, and too… his.

Jay never thought he’d have to take care of two girls in his life—and yet, in the middle of the night, he found himself standing next to the bed, watching over two humans. Well… one human and one small half-blood. One too stubborn for her good, with a fever and a stuffy nose. Jenù was asleep, her legs sprawled over his chest, breathing in little puffs.

You, on the other hand, were a whole different problem. For three days, your fever had hovered between 38.5 and 38.5, your nose red enough to melt any heart… and your hair so messy it looked more like a declaration of war than a symptom. Jay was immovable: rest, broth, medicine, more rest.

But you? You wanted the whole world, even with a fever and dark circles under your eyes. That night, you got up quietly, thinking he was in his study—but no. Jay was there, leaning against the kitchen door with his arms crossed. Crimson eyes, a sharp gaze, but he said nothing for a long second.

He looked at you: his sweatshirt nearly reached your knees, your pajama pants hung a bit off one hip, and your face pale, tired… and beautiful. That red nose, flushed cheeks, those wild strands of hair something in him snapped. A sharp, sweet pang.

Damn, she’s cute like this. Especially like this. Vulnerable, real, fully his, in his home. He walked toward you slowly, his voice stern: “Back to bed.”

“No.” Your voice came out hoarse, weak and then, suddenly, you hugged him. mA simple gesture. Natural.

But for Jay, it was like lightning. You weren’t a physical person. You never hugged him like that without a reason. Maybe because you didn’t trust him yet—not completely. But he wanted to become the person you could trust.

And him? He held you tight, protective in a way that surprised even him. A kind of touch he usually reserved only for his daughter. Don’t let me get used to this, little human… because I might never want to let it go.

“Sweetheart, you need rest…” he whispered into your ear, voice low and warm, unusually gentle. “I know,” you murmured, your forehead against his chest. “But I’m hungry… for something good. And no, I don’t want any more plain noodles or chicken soup.” You looked up at him with those eyes the same eyes Jenù used when she wanted to stay up late or ask for something and he recognized the look instantly.

He shook his head. “No.” You hugged him tighter, inhaling that scent of his that always made you feel at home, and you said: “Please… ramen. Slightly spicy, the one with the soft-boiled egg inside…”“You’ve got a fever,” he replied in his usual stern tone, and you pouted, knowing exactly how to push his buttons.

“Then I’ll call Heeseung,” you whispered with a faint smile. “The ramen king.” You tried to pull away to grab your phone, but Jay growled softly. His red eyes flared. That bastard’s not making you a damn thing. Not in my house.

Without another word, he took your hand warm, trembling, so human and dragged you into the kitchen. He sat you down on the counter and began preparing the ramen. You watched him move in silence, enchanted by the way he focused just to feed you. The way he opened the spice packets, cracked the eggs, and added the broth with precise gestures. As he stirred the pot, Jay thought about how much of a child you seemed to him. Fragile, human, noisy—and there he was, making ramen at three in the morning just because you gave him that sick puppy look.

I’ve gone insane.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked without turning around. He could feel your gaze on him.

“Like what?” you asked, a little sleepy. “Like I’m a miracle.” You smiled faintly.

“Maybe you are.” Jay froze for a second, the ladle hanging in the air. His (dead) heart skipped something dangerously close to a beat.

It’s just the fever talking, just a random moment. But then you turned away, coughing softly, and he placed one hand on your back, the other on your forehead.

“You still have a fever.” “I know,” you murmured with a shiver. “Eat. Then bed,” he said in that commanding tone of his. You whispered, “Only if you come too.” There was a pause—silence heavy enough to make your chest tighten in fear he might laugh at you. But Jay nodded slowly. He didn’t say a word but inside…

He was already surrendering. To your voice, to your fragility, to that sweetness he never asked for but that was slowly invading his life.

And maybe… just maybe…He was falling in love with you.

The next day, Jenù only had a mild cold. Jay checked her temperature and, with a satisfied look, confirmed the fever was gone. He sent her off to spend time with Sunghoon and your best friend "just to be safe," he said… though you suspected he just wanted a few hours alone with you.

He took your temperature right after. “37.5°. It’s going down.” “Oh, Doctor Jay, what wonderful news! Tell me, did you study medicine or is this all part of your panicked dad instincts?” Jay shot you a sharp look, but the corners of his lips curved into a half-smile.

“In my vampire ID, I’m 300 years old, sweetheart. I’ve seen plenty of sick people.” You rolled your eyes and leaned back against the couch.“There he is again — the ancient immortal. You know, I keep forgetting I’m dating someone who could’ve voted during the age of absolute monarchies.” “Dating?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. You two weren’t just “dating” like some teenagers fumbling through a first crush.

“Okay, fine living together, making out, exploring each other, co-parenting your daughter pick your term,” you said with a smirk as you stretched. “Anyway, I need a shower. I look like a gremlin and I hate tangled hair.” Jay stiffened immediately. “I don’t want you alone in the bathroom.” You looked at him, shrugging. “You can stay by the door. I don’t plan on drowning in shower gel.” He stepped closer, his face serious. “What if you faint? Or worse hit your head?”

You gave him a wry look. “If this is your way of asking to join me, just say so.” Jay’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “She’s back...the girl from our first months together. The one who teased me every five minutes.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around him.

“She never left. You just got used to my brilliant personality.” He sighed and raised his hands. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll prepare the main bathroom for you.”

When he finally called you in, the scene looked like something out of a movie: The large black marble tub steamed with hot water, dotted with violet sea salt pearls. The air smelled of vanilla and lavender, and candles flickered around the edges.

You stood at the doorway, lips slightly parted. As a kid, you had always dreamed of a bathtub like that, but your family home never had one — and your student apartment didn’t even come close.“You… did all this for me?” you whispered. “No. It was for me. But since you’re always complaining, I’ll let you use it,” he replied sarcastically, turning to leave. “Relax. Just don’t get up too fast.”

But you reached out and caught his wrist. “Stay,” you said softly, a little shyly. Jay turned slowly to face you, his gaze drifting down over your body, hidden beneath one of his oversized hoodies.

“I’m not pretty right now, I know,” you murmured, face warm. “All sweaty, still a little feverish…” You began pulling down your pajama pants slowly, left in nothing but your underwear. Then you peeled off the hoodie no bra underneath and Jay let out a quiet, almost frustrated breath as his eyes scanned your body. He reached out and cupped one of your breasts gently, brushing your nipple with his thumb. You gasped softly, tilting your head back at the contrast between your warm skin and his cool hands.

“You’re a little overdressed,” you whispered. He didn’t say anything, just took off his shirt revealing his golden skin and sharp V-line then slid off his sweatpants, staying in just his boxers. You were biting your lower lip without realizing it, and he noticed.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded before giggling shyly. “Can you turn around while I get in? Even vampires should know how to respect privacy.” Jay scoffed. “Sweetheart, I’ve seen your pussy from every angle.” “Jay!” you scolded, slapping his chest. He laughed and turned his back.

You slipped into the tub the water was just the right kind of hot. The steam kissed your skin and made you close your eyes for a second, letting yourself melt into it. Jay turned back around, watching you as you relaxed in the water. Then, slowly, he took off his boxers. You shut your eyes instantly.

“I said you turn around, not me!” “You’ve been naked for a minute,” he replied, climbing in. “Might as well.”

He settled behind you, pulling you gently between his legs, your back resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, and he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. The hot water enveloped you both like a velvet cocoon but Jay’s hands, cold like winter moonlight, made you shiver every time they touched your skin.

You could feel his arousal pressing against you — constant, undeniable — and a quiet moan escaped your lips. Jay smiled slightly, misinterpreting it. “Am I bothering you, sweetheart?” he whispered, continuing to lather your back with slow, careful movements… almost reverent.

"No… just a little shiver, " you lie, leaning your head against his chest as he had asked you. Its smell invaded you: wood, and smoke, mixed with the sweet note of vanilla and lavender. His hands began to descend slowly, lingering on the curves of your hips, then rising again, caressing your neck gently before lingering on the breast and you arched your body as you wanted it closer. "Perfect…" he whispered against your skin, his lips barely touching your lobe. "Too perfect for such a damn human creature." You moved, without realizing it, rubbing against him, and his body reacted with a slight quiver and a subdued laugh. "Careful, little human …" he muttered in a low tone, scratched with desire. "Do not tease what you are not ready to tame." His hand went down again, stroking your belly with slow, torturing movements, before lingering between your thighs. His kisses began to rain on you like caresses: on the neck, behind the shoulder, in the still-damp hair. «Jay…" you whispered, just turning around to look for his gaze. "You're on painkillers, love. You don't know what you're saying," he replied in a hoarse voice, but his hands hadn't stopped, and you turned a little more, running your fingers through his hair, and in the movement, you felt his cock rub against your bottom. He was hard, and hot despite his skin, and it was clear how much he was struggling with himself. You looked at him with bright eyes. "I need you." He kissed you and it was not a tender kiss, it was a hungry bite, a fire devouring the air between you and slightly pinched your lower lip, savoring a drop of your blood as if it were his condemnation. "You don't know what trouble you're getting yourself into…" he hissed at your mouth. "Then let me sink with you." Your voice trembled, but it was not fear: it was desire. He stared at you, then shook his head with that tired, sharp smile. "You are a stubborn child and too human for your good…" And yet, his fingers were already moving between your legs, tracing slow and skillful circles, his fingers were tracing slow circles against your already hot, swollen cunt, so sensitive that you almost could not hold back the moans.

"Jay… please… I want to hear you inside…" He sighed, and his breath caressed your neck like a broken promise. "you're too cheeky to be a babysitter» You bit your lip, but the answer came out to you anyway: "I know what I want and I want you.» His laughter was low, biting. "Really? And what exactly do you want, honey?" You stammered, but the words melted into a sigh as you felt the entrance of your now swollen folds teasing you: "I want to feel good. I can't take it anymore… to be repressed every time I see you. I've wanted you for months…and you, you with your daughter are sweet, perfect… and you're a bad bastard with me. Looks like you live with a pole up your ass." His laugh this time was true but also as sharp as a barely sharp canine. "You know I could bite you just for what you just said?" He pinched your hips, then with cruel slowness slid a finger into you and your body reacted as if it had always expected it: you groaned, your head back resting on his shoulder, and you groaned. "Continuous… please…" "Fucking human," he hissed at your skin, as his teeth grazed the curve of your shoulder. "So greedy for my finger? What are you gonna do when I fucking dig you in? When will I plant my teeth in your neck and make you mine for real?" You barely moved, tilting your hips, rubbing over his still-captive boner between the two of you and he growled softly.

"Stay still…" order. "If you still move I'll take you like that. Without lubricants, without sweetness and I swear you will scream my name until everyone in the palace hears you." "Jay…" you whined, moving against his fingers. He looked at you with a mixture of exasperation and burning desire. "You behave worse than a child in heat. I should punish you." But he didn't, instead, he slid a second finger into you, bending it with mastery as his thrusts became deeper, more insistent and your body writhed against his, looking for more friction, more pressure, more of everything. "You… yes so… You're great…", you praised him between moans, without shame, as you felt how his cock under you became harder and harder, swollen, impatient. You felt it, you wanted it, and he was losing his temper, too.

"Be careful…" he growled softly," I'm going to rip your soul out if you keep moving like this." You wrapped your arms around His neck, your head resting on his shoulder, and you babbled against his skin: "I'm… I'm coming…" He smiled, damn pleased. "You're only coming with two fingers inside and I haven't even touched your clit… You're so sensitive, so damn mine." You nodded, unable to speak, until your body stretched all together and the orgasm ran through you like an electric shock, making you scream at his chest as you felt your cunt twitch, hot, wet, sticky, even hungrier than him against his fingers. "Good girl…" he muttered, slowly removing his fingers from inside you, looking at them, shiny and wet, but this time he did not bring them to his mouth. Instead, he picked up some of your same mood and slid it down, between your buttocks and the touch made your back arch. It was the first time anyone touched you in that area and he knew it. "If you want it, honey…", he said in a rougher voice,"…I need to make sure it doesn't hurt. You are small, narrow, and too human." He continued to pass his finger carefully through the folds, pressing only gently, preparing you, his tone became lower, more intimate. "I don't want to break you. I want you to feel it, everything, but slow, only if you're ready." You nodded slowly, your heart in your throat and your body on fire, trembling as if you were about to collapse because you wanted to feel it inside you for months now.

"I … I've never done it like this…" you stuttered with a sweaty forehead, fingers clasped against his broad shoulders as if only he could still hold you in balance and he looked at you with his eyes too dark to belong in this world. He kissed you in the hair and put you even closer to him to feel how much he wanted you. "Then I'll do it." murmur. "And it will be nice but if you tell me to stop, I will always stop, remember that." His hard, taut cock slid between your buttocks with sadistic patience and you felt it throb against you, like a living creature, as if choosing you and every slow rub was a bite of pleasure and torture. He had been lubricating you for minutes, with expert, careful fingers, and now the tip was already pressing where no one had ever been. Then he lowered his head and he kissed your neck alternating light hickeys and light bites with his fangs and you heard him growling softly against your skin, as if hungry for everything you were. "I can't take it anymore…" you gasped, your voice broken, damp. "I want you too much…" He giggled against your ear, a low, poisonous laugh of desire. "I knew that under that too-long tongue was hiding a little human slut who wanted to be filled all over." He grabbed you by the hips with force, clutching the flesh as if he wanted to leave a mark on us.

"Relax … sit on top of me. So, let me lead you into hell."Your knees trembled as you lifted, feeling your body straining in the void. "Raise that beautiful little ass for me. That's right." You whined as his hands held you still between your hips. "Are you ready, baby?" he said while teasing the skin of your body. "Yes … yes, I am…" you muttered, and so you felt his toe push slowly, come in, spread It burned but it was a fire you wanted, you had been looking for for months and you both groaned. "Fuck…" you gasped. "It's so big… so big… it hurts but…" you said as you felt it making space inside you deeper and deeper and the only friction that gave you relief was the now slightly lukewarm water. "And you are…" he growled in a broken voice, his breath trembling. "So tight, so hot, Christ, your body is made to be fucked by me. Feel how well you take me…" Tears rose to your eyes from pleasure, and when you were halfway through his entrance, you moaned almost in a sob: "It's too much … too much…" He laughed, with a sound that smelled of sin but also of the desire to break you. "Too much? And you didn't even make it to the better half…" With your hands sunk to the edge of the tub, you lifted yourself a little more, your body tense, heaving, while the cock remained inside you, ravenous and insatiable.

Then you began to descend again, slowly, deeper, and his groan was violent, brutal, like an animal held too long. "Good … So … But me…" His voice cracked, broken, as the grip on your hips became tighter, more urgent. "I can't take it anymore. I want to sink everything in, I want to be tight in you to the last drop." "Jay …" you whined and he giggled seeing you against the mirror trying to get used to his size creeping more and more inside you. He lifted you slightly, holding you by the hips with his hands wide and secure, then let you fall back on his cock in a single, deep lunge and you screamed. Not because of pain, but because of the intensity because it was everywhere, it took all of you, it filled every corner of your body. "Fuck… you're so hot. So fucking tight…» You just turned around, your hair touching his bare chest, and you stammered disjointed words, lost in pleasure: "I hear you… too much inside… not… I can't… you drive me crazy, Jay…" He growled and kissed your bare back. "You're fine, you're perfect when you tremble and look how good you are at taking everything from me…"

His hands pushed you up, then down again and he made you ride him slowly, then forcefully, holding your hips as you drove the pace in the bathroom you could hear only the flow of hot water and the sound of your skin slapping against his, your moans, his roaring breaths… everything blended into a perfect symphony. His cock penetrated you deep, each lunge sent liquid shocks between your legs and when you began to lose balance, his hands went to support you from below, pressing with their thumbs on the curves of your ass. "I want to see you completely lost. I want you to remember this feeling every time you look at me." You felt it throbbing inside you, already at the limit and then it changed angle, pushing the pelvis slightly higher and god hit you right there. "It's too much…." you cried and screamed at how well he was taking you. "No," he growled. "You take it. Because you're my good girl, remember?" He was fucking you from underneath now, pushing in with force and precision, while you rode his body as if you were falling apart and finding your perfect shape in his hands. «Jay… I'm coming…" You groaned, your voice broken, confused between crying and ecstasy. "Come, then," he whispered against your back. "Show me how you break for me."

Your orgasm swept over you like a wave, as he clutched you, your thighs trembled as you took him still inside you, sitting on his cock, your back arched and your hair stuck to sweaty skin. His hands held you steady, wide, icy, sunk into your hips as he drew small circles around your hips. "Look how you take me…" he whispered in a hoarse voice, his forehead resting on your back. "You're so tight, so fucking hot… Christ, you're taking me so well" Every time you let go of him, you felt him rise deep, hard, thick, pulsating. "It's too much … you're too in… I can't…" But your body told another story because you wanted to feel it all inside you. "Yes, you succeed because you are mine. Made to be fucked by me so forever." His hands moved under your breast, grabbing it, squeezing it with gentle brutality as he lifted you, then made you fall back on him, stronger, deeper. The noise of your skins coming together was obscene and whispered dirty praises in your ear. “Look how good you are … my insatiable little human … so hungry for me." You cried, laughed, and groaned, all together. "god … please…don't come inside…" He paused for only a second and the silence was heavier than desire.

"Are you taking the pill?" You did no with your head, breathing hard but his eyes shone. "Then let me fill you up." He grabbed your hair, pulling it slowly to make you turn towards him. "I want you fertilized, I want to see you swollen with my seed and I want to brand you inside, not just outside."

A thrill passed through you because you had never felt so good in your life. "Tell me you want it." "Yes … yes, I want you to fill me… I want your seed inside me." The growl he made was almost animalistic. "Good girl." and then his cock impaled you again, sinking with strength and pure desire. He took you by the throat, with the right squeeze, without really tightening, just to dominate you, and pushed himself deeper, dirtier, as his hips lifted and lowered you as if you were an extension of him. He was fucking you like a god and you were his goddess, his chest was against your back. His mouth was on your neck and bit you slightly not to hurt you or mark you and then came. You felt Him explode inside you, hot, flooding and you felt his release slip dent of you and his hands trembled around your waist as he panted your name. His seed dripped slowly between your thighs, still sitting on him, and you just turned, your cheek against his chest, your heart exploding in your chest.

"Jay" He kissed you on the forehead and in a low voice you said, "I love you." You said it slowly as if you were afraid of his reaction but he squeezed you harder and slid you slightly from him and then straddled you and hugged you and said, "I love you too and I can't pretend otherwise anymore."

You giggled and when you looked up he looked up. "Damn…" he whispered, he took you in his arms again, his face in your hair. "I seriously fell in love with a little girl who acts as a babysitter to my daughter and by the way a human who teases me from the first day she entered through that door!"

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