#And I'd like to get on my knees and ask for forgiveness

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who plays dirty. CW : threesome(?), technically cheating but no angst, pussy slap, mentions of masturbation.

Simon hates it when you touch yourself when he's away.

He knows you can't bring yourself the same pleasure he can. So he makes it a rule. No touching yourself unless he's present and has given you permission.

And it goes well for a while. You touch yourself a few times when you aren't supposed to, causing Simon to punish you. Which he enjoys more than he should.

Until you frustratingly become such a good girl, you refuse to touch yourself when Simon's away.

Simon tries everything to get you to fold, he sends you dirty texts, voice messages of him moaning as he stroked his cock, even videos of him stroking his cock. But nothing made you break.

So, he had to bring Johnny into the mix.

It wasn't unusual for Johnny to come by the apartment when Simon was away. Nor was his usual flirtatious personality.

But finding yourself on the couch underneath the scotsman was definitely unusual.

Your mind was mush, eyes rolling back. Johnny had you folded in half, one knee against your chest, the other leg being held over his shoulder.

"She tight as you thought, Johnny?" The familiar gravel of your boyfriend's voice spoke as he dropped his duffel bag by the door.

Your eyes snapped to Simon, your mouth opening to beg for his forgiveness, but whatever you were going to say dissolved into a whorish moan.

"S'fucking tight, LT. Why'd you have to keep 'er from me f'so long?" Johnny groaned.

"You know the rules, lovie. No touching yourself. Think that you could find a loophole by letting Johnny touch you instead?" Simon asked with a sadistic grin. Reaching between you and Johnny, pinching and rubbing at your clit.

"Hah~No! 'm sorry Si!" you beg, tears in your eyes a mix of guilt and pleasure.

"Shhh, no crying, lovie. Johnny's just trying to make you feel good while I was away. He was just taking care of my pet f'me" Simon chuckled, wiping away a stray tear.

You seem to realise that Simon and Johnny were in this together. That Simon wasn't mad at you.

Johnny leaned down and licked a tear off your cheek, growling low in his chest.

"C'mon mutt, you talked such a big game. Make her come like you told me you would" Simon demanded. Johnny nodded, his brows furrowed.

"come f'me Bonnie, come on. Come on my cock" Johnny moaned, pulling your hips flush against his own as he came deep inside you. Hot ropes coating your insides.

You nodded desperately, mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back as you orgasm. A scream of pleasure being ripped from your throat.

You pant and whine weakly as Johnny pulled out. Your eyes snapping open when you feel a harsh slap on your oversensitive cunt. Simon grinning down at you, fishing his cock from his jeans.

"No where near done yet, lovie"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

just so everyone knows, requests are open! I get stuck for ideas sometimes, so I'd love to hear some of your guys' ideas!

[lyrefromthesea]

Male pillars x Reader - sitting on their lap

author's note: I'm strictly against any kind of sexual interactions with minors. That's why I will either exclude Muichiro from such fics of or portray a wholesome interaction instead.

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Muichiro x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestive words and actions

Tengen:

"excuse me? I'm married!" he dramatically exclaimed, looking down at you. the man was already trying to refrain from smiling, watching you turn your head towards him.

"i'm sure Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma will forgive me." you answered, showing him your hand. he smirked at the all too familiar ring. he was glad he had married you.

"just playin', i could never disappoint the flamboyant person i married!" he laughed, clearly proud of himself. when you cocked your eyebrow at him, he let out a dramatic gasp, pulling you closer.

"are you trying to say i'm not the most perfect husband you could imagine?" he asked, displaying a huge amount of shock. you knew he was just making fun, especially when he pressed your back against his chest, bringing his lips to your ear.

"you were saying entirely different things yesterday." he said, watching you shudder at his words. you slapped his knee, scolding him for saying such things outside.

"come on, you know you love it!"

Obanai:

he freezes, his brain nearly malfunctioning. it's not like you've never sat on his lap before, but you usually gave him a warning first - asked for his approval.

"[name]? what's-" he asked, surprised when your arms wrapped around his neck, barely giving Kaburamaru time to slither away. words got stuck in his throat, feeling your lips against his mask - right above his own.

"nothing. i was just feeling affectionate." you answered, shifting to wrap your arms around his torso. he looked down at you, letting out a quiet yelp when your hips moved a bit too much on his lap.

"oh..?" you looked at him, a smile slowly forming on your lips. a blush made his way towards his cheeks, luckily covered by his mask. at least he felt lucky, you would've liked to see him blush.

"it looks like you're feeling affectionate too, Obanai." you chuckled, purposely drawing light circles with your hips. of course you had noticed the growing bulge in his pants, his hands now holding yours.

"don't tease me, [name].."

Rengoku:

"little flame! how was your day?" he enthusiastically asked, his arms wrapping around your torso. he pulled you closer, placing his chin on your shoulder.

"it was okay, i missed you." you answered, leaning against his chest. he smiled at you, enjoying the way your bodies were pressed together so gently.

"we can't have that, little flame! how about we go eat later?" he asked, holding you a bit closer. you chuckled at his words, he really loved taking you to new places - especially restaurants.

"i'd like that. let's go eat something later."

Sanemi:

"and what the hell are you doing?" Sanemi asked, feeling you make yourself comfortable on his lap.

he had cleaned his sword moments prior, hearing the door open - it was you. you moved towards him without warning, getting between him and his sword.

"getting your attention." you answered, moving even closer. don't think he didn't notice the way you purposely squished your chest against his own.

"yeah? didn't I give ya enough attention, sweetheart?" he teased, watching you pout in response. you had been alone for far too long, you finally wanted to spend time with him.

"you've been working on your sword for two hours now.." you complained. he placed it down, knowing that you were right. he just felt like the proper care could safe his ass one day, though a shiny sword probably wasn't that important.

"fine, ya win. this was getting uncomfortable anyways." he answered, almost making you question what he meant until he pressed his hips against yours more. oh, now you could feel it too.

"does that mean you want my attention as well-" you asked playfully, getting cut off by his lips pressing against yours before you could finished talking.

Giyuu:

"is everything alright?" his voice broke the silence, you've been sitting on his lap for almost 5 minutes now, not saying a single word. he was confused, not sure if you were fine or needed help.

"Giyuu, attention?" you asked, feeling him relax under you. he had been tense, thinking you could've been hurt somewhere. your words instantly calmed him down, his lips pressing against yours gently.

he didn't expect you to turn his soft kiss into something more passionate. his hands slowly came to hold your hips, tongues swishing against each other.

you broke the kiss, panting against his lips. he pressed his forehead against yours, pulling you a bit closer, only to have your hips start grinding slightly.

"l- love.. t- that's not.." he muttered, his cheeks visibly growing more red. hands squeezing your hips more, trying to create more friction. he could only moan when you finally started grinding against him properly.

"i.. i need to go on a mission later.." he panted against your lips, but he didn't object when you kissed him again, your hand wandering to his belt.

Muichiro:

"Muichiro! i finally caught up to you.." you heaved, letting yourself fall onto his lap. you had been running for nearly twenty minutes now, watching the boy leave his estate without food. being the good friend you were, you ran after him.

"[name]? what are you doing here..?" he asked, letting you lean against him. your cheeks were flushed from running. it would've been different if you also were a hashira, but you still had much to learn.

"you.. you forget your food, Mui.." you panted, reaching into your pocket. he looked rather surprised when he saw the small box of food he usually brought with him.

"thank you..! i've completely forgotten." he laughed, eventually coaxing a smile out of you. you gave him the box, seeing his eyes lit up at the promise of food.

he wanted to dive right in before he had a quiet growl come from your stomach, making your cheeks flush. "do you want some?" he asked, watching you shake your head.

"i brought my own!" you countered, grabbing into your back once more. silence filled the room when you noticed you had only brought his food.

his arm wrapped around your torso, forcing you to stay on his lap a while longer. "let's share." he said, offering you some of his food. you knew he wouldn't let you go until you have had a healthy portion.

Gyomei:

"welcome back." the giant said, feeling you plop onto his lap, nuzzling against his chest. you let out a tired hum, feeling a large hand soothingly rub over your arm.

"is there something wrong? you're more quiet than usual." he asked, gently bringing your head closer with his hand - allowing you to be closer to him. you could hear the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat.

your day had been stressful, but he somehow always managed to calm you down. his warmth. his voice. his actions. they put your mind at ease.

"i know it's ridiculous, but i've felt really stressed out lately. i just want a break.." you muttered, closing your eyes. you were trying to focus on his heartbeat and ignore everything else around you.

"it's not ridiculous, you deserve a break. perhaps a visit to the hot spring would help calm you down?" he offered, feeling you nod against his chest. you felt warm hands rub over your thighs, his head now closer to yours.

"and i could pamper you a bit more after that.." he muttered against your ear, your eyes opening again. the warmth pooling in your gut could probably rival the hot spring's temperature

[luveline]

hellooo!! im not sure if your requests are open so feel free to ignore this but i was wondering if you could write for tasm!peter where the reader just got her wisdom teeth removed and she’s all loopy on anesthetics and forgets peter is her boyfriend? i saw this video where this girl got her wisdom teeth pulled and forgot she was dating her boyfriend and fell in love with him all over again😭😭

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR7sGQo5/

thank you for your request! ♡ fem, 1k

"Here she is," the nurse says gently, walking you out with his arm behind your back. "Alright, say hi to Peter." 

"Hi, Peter," you mumble, eyes on the floor. 

Peter grins at you, worry warm at the back of his throat. "Hey. Is that everything?" he asks, nodding at the nurses paper bag of aftercare. 

"Everything you'll need." The nurse helps Peter take over, hoisting your arm over his shoulders before stepping away. "Alright, feel better, okay? And don't hesitate to call if something comes up. We're here to look after you." 

You seem appreciative in your fog, but it's hard to tell. Peter curls his arm around your hip and gives it a soft rub as he leads you to the stairs. Whoever devised the floor plan here had murder on their mind —the second floor is completely inaccessible. Luckily, Peter has a lot of strength at his disposal. 

You can feel it. "Woh, you're strong," you murmur. 

"You know that already." His grip on you tightens, pretty much carrying you down the tight staircase. 

"Do I?" you ask. You make a sound like you're hurting, a squeak. 

"I'd hope so." At the end of the staircase, he sits you down, worried you're not feeling well. "You okay? I can princess carry you if you need me to." 

You look at him with wide eyes. He turns to check there's no one standing behind him, but you're really looking at him. "What?" he asks, touching your knee, imploring. "You look like you've seen a ghost." 

"You're Peter?" you ask. 

Ah, the amnesiac effect of anaesthetic. His touch turns comforting, stroking your thigh with as much care as he can drive into his palm alone. "That's me. Hey, if you're forgetting me, does that mean you're not mad at me for last Friday anymore? 'Cos I know you said you forgive me but I can tell it still pisses you off–" 

Your eyes fall to his hand. "Why would I be mad at you?" you ask. 

"I finished the milk and put the carton back in the fridge, even though I promised I'd stop doing it. You see the jug and think there's milk left. We were gonna have macaroni and cheese..." He nudges your fingers with his. "Are you okay? You don't look like yourself."

"What do I usually look like?" 

"Not so, you know. Daunted." 

"You're really handsome," you whisper, refusing to meet his eye. 

"Oh, you think so?" 

You nod like your head is too heavy. You're embarrassed, you sweetheart, oh my god Peter could cry into your lap. 

"Let's get you to the car, baby." 

"Where are we going?" The gauze gives you the world's most adorable lisp, and it turns your gasp into a hum as Peter stands you up. 

"Home." 

"Together?" 

"Yeah, we live together. It's a nice place, and you're a great decorator, you know? It's cozy." 

"Thank you," you say shyly. 

You're not not shy with him, but it's been a long time since you got so quiet over a practically innocuous comment. He wants to see how you'll react to real compliments, over the top stuff that he one hundred percent means. It's a little mean, but when will you ever be like this again? 

He helps you out past the desk and onto the street to your car where it's parked a half a block down. "Don't worry about all this, okay? I'm gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. There's an ice pack and a brand new comforter with your name on it waiting at home." Peter smiles at your starry eyes as they flash to his, amazed at his simple plans. "How does that sound, beautiful? Is there anything you want before we head home? Anything that would make you feel better?" 

"You're gonna take care of me?" you ask breathlessly. 

"That's my job. That's my number one boyfriend duty." 

"You're my boyfriend?" 

"I am!" he says happily, laughing as he speaks. "For a while. I've been trying to take things further but you're always really shy about getting married–" 

"You want to get married? To me?" 

Peter presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the only person I'd ever want to get married to. We already picked the flowers–" 

"We did?" 

He laughs again, all your questions. He loves regular you but loopy you is especially endearing. "Last time I got super drunk, yeah. You never let me forget it." 

"So you love me?" you ask, stopping short.

"I love you so much," he says immediately, hugging you into his side. He dots another kiss against the top of your head. "You should remember that even if you don't remember me." 

"I love you," you say quietly. 

Peter doesn't know if that's your memory returning, or if you've fallen in love with him in the last fifteen minutes. He could easily fall in love with you that quickly, and yet he's still amazed at your confession. 

"That's good. That's great. Thank you, sweetheart," he says, desperate to hold your face in his hands but weary of causing you future pain. "There's your car," —he points, lowering his head to yours to make sure you can see it, hand now protectively held between your shoulder blades— "let's go home now. Yeah?" 

You start walking again at his requests. He can pretty much see the steam rising off of your face, giddy with happiness at these revelations. You're together, you're in love, and you think he's handsome. He wonders what you'll have to say about his biceps in this state of delirium; you go crazy for his arms sober. 

Which reminds him. 

"I totally have another secret to tell you," he says, unlocking the car as you approach and helping you into the passenger seat. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

Peter closes you in and skirts around the door, climbing into the driver's seat. He's glad that New York is as ridiculously loud as ever, because not even the closed doors or your sodden gauze can smother the way you shriek.

"My boyfriend is Spider-Man?!" 

[lilystyles]

you are in love.

written by @lilystyles

my masterlist xx & style masterlist

authors note PART FOUR!!! sorry it took so long to update, i think i'll have to do a fifth chapter to wrap up how i want!! please forgive me by enjoying all this filthy smut and hopefully more from me soon. i'd love some feedback or suggestions for part five so drop them in the asks angels. XX

brief description y/n is living her teenage dream, and despite the snow harry has never felt so warm.

warnings! slight age gap, smut (f! receiving, sex, daddy kink, slight choking, m! receiving, all the usual! romantic asf thoooo) kissing, mentions of drugs and alcohol abuse. (wordcount: 13k!!)

fratboy!older!bffsbrother!harry x younger!innocent!reader

* * * * *

It was late on a Thursday night, and the evening sky was a dark blanket over the world. Everyone was asleep, including the sun.

Y/n’s street was silent. The suburban area was normally loud due to the streets of houses full of loud University students, but tonight, they had left it like a ghost town, and the evening air was eerily silent. Outside the large brick home, the stars twinkled above the streets and clean-cut yards. Tonight’s half-crescent moon shone down through Y/n’s big window as she slept peacefully in bed.

Her face was soft like a cherub, lips tugged in a pout, long lashes kissing at her cheeks. She looked beautiful, even now in the middle of a deep slumber as soft snores escaped her. Tonight, she had fallen asleep early at eight PM like a little kid, so worn out from the past few weeks, she’d had exam after exam, assignments due, and so many lectures to attend. She had one class tomorrow, her Psych class, and was mentally preparing to deal with the lunatic lecturer by having an early night. He was seriously unhinged, and a really harsh-grader.

Y/n had been dreaming of hazy roses and swirls of flannelette shirts, and oddly the smell of vanilla, mint, and tobacco overtook her senses despite being fast asleep, just moments before she woke up with a gasp. 

A chill ran up her spine, god it was freezing in here. Startled and still confused as to whether or not she was dreaming she opened her eyes. A loud bang on her window had been what woke her. 

Oh god! Is this like horror movies where the hot young university student gets murdered by a masked man? 

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest at the possibility. She sat up knuckling her eyes messily, and peering down from her window. On her knees, she was just tall enough to see what had made the noise, which was probably stupid of her to do. Because if it really was some axe murderer with a thing for sleeping girls they’d see her.

With a confused, tired smile, she realised it wasn’t a murderer. No, it was her boyfriend, Harry.

Looking over at her alarm clock it read 1:47 AM. She scratched her head looking down at him. He was standing down by the front yard, a red flannel shirt over his form, under a big football jacket from the Uni team, and considering it was freezing Y/n wondered how he wasn’t shivering in just those few layers. 

She thought for a moment that this would be a fond memory of him, one she might tell her children about her first proper boyfriend, her first love. The boy next door. She opened the window, leaning out, and instantly felt cold howling wind pelt her skin. 

“Styles! What are doing?!” She whisper-shouted. Not wanting to wake her roommates who were all probably awake studying for final exams anyway. 

She must be dreaming, because when he saw her this smile overtook his face, dimples popping and pink landing on his cheeks as he lifted his hand to show a bundle of red roses. A big pink bow wrapped around them and his tattooed hand gripped them tightly.

He looked like something of her dreams, she’d wished for a romance like this, spending nights cooped up reading about boys like Harry who made romantic gestures in the middle of the night. Wishing for a life all as magical as those fairytales. One full of excitement and passion, but also one that was real. She always felt real around Harry.

“Trouble, get some shoes on!” He whispered back lifting his arms dramatically, the jacket straining against his muscles.

She furrowed her brows. “Do you realise what time it is, Crazy?”

Harry smiled up at her, god he’d be the death of her, that smile. It made her stomach curl dangerously, butterflies rippling inside her. “Just get some shoes on, and something warm. C’mon, Baby, thought y’were a bad girl now.” He teased, thinking back to that night in the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes at him shutting the window, as she tried to quietly potter around her room. Finding her pale pink tracksuit pants on her floor, and a thick matching crewneck, she left her thin white singlet on underneath, putting on a random long-sleeve from the floor over it, and the knickers she’d gone to sleep in. Before digging around to find the Ugg boot that paired with the one in her hand.

When she was ready she snuck downstairs and outside. Harry perked up at the sound of gravel crunching. 

Y/n, god she was pretty. His heart thumped heart, heat creeping up his neck at the sight of her.

Hair in a long plait at the back of her head, skin all soft from her skincare, and a puddle of pink covering her, and despite the faux-frown on her face he knew she was excited to see him as he was to see her. He rushed over pulling her into a hug close to his chest. She smelled good, like the lavender spray she used on her bed for a good night’s sleep, and he planted a kiss on her head.

Picking her up in the hug and spinning her around. “Hi, Trouble.”

Feet off the ground she squealed quietly in surprise. He was so warm, and he smelt so good.

She looked up at him as he slowly placed her back onto her feet, arms still around his neck. Grabbing the flowers he offered to her as a pink rushed up her neck, “You are crazy, Styles, what are you even doing here?”

“I missed you, what was I supposed to do?” He said leaning down close, and Y/n brushed their noses together, before standing on the tips of her toes as she connected their lips. His firm grip on her waist fell to the curve of her plump ass. Squeezing her closer into his firm chest and warmth.

It was a chaste, gentle kiss, she hadn’t seen him since the weekend of that party. They’d called every day since though. 

When she pulled away, a big grin overtook her face, one of his hands fell into hers as he pulled her down to where his car was. Opening the door for her, he made sure she was tucked inside before gently shutting it and walking around the other door. Y/n noticed in his little cup holder her pink scrunchie was there and a strawberry lip mask she’d lost was sitting beside it.

She placed her flowers on the backseat. They looked like he’d stolen them from someone’s garden, in true Harry fashion, he had from their snooty neighbour.

Harry slid inside the driver’s seat and started the engine. It was freezing, the middle of winter, and if not for him she would never have stepped foot out into the bleak winter night. The car was warm already from him driving over.

“Are you some sort of pervert creep stalker or summat? What you got all this for, Styles? A shrine for me.” She said pointing to her little spot of things in the cupholder.

He rolled his eyes looking at her with a sassy expression. “Just returning them to my girlfriend, thanks,”

She was still getting used to those words slipping from his filthy rotten mouth. Harry noticed her flustered face and laughed. 

“What? Since I can’t tell everyone yet, I’m gonna boast as much as I can even if it’s just with you.”

She slid her hand into his as he drove down the street heading to, well, Y/n didn’t know where. With this boy? She’d never know what he had planned. “I can’t believe I have a boyfriend now,”

He giggled and stared ahead, but his hand squeezed hers. “Can’t believe I’m the lucky bastard. Was certain I’d never have a chance with you.”

Y/n let out a scoff. “You’re joking, you knew how much I fancied you growing up, Styles.”

He looked over at her. “Well, everyone fancied me.”

She slapped his arm, and he laughed. “Sorry, Trouble, but it’s true…anyway Em made it very clear I wasn’t allowed to engage with you. No matter how much I wanted to.”

She looked over him, in disbelief at what these past few weeks held for them. Harry Styles, her boyfriend was sharing his feelings with her, and it wasn’t even that weird to be with him. Actually, it felt pretty fucking perfect.

“So you chose to act like a foul-mouthed, prick?” She fired back raising her brows argumentatively.

He nodded, biting his lip and smirking, before looking at her for a second to see her face. “At least I got t’talk to you, and admit it Baby, y’pretty fucking sexy when you’re pissed with me.”

She scoffed at him. “And you’re dumb.”

He looked over for a second longer than he should’ve considering he was behind the wheel. “Don’t they say loves make you dumb, Trouble?”

Y/n felt her tummy curl. Love? Surely he hadn’t meant it like that. The car fell silent a soft eighties love song playing on the car speakers as Y/n melted into the leather passenger seat. She was tired, but the excitement of whatever Harry had planned had her too restless to nap. Anyway, it only took around 30 or so minutes of Harry cruising through windy back roads before the surprise was revealed.

She looked over at him, to find him already peering over at her. As she gasped out breathily. 

“...The beach?”

She looked out at the dark scene. The waves were deep, crashing, and wild. The reflection of the moon was a sombre scene across the almost black-looking ocean, and the chilly air made it seem all the more beautiful of a landscape. She’d been here before, many times. During most Summer holidays she would be invited to stay with the Styles at their beach house that was not far from here, maybe another two-minute drive or so. This beach held memories of countless afternoons sunbaking and reading, sunrises with Em, and a handful of beach bonfires mostly ending with Harry and Y/n taking care of Emma together.

She’d never been here during winter before, having never been here without the Styles to accompany her. It felt different now, and exciting to be here with just Harry. It was one of her fantasies. She’d had many nights where she laid awake in the twin bed of the beach house next to a snoring Emma dreaming of a romantic moment with Harry. Clinging to the crumbs of affection he gave her…a hand graze hers, a tug on her hair, a pat on the shoulder. She spun her own story of them being something but never imagined it would actually happen.

She turned to Harry, and once again she had to fight off the urge to pinch herself out of this unbelievably magical dream.

“What are we doing here?”

Harry smiled his hand landing on her knee, a welcome warmth during the cold of the night. “I was looking through m’camera roll and I found this photo of you and Em sunbaking right before I dumped a bucket of water all over y’both. Remember?”

She placed her hand on his admiring how large, veiny, and muscular it was. She’d always loved his hands. Tonight he had only his signet ring which was a family heirloom, on his pinky. She stroked it with her finger.

“Of course I do. Remember when we got our revenge?”

He rolled his eyes. “Was you’re idea wasn’t it, Trouble?

She grinned thinking back to the memory. It was a hazy blur of vibrant colours and laughs. That summer they were fourteen and Harry was sixteen, they’d all gotten up to lots of mischief that summer.

The whole time he had been obsessing over this girl who worked at the local cinema. When he’d finally managed to land a date, the girls had wreaked absolute havoc as revenge. He’d spent all afternoon picking out his outfit, fixing his hair to be perfect, and even shaved his slight stubble. The whole family teased him about how excited he was.

They’d been swimming in the pool when he came out to ask Emma if he could borrow her bike to ride to meet Cinema Girl at the ice cream shop. They’d been taking a break to sunbathe on the concrete in the sun when he came over to them.

Emma stood up and so did Y/n, they’d already devised their plan and were ready to take action. Y/n likes to pretend her interest in the ruining of his date had been all revenge-orientated but she knew deep down she was jealous of the curvy blonde surfer girl who was older than her who Harry had been drooling over. When Emma was the first to dive at him pushing him dangerously close to the pool, Y/n knew she needed to join her to knock his suddenly strong body into the water.

She remembers the way his hands clawed at her bare back, in hopes of pulling himself back up, but it was too late. He fell in with a big splash and an angry shout at the pair of them. Laughing so hard they clutched their stomachs when he resubmerged and the way the water fell over his head pathetically. The perfect curls on his head had been ruined, his white shirt soaked, shoes and all.

It was when he lifted himself out of the water absolute murder in his eyes that they finally fled the crime scene. Sprinting through the house and when his loud running was close by, they screamed heading through the front door. Y/n remembers running down the street in just a bikini, all wet, feet bare and as she squealed forgetting how fast Harry was when he wanted to be. Emma who was all legs and spindly back then was off miles ahead and was far from the pair of them. He’d caught Y/n with ease, arms coming around her waist and yanking her back.

“You are so dead, Trouble,”

It ended with him carrying her over his shoulder, hands dangerously close to her bum, and chucking her into the deep end of the pool. But she didn’t care, because after all that he cancelled the date and stayed in to watch Dirty Dancing with all of the girls. Anne, Gem, Em, and her. She noticed the way he smiled at the ending, and she dreamily contemplated if they’d ever have a movie-like dance scene.

She just smirked at him coming back to the present. “I was always the brains behind the operation.”

He eyed her, eyes hooded, “Y’think I didn’t know that?”

She felt herself blush. God, she had such a crush on her boyfriend.

“...Wanna go for a walk?” He asked, turning the engine off, and pulling her back to reality.

She nodded. “Of course. Do you have any other clothes to rug up?”

He looked in his backseat and grabbed a woollen blanket. “I came prepared for you.”

She smiled unbuckling her seatbelt as they stepped outside, the wind was freezing. Harry locked the car and walked around to her it was deserted here. Middle of the night, in the middle of English winter, so that wasn’t surprising.

He handed her the blanket and she wrapped it over her shoulders grabbing his arm and gripping his bicep. He leaned close to her as they walked down the beach. Sand slowed them down, as they walked slowly, listening to the waves crash.

Then she felt a cold speckle hit her face, and she looked up. “Styles, it’s snowing,”

“Oh, wow, it is.” He replied looking up at the snow, then down at her. Flecks caught in her lashes, and he leaned down to wipe them away. Cupping her face in his warm hands.

“You look so beautiful right now, Y/n.”

Y/n blushed, lifting her hand to cover her face. “No, I don’t I look all…sleepy,”

“You always look perfect, Trouble.” He replied, softly, his voice all gravelly. “Don’t hide from me.”

She moved her hands and he leaned down to kiss her. Hugging her close to him, and pulling her up to his lips, they kissed.

Snow fell softly onto them, as they cuddled closely to keep warm. Y/n wrapped them up in the blanket, and they fell into a deeper, more loving kiss. His tongue played with hers, and one of his hands moved to her hair and they melted together until all the air left their lungs. Forcing them to pull back and softly peck each other’s lips a few more times before Y/n rested her cheek near his beating heart.

They walked down to the rocks and back running and chasing each other through the sand, and snow, and god it was freezing, but being with Harry warmed her up more than any other mittens or jackets or fires could.

Jumping on his back and messing around dancing on the snowy beach for an hour, it felt like time slipped by in a wink. When it was around two thirty Harry decided to take them to the beach house for the night. He drove steadily only a street down the road and stopped out the front of this grand big old Victorian-style house painted a soft periwinkle colour, and Y/n felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her as she grabbed Harry’s hand and they stepped out of the car.

The street was silent, she could hear crickets and howling wind, as the snow speckled down onto them.

When they got inside the house it was cold — freezing, and the clothes hanging off their bodies were damp from the snow which made it even worse. As they stepped inside the cosy home it was dark, almost pitch-black but Y/n wasn’t scared because she could feel the heat of Harry’s body behind her following her inside, whispering softly in her ear. 

He grabbed her hand, and without turning on any lights he guided her upstairs to the upstairs lounge room. Even in the dark Y/n knew where they were going. It was like a library full of books floor to ceiling, and old antique possessions of Styles family, but it still had these comfy couches and a window seat to stare out at the ocean view. There was a golden-plated fireplace. Y/n remembers hiding away in here a few times when she couldn’t sleep, and sometimes Anne would bring her tea and blanket and kiss her head if she saw her inside. 

She had fond memories here, in this house, in this room. Some even with Harry, before he’d turned into a proper brooding teenage boy, they’d read Harry Potter and other fantasy novels stowed away in this room for hours during the summers. Emma wasn’t too fond of reading until she was older and could read erotica, which Y/n felt matched Emma’s taste quite well.

Y/n’s hand reached for the doorframe and Harry stepped inside first. It felt incredibly weird being here during the winter. But Harry’s warmth left it feeling like it was a romantic summer night.

He leaned down and began starting up a fire. Y/n admired the way he stacked the logs, his strong arms flexing as he did so, and he turned her. “Trouble, can y’get me some firelighters, please?” His tone was low like they had company asleep down the hall, even though they didn’t. 

The firelighters were downstairs, she nodded at him walked downstairs with his phone for a flashlight and hunted around for a few matches and firelighters. She found them easily, the layout of this home memorised in her mind, like every inch of the boy to whom it belonged. 

Pottering around, she made them each a warm tea to warm up. The kettled only took a moment to boil and she filled the mugs up to the bring. Some herbal thing Anne liked. The smell reminded Y/n of those late nights in the library room.

She carefully walked back upstairs her sock-covered feet so quiet on the hardwood floors. She found Harry scrunching up some newspaper and lighting it with a golden zippo from his pocket. She handed him the firelighters silently, and he smiled in thanks, noticing the two mugs of steam in her hands and motioned for her to sit down. She listened and sat down on the plush brown cushioned couch, and she watched him get the fire going and stood, grabbing some candlesticks from the mantle and lighting them. 

It would be a while until it warmed up the room, Y/n shivered placing the mugs down on a little coffee table, before grabbing the folded woollen blanket from behind her head and wrapped herself up in it. 

Harry joined her side and pulled her under his arm gently. He was so warm, and she melted into his side idly. Trying to shake the feeling this whole night was a dream and she’d wake up, fourteen in her twin bed, and none of this would have ever happened. But it was real.

He leaned down to capture her lips in his, his tender plush lips tasted of mint chewing gum and her lip mask, were real. The warmth spreading up her spine, the nervous race of her heart, and his chilled hands sliding up her back, were so real.Her feelings were the most real they’d ever been.

She kissed him back, with a rawness that was beginning to become familiar between them. The empty house filled with the noises of their soft gasps and sighs, and the gentle crackle of the logs burning away. Harry pressed closer to her, arms encircling her waist tightly. Holding her so close to him, as if he worried this was all a dream too and she’d slip away if he let go of her.

His chest was flush against hers, and Y/n’s hands tangled up in his messy hair to ensure he stayed right where she wanted him. Right here, forever if he’d let her. He was a welcomed warmth and the blanket slipped off their shoulders as the kiss grew more intense.

Their tongues clashed messily, and mouths parted like they were a source of oxygen for each other, soaking each other in. One of Harry’s hands moved to her hip tracing a familiar scar she’d got falling off a trampoline in his backyard. He remembers being the one to wait with her in the hospital while they stitched it.

His knee moved between both of hers, bumping them apart and pushing up closer as she began to fall back onto the couch arms still around his neck and hands in his hair. Moving down to lay on top of her she wrapped her legs around him. Hugging every inch of him closer to her. Her head was tucked up against one of the pillows on the couch, hips rocking against his as he hugged her tighter his hands sliding under peachy bum, squeezing the plump flesh there and sighing contently. 

“You are perfect,” Harry uttered, pulling back, kissing cheek and then her jaw. Pulling back again to admire her flushed face. His eyes burned into hers, as a tender look washed over him. “So fucking perfect, god, I could die happy knowing you’re all mine.”

And maybe it wasn’t I love you, but they both knew that’s what he meant. She smiled up at him, a grin, dazzling and toothy. The orange glow of the fire was just enough for him to see that beautiful smile and he melted at the sight. Was it too soon to marry this bloody girl?

He knew that whatever this girl wanted, needed, or asked, he’d do for her in a heartbeat. He was done for. That smile made him want to fall to his knees and kiss the floor she walked on. Her name was carved into his heart, in her soft handwriting, this was it. This was what he’d been waiting for. For her.

“Stay, Styles.” Was all she could muster, flustered and drunk on the taste of him. Her soft voice ran up his spine and he shivered, squeezing her tight.

“I’m not going anywhere, Baby,” He replied leaning down to nose at her neck shyly. Her hands slid under his shirt feeling his soft firm back to hold him here. Anchoring herself to him, she left her mark all over him and he felt his cock twitch. This girl had him wrapped around her little finger, and he didn’t even mind.

“Better not.” She replied breathily, as he kissed along her neck down to her breast nosing at his initial on her neck before moving to kiss along her collar bones.

“Take it off,” She muttered. His hands in no rush lifted off her first layer. Throwing the jumper down as he gazed at the dark long sleeve, tugging that off quickly too, and laughing when there was still another layer. It was the final one, a gauzy flimsy white singlet she was wearing. He could see her nipples pebbling at the cold air and the outline of her perfect body. “This too,” She said nodding.

His hands softly tugged it up off her and threw it along with the rest. Her hands tugged the hem of his many layers and he sat back on his bum to pull them off in one go, revealing his rippling muscles and perfect tattoos. The glow of the flames flickering against his body had a heat creeping between her thighs.

He was a total fucking sex god. She couldn’t get enough of him.

“Harry, you really are beautiful.” She said, all besotten, and the rotten-mouthed Harry Styles actually blushed red at her words.��Blushed! A red rosy flush crept up his neck and cheeks, and he smiled shyly, mouth slightly parted.

He tried to find a teasing quip and for once fell flat because Y/n was already telling him to kiss her again, and that was enough to make him come back down, pressing their skin together. The feeling brought them both a comfort they hadn’t expected. Skin to skin, it felt like the closest thing to magic.

Both of them were still dressed in pants Y/n reached for his belt undoing it eagerly, as she never took her lips off his. Eventually, his pants were loose and Harry pulled back for a moment to tug them off messily. Y/n decided to do the same, leaving her in just a pair of silly knickers with cartoon fish on them.

Harry giggled thumbing at the pattern with his big hands. “You are so adorable, sweet girl.”

She smiled shyly blushing. “Shut up and kiss me again, Styles.”

So he did, and things began to heat up as Y/n rucked up against his hips more desperately. A throbbing heat, aching for some form of relief, seeking out his stiffening cock. She rubbed herself softly on his thigh whimpering into his mouth. Positioning herself to rub against him, and what was poking hard into her leg.

And he laughed softly at her neediness, moving his lips to kiss her neck again, resting his face in the crook there pressing even firmer against her. Not realising until now how much he craved to fill her sweet little pussy up. His cock stiffened at the feel of warm wet slick dripping from her cute goofy knickers onto him, and began to push against her. Moaning into her skin, smelling her, and letting himself be completely captivated by her.

She whined at the feel of him. “Harry,” She sighed, all breathy. God, he loved when she said his name, but he did like when she said pretty much anything in that breathy sort of way she got when she was being taken care of underneath him.

He moved back to place a peck on her lips, before travelling down her body, first capturing a nipple in his mouth. Sucking, biting, and teasing her. Loving the sounds that she made from his supple mouth. Whiny gasps of pleasure and wet kisses filled the air.

He kissed further down to her navel and along her hips, a teasing bite against her flesh that made her squeal and laugh, jolting up slightly. “Styles!”

He peppered kissings over the bite in apology, licking a long stripe across it. “Mmm.”

He travelled further down, near the hem of her knickers, at eye level with the gorgeous slick stain begging to be lapped up by him. He looked up to find her already staring down at him, and his hands moved to hips as he nosed at her warmth, watching her squirm from the soft touch. The heady and delicious scent of her perfect pussy filled his senses as he gripped the hem of her knickers desperately.

“G’na be a good girl and let m’take care of you?” He asked her, one of his hands moving up to stroke her cheek gently. Dragging back down her body slowly waiting for her answer, feeling the rise and fall of her breathing against his palm.

She nodded eagerly grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Please, please, need you, Daddy,” She whispered sultrily.

“Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you, Angel.” He replied, moving his hand back down and tugging them down languidly, throwing them to the floor. Welcoming her with the sight of her pretty, wet, pussy. Lips splayed out like a flower in bloom. A pearly sheen coated all over her legs and Harry licked his lips at the sight of her. 

He was so hungry to taste her and lick into that pretty hole of hers. The low light of the fire cast a gentle light over her beautiful soft flesh and silky skin. Slowly inching his face closer and he guided her legs over his shoulders, heels landing on his back and thighs pressing to his cheeks, as his hot breath hit her pussy causing her to squeeze her eyes tight and her hands to clench the couch cushion, shivering. His nose bumped into her puffy clit, as he pressed a gentle kiss into her lips. 

She breathed out softly, hands moving to his messy hair to hold him there. He began to suck on her clit, causing her hips to jolt up in surprise. His big strong hands came up to push her thighs back toward her, folding her in half, and keep her still while he ate her like she was his last meal.

“Fuck,” She uttered, bringing one of her hands up to her mouth. Harry started by licking up all the mess she’d made between her pretty little thighs getting worked up from their kissing. Normally one to tease her a lot more, but in this moment, he just wanted her to feel the best she ever had.

He noticed the noises she was making were muffled, and not as loud as he wanted, and pulled back to find her hand over her mouth.

“Y/n, Baby, don’t keep me from hearing those filthy little sounds, please.” He said one of his hands grabbing at her wrist, and the begging tone had her dropping them to her sides and squeezing the plush couch.

She blushed bashfully, “Sorry, used to needing t’be quiet, H,”

He smiled at her. “Don’t worry. It’s just us…you and me.” Before moving back down, and tonguing her fluttering hole, his thumb came up to toy with her clit. When she moaned for him, back arching up, and heels pressing further into his muscled back he smirked against her. Pulling back for a moment to praise her gently. “Much better, sucha’ good girl f’ me, love hearing your lil’ noises.”

She whined when his mouth moved up to suck on her clit, and one of his long fingers made its way to stretch her out. It slid in easily, until he was knuckle deep, “Fuck, Daddy,”

He started to curl inside her and move, fucking her, and the noises that escaped her pussy and swollen lips had him fucking his hips against the couch, cock painfully hard. When he added another finger, he could feel the tightness as she squeezed around him. He had started to hit that spot inside her, and the way he was licking at her clit, and suckling on it, her toes were curling and her hands had fallen into his already messy hair. Nails scratching at his scalp and tugging on his hair when he did something made her body twitch involuntarily.

“Oh, yes, there,” She whined when his fingers curled and grazed that spot. “G’na make me cum, Daddy? Can I?” She begged.

He pulled back, fingers still going. “Cum for Daddy, Princess.” Before going back to lick into her again.

She did, one that snuck up her. Causing a surprised gasp to escape her lips. 

A white-hot wave flooded over her whole body, causing her to shake, pussy pulsating against him, and toes curling. Sparks snapping down her spine, as a mewl left her throat. Her hips stuttered, and one of her hands moved to claw at his shoulder. He hissed against her but he didn’t stop, and Y/n felt her legs tremble, and she was going to tell him to stop but he felt so good. Despite her feeling sensitive from her previous orgasm, his tongue had her closing her eyes, a heat growing once again, as she rocked her hips chasing that familiar feeling.

He was an expert at it, and it had taken him barely any time to become a master of her body, and knew exactly how to make her finish over and over.

He licked into her cunt, lapping up the tangy sweet flavour of her. Moaning loudly as he tongued her clit, he couldn’t get enough. If he could sustain from just eating Y/n’s sweet little cunt, he’d eat her for all his meals.

Only a few minutes later she was falling apart again, a mess, but this time she squirted all over him. Unexpectedly, she felt a different feeling crash through her, and she screamed out clenching her eyes shut and her legs came to clamp around his head uncontrollably. Harry’s eyes peered up at her one of his hands playing with her nipple and squeezing her soft fleshy breast. A wetness coating his chin and throat, god, she thought for a moment there she stopped seeing and hearing for a second, when she came back to Harry pulled off her with a popping sound and her legs fell limp on either side of him. 

His fingers slide out leaving her empty, he lifted them to his mouth and sucked off the last of her. Sitting back on his knees and watching her, hands still wrapped around her legs caressing them as they trembled.

She felt herself clench around nothing, thinking about empty she felt now, and how badly she wanted his perfect dick inside her. He leaned forward again, nose brushing her tummy, as he thumbed over swollen wet petals. Her cross necklace and chain with her initial tickled her skin as he got closer to her neck. “Fuck, it’s so easy to ruin this little pussy, Baby,”

He smirked at her shiver. “Haven’t even fucked you with m’cock yet, and you’re already a mess f’me, my sweet girl.” One of his hands came up to brush some of her stray hairs away from her face. “Hmm, so beautiful.”

She melted into his touch and took a few shaky breaths as he continued to play with her sensitive pussy and hair. “Daddy…” She shut her eyes. “Need you, please,”

He looked down at her tauntingly, hand stroking her cheek. As he hovered over her naked body. He looked edible. His lips were red and probably tasted of her, a devilish smirk crept over his face. And his body, ugh, she wanted to swallow him whole. 

“Need me, huh? What d’ya mean?” He teased her, and she pouted up at him. Using her foot to kick his bum in faux annoyance.

“Harryyyy!” She really had missed him, and she really did love this boy. Messy hair, rotten mouth, tattoos, long past of other girls, his habit of teasing her for everything. She loved all of him, and shes certain she always will.

“Babyyyy.” He said back, leaning down to kiss her neck some more, leaving a mark on her collarbone. Laying on her, boxer-covered cock pressing against her warm pussy.

She pouted some more. “Pleaseee.” Her long nails came up to her arms and scratched his biceps, they were so fleshy and strong, she felt so safe wrapped up in them. He smelt delicious, and she nosed at his neck. He smelt like normal — tobacco and vanilla but had a hint of something just Harry, a heady smell that coated his skin. She wished she could stay in this moment forever. Her thighs and legs came up to wrap around him and squeeze him closer if that was even possible.

He stopped his kisses and pressed his nose to hers, brushing them together. “Please what? Can’t help if you won’t be a good girl and tell Daddy what you want…” His thumb came up to rub along her bottom lip. “Hmm? Princess?”

She blushed, staring right into his green eyes, and melted into his palm. “Can you please, please, put that pretty cock inside me, Daddy? I need it. Haven’t seen you in a week. I missed you.” Pouting her lips, she lifted her nails to his sides, scratching along his muscles and tattoos. “Please. Wanna feel you. All of you.”

He shivered at her touch, he couldn’t believe his bloody luck, pretty little Y/n from next door was begging for his cock and she was all his. His pretty girl.

He kissed her, a long one, tongues dancing together playfully, “Such a good girl f’me, Trouble.” He said against her lips and kissed her some more. His hips rutted against hers, and she rubbed against him moaning and kissing him back lazily. He could feel his boxers getting damp from her slick.

He kissed her like that until she was squeezing him so tightly, and whining loud enough that he knew it was evil to make her wait any longer. He pulled back pecking her nose and then forehead, “Y’want me inside, Baby?” His veiny tattooed hand came up to rub her tummy absentmindedly thinking of how full she’d be of him, how he’d be in her tummy hitting all those spots.

She nodded biting her lip. “God yes. You want that too, right, Styles?” She said breathlessly canting her hips against his throbbing cock.

“Yeah, I really fucking missed you, Trouble.” He said, and he sat back on his knees again tugging his boxers off. His cock sprung up, bobbing against his belly, all swollen and hard for her. As big as always, she would never get used to the sight of him. Dripping in pearls of precum, and probably a bit of her slick. His prick was all veiny, big, and hers. Her mouth watered, and she was tempted to slip him inside her throat for a taste.

She hadn’t realised her mouth was hanging open, but when Harry laughed she came back to, “What?”

“You’d think I’d never fucked you before,” He teased, licking his lips.

She sat up, eyes still trained on his stiff prick, unable to look away. “Not my fault you’re abnormally large, Styles, it’s what gives you the right to walk around like you’re gods gift,” She paused hand coming out to give him a few lazy strokes, he hissed when her thumb ran over his leaking slit. “This perfectly crafted fucking dick. Made just f’me. Right?”

His head fell back, and his eyes squeezed shut, how could feel so close to coming just from her hand tugging him a few times? Christ. His hips started fucking into her hand desperately against his mind’s better judgement, this woman had him under a spell. “Yes, Princess, all of me is made for you.” 

She pressed their foreheads together and guided the tip to touch her. Gently pressing into her wetness.

He whined. “Y/n, mm fuck, Angel,” And slowly entered her, feeling her squirm at the size of him. Stopping when he was all the way inside her. He nosed at her throat and felt her arms and legs wrap around him tightly. “You okay?”

She nodded and kissed his cheek, “Yeah, Styles, I’m good. Move f’me.”

As he started to pump inside her at a slow pace, he could feel how wet, tight, and hot she was inside. He had to fight not to finish quickly. Moaning loudly, as her hands scratched into his skin.

“Mm, shit,” She whispered squeezing hers shut, despite the fact he was moving slowly his thrusts were still deep and hitting her g-spot hard, her body was relaxed from two orgasms, and she didn’t know if she’d last long.

“Feel good, Petal?” He asked.

She nodded bumping their noses together. “Kiss me, please.”

So he did, a deep kiss, and his thrusts unconsciously went faster. Hitting that spot rapidly, and she was moaning loudly against his lips, she pulled apart to let her fall down as she panted.

“I think you’re gonna make me cum, fuck,” She mewled, and the way her pussy clenched on his cock he knew she was telling the truth, one of his hands snuck between them and while still keeping the same pace he rubbed her puffy little clit and felt it throb at his touch.

“Cum, Baby.” He ordered.

Her legs tightened around his hips and she hugged him, shaking fiercely, and cried out soft calls of his name. And he felt a dampness shoot over his thighs and cock. She’d squirted again, and he kissed her at that.

“Good girl, so good,” He cooed, pumping her through it, as he felt his own orgasm not far off.

She kissed his neck. “Will you cum in my pussy, Daddy, please? Wanna be full of you.”

And the unexpected words that spilled from his mouth made his cock twitch, and heat pool in his stomach. “Yes, Princess, m’ close.”

His head fell into the crook of her neck and shoulder and he grunted, hips speeding up and becoming more sloppy all at once.

“Yes, Daddy, cum f’me. Mmm.” She moaned, and her pussy clenched on him. And he whined, hips stuttering at her words.

“Fuck, Baby,”

It was only a few more seconds of him pounding into her and he came, hard, a guttural groan left his lips and he fucked her until all of his cum was stuffed inside her. She whimpered at the feeling, and he fell on top of her tiredly, and she hugged him close.

He lifted his head up to kiss her, cock still buried deep in her. “I- you are so perfect, I wish we could stay like this forever, Trouble.” He almost said it — those three words, but he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression. He wanted to say I love you without her thinking it had anything to do with sex.

“Me too, Styles.” She replied smiling.

They kissed a long, unhurried kiss.

When they pulled back Harry shifted them into a different position leaving his softened prick inside her for a few more minutes. Not quite ready to pull out of her.

Her back pressed into his chest, and he wrapped his big arms around her waist, squeezing her nice and close to him. Stroking her head and peppering kisses all over her, she sighed softly into his touch and in a few minutes she was asleep.

Deep heavy breaths rose and fell in his arms, letting her rest like that for a few more minutes. When he felt his eyes start to droop too, he kissed her head and woke her up to make sure they wouldn’t be all sticky. She moved over and Harry walked to the bathroom. He came back with a warm flannelette and wiped her bits and legs, kissing the tender areas as he did. She whimpered at the feeling, and Harry made sure to peck her lips and whisper sweet nothings to her.

They got back onto the couch, deciding to sleep nice and close to the fire, Harry threw the blanket over them tucking Y/n into his chest, his back against the sofa, and hers against him. Hugging her so tight she wouldn’t be able to escape, even when he lulled off he held her like the most precious thing in the world.

The fire raged for a good few hours, and when they woke up a bit later to the alarm they set to make sure Y/n got back for her class in time. Harry helped her get dressed and fixed her hair, guiding her sleepy form to the car and letting her sleep during the drive back home. Making sure to take care of her, one of his hands resting on his thigh for most of the drive.

As they drove home the sun was rising and Y/n’s soft sleepy snores filled the car, Harry watched her sleeping with the utmost admiration.

“I love you.” He whispered to himself looking at her through tired eyes. 

It was around seven thirty when they pulled up to Y/n’s house. She sleepily knuckled her eyes, and they both looked ruined, having got only four or so hours of rest.

Harry woke her gently rubbing her shoulder. “Home, Baby,”

She groaned wiping her eyes and stirring. Before leaning over to him, “I don’t wanna goooo…”

He smiled at her and moved his hand to caress her head. “Want me to pick you up after your lecture? I’ll make you some food, and we can nap. Hmm?”

She nodded. “Sounds good, Baby,”

He leaned over to peck her lips and then unbuckled his belt to open her door for her and walk her inside. 

Hand in hers he walked her to the door, Y/n threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him deeply as Harry’s hands travelled down to her peachy bum and squeezed it. Harry placed one final peck on her puffy lips and tucked his head into her neck spinning her around in a tight hug before plopping her back on her feet and kissing her hand that was joined to his before waving goodbye and heading back to his car.

What the two hadn’t seemed to notice was Emma’s peering gaze from behind one of the many big oaks. For once she’d gotten up early, made it to her six o’clock pilates class, and was actually on her way to walk with Y/n to their Pysch class, two large seasonal coffee cups in her hands and a cute little teal workout set on ready to triumph the day. This was probably the second time in the semester Emma hadn’t been hungover or slept in and was actually here to attend the lecture with Y/n. 

So of course Y/n hadn’t expected to see her best friend, and Emma of course had not expected to see any of that.

She had been whistling happily, chirpily walking two warm delicious smelling coffees and a hop in her step. The sun was shining despite the winter air, and she only had one more exam and she was done for the Uni semester! What was there to be annoyed about? And even though this Pysch lecturer was insane, at least she’d be with lovely Y/n who would definitely tell her all the answers to the quiz that was going to take place.

She’d been so excited to surprise Y/n with a coffee and a muffin and plan the many many many parties over their coming winter break on the walk to campus. But she’d immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw her brother’s car. What the fuck was Harry doing there? Maybe shagging one of Y/n’s roomies?

But when she saw Y/n step out of the car in her pyjamas, and all close to him, Emma knew. 

She watched them kiss and giggle and had to fight the urge not to throw up, scream, or cry. Instead of doing any of those things she froze and ducked down behind the tree hiding from Harry’s car as it drove off. 

Devising silently what to do with this situation, she sat down on the grass and waited for a couple of minutes. Catching her breath and calming down from the shock.

Before soon heading to knock on the door and pretend she hadn’t seen a thing, she decided it would be best to mull things over, despite the rage thrumming through her, she plastered the biggest smile she could and waited for Y/n.

Y/n answered, now changed into a fresh set of warm comfy clothes for the lecture. A cosy big knit and a skirt with thick tights under, and these tall boots. She had a brush in her hand and was raking it through her messy hair. 

“Oh! Em! What’re you doing here?” Y/n said, peering up owlishly, and smiling. Not having expected to see Emma of all people, especially so early. She only joined the class because Y/n was taking it and then never came to a single lesson this semester.

Emma raised the two coffee cups. “We still have Psych this morning right? I bought those new cinnamon roll syrup coffees, Babe. You said you wanted to try them.”

Y/n smiled, pulling her in for a hug, “Oh you’re the best come up, I still need to do my makeup and then we can start walking, yeah?”

Emma nodded a tight-lipped smile and followed Y/n up to her room. 

Now that Emma thought about it, Y/n had been happier than normal, and Harry had been more relaxed. Less of a grumpy old oaf, and much calmer. She hadn’t seen a string of people leaving in the morning and Harry coming down hungover. She hadn’t heard drunken stumbling inside, she hadn’t smelt the familiar potent smell of Harry smoking upstairs, and she hadn’t noticed his lack of appearance at most events where Y/n wasn’t. Not until right now.

God, how could she be so stupid!!! Was she blind? She didn’t know how she hadn’t realised. She knew Y/n had fancied him when they were younger, and Harry had their whole friendship, but she’d made it clear to both of them that she didn’t approve.

How had this whole thing slipped past her? Why were they keeping it from her? Obviously, she didn’t approve! How could she? Her brother fucked anything that moved since he was fourteen, a party boy, drugs and sex a part of his daily ritual. Parties every night, and a thirst for people that could not be quenched. 

Though she loved him he had many great qualities, he was and always would be the boy who came in wrecking all her friendships by shagging the girls and ditching them.

And Y/n was hers, her best friend, and she had warned him many times that he could not go there with Y/n. Y/n was untouchable, off-limits, and innocent. Y/n wasn’t a party girl, she stayed home reading or studying, watching cheesy old shows and calling her grandma every Tuesday during her break between lectures. Y/n was perfect and sweet. She had such little experience with boys and life.

The handful of interactions Y/n had with boys had been due to Emma’s involvement, having only been with two boys her whole life. Jeremiah from sixth form who she’d lost her virginity to, Keiran an Irish lad they’d met on their holiday to Greece during a Uni summer who Y/n had spent a few weeks with. They’d met up in a few different countries that summer and shared a short romance that ended when he went back to Dublin and Y/n to London. They’d mainly just kissed, but Emma managed to find out from Y/n that Keiran was particularly good with his mouth and had a thing for eating girls out, he preferred it to sex.

Emma had also hooked up with both of them. She had given Jeremiah a blowie a year before he took an interest in Y/n at a house party. In Greece, Emma had been the one to kiss Keiran on the dancefloor before moving on to his friend Jordon who was a rugby player for the Cork team when she realised Keiran was not a famous rugby player, only a builder. 

Emma never liked the idea of anyone taking advantage of Y/n, she was sweet, and she knew her brother had to be using her for a shag. Y/n would be of no use to him otherwise. Just another notch in his belt.

Harry would never be a boyfriend guy, and Emma knew Y/n wasn’t fuck buddy material she would get attached to a pigeon in the park if it ate enough of her crumbs.

Emma refused to believe Y/n could be as naive as to fall for it. Harry was masterful with his charm, and so was she. The two siblings chewed people and spat them back out. Y/n had always noticed the restlessness about them. So, Emma could recognise what they were, and accept that settling down just wasn’t in their nature.

As Emma watched Y/n place some blush on her cheeks in the ensuite, she walked over to where Y/n’s phone was charging. A few messages popped up on the screen.

Harry Styles🍒

You are so cute, show me your outfit for today.

Call me when you are done, Baby. Em should be at Zayns we can just chill. XX

Emma gritted her teeth and placed the phone down. 

She had to think of a way to stop this and prove what Harry’s true intentions were. He couldn’t possibly love her or care, there was no way.

The walk to campus was nice, the cold had turned to a crisp clear day, and as they walked through the main bustling part of campus they saw Niall and a bunch of his frat friends chatting by Lily’s Cafe, which was the best spot on campus. It had cheap coffee that tasted good and food that didn’t look like it’s gonna run away from you.

Y/n worked there in her first year, Zayn was a barista there so they had been heading there for free donuts before their lecture. Niall spotted them, he was in a backward cap and a cosy-looking oversized crewneck and sweats, he jogged over.

“Sexy ladies, what are we up to?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “What does it look like, we are here to get a jet to Dubai, we are obviously getting coffee.”

Y/n giggled. “Don’t worry, Ni, Em is not a morning person.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “What’s got you moody Em, Zayn ain’t as good in the sack as rumours say?”

“Shut up, Niall.”

Emma and Niall never really got along, they butted heads a lot, and Niall was one of the only people to stand up to her. He thinks the reason Emma hates him is because back in first year they’d come to a frat party and of course, he’d spotted them instantly.

Y/n had been in his pink flowy dress, her hair styled up in a sleek look, big gold hoops on her ears and she looked beautiful. Niall remembers working his way over to flirt with her and being rudely interrupted by Emma. She was fit too, with a black dress and an attitude, but she wasn’t Y/n.

He hadn’t known Emma was Harry’s sister, he should’ve known from the attitude and brooding good looks, but he hadn’t put two and two together until Harry walked over to tell the girls off for coming when he’d told them not to. 

Emma walked into Lily’s as Y/n stood next to Niall. 

“How are you, mate?”

Niall lifted his arm to wrap around her shoulder and pull her into his side. “I’ll be better tonight. Please tell me you are coming?”

Y/n sighed. “Oh god, what’s tonight?”

“Cops, robbers, and sluts party at Sigma Pi Gamma.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Peter’s frat. I fucking hate that prick.”

Niall laughed. “No one likes him, Babe,”

“I don’t know if I’ll go…” Y/n said absently, thinking about curling up with Harry watching Murder She Wrote and eating Chinese takeaway.

“You have to come, if you don’t I’ll have to deal with Paddy and his mates alone. I need you..bring Styles, I need my emotional support friends.”

Y/n smiled at him. Now that she thinks about it Niall was probably one of her closest friends other than Emma. Even though Emma always tried to talk down on him. “I’ll talk to him, Em probably already planned on dragging me there tonight. What are you going as a cop or a robber?”

Niall smirked cheekily. “I’m going as a slut obviously.”

“We’ll see if I can find a costume in time. I don’t think I have anything.”

Niall shrugged and they both watched Emma through the glass window as she curled up in Zayn’s arms. “I’m sure Emma will. She’s pretty much been to every party on campus since you two arrived. Even when she was sick last month I still saw her at Seth’s place, she’s sure to have a costume for you.”

“Why don’t you two get along?” Y/n asked after a moment of silence as they soaked in the rays of the sun that today provided, the snow had stopped.

Niall laughed. “Other than the fact she’s creepily obsessed with you? She’s never liked me. I think it’s ‘cause of that one time.”

Y/n frowned. Since when was Emma obsessed with her? Emma only really cared about herself, and Y/n felt guilty as the thought crossed her mind, but Emma really did only ever focus on herself. Her outfit, her hair, her looks, her current boy of the week. Her frown deepened, what one time?

“What time? Did you two hook up or summat?” Y/n asked curiously.

Niall burst out in a cackle. “Her? And me? Puh-lease kid. She’s so not my type.”

It was true, Niall liked softness…everyone he’d dated had been like gentle teddy bears.

“What then? Flirt with a guy she fancied?” Y/n questioned. Emma got pretty territorial.

“My flirting seems to be rather forgettable, Babe.”

“Huh?”

“Do you remember your first freshers party?” Niall asked.

Y/n thought back to her first party. She wore a flowy pink dress that Harry said made her look like fairy floss, and he’d been pissed that she even came out he didn’t like them drinking. 

“Sure, summer theme right?”

He nodded. “I flirted with you all night.”

Y/n laughed in disbelief. “You did?!”

Niall smirked. “Yeah, then both your guard dogs barked at me for it. You didn’t seem to notice though.”

Y/n giggled. As if Harry cared.

“Y/n that boy has been obsessed with you since forever.”

She rolled her eyes. “No way.”

Niall then in an instant pulled up a photo of the four of them on his phone. Niall, Emma, Harry, and Y/n at a party in the girls first year, they were all dressed up for Pride in rainbows and celebrating. Harry was mooning down at her staring as Y/n grinned under Niall’s shoulder.

“Look at the way he looks at you.”

Y/n smiled, blushing. “God, he’s so annoying.”

“He’s in love,” Niall replied, certain, and Y/n leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“You are a romantic aren't you, Horan?”

To that, the boy ruffled her hair. “Maybe I actually believe in it now. Are you gonna help me with Paddy?”

She nodded, “Of course, mate,” 

This warm fuzzy feeling stayed with Y/n all the way to the Styles place. The day had turned beautiful so she’d decided to walk there. 

Emma had left to be with Zayn but they promised to see each other at that party that night. Apparently, it was impreative that Y/n come, and now that Niall had begged her she had no choice. 

When Y/n arrived at the flat she found Harry half asleep in his boxers on the couch doing a Uni assignment. Laptop on his lap and a blanket wrapped around him. He looked up at the sound of someone using the key in the door.

She stepped inside smiling at him. God, wasn’t her boyfriend yummy?

“Hey Baby, you walked?” He said happily and was going to get up to greet her but Y/n practically flew on the couch, dumping her bag on the floor and landing in his arms.

She nuzzled into his side and kissed his neck in a warm greeting. 

“Stylessss,” She mewed out, the weight of their practically sleepless night hitting her now as she melted into his side.

“Baby,” He sighed back, a hint of arousal melted down his spine at the way her lips kissed his neck ready to give her anything she asked. Jesus, this girl. His girl. She’d be the death of him. He’d spent half the night making love to her, and now she was doing this, and he was almost ready to go again and she’d hardly touched him.

Harry had to admit to himself that having a girlfriend, especially when it was Y/n was actually rather lovely. If you asked him a few months ago about his thoughts of relationships he’d say he dreaded the idea of being stuck with one person. The idea of being tied to only one, and feeling stuck, but now that he had his Y/n he didn’t feel that at all. He’d gladly stick to her for the rest of his life.

He was completely and utterly besotted with her, so when she looked up at him in her cute little way he knew he’d soon be agreeing to whatever she asked of him.

“Can you do me a favour?” She practically purred, fluttering her lashes and looking up at him. She knew he’d give in, he was a sucker for her eyes. He always talked about how much he loved them, her pretty bedroom eyes.

“What is it, Trouble?” He asked, his pupils already dilating at the way she pressed her hand into his thigh rubbing him with her soft hand. She really was trouble.

She fluttered her eyes at him once more. “I’ll give you anything you want if…” She paused licking her lips and leaning in closer.

“If I what, Trouble?” He asked, biting his lip and lifting his hand to push the hair that had fallen in front of her face away. “Hmm? What is it, Baby?”

She dropped the act, bringing her hands together in a begging motion, “If you pretty please come to this ridiculous party tonight to help Niall with Paddy’s mates? Plus Em was gonna drag me anyway, I need you with me. Pleaseeee!”

Harry groaned throwing his head back against the top of the couch, showing off his neck that was covered in marks from last night. He really had not wanted to anything but sleep and hopefully hangout with his girlfriend in peace.

“Babyyy, we were gonna have a nice night innnn, I’m so tireddd.” Harry whined out his hands covering his face, he’dalready planned a night of binging that silly show Y/n liked and kissing her, a lot.

She nods, pouting, and putting her hands on his shoulders rubbing them softly with her palms. “I know, Baby, I know, but if you do I promise you won’t regret it.”

He looks up, a devilish smirk crossing onto his face. “What will you give me if I do, hmm?”

She smirks back at him and leans forward to plant a kiss on his lips, they taste like toothpaste and strawberries. He must have been eating them before she got here. She lets out a soft little moan against his lips as his hands creep up under her shirt. God, she really can’t get enough of this boy. He’s just..ugh. Her need for him is insatiable.

His hands grip her tighter and he pulls onto his lap urgently. She giggles against his kiss and lets her hands mess with his gorgeous hair, her nails scratching the nape of his neck causing him to sigh out. She pulls back and begins to pepper kisses down his neck and shoulders, over his swallows tattoos and further down. 

“Please?” She asks, pouting her lips and fluttering her beautiful eyes at him. 

He looks at her, “Y/n, don’t do the face.” He’s almost begging because he wants to give this girl the whole world and more, for nothing in return.

She moves off his lap sinking to her knees onto the floor of the plush shag carpet, and she places her hands on his thighs, sitting between his muscular legs. She begins to caress his legs gently, her small delicate hands slowly travelling further and further up his bare legs. “What face?”

He throws his head back for what feels like the thousandth time. “God, Baby,”

She sits up a bit, tucking her feet under her bum, kneeling right before him as her hands travel to his waistband playing with it teasingly. He shivers under her touch arching into it subconsciously. “Should I stop, Styles?”

He shakes his head looking back down at her and biting his lip. “No.” Harry slowly moves one of his down to her face, he rubs warm skin, a big hand cupping her cheek like he’s done many times before. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

She kisses the palm of his hand in response and then moves forward to kiss his tiger tattoo on his muscular thigh. He lets go of her face moving his hand into her hair and pushing it back from her eyes. “So pretty, Baby,”

She blushes and then moves her kisses up along his other thigh and nipping at the milky flesh of the inner part of his muscle, leaving a little pink love bite that causes his breath to hitch and dick to rise in his boxers even more. Fuck. She was fucking made for him. No one had ever understood him and his body so well. Not like his Y/n.

He lets go of her face grabs her small hand in his brings it up to his waistband and puts it inside his boxers and she feels him. She slowly pulls his hard throbbing dick out with the help of his hand guiding her. As she lets go it springs up against his tummy and she shuffles closer and looks up at him.

“What do you want, Daddy?” She whispers. “My mouth or my hands?”

Harry smirks bringing his hand yet again to her face dragging a thumb across her glossy lips. 

“Mouth baby.” He drawls, as his hand slides down her throat gently stroking the side of her neck before drifting to her shoulder and pulling her even closer to him.

She leans down, her warm breath fanning against him, as her glossy lips graze his pretty pink tip. Then, one little kitten licks teasing against his glistening cock, and his hands instantly come flying down to her hair. Without much thought, he tugs it back out of her face so she can get to work on him just how he likes.

She purses her lips a trail of spit landing on his hard cock, dripping down all the way to his balls. She opens her mouth and then slowly takes the head of him in her mouth, sucking gently, causing Harry to moan. His thighs flex as he fights not to push up into the back of her tight hot throat.

As Y/n expertly starts to move up and down on him, he clenches his jaw letting out a deep grunt. The part of him Y/n can’t fit in her mouth she grabs with her hand that is already covered in slick from his messy tip. This causes Harry’s thighs to shake a little bit as his hips stutter into her mouth. She makes a choked noise bringing him out of the haze of pure bliss she’d given him. He doesn’t want to be too rough with her, but she’s making it hard.

“Sorry, Petal,” He says, a pinched expression covering his features as he looks down at her. “You just make me feel s’good.”

She has tears in her eyes as she takes him ever deeper, the sight in front of him is downright filthy. His pretty girl takinghis big cock in her little lips, choking and crying over it, all desperate to make him. He watches her, as her throat chokes around him. Y/n fights the urge to stop — her lungs begging for her to take a breath. Harry’s eyes practically roll back in his skull and he moans. 

“Oh, fuck, Trouble.”

She pulls up for a gasp of air, her hand still stroking him at the pace he likes, the trail of spit a mess on him and her hand. His tip is leaking pearls of precum, and his prick twitches in her grasp. Despite her only just starting he feels close, so close. Dangerously, so.

“You can be rougher if you want, Daddy,” She says breathily. “I won’t mind.”

He brings his hand to her face, “C’mere.”

She pouts. “But I promised to take care of you.” She says not moving from her kneeling position.

“I know Baby, and I’m so close to cumming. Pretty fucking mouth. All mine.” He praises gently caressing her head. “But I want you. Need to fuck you.” He asks pleadingly. “Will you let me, Angel?”

Y/n agrees at that and climbs messily onto his lap. He kisses her, with a deep passion that makes her tummy curl deliciously with want. Harry tugs the layers of her clothes off in a mess with rough hands. He’s wild, untamable, not stopping until she’s just in her cute icy blue bra and that skirt with the little tights that drive him wild. He’d always been a sucker for Y/n’s short skirts.

“Are you particularly attached to these tights, Trouble?” He says softly as he peppers kisses down her neck It is making it awfully hard for her to think straight let alone form a coherent sentence.

“Hmm, no, why?” She says breathily, eyes fluttering shut in his firm gentle hold.

His answer is one of his strong hands travelling over the curve of her body to her rounded ass, and clawing at the flimsy fabric until he has access to the pale-coloured knickers she was wearing and better access to her silky supple skin. She tugs his hair and kisses his lips hastily, too horny to care about her tights as he begins to toy with her already-dampened knickers.

She whines into his mouth pulling back as she drags her hips along his exposed, sensitive length. “Mm, fuck, Daddy.”

This causes Harry to falter letting out a deep groan. “You’re s’fucking beautiful. You know tha’?”

Y/n giggles in reply.  Slowly moving her hand from his chest down to in between them, she grabs her knickers pulling them to the side. She knows what she wants, and she’s going to get it. With her slick-covered fingers, she grasps his aching cock. It throbs with want against her palm, and she guides the leaking head to her entrance. She winces at the sting of him, and Harry watches her with hooded eyes as his hands massage her bum. He watches as Y/n slowly takes him inside of her.

The head of him nudging past her folds, her sweet pussy slowly enveloping the rest of him. When Y/n finally sinks all the way down she lets out a straggled cry, Harry groans into her ear trying to keep his pleasure at bay. “Oh fuck, right there.” She whispers into his neck, giving herself a second before she moves.

“You okay, Trouble?” He asks quietly brushing some hair from her face and kissing her hairline.

She looks up into his eyes and nods at him. “I’m good Styles. You?” She whispers back as the burning sensation melts into something of toe-curling pleasure.

He nods as a heart-stopping grin splits across his face and he leans close to place a few kisses on her lips. “I wish I could be inside this pussy, all day, every day. You know that?”

She whines and starts to move a little, grinding forward causing him to graze that spot that makes her eyes roll back, she gasps a little and Harry didn’t know he could be this fucking turned on. She repeats that motion a few times before finally getting her knees in the right position to start bouncing up and down on him. He watches her with those green eyes as Y/n starts to move up and down.

Her hands fly to his hair tugging it, as her lips clash against his messily. Feeling his lips on hers grounds her, her body shakes in pleasure as he grunts from her rough tugs on his hair which only sends shots of pleasure to her tummy. Why hadn’t she tried this position with him sooner? It felt so fucking good she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to last long. He’s so deep like this.

Harry’s hands move from her ass, travelling up her spine, ring-covered fingers gently dragging up her soft skin causing her to shiver, as they eventually fall back to her plush hips and help guide her.

As if he could read her mind, one of his big hands comes between them, right where they connect and he grazes her puffy clit. Pulling back from the kiss to tell her sweet nothings. 

“Keep going, Baby,” He encourages as she keeps up the pace. Making sure each bounce she gets him inside her deeper and deeper. His fingers are still persistent on her causing shockwaves of pleasure to wash over her.

Her hands move to his muscular shoulders and she wraps herself up in his embrace, her face right in his neck as she listens to the moans and sounds he makes. She squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on the rhythm until eventually she feels him pounding against that spongy spot inside her and she cries out involuntarily.

“Fuck, Daddy,” She says breathlessly as he brings her face up to meet his in a kiss. His big hand pawing at her warm cheek. His lips captured all the filthy noises from her mouth but did little to prevent the sounds that filled the room from quietening. Her wet pussy swallowed up his prick greedily, all wet tight and hot on him, as his balls slap against her ass, and their lips smack in a messy kiss.

He wants to stay in this moment forever. The perfect rhythm, like their bodies were always meant to be connected like. Asone. She pulls back with a gasp, her legs beginning to shake from pleasure and strain. “Atta girl,” He says. “Doing so good for Daddy, Baby.”

His hand slides to her throat gently caressing her neck, and she claws at his arm desperately. “I’m close,” 

And just like that all the control and slight dominance she’d had is gone out the window as she begs him to help her through it. Her hips stutter and her bouncing lessens.  “Please, Daddy, can I?”

He nods kissing her nose. “Need some help, Trouble?”

She nods desperately and his hand moves from her throat to around her waist and he holds her still hovering over him, he plunges inside her again but this time he’s the one in control. With no warning he begins to pound into her hitting the sweet spot inside her over and over, but harder than ever. She feels an overwhelming feeling in her tummy as her hole flutters around him.

“Daddy,” She whispers. “M’ guna’ cum. Please, don’t stop.”

Harry has the nerve to chuckle, despite how close he is too, that devilish grin covering his face as he watches her falling apart for him. “Come on Angel, cum for me. Be Daddy’s good girl and cum.”

As his words melt down her spine she cums, just like that. Her eyes squeeze shut and she sees a golden haze of warmth behind her eyelids, the feel of her release is like a crack of thunder as his merciless thrusts inside her do not cease when the peak of her orgasms snaps. She throws her head back and shivers uncontrollably, thighs shaking as she takes him.

Harry continues, and when she finally manages to pry her eyes open and meet his gaze she feels his thrusts go sloppy. She leans in to kiss him, an overwhelming sense of safety and comfort in this bubble fills her mind, and when she pulls back she smiles. 

“Cum, Daddy,” She says. “Wanna feel full of you.”

He moans, his eyes pinching shut, and that's when she feels him shoot inside her. She sighs contently letting him ride the high of his orgasm before they slowly melt into the couch. She didn't dare move yet, even though he’d gone soft. When he opens his eyes she brushes some of his mused hair back. “Kiss me, Styles,”

He leans in, a smirk cast over his face, before pecking her lips.

She smiles at him. “So…what are we wearing at the party tonight?”

He sighs throwing his head back in defeat. He knows he’ll be going, those damn puppy dogs and her little pouty face. He begins leaning in and nudging his nose along her neck. She giggles at the feeling.

“What's the theme?” He drawls.

“Umm..cops robbers and sluts?” Y/n says softly.

Harry looks up at her. “You should go as a robber, Trouble.”

Y/n smiles, puzzled at that comment. “Why?”

He smirks placing one of his hands on his chest. “You’ve stolen my heart,”

She leans in and kisses him. “Good luck getting that one back, sap.”

THANKS FOR READING!!!! XXX

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc

E P I L O G U E

word count: 11,000 + warnings: literally all fluff. like painful, smothering fluff. Choking, blubbering, fitful angst. Sorry, not sorry. See you on the other side, everyone, hope you enjoyed 'Falling'!

The following is a series of artefacts belonging to JACKSON RESIDENTS recovered from their homes.

J. MILLER LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT - JACKSON, WY

If you’re reading this, or find this, I’m probably dead.

I’m okay with that. Would’ve preferred to go out old—grey-bearded, asleep on my porch swing in the summer, maybe a hundred and twenty with bad knees. Quietly. Got my fingers crossed, hoping that I do.

Because that ain’t how men like me go. I’ve lived hard. Killed more than I ever want to count. Broke things I couldn’t fix. And loved people I didn’t deserve. That’s the whole truth of it.

And now, sitting here writing this, I keep thinking about what the hell I’m really leaving behind. What is my legacy, anyway? Some folks leave behind land. Leela is going to leave behind her math and her inventions. Y’all’s names are clean enough to go on school buildings.

I live in a house that isn’t mine. My money’s long gone. And my name is a goddamn graveyard. So why am I doing this?

Look... I need you someone to know I tried.

I tried to be better. To build instead of destroy. To try love without losing control. I used to think all I was good for was surviving. Guarding. Holding the line until it all gave out. And yeah, maybe that was true once for a long time.

But then came my Ellie. Then came my Leela and my Maya.

I raised two three girls. THREE goddamn girls. More beautiful than me (thank god for that), more hardass-er than me, more stubborn than me, and that’s saying something. Ellie is the fire. Sarah was the storm, and Maya is the spring that comes after. I didn’t make them—but I kept them alive. Loved them the best way I knew how. Think I did a pretty good job.

That’s my legacy.

You can burn the rest of it. The guns, the patrol records, the guilt. Let it rot. The only thing worth anything now is what I loved.

Tommy. Maria. Brother, we never did things the easy way, did we? We fought like hell, and still came back. I know you two gave me a hard time some days, but you were the people I always knew had my six—whether I deserved it or not. Guess that's what siblings do. So don’t go getting all soft now. Just keep doing what you do best: being affectionate assholes and occasionally dumb as a pile of rocks. (Kidding. Mostly.)

Leela… darling, you had loved saved me. Over and over. By staying, letting me in, looking at me like I wasn’t the monster I saw in the mirror. You are my quiet, my reason, my damn backbone some days. I didn’t know it could be like that with someone. I didn’t ask you to forgive me, but you did it anyway, every time I came home to you a little more broken. I’m sorry for the parts of me I couldn’t fix. I know I said that too much—or not enough. Also—and I mean this with all the love in my tired bones—take your time, but don’t forget I’m waiting on those insane koftas over here. So when you finally get your fine ass to me… bring me some baharat (and those strappy little tops of yours because they really drive me wild.)

Ellie (hoping the above didn't throw you off, sorry). Here it is. I saved my world that day in the hospital. Yours. You. I’m not gonna pretend it was easy or righteous. It wasn’t. But I did it so you’d have more time with me—more chances to grow with me, laugh with me, hate me. I wanted that for you more than I ever wanted it for myself. I am sor I'd do it all over again. You might never have needed a father, but you got one anyway. You got me. And I’m proud of you, kiddo. Proud as one of your own. I LOVE YOU. There. I said it. I love you, Ellie.

And. Maya. Baby girl. If you’re reading this someday—well, shit, first off: did you get glasses? How else are you reading this with all that squinting? Eyes open, sweetheart. Ha, got you.

I want you to know it plain and simple: you are my everything. My girl. I loved you the moment you opened your eyes to me that night. You’re mine in every way that counts. Grow slow. There’s no prize for getting older, other than back pain. Be good—but not too good. Break some rules. No one likes a smartass. Don’t run too fast. Tie your shoes. Wear your damn socks, I MEAN IT. Don’t be scared of the world, even when it earns it. And take care of everyone, even when it hurts. And when you miss me (if you do), go sit with my guitar (be nice and share with Ellie). Sing to me. Hum. Cry. Talk out loud like I’m listening, because I swear I am.

I never had much. Still don’t. Got a couple of guitars, ammo, boots, a few busted knuckles, and a face that looks worse every year.

What I do have—what’s worth a damn—is all of you.

I was always the buffer. I thought that was the job. Keep everyone breathing, keep the world out. I don’t regret that. But it took me a long damn time to learn why I was doing it. It was never for survival.

It was for you. Always for you.

Signed, Joel Miller.

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – VIDEO FILE #1 TIMESTAMP: 19:48 | Reed Residence, Living room SUBJECT: Maya Miller, aged 2 years, 5 months CAMERA: Tripod, static, handheld. Low lighting. Floor lamp turned on. NOTES: Observational recording for cognitive development + emotional awareness + language formulation.

[CAMERA CLICKS ON. The video begins with a slightly tilted angle. The couch sits behind them, a soft quilt thrown over the edge. A toy horse lies abandoned on the floor. The room is warmly lit. LEELA adjusts the lens, sitting cross-legged, her voice focused but affectionate. JOEL is off-screen, behind the camera. Both their voices carry the sleepiness of a late evening.]

LEELA (softly, almost to herself): Okay... steady. This is important. (adjusts the lens) This is the first video entry in Maya’s development log—

JOEL (from off-screen, dry): Which is entirely unnecessary, 'cause she’s got a brain like a bear trap.

LEELA (half smiling): This is to test her cognitive flexibility, emotional regulation, and social interaction—

JOEL: C’mon, sweetheart. Listen to yourself. She’s fine.

LEELA: (glances at him behind the camera) I need to know she’s normal, Joel. Not just sweet or clever. Normal brain functioning.

JOEL (pauses, then gentler): She’s a goddamn miracle, Leela. Beat me at cards yesterday. Straight face the whole time. You think I let her win? (mimics a girlish voice) “Go fish, Daddy.” She’s hustlin’ me already.

[LEELA exhales, lips twitching, and nods. She angles the camera a little to the left. The frame shifts. MAYA is now sitting on the rug beside her mother, wearing denim dungarees over a cotton shirt with a stitched grasshopper. She waves at the camera like she’s greeting a friend.]

MAYA: (sends a flying kiss.) Hi.

JOEL (laughs): Hi, baby.

LEELA (gently): Alright, there we go. Baby, what's your name?

MAYA: (pointing) Daddy, video.

LEELA: Yeah, he is. Can you say your name for the video?

MAYA (taps her chest): Maya. Maya, Maa-yaa.

LEELA (laughs): Okay. Hi, Maya. And what’s your full name?

MAYA (mumbles): Maya… Miller.

LEELA: That’s right. Good girl. Now—can you please look at Mama for a second while we talk?

[MAYA is fully occupied with the brass buckle on her dungaree strap. She keeps flipping it open, then closing it, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration.]

MAYA (without looking up): I fix this first.

LEELA (gently redirecting): Hmm. But if Mama wants to talk to you first, what would the polite thing be?

MAYA (quietly): …Wude.

[She lets go of the buckle and looks up, her knees drawn close.]

MAYA: Okay. I listen now.

LEELA: Thank you, baby. Ready?

MAYA: Yup.

LEELA: How old are you, Maya?

[MAYA holds up two fingers. Then she thinks, frowns, and adds a third finger halfway. Then reconsiders and puts it down.]

LEELA: That’s right. Two, almost three. And what’s Daddy’s name?

MAYA (giggles): Ha-wd-ass.

LEELA (gasps): No!

JOEL: Gonna kill that little shit Tommy.

MAYA (with her fist in her mouth, grinning): Joel.

LEELA: Joel, right. Maya… can you tell me: have you ever been angry at Daddy before?

MAYA (quickly): No.

LEELA (tilts her head): Never ever?

MAYA (frowning): ...mm, he took me home from park. He—he said... no. (points to the door) We go home now.

JOEL (off-screen, defensive): Hey now—it was a hundred degrees. I didn’t want you melting out there.

LEELA (clears her throat): Alright. And what did you say when he said that we have to go home?

MAYA (matter-of-fact): I said “NO! Not going home.” Then Daddy pick me up. We go home.

LEELA: And then?

MAYA: Then I... cried.

JOEL (mutters): Meltdown.

LEELA (to Maya): And when you get upset like that... what helps you feel better, Maya? Do you want to run away, or—do you need to yell? Maybe throw something?

JOEL (warning tone): Leela.

LEELA (ignoring him, soft but intent): Or maybe… do you just need a hug? Do you want someone to hold you?

[MAYA pauses. Her fingers fidget. Her chin tucks slightly, and her voice is very small.]

MAYA: I need hugs.

[LEELA looks up at the camera now. Her expression is softer, more tired. Her hand rests on Maya’s back.]

LEELA (to camera): So—we’re observing that when Maya experiences emotional dysregulation, she doesn’t act out violently or retreat, but reaches for physical reassurance. (pause, voice softening) Which is… significantly better than what I feared.

[MAYA turns and throws herself into Leela’s lap.]

MAYA: I love hugging Daddy.

JOEL (gravel-voiced, warm): Right back at ya, baby girl.

[MAYA now leans sideways into Leela’s lap, visibly drowsier but still engaged. A thread from Leela’s jeans has caught her attention, and she tugs it gently. LEELA hums quietly, drawing her back into the moment.]

LEELA (sing-song): Maya… now, were you really angry at Daddy that time?

MAYA (shakes her head, thumb brushing her lip): No. I just… don’t wanna go home.

LEELA (empathetic): Oh, well, I understand that. If I were having fun and someone told me it was time to go? I’d be mad too.

MAYA (nodding): Yeah. I wanna play more.

LEELA: So, do you have a lot of friends? Is that why you don't like leaving?

[MAYA looks up for a second, big, brown eyes shining, then shakes her head.]

MAYA: No.

LEELA (gently): Then why do you want playtime?

MAYA: I like big sandbox. Ellie helps me on the slide.

LEELA: What about the other kids?

MAYA: Only me, mama.

[LEELA hums again, stroking her hair slowly. The thread is forgotten now. MAYA leans closer.]

JOEL: Now, she ain’t alone. Ellie’s there, I’m there. The other kids... they're just older. And there are no other kids like her in town.

LEELA (shoots him a look): Joel—you're confusing her.

JOEL (scoffs): Fine. Shuttin’ up.

LEELA (focuses on Maya again): And how does it make you feel, baby girl? When you're alone? Are you scared? Or angry?

[MAYA’s brows furrow. She picks at her sock this time, quieter.]

MAYA: Sad.

LEELA (slight shift in posture, softer): You feel sad? Do you feel sad a lot?

MAYA (tiny nod, small voice): Yeah. I cry.

LEELA (quietly, not alarmed, just listening): You cry a lot when you're sad? When Mama isn’t around?

MAYA (sniffles): Mhm. I don’t like alone.

LEELA: Oh, my love.

[MAYA's face twists, and she rubs at her eye. A pause. JOEL’s voice is low and irritated from behind the camera at the sight of her hurting.]

JOEL: Okay, stop. You’re upsettin’ her.

LEELA (shaking her head, gently): No, we’re understanding. (She turns back to Maya, her hand brushing through tangled curls.) She’s not upset. She’s being brave. Aren’t you, baby?

[MAYA’s eyes flick to LEELA’s. She nods faintly.]

MAYA: I wanna be brave. Like Daddy.

LEELA: And you are. Angry and sad make you brave and real. Real people feel things. And they cry. Even big people. Even Daddy... (stage-whispers) in the shower.

[MAYA lets out a little giggle through her tears.]

LEELA (tucking a strand of hair behind Maya’s ear): Baby, you know… if you ever feel like it got dark around you, you can tell us. If you’re mad, you can stomp your feet. If you’re sad, you can cry in my lap. You don’t have to hide it or hold it in your belly, okay?

[MAYA shakes her head firmly this time, her lip wobbling just slightly.]

MAYA: I don’t wanna be mad, Mama. Don’t like it.

LEELA: No, honey. It’s okay to be mad. I get mad. Daddy gets mad all the time.

[A brief, audible scoff from JOEL.]

JOEL: Yeah, alright.

LEELA (grinning): All the time. And when he does, what do we do?

MAYA (perking up): Time-out!

LEELA: Right. And do we yell at him?

MAYA (giggling): You hug him.

JOEL (mock indignation): It's brutal.

[LEELA laughs softly, then leans forward again, face almost fully in frame now. Her voice drops to that warm, instructional tone again.]

LEELA: So next time, baby, when you feel mad or sad... what do you do?

[MAYA’s brow knits as she thinks. Then her eyes brighten.]

MAYA (low to loud): I say, 'Mama, I'm sad.'

LEELA (laughing): Very good. And then what happens?

MAYA (repeating back): You hug me.

JOEL (quietly): Every single time.

[There’s a long, peaceful pause now. MAYA rests fully in Leela’s lap, three fingers in her mouth, eyelids fluttering closed. JOEL finally appears in frame again, crouching beside them. He presses a hand gently to Maya’s back and gives Leela a tired, fond look.]

JOEL (murmuring): We should probably stop here. She’s running on fumes.

LEELA (sighs): Yeah, okay. That concludes entry one—emotional processing and response. Maya is responsive to guided questioning, able to self-identify emotions, strong associative memory.

JOEL (grins at Maya): Translation: she’s a little miracle.

LEELA: She’s Maya.

[JOEL leans in, kisses the top of Leela’s head.]

JOEL: You’re doin’ real good, mama.

[LEELA swallows and nods, visibly emotional. She lifts her hand to turn off the camera.]

[CAMERA CLICKS OFF]

X

E. WILLIAMS TRAVEL LOG #2

(The camera jolts to life with a brief blur of sunlight. A rhythmic thud-thud-thud of hooves on dry dirt is heard beneath the image. The view steadies to show Ellie, sweat glinting on her brow, holding the camera at arm’s length. She squints at the screen, then grins.)

(Ellie, to camera) “Okay, we’re rolling. This is Travel Log number two—because apparently Leela thinks we’re NatGeo now.”

(She wipes sweat off her nose with the back of her arm, then flips the camera around. It bounces before settling on the riders behind her.)

(Ellie, off-screen) “Maya, say hi!”

(The camera catches a horse trotting beside Dina’s. Joel rides a little behind, Maya seated snugly in front of him on the saddle. Maya is grinning so wide it looks like her face might split open.)

“Hai!”

(Ellie laughing) “And how the hell are you outside of Jackson, missy?”

“’Cause Daddy let me. And now we’re gonna catch fish!”

“Oh yeah? Wanna tell everybody how old you are?”

(Maya proudly holds up three chubby fingers, but two of them are smushed together.) “I’m th-wee.”

(The camera pans shakily to Dina, who rides up alongside, squinting against the light. Her hair is pulled back to that familiar topknot, sweat matting her face.)

“And there’s my gorgeous girlfriend. Babe, say hi.”

(Dina groans, ducking her head.) “I look like shit.”

“Yeah, but like—hot shit.”

(Dina flips her off. Ellie cackles. The camera swerves toward Joel, who is too focused on keeping Maya safe and the horse steady.)

(Ellie snorts.) “Could be worse. Look at this dumbass.”

(Joel, gruffly) “You better get that thing outta my face.”

“No can do. I’m under strict orders. Your wife told me to document everything. I’m just being a good citizen.”

“Christ. Just watch your step, kiddo.”

(Ellie, to camera now) “So, for the record: We’re taking baby girl on a late fishing trip for her birthday, which was all the way back on Christmas. And—this is the troop.”

(The camera zooms in briefly on Maya, who is now humming some nonsense song and patting the saddle horn. Joel looks down at her, and for a second, the camera catches him smiling.)

(Ellie, softer) “Not bad, right?”

(Static crackle as the image shakes again. Ellie flips the camera back to herself.)

“Alright, let’s go catch some fuckin' fish.”

—

(The footage stutters into motion with a high-pitched whine of static. The screen shakes wildly for a moment—just flashes of sky, pine, and boot—and then jolts into focus. A rough hand fumbles across the lens. Joel grumbles.)

“How the hell do you—? Goddamnit.”

(He shifts the camera. The image stabilises. Now it’s looking out over a sunlit rocky ledge above a wide, glittering creek. Ellie, Dina, and Maya are perched in a row on the flat of a sun-warmed boulder. Three rods poke into the air, lines drifting lazily into the current. The only sound is birdsong, water, and distant giggling.)

“Ellie, keep your arms around her. She’s jumpy as a damn frog.”

(Ellie snickers.) “Relax, old man. I’ve got her.“ (Then to Maya:) “You’re good, gremlin. Just hold it still and wait.”

(Maya squeals, standing up.) “I saw a fish! I saw one!”

(Dina teases.) “You’ve said that like ten times.”

“This time it smiled at me!”

“Liar!”

(The camera zooms slightly. Joel’s breathing is close in the mic, still focused on the trio. Maya suddenly gasps and yanks her tiny rod.)

“Mine's moving! DINA, I GOT ONE! I—!”

(Her footing slips. She screams with a quick splash—then chaos.)

“Maya, no!”

(The camera jerks wildly—Joel’s dropped it. It lands half-sideways in the dirt, still rolling. We catch fractured glimpses: Dina throwing off her jacket, Ellie lunging forward, Joel already in motion, boots thundering past the lens.)

(Ellie hisses.) “Shit—Maya!”

(A splash. Then another. Then silence but for the rush of water and muffled voices underwater, distant and panicked. Joel's frantic voice is the loudest.)

“Maya! Maya, can you hear me?”

(No answer. Just the hiss of the creek and thrashing limbs. The lens catches the churn of boots and panicked motion, but no child. Ellie surfaces empty-handed, wiping water from her face. Dina calls out, chest-deep and scanning rocks.)

“Anything?”

“Nothing—babe, she was right here, she was right here—”

(The lens catches motion as Joel barrels downstream. The camera misses his face, but his actions are sharp, driven. He throws himself into the current, shoving aside reeds, slipping on wet stone. He shouts again.)

“Maya, just come up, baby! Listen to my voice!”

(Nothing. Just the creek roaring louder. Ellie glances toward the far bank, silent now. Dina exhales hard, treading water. It’s been a full minute now. Then two. And—Joel stops.)

(He buckles—doubles over with both hands on his knees, soaked to the chest, breathing too fast. For a second, he’s motionless, like this short-circuited inside him. He grips his thigh, grounding himself. Then, barely audible—)

“God, please… please.”

(Dina turns toward him, voice gentler now but firm, trying to cut through the spiral.)

“Hey—hey, Joel. Listen to me. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll split up. I’ll head up the rocks, Ellie’ll sweep back toward the reeds. You keep to the bend. Okay? We’ll find her.”

(Joel doesn’t respond. His hands twitch at his sides, clenched and unclenched. He’s not hearing her. Or he is, but it’s bouncing off armour.)

“I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve—I looked away, just, just one second—”

(Ellie moving closer.) “Joel. Joel. Look at me. It's fine.”

(She’s within arm’s reach now. His jaw is set, neck tight, eyes scanning but not seeing. Ellie softens.)

“She can't have gotten far. We find her. You with me?”

(He blinks hard—once, twice. His hand comes to his mouth like he’s trying to hold something in. Then hoarsely—)

“Not again. Not her. Not…”

(He trails off. He doesn’t finish the sentence. Ellie’s eyes flicker, understanding more than he says. Behind them, Dina is waist-deep and staring at the far downstream bend. Her hand goes up slowly, pointing.)

“Wait. Wait—do you—?”

(A faint, distant voice echoes from downstream—bright and bubbly.)

“Daddy, Dina! I got it! I got the fish!”

(Joel doesn’t move at first. His head lifts slowly, like he’s afraid to believe it. Then Ellie breaks into motion and he follows—trudging through water, stumbling once but not stopping. The camera is still skewed, but it catches a tiny shape emerging from the trees further downstream, waterlogged and barefoot, holding something overhead in both hands.)

“It was hiding! I chase it!”

(Joel’s breath catches. His arms drop slack, then he’s moving faster, boots pounding the muddy bank, sloshing up toward her.)

“Maya. C'mere, baby.”

(He drops to his knees in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and then crushes her into a hug, flapping fish and all. Maya giggles, not understanding the terror that had settled in his chest just moments ago.)

“You scared the hell outta me. Thought I lost you.”

“But I got it!”

(Joel clutches her closer, water dripping down his face—unclear if it’s from the river or his eyes. His voice is barely a breath now.)

“Don’t ever do that again. You hear me? Don’t ever…”

(He cuts himself off. Kisses the top of her head, pushing the wet hair off her cheeks and neck. Behind him, Dina rubs her face and exhales, laughing through leftover adrenaline. Ellie just drops backwards into the creek with a splash, limbs splayed like a starfish.)

(Ellie sighs and looks up to the sky.) “I'm never fuckin' babysitting this little demon again. Not without a goddamn leash.”

(Maya beams.) “I was tracking! It went under the rocks, so I had to go up the side like Dina said!”

(Joel shakes his head.) “Not without tellin’ me, you don’t.”

(Ellie picks up the camera—mud-smeared and dripping, but still running. She holds it at a crooked angle as the group sloshes back to shore, all soaked, all laughing in that shaky, post-crisis way. Joel’s doesn’t come yet—but he’s still holding Maya.)

“Update: Joel has aged twenty years. Maya met a fish. And none of us are allowed to breathe ever again.”

(Maya, off-camera, all chipper.) “I wanna swim!”

(All three, in perfect unison—)

“Nope.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Never happening.”

(The camera catches one last frame of Maya proudly cradling the flopping fish, her curls plastered to her forehead, Joel’s arm around her protectively. Ellie’s laughter trails off as the screen fades into soft static. Cut to black.)

X

J. MILLER HOME VIDEO #3

(Video begins mid-jostle. The camera is unsteady, jiggling as Joel tries to lift it above the crowd. Boots thump on the wooden floors, fiddle music screeches with jubilance. String lights swing in the rafters, and there’s distant whooping over the band’s tempo.)

(Joel’s voice mutters, amused.) “Can’t see nothin’ in this damn barn…”

(Camera finds its focus, finally sweeping over the packed dance floor, shakily pushing through arms, backs, and half-finished pints. Then the camera locks in on Maya, spinning into dizziness in the middle of the floor. She’s in denim overalls, her sleeves rolled, curly hair bouncing, boots two sizes too big. People are giving her space, clapping in rhythm.)

(Tommy, off-camera, hoots.) “Look at her go!”

(Maria coos, off to the side.) “Shit, I wanna bite her little face off.”

(Camera zooms and shakes slightly. Joel laughs.)

“Go on, baby girl!”

(Maya notices the camera. She gasps, hands on her cheeks like a cartoon character. Then waves with both hands.)

“Haiiii!”

(She dashes forward, expertly weaving between dancers, laughing the whole time. Camera wobbles as she leaps at Joel, arms flung wide.)

“Let me hold it! I wanna be the camera girl!”

“You got butterfingers. This thing’s older than Ellie.”

(Maya whines, bouncing in protest. Joel tips the camera up and away as she tries to jump for it. A waitress sidesteps her, chuckling. Joel lowers the lens, steadies it again.)

“C’mon, help me find your mama. She better not be—”

(Sudden distant yell.)

“WOOOOOO!”

(Camera swings wildly again—searching. Finally, it lands: Leela, up near the band. Her cowboy hat's tipped too far back, one boot missing, one boot on. She’s shimmying with total abandon to the beat, singing along loud and off-key to a song she clearly doesn’t know.)

(Tommy cackles.) “'S happened again.”

(Joel groans. The camera jolts down, then upward—now Tommy is holding it, laughing breathlessly.)

“Grab it. I gotta go fix this.”

(Tommy lifts the camera to zoom in as Joel pushes through the crowd. Ellie briefly appears beside Tommy, leaning in to whisper.)

“Is that one boot on, one boot off? Iconic.”

(Maria snorts.) “She drinking out of her boot?”

(Camera zooms in—Leela indeed holds a boot like a goblet, sloshing something suspiciously dark and fizzy inside. She twirls—and nearly slips.)

(Joel reaches her just in time. He grabs her arm with both hands. Leela gasps, delighted.)

“There he is! Husbaaaaand.”

(Joel is clearly trying not to laugh.) “You stink.”

(Leela puts on a fake cowboy accent.) “That’s called love, darlin’.”

(Her arms loop around his neck, hat slipping to one side, planting a kiss on his mouth. Joel—half laughing, half exasperated—obliges, but only briefly before pulling back.)

“You’re gonna break your neck out here.”

(She sways her hips in an invitation.) “Dance with me, Daddy.”

(Ellie groans from off-camera.) “Ew, what the fuck?”

(Joel groans, pinches the bridge of his nose. Crowd laughter builds in the background.)

“Jesus, don’t call me that in public. You’re gonna confuse the hell outta people.”

(She uses a finger to beckon him.) “C’mon.”

(He plants both hands gently on her waist to steady her.) “You gotta sober up, sweetheart. You already lost a boot.”

(She pouts. He sighs. Then offers his hand.)

“Just one.”

(The music softens into a slower tune—harmonica over strings. Leela leans into Joel, wrapping her arms around his neck like a sleepy kid. They sway awkwardly. One-booted. Out of time. Joel mutters something we can’t hear. Leela giggles like it’s the funniest thing in the world.)

(Camera pans down: her bare foot rests on his boot. He just lets her lean.)

(Ellie whispers nearby.) “Stop filming. They’re so gross.”

(Tommy snickers.) “They’re happy.”

(In the far right of the frame, Maya appears again, now holding Ellie’s hand and tugging hard.)

“Dance with me, Ellie, c'mon!”

(Leela turns mid-dance and waves dramatically at Maya, then does a very poor spin that nearly sends her into a table. Joel catches her mid-fall and dips her, exaggerated, one arm around her waist. She shrieks with laughter.)

(Camera pulls back. The saloon lights flicker overhead. Everyone around them is dancing, drunk, or both. It’s messy and warm and joyful—a pause in the noise of survival.)

(Frame lingers on Joel and Leela, pressed close. He murmurs something into her hair. She closes her eyes. The song fades to the final note—violin and steel guitar.)

X

TELEPHONE RECORDING #1 DATE: SEP. 26TH | TIME: 04:03 A.M. LINE: INTERNAL, JACKSON, WY PARTICIPANTS: J. MILLER, L. MILLER, M. MILLER

[Distant, metallic click. Faint static hum. A long pause. Then—a shrill ring, not the synthetic tone of modern cellphones, but an old, analogue bell. Faint rustling. Something thuds lightly against wood—maybe a hand fumbling in the dark.]

J.M. (groggy, disoriented): …the hell…?

[Rustling sheets. A creak of the bedframe. He fumbles for something in the dark.]

J.M: …No way.

[Another ring. Then a hesitant click as he answers. Silence.]

L.M. (warm, amused): Hi, can I speak with the birthday boy, please?

[Long silence. A faint creak.]

J.M. (cautious, stunned): Leela?

L.M. (giggles): Joel. Can you hear me?

J.M: I’m not dead, am I? It’s four in the damn morning… and the phone that’s sounds like a death knell just rang.

L.M. (sing-song): Surprise!

[A beat. Then, Joel exhales a sharp, stunned laugh. Fabric shifts as he sits up.]

J.M: Holy shit. Leela. Darlin’… Holy shit. This is real.

L.M. (whispers): Happy birthday.

J.M (laughs again): I—I can’t even wrap my head around this. You’re on the phone. Like actual… static and everything. How the hell’d you pull this off?

L.M: Well... I rewired the internal comms grid. Boosted a small solar cell relay through the southern outpost lines. Then I cross-fed it into the restored switchboard. Et voila, eight months later, it works just in time.

J.M: …Y'know, I only caught about two words of that, right?

L.M. (smiling through): I said I missed your voice.

J.M: Goddamn. All that for a call to me?

L.M. (gently teasing): You’re not that hard to miss. But yeah… first working phone in Jackson. Figured it should go to the man who hates birthdays and attention. Two birds.

J.M. (grinning now): You gonna make the whole town use this thing?

L.M: Eventually. For now, I serve as both operator and technician. Thought I’d test the system on someone who doesn’t mind me, er.... rambling.

J.M: That right? Hell, I’d listen to you read out the damn dictionary, baby. You always made even the hard shit sound soft.

L.M.: Don’t go sweet-talking me now. It’s your birthday. I should be the one getting all the mushy.

J.M. (lower, softer): You already gave me everything I wanted.

[A faint click in the background—a loose wire, or a shift in signal. Then Joel clears his throat, as if trying to recover.]

J.M: So tell me—now that I’ve got you on the line… You reckon this thing could handle what the kids used to call phone sex?

L.M. (incredulous laugh): Joel!

J.M.: Come on, darlin’. I’m just sayin’—voice like yours in my ear? Might short out the tower.

L.M.: Stop. I’m recording this call for research.

J.M.: Whatever. I’m the birthday boy. I get one pass.

[They both laugh. Then, a faint stirring. A tiny yawn. The faintest whimper.]

M.M. (sleepy): Daddy…?

J.M.: Hold on. Trouble’s wakin’ up.

[He shifts. The mattress creaks. A soft scritch of his beard brushing her cheek. A kiss to her forehead.]

J.M. (instantly gentle): Hi, baby girl. You’re okay. It’s just the phone.

M.M.: Phone?

[Joel adjusts—the rustle of movement, soft fabric, a creaking mattress. Then, the faint sound of a small body being shifted, carefully.]

J.M.: Here. I want you to listen to someone special.

[Receiver shifts slightly. Then—]

M.M. (suspiciously): Mama?

L.M. (audible intake of breath, voice trembling slightly): Hi, baby girl. Hello.

M.M. (in awe): Are you inside the... box?

L.M. (chuckling): Sort of. The box can carry voices through the wires and air.

M.M. (gasps): It’s a magic box!

J.M.: Damn right it is. First call of the new world, and it went to you.

M.M.: Mama… where are you?

L.M.: Still right here, baby. Just downstairs, in the hall. But this box lets me kiss you goodnight without moving.

M.M. (soft giggle): It is magic.

[A tiny yawn. Then the gentle shuffling of her curling into Joel’s chest. The receiver shifts again.]

J.M. (hushed): She’s driftin’. You still there?

L.M. (sniffles): Always. Did you like your surprise?

J.M. (low chuckle): No phone sex? Hardly a surprise.

L.M.: Your daughter is literally five inches from your face.

J.M. (snickers): And you’re missin’ five inches in yours.

L.M. (shocked gasp): Joel, what is wrong with—

J.M. (grinning): You made it too easy. Alright, I love you. Now hang up… and come over here.

L.M. (quiet smile in her voice): You hang up.

J.M.: Mm-mm. Not playin’ this game, darlin’. Been dead for twenty years, I intend to keep it that way.

[Silence lingers. Then—]

L.M. (whispered): Good night, birthday boy. See you in a minute.

J.M. (just above a murmur): Night, baby.

[Click. The line goes dead. Faint hum fades out.]

X

E. WILLIAMS HOME VIDEO #16

(The footage opens with a bit of bounce—someone's adjusting the handheld camera. There is a gentle sound of cards shuffling. Ellie is clearly behind the camera. Her steps are slow as she moves into view of the dining table, where Tommy sits across from Maya, elbows on the table, scattered with half-finished custard, eyes narrowed in concentration.)

(Ellie, off-camera, voice playful) “Alright, it’s dead silent in here. What’s goin’ on? Poker night?”

(Tommy, gruffly, not looking up) “It’s war.”

“With a three-year-old?”

“She’s up four hands and counting. I ain’t here to play. I’m here to win back my dignity.”

(The camera pans to Maya, sitting squarely in Leela’s lap, her tiny brows furrowed, lips pursed. The cards look enormous in her little hands, but she’s manoeuvring them with sharp, deliberate movements. Leela’s not helping—just holding her arms up as Maya goes through them.)

(Maya, serious, without looking up) “Your turn, Uncle Tommy.”

“I know, kid. I know. Just thinkin’.”

“Don’t think too long. That’s how Daddy lost.”

(A beat. Then a snort of laughter from Ellie.) “Oh my god. Joel lost to Maya. Comedy gold.”

(The camera zooms in a little as Tommy lays down his card—then, slowly, Maya lays hers. A moment passes. Tommy exhales through his nose.)

“Son of a—”

(Maya squeals, grinning wide.) “Yay! Mine’s bigger!”

(Tommy grumbles.) “Damn right it is.”

(Leela gently warns) “Maya…”

(Maya is still triumphant.) “I said bigger. Not a bad word, mama.”

(Ellie, laughing) “I dunno, Tommy. You sure you’re not lettin’ her win?”

(Tommy holds up both hands.) “You see me foldin’? Hell no. She’s counting cards. I ain’t got a chance.”

(Maya, too gleeful) “That’s ‘cause I remeh-mber them.”

(The camera wobbles as Ellie doubles over laughing. Tommy just leans back in his chair, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow.)

“Leela, honey, what are you feedin’ your child? We all get the same goddamn rations.”

(Leela with a small smile) “Books. Puzzles. Joel.”

(Ellie heaves a breath.) “Well, that explains the poker face.”

(The camera zooms once more on Maya, who now holds up her cards dramatically toward the lens, fanned out—wrong side forward.)

(She stage-whispers to the camera.) “No one can sh-top me.”

(Tommy shakes his head.) “I gotta start cheating.”

“That’s against the ruuuuules.”

(Leela giggles.) “Tommy, she will never let you live it down.”

(The camera lingers on Maya’s proud little face, cheeks puffed out as she shuffles her cards again—badly, sloppily, adorably. Leela helps guide her fingers, whispering numbers, which Maya repeats under her breath. Across the table, Tommy looks both defeated and weirdly proud.)

(A beat. Then, off-camera, Joel’s voice cuts in—gentle, curious.)

“You wanna be like your mama when you grow up, baby?”

(Maya pauses mid-shuffle. The cards slip out of her hands and scatter. Her eyes go wide—and then she lets out a shy giggle, immediately burying her face in Leela’s chest.)

“Mmm…”

(Leela laughs softly and brushes back Maya’s curls.) “What? What is it?”

(She kisses the top of Maya’s head. Just then—sharp, tinny brrrring! cuts through the moment—the patched-up rotary phone on the wall rings. Everyone in the room glances over, startled.)

(Maya gasps, squealing) “Aaaah! I got it! I got it, I got it!”

(She scrambles to her feet, almost tripping on her feet, and makes a beeline for the phone. Joel chuckles and reaches out instinctively to steady her as she races past.)

“Easy, trouble.”

(She hops up on the table by the wall, lifting the receiver with both hands like it’s treasure. Maya speaks in a serious tone, copying someone she has seen.)

“Jackson outpost. Maya speakin’.”

(Leela hides a laugh behind her hand. Ellie is already zooming the camera in as Tommy leans forward, amused.)

“Aw hell—she’s got a job now?”

(Maya, now pressing the receiver to her ear, trying to sound official) “Okay. Uh-huh. You got it. I tell Uncle Tommy. Stand by!”

(She covers the receiver with her hand and turns to Tommy with wide eyes.)

“Uncle Tommy, they sayin' the lookout spotted smoke near the ridge. You check it now.”

(Tommy is laughing but impressed.) “Well damn. Alright, little ranger. I’ll suit up. Thanks for the heads up.”

(Maya beams proudly and puts the phone down, then turns back to the group, chest puffed a little.)

(Ellie, mock-serious) “That’s it. She’s taking my side gig. I’m retiring.”

(Joel grins at Ellie behind the camera.) “Gotta get her her own call sign. Radio girl’s gonna run Jackson by ten.”

(Leela pulls Maya back into her lap.) “Where’d you learn to talk like that, huh?”

“I listen when you think I’m sleepin’.”

(Joel snorts.) “'Course she does.”

(Tommy raises his glass.) “To the youngest scout we got.”

“Maya Miller: card shark, signal scout, future queen of the airwaves.”

(Laughter ripples through the room. The camera catches Maya grinning bashfully, resettled between Leela’s arms, stacking her scattered cards again. A brief static flickers as the camera feed fades to black.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #48

[The broadcast crackles in—a gentle hum of wind in the background, maybe the faint clatter of boots on wood outside. Maya, aged TEN, runs the radio station in the mornings. A little jingle—probably something she made herself with Ellie’s help—plays, made up of a few clunky guitar notes and a whistle.]

M.M. (bright, chipper): “Goooood morning, Jackson! It's 7 a.m., the sun is shining, the wind is definitely tryna blow the roof off the stables, and you're tuned in to our very own radio station with your friendly neighbourhood deejay, Maya Miller, keeping you company as we ride out another day in paradise.”

[Short laugh—a little dry, but charming.]

M.M: “Okay, okay—maybe not paradise. But hey, it’s home. And here in Jackson, we’ve got chickens that lay, fences that hold, and people that don't give two shits about my radio station. That’s more than most.”

[A page rustles. She taps her book—maybe a list.]

M.M: “We’re keepin’ it light today, folks. A couple of songs, a couple of stories, maybe one or two terrible jokes if you're lucky, thanks to Ellie. And if you're tuning in from the outer fields, the boiler room, or the patrol tower—this one's for you.”

[Pause—her tone quiets, like remembering a note.]

M.M: “Oh! Big shout-out to Kenan at the forge. They just finished another batch of those wicked-sharp hatchets. If you scored one before the morning shift, buy 'em a cider at the Tipsy Bison. Or—I mean, at least carry their woodpile for a week.”

[She laughs, a little sheepish now.]

M.M: “And... yeah, I know it’s been a little rough out there lately. More sightings than usual. One of the patrols spotted a runner near the Gulch—again. But look—we’re still here. Still standing. Still singin’.”

[A breath, then her voice perks back up.]

MAYA: “Alright, alright, no more of that serious stuff. That’s not what you tuned in for. Let’s play something for Bill, who requested ‘Mr. Sandman’—says it reminds him of ‘before.’ I don’t know if that’s sweet or depressing, but I’m rollin’ with it.”

[‘Mr. Sandman’ begins to play softly underneath.]

MAYA: “This one’s for you, Bill. And for anyone else out there, remembering a time when the world made a little more sense. You’re not alone. And hey, if anybody wants to drop in and say 'hi', I'm right by the main hall, and it's a pretty sweet setup. I don't bite. Anymore. I promise.”

[Music fades back, plays for a few moments, then cuts softly as the mic picks up again.]

MAYA (a little mischievous): “Alright, folks, you’re in for a treat. We’ve got a very special guest in the booth today. Resident genius and best mom in the world. Wanna say hi?”

LEELA (off-mic at first, reluctant): “Uh. I’m Leela. Her—your mother. Hi.”

MAYA: “Hi, Mama.”

LEELA (dryly): “You forgot your lunch bag. Again.”

MAYA: “I was... on the air. Y’know. Broadcasting to the entire colony. Essential work.”

LEELA: “Mhm. Well, now your sandwich is cold. Again. Good luck with that.”

MAYA (laughing): “Wait! Wait. Sit down. Just one question. It’s a good one.”

LEELA (sighs): “Maya, I’ve got to look at the turbines at the dam today—”

MAYA: “Please. Please-please-please! C’mon. For the people.”

LEELA (defeated): “Fine.”

MAYA (suddenly mock-serious): “Okay, Jackson, here’s today’s philosophical corner: If you could say one thing to someone or something you’ve lost—what would it be?”

[Silence for a second. Then, deadpan:]

MAYA (hisses): “Mama, you have to answer.”

LEELA (after a pause, dryly): “To someone I’ve lost? …I’d probably have a word or two with my patience. Wherever it went. Please come back.”

[MAYA snorts with laughter.]

LEELA (murmuring): “And now I really do have to go.”

MAYA: “You’re the worst.”

[A kiss lands audibly—Leela kisses the top of Maya’s head, just off-mic.]

LEELA (softly, already stepping away): “Have a great day. I love you, baby.”

[The door clicks. Faint sounds of her leaving — boots on wood, the wind again. Then silence. Maya exhales like she’s trying not to smile.]

MAYA (quietly, into the mic): “She says that every time, like she doesn’t mean it. But she does. Every single word.”

[She clears her throat.]

MAYA: “Okay, back to the music before I start cryin' on air. This next one’s for y'all weirdos with too many feelings. Stay safe, stay sharp, and stay with me.”

[The song fades in.]

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #12 TIMESTAMP: 11:03 | Reed Residence, Dining room SUBJECT: Maya Miller, aged 3 years, 8 months NOTES: Observational recording for emotional awareness _ identity formation.

(Soft rustle. The recorder clicks on. Leela's voice enters soft, tired, but affectionate, as though she’s easing into the moment.)

“Development log twelve. Maya, aged three years and nine months. Today I want to check in on Maya’s social-emotional patterns—how she plays, how she relates to other kids. Observation notes: Today, she built a “rocket ship fort” with our laundry basket. Declared herself commander. Declared Ellie the alien. She delegated roles. Pretty assertively.”

(There’s a quiet chuckle from Leela, followed by a long exhale.)

“It’s been... remarkable, watching her become her own person. She’s started giving things names. Stories. Feelings. People. I just want to see where her head’s at.”

(She sets something down, the soft clatter of a ceramic mug. Then gently—)

“Hey, baby girl. You wanna come sit with Mama for a second?”

(There’s the sound of soft running feet on hardwood, followed by a tiny huff of breath as Maya sits down. Fabric rustles. Maya’s voice is sweet and happy.)

“I was building a big zoo for you, mama.”

“A zoo? Wow. What animals did you put in it?”

“Three horses, one tiger, two bunnies, and a T-Rex.”

(Leela laughs.) “Now that’s a very inclusive zoo.”

(A pause. Then, casually but purposeful—) “Maya, can you tell me about your friends? Who do you play with the most?”

(Maya, without missing a beat) “Carter.”

“Oh, he's a nice boy. Remind me, who's Carter?”

“Silly.” (She hums.) “He lives next door!”

“Mhm. And what’s Carter like?”

“He’s funny. He let me use his green crayon even though it's his favourite. And he pushed me on the swing so high I almost touched the sun!”

(Leela, gently teasing) “You have a lot of fun together?”

(Maya giggles.) “He’s my boyfwen.”

(There’s a beat of silence. A soft click as Leela sets down her pen.)

(Leela sounds more careful than amused.) “He's your boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh. He shared. And I kissed him on the cheek. So now we’re... boyfwen and girlfwen.”

(Leela’s quiet laugh slips out—surprised, warm.) “And how did he feel about that?”

(Maya, cheerfully) “He said I smelled like apples.”

“That’s a pretty sweet thing to say.”

(Then her tone shifts—slower now. She softens it without losing the thread, like a hand on Maya’s back.)

“Baby, can we talk about something important?”

“'Kay.”

“You know how hugs and kisses and holding hands can feel really nice, right?”

“Yeah. I go like this—mwah!”

(There's a small pause.) “But you always get to choose. Nobody gets to touch you unless you want them to.”

“Mhm.”

“And if someone ever tries, and it makes your tummy feel funny, like a scared feeling, or like you want to get away—you tell Mama. Or Daddy. Or anyone in your family.”

(Maya, quietly) “Even if they’re nice?”

“Even if they’re really nice. If you don’t feel good about it, that’s enough. Your body is yours.”

(There’s a pause, like Maya is working it out in her head. Something taps gently—Maya’s fingers on the table, maybe. Then her voice returns, brighter again.)

“But I wanted to give him kiss, mama.”

“That’s okay. It’s good when you want to. That’s how we know something feels right. But you should know it’s always okay to say no, too. Even to kisses. Even to Carter.”

(Maya hums, a beat later) “What if I change my mind?”

“Exactly. Then you say, “No, thank you.” And he has to listen. And if he doesn’t, you come straight to me, alright?”

“I think he listens.”

“Then he’s being a good friend. That’s what matters most. Being safe and kind.”

(Silence. Then—)

“Mama?”

“Yeah, baby.”

(Her voice is shy.) “Can I kiss you?”

(Leela laughs, breath catching a little—caught off guard.) “Of course you can. Gimme a big one.”

(A pause. A kiss lands—a loud little mwah. Then giggles.)

“You smell like Daddy.”

“And you smell like apples. Go on now, go build your big zoo.”

(Tiny footsteps patter away. The door creaks faintly. The room settles. The faint hiss of the windchime and the occasional tick of the cooling kettle fill the space. Then—soft, almost absent-minded—Leela begins speaking again.)

“Um, well... Maya shows increasing um, verbal complexity in social interactions. She uses ownership language—“my boyfriend,” “my zoo”—which aligns with expected identity formation at her... stage. Shows initiative in emotional reciprocity—physical affection, shared play, verbal acknowledgement of care...”

(She takes a quiet breath, then shifts.)

“Omigod... what happens when those interactions aren’t safe? When someone nice isn’t good?”

(Another breath. This one is shakier.)

“I don’t know how to teach my daughter the difference between fear and instinct without giving her...” (A soft gulp.) “...my history. I don’t want her carrying mine. I want her to know the world. But how do you prepare someone for what you survived, without letting that become the shadow they grow up under?

(A long pause.)

“My baby, she’s so soft. And that’s a miracle. I didn’t know softness could survive me. I didn’t know I could still hold it, let alone raise it.”

(Her voice lowers again, almost as if she’s talking only to herself.)

“I watch her love so freely, and it's starting to terrify me again. Because there’s always this part of me that thinks: someone's going to take it. But another part, the one that clings to Joel, assures me that she's safe. Maya knows how her father is and how a person should be.”

(Silence. Then, quietly, with that same gentle steadiness she gives to Maya—)

“She knows she can say no, and that she can run home to me. That’s… a start.”

(Click.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #49

[Mid-broadcast—music fades out. The soft hum of the station returns.]

MAYA (into the mic, mock-serious): “And that was Fleetwood Mac for the third time this week because apparently we are a town of heartbreakers. Thanks for the request, Esteban—erm, next time, maybe something that doesn’t make me want to bash my head against the wall for two hours.”

[She shuffles a cassette case, clicks it shut.]

[The studio door creaks open. Footsteps, then a long, familiar sigh as someone flops down onto a chair.]

ELLIE (off-mic, relaxed): “Damn, it’s cosy up in here. Look at this! Did you get new pillows? Wait, that one's mine.”

MAYA (groans): “Oh no. No, no, no. Ellie—you’re not cleared for entrance. You gotta go.”

ELLIE (snorts): “Relax. I’m just hangin’ out. You got snacks? You always got snacks. Leela's fuckin' sinful pretzels.”

MAYA: “This is a professional environment. You can’t just—”

ELLIE (into the mic, sing-song): “Psh, you're like ten. Did your professional environment know you’ve got a boyfriend who—”

MAYA (shrieks, cuts her off): “NOPE. Nope. Don’t you dare! You always do this! Get out!”

ELLIE (cackling): “What! I didn’t even say—Carter!—Come and—ow, hey!”

MAYA (wrestling for the mic): “Get! Out!”

[There’s a scuffle, laughter, the sound of a chair scraping back. Ellie’s voice is fading as she’s being half-dragged.]

ELLIE (calling out): “He sees her through his window, Joel’s gonna—!”

MAYA: “OH MY GOD!”

[Just as Ellie is shoved out the door—]

MARIA (stern, from the hall): “Girls. Too loud.”

[Silence. The studio door eases shut.]

MAYA (breathing hard, mutters): “…Gonna kill her.”

[She takes a second. Then clears her throat and speaks calmly into the mic again, regaining her radio persona like nothing happened.]

MAYA: “Apologies for the brief turbulence. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programme. Here’s one for anyone with nosy sisters and no locks on their doors. This is ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me.’”

[Music kicks in—The Police.]

X

MILLER HOME VIDEO #16

(The footage starts mid-motion—jostled slightly as someone fumbles with the handstraps. A soft clatter in the background, tools on wood. The screen settles, coming into focus on Joel at his workbench, his head bowed, the muscles in his forearm taut as he files the edge of a half-finished guitar body. Sunlight spills across his shoulders. There’s a quiet hum in the room: dust in the air, the faint buzz of wind outside, the rasp of wood shaving down.)

(Leela, off-camera, dryly amused) “You done pretending I’m not here?”

(Joel doesn’t look up. His voice is slow, roughened with focus.) “If you’re filmin’ me again, I’m chargin’ a fee.”

“Mm. That so? Well, I've got money to spare.” (A pause as she zooms slightly, catching the flex of his hand as he turns the wood. She goes into a deep voice.) “Joel Miller. Documented in the wild. In his natural habitat. Look at the precision. The grace. The muscle.”

(Joel snorts. Still doesn’t look up.) “For real?”

(She laughs quietly behind the camera.) “I wish I were more artistic.”

(He finally lifts his gaze, catches her through the lens, then returns to his work with a little shake of his head.)

“You are. You just get mad when it ain’t perfect.” (A beat. Then he sets the file down, reaching up to flick the collar of his flannel toward the camera.) “Like this. Tell me this ain’t art.”

(The camera zooms in. There, stitched along the collar’s edge in slightly uneven thread, is a pair of deer antlers—wobbly, charming, clearly handmade.)

(Leela laughs.) “That was not for public display!”

“Too late. It’s on record now.” (He grins, clearly enjoying himself, and lifts his palm next—dark ink visible along the base of his thumb.) “And this?”

(Camera focuses on his outstretched palm. A swirl of dark brown ink stains the skin—rust-colored henna, slightly cracked with drying. The design isn’t excellent, but in the centre are the small, careful initials: L & J. The camera dips just as quick.)

“Ugh, you're proving my point. It looks terrible.”

(Joel studies it for a moment.) “Looks perfect to me. Show me yours.”

(The shot wobbles as Joel takes the camera gently. A moment of black, then the image refocuses—now it’s Leela in frame, sitting cross-legged on the floor, light pooling behind her in the corner of the woodshop. She gives a reluctant grin, her hands resting in her lap, then slowly lifts them.)

“Happy?”

“Look at that. Real pretty. Like you.”

(Camera zooms. Her palms are detailed with dark henna—delicate vines, tiny dots like stars, and soft spirals, uneven in some places but clearly done with care. Her ring sits amid it, gleaming bright against her skin.)

(Joel’s voice is soft behind the lens.) “What’s this called again?”

“Henna.”

“Right, henna. And you did this because...?”

(She gives him a pointed look.) “Because I got married.”

“That you did.” (A pause, then:) “Poor bastard.”

(Leela laughs and throws a scrap of fabric at the camera.)

(Joel lowers the camera a bit, just enough to see more of her—not posing, just being.) “And in two days. I get to see all this goodness in a pretty white dress.”

“If you shave a little.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“And wear a tux.”

“Now that’s pushin’ it.”

(She tilts her head, lips pushed to a frown.)

(Joel clucks his tongue.) “We’re not even having a real ceremony, baby. Just some pictures. No one’s wearin’ a damn tux.”

(She narrows her eyes playfully.) “Then why should I wear a dress?”

(Joel pauses.) “Don’t, then. Even better.”

(Leela looks away, but her mouth curves.) “Put the camera away, Joel.”

(A beat. Joel mumbles something inaudible to catch.)

(She gasps.) “Turn it off! You can't just say that while—”

(She exhales a quiet laugh, then reaches toward the lens—fingers outstretched. The footage shudders as the camera is lowered, turned. Just before the image cuts out, there’s a blurred shot of Joel’s boots stepping toward her.)

—

(The footage flickers back on. The camera shifts wildly at first—then it steadies, slightly tilted, capturing a low, intimate view of the workshop floor. The frame settles on Leela.)

(She’s sitting with her back against the wood-panelled wall, knees drawn up, a guitar resting haphazardly in her lap. Her hair is tousled, her nightdress clinging loosely with two buttons undone and one sleeve halfway off her shoulder. There’s a lazy satisfaction in her posture, it's obvious—she is freshly fucked. She’s grinning, biting her kiss-bitten bottom lip as she awkwardly tries to strum.)

(She nods to the camera.) “Nice, you turned it on. Say it again for me.”

(Joel, off-camera, voice sheepish) “You wish. I turned it on because future historians are gonna know what beautiful means.”

“Uh-uh. You have to say it. For the record.”

“There ain’t gonna be a record. This thing’ll get eaten by squirrels or somethin’.”

“You just said—”

“Changed my mind.”

(She laughs, eyes flicking up toward the lens, fingers still plucking uncertainly at the strings.)

“So, Joel said—and I quote—‘If I die, you have my blessing to move on, but not to someone with bad grammar or a weak chin.’”

“I was jokin’.”

“No, no. This is legal documentation now. You’re on record.”

“Fine. You got it on tape. But it’s a one-way deal. No replacements. I die, you mourn forever. Become a ghost widow or some shit.”

(Leela snorts. She strums a wrong chord and winces.) “You really think I’d let you die?”

“You plan on goin’ first?”

“Someone’s got to make you dinner in the afterlife.”

(Joel sighs.) “Hate it when you talk like that.”

(She softens then, gaze dropping back to the strings. Her voice stays light, but there's something underneath it—like the edge of a sigh.)

“You’re not gonna die anytime soon, Joel. Remember your guarantee?”

(He grumbles.) “Hundred-and-twenty years. No refunds.”

“Precisely. You’re only halfway through.”

“Still got time to pick up bad habits.”

(Leela flashes him a smile.) “You already did. Me.”

(There’s a beat of silence. You can hear Joel shift off-camera, maybe leaning closer. When he speaks, it’s warm, almost shy.)

“At least I get a cute girl outta the deal. And then some.”

“And I haven’t even started greying yet.”

“You won’t. Not for another decade. Still a damn teenybopper.”

“Right, right. I’m seventeen, Maya doesn’t exist, and I met you at my high school prom.”

“That’d explain the dress this weekend.”

“It has stars on it. Maya drew it.”

“Look, I’m livin’ long enough to see that girl bring home some cocky little bastard, and when they knock on our door, I’m gonna be sittin’ there with this guitar, cleanin’ it like it’s a shotgun.”

(Leela breaks into quiet, delighted laughter, leaning her head back against the wall. Her fingers fall still on the strings. She looks up at the camera and lifts one brow.)

“Will you at least put on your shirt first?”

“Hell no. Ruins my intimidation tactic.”

(She groans, mock-horrified. The camera tilts just slightly as Joel chuckles, and the screen catches a blurry glimpse of his knee before the feed goes shaky.)

“Alright, movie star. Gimme that thing before I start filming your bald spot.”

“Such a little—”

(A blurry shot of her smirk as he dodges a playful swipe. Then—black.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #50

[The last notes of a mellow track fade out—Simon & Garfunkel’s 'The Only Living Boy in New York.' The needle lifts. A breath of quiet static. Then, Maya’s voice, soft and clear through the mic.]

MAYA (into the mic, thoughtful): “Going along with our question for the day... I always wonder what the old world felt like. It's something I lost. Y’know, the one before the fences and the patrol schedules and the rules about not going past the orchard without a grown-up.”

“My dad and mom—they tell me stories. Sometimes funny ones. Like the time Daddy got stuck in this thing called an elevator and thought he was gonna spend the rest of his life in there.” [laughs quietly]

“And sometimes they tell me the coolest stuff. Like—did you know Leela Miller was supposed to inherit a jet? One of those fast-flying things that important people used to ride in. A private jet, she said. With soft chairs and teeny-tiny pretzels. You should’ve seen Daddy’s face when she told me. He just went real quiet and blinked a bunch.”

[Her voice quietens.] “Sometimes the stories are sad, though. Ellie told me once about the stars and how people used to ride rockets into space. She said if she had the chance, she’d go straight to the moon and never look back. I didn’t even know the moon was close enough to touch.”

[A soft pause. You can hear her thumb tap the desk, just once.]

“And every Thursday, I help my ma make dinner. It’s, like, our thing. She says people used to do that—pass down recipes and stories while peeling potatoes or whatever. Last week, we made these round stuffed cookie sandwiches called Oreos. Black and white. Sounded fancy. Tasted like… chalk? Ugh.” (giggles) “I don’t know why people were obsessed with them. Daddy ate five just to prove he liked them. Then he made this face like he’d swallowed his boot.”

“And then there were the M&Ms. Uncle Tommy found this old sealed jar when he was out on patrol. Tiny little colours, all shiny like beads. I thought they’d taste like cardboard. But… they didn’t. They melted in my mouth. Like, hmm… I don’t know. Crunchy happiness? I didn’t even care if they were a hundred years old. I wanted three more jars.”

[Her voice quiets. More space between words now.]

“Sometimes… I think I’m never gonna know what that world felt like. The one with school buses, and oh! These ice cream trucks that played music? With movie theatres and cereal aisles that go on forever. Where you could drive a car just because you felt like it. And move to a whole continent in a few hours.”

“I live in a world of rationed rice. And fences. And watchtowers. A world where you grow what you eat. And you don’t go out unless you have to...”

“But it’s not all bad.”

[She inhales, like she’s grounding herself in the now.]

“It’s actually kinda nice here. I wake up and check the berry bushes with Mama. I get to see the horses every day with Ellie. I help Daddy in the shop—he lets me sand the soft wood and shows me how to oil the hinges so they don’t squeak. When we walk through town, people wave. They know my name. The Miller kid.”

[A beat. Then she smiles, almost audibly.]

“Maybe the old world’s gone. But this one’s still growing, right?”

[She hesitates. Then leans a little closer to the mic. Her voice goes small—sincere.]

“If I ever had to pick between all the shiny stuff, the Oreos and M&Ms, the old world… or having this, my family, the lake, and my town?”

“I’d pick this. Every time.”

[There’s a quiet moment—just the hum of the equipment and a flick of a switch.]

MAYA (soft): “This next one goes out to anyone who's building something new in a world that’s still figuring itself out. Hang in there. Here’s “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles. Stay warm, Jackson.”

[Music begins.]

X

T. MILLER HOME VIDEO #3

(The frame opens with a slow zoom onto Joel, standing in front of a small bedroom mirror, trying—and failing—to get his cufflinks to sit right. The golden sun highlights the pressed lines of Joel's jacket. Tommy's teasing voice comes from behind the camera.)

“Look at that. Goddamn. Joel Miller in a tux. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

(Joel doesn’t look up. Just mutters a curse under his breath and keeps wrestling with the cuff.) “Terrible timing.”

“Oh, c’mon. Give us a spin, would ya?”

(Joel doesn't even glance over.) “Fuck off.”

(Tommy chuckles behind the camera. The lens zooms in—just slightly too close—as Joel adjusts his tie. The suit fits better than expected: crisp, black with a subtle grey lining. He looks good, clean, handsome, and uncomfortable. Someone has ironed the outlaw right off him. He finally gets the tie straight, eyes narrowing at his own reflection like it just insulted him.)

(Tommy, drawling, mock-formal) “Big brother’s gettin’ married today. Real event of the year.”

(Joel continued centring his tie.) “It ain’t a wedding. It’s pictures.”

(Tommy ignores him.) “There’s a bride. There’s a groom. She’s in white. You’re in a tux. There are rings involved.”

(Joel snorts. He fiddles with the small boutonniere Maria had pinned to the lapel earlier. It’s a single thistle and a white wildflower. Subtle.)

“Ain’t about the pictures or the suit. I… wanted a day that Maya could remember. So that’s what we’re doin’.”

“That’s a wedding, dumbass.”

(Joel gives him a look. The kind that would’ve stopped most people from speaking again. Tommy is not most people.)

“If you fuck this up for me, I am puttin’ your head through a goddamn wall.”

(The camera pans awkwardly to the bed, where Maya, three years old, is sitting cross-legged in a blue dress with a sash, hugging her stuffed bear. Her hair is braided in two neat ropes on her shoulders. She’s watching Joel with the kind of reverence only little kids have for their dads.)

“Hey, squirt. You seen your mama?”

(Maya beams at the camera.) “Yeah, she looks like a pin-cess. She got tattoo on her hands, and flowers in her hair...”

(She falls back onto the bed, kicking her feet in glee. Joel turns at the sound, a smile creeping over his face.)

“Well, now I gotta see her.”

(From off-frame, a calm voice answers, warm and amused—)

“Look no further.”

(The camera swings again, a little too fast, before it steadies—catching Leela standing in the doorway. She’s radiant in a simple flared white dress, tea-length with delicate lace sleeves. Her long braid is swept over one shoulder, tucked with tiny wildflowers. A string of pearls graces her neck, and white heels click softly on the floorboards as she steps in. She’s not done up like a fairy tale—she’s real, alive, smiling, glowing like one.)

(She smooths a hand down her stomach.) “Is it fine?”

(Joel doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares. His brow softens. One hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, the way he does when words fail him.)

“You look...” (He exhales a short breath through his nose, still watching her like she’s walked out of a dream.) “Yeah, darlin'. Yeah, you look... more than fine.”

(Then he snaps his fingers at Tommy without breaking eye contact.)

“Out. Take baby girl with you.”

(Tommy groans.) “Aw, c’mon, Joel. Get a grip.”

“Get. Out.”

(Maya squeals as Tommy dutifully scoops her up. The camera jostles a little. A final glimpse of Joel reaching for Leela’s hand before the door begins to close.)

(Maya, off-camera, giggling) “Bye, Mama! Bye, Daddy!”

(Just before the recording cuts, there’s a quiet moment—Leela stepping close, Joel’s hand brushing along her waist, his head dipping against hers, and the soft click of the door behind them.)

X

M. MILLER RADIO RECORDING #51

[The tape clicks on—there's a fuzzy hum of silence, then the creak of a stool. Maya exhales. She’s clearly resting her chin in her hand, voice small and low.]

M.M (quietly): ...you're tuned in with me, Maya, where the stars are out and everyone else is asleep. Except me. And maybe that one rooster that doesn’t understand how time works.

[A pause. The chair creaks again. She exhales, this time longer. Her voice grows softer—almost like she’s talking to herself now.]

M.M: No one came down here tonight. Not even... Carter. And he said he would. Boys are so dumb. (Then quickly:) Also, he's not my boyfriend! I hate his stupid guts!

[A long silence. Just the faint sound of a wire humming. Then, her voice, low and a little sad—]

I guess... if anyone’s still listening… thank you. [Her voice tightens. She’s holding something back. Then—] Okay. That’s enough sadness. Up next is the sound of me flipping through my songbook until I find something good.

[Just as she starts to rustle the pages, there’s a knock. Soft, deliberate. Her head lifts slightly. Another knock. Then Joel’s voice—]

J.M. (off-mic, gentle): Hey.

M.M (muffled, burying her face in her arms): Hi.

J.M.: How'd it go today?

M.M: Super. No one came. Or called.

J.M.: I came.

MAYA: You don’t count.

[A beat. The floor creaks as he steps inside, sits beside her. A long silence between them—companionable. Then—]

J.M: Well. You sure do like talkin’, huh?

[Maya mock gasps—like he’s insulted her most grievously.]

MAYA: Dad. Talking is important.

J.M. (teasing): Didn’t say it wasn’t. Just wonderin’... you ever run outta words?

MAYA (proudly): Nope. Never. Not even once.

[Joel lets out a low chuckle.]

J.M: Alright. But why the radio? What is it, your diary?

[Pause. Her tone pivots—still Maya, still full of sunshine, but now there’s a thoughtfulness underneath. Like she’s been waiting for someone to ask.]

MAYA: No. Because it’s... magic. You talk... and the words go somewhere. You don’t know where or who’s listenin’. But it’s out there.

[Beat. The chair creaks as she swings her feet.]

Mama said sound keeps goin’ even after we stop hearin’ it. Maybe it bounces off the sky or floats forever in space.

[She lowers her voice now—a hush, like telling a secret.]

So what if someone’s out there in our town, and what if they’re sad and alone... and then poof, they hear my voice. They know I’m real.

[Joel doesn’t answer for a second. You can hear the emotion get caught somewhere between silence and breath.]

J.M. (soft): That’s a mighty big heart you got.

MAYA (shrugs): It’s just talking.

J.M: Nah... ’S more than that.

[A rustle—Joel moves closer, maybe rests a hand on her head. His voice lowers.]

J.M.: Why don’t I answer your question tonight?

[A soft shuffle—maybe she’s lifting her head just slightly.]

MAYA: You will?

J.M: Shoot.

MAYA (a little more awake): Um... today it was: if you could say one thing to someone or something you lost… what would you say?

[Joel doesn’t answer right away. The mic hums gently. When he speaks, it’s soft—like he’s not sure she should hear it, but says it anyway.]

J.M: I’d say… I’m still here. Still tryin’. Doin’ better. And I’d say I love you very much. Took me a while to come back. (A pause.) That’s all.

MAYA (humming): Was it… a person? Or your guitar?

J.M (snorts softly): Ain’t the guitar.

MAYA (after a beat): Then I think I know who she is.

[He doesn’t deny it.]

J.M.: You got a song picked out?

MAYA: Not really.

J.M. (with a little smile): Well, you know mine.

MAYA (grinning): Future Days?

J.M: Mind if I play it?

MAYA: Well, no one's listening to put up with your singing anyway. Go ahead.

J.M: Smartass.

[He reaches for the old guitar case he brought with him—the latch clicks faintly. The strings hum as he tunes without thinking, hands practised, voice low.]

J.M. (gravel-voiced, playful): “This next one’s for the late-night crew. All one and a half of you.”

MAYA (giggles): Hey!

[He starts to play. A few soft, familiar chords. The mic catches it, carries it. Maya leans into his side. You can hear the soft brush of her hair against his jacket. Her voice, sleepy now.]

MAYA: Thanks for coming down here, Daddy.

J.M (quietly): Always will, darlin’.

[The song fades in.]

X

PHOTO LOG — SPRING | “Unwedding” Filed: L. MILLER, personal archive Roll #03, camera serial A-081 [TRIPOD RECORDING – VIDEO & STILL INTERVAL] CAMERA: ACTIVE

Frame 001

JOEL & LEELA, centre frame. They’re standing side by side in front of the big white house. Leela holds a handful of clipped sunflowers from her garden, stems wet and crooked. She’s smiling widely, the grin still growing. Joel gives the camera a suspicious look, then manages a half-smile, awkward, slightly off-centre.

ELLIE (offscreen, yelling): Joel, your face looks like you just stepped on a nail. Try smiling like you love her!

JOEL (grumbling): I do love her.

ELLIE: Then tell your dumb mouth.

Frame 002

JOEL & LEELA, closer. Joel’s arm slips around her waist, tugging her toward him. She stumbles into him, laughing, and the sunflowers drag a streak of yellow pollen down the front of his jacket. He scowls. She looks up at him, still laughing.

LEELA (cowboy accent): Guess I done marked you there, partner.

JOEL: Been doin’ that since day one.

Frame 003

JOEL, LEELA, & ELLIE. Ellie jumps into the frame, arms around their shoulders. She’s in a wrinkled black suit with a bright red tie, hair slicked back in a ponytail. Leela clutches Ellie’s hand with a smile that softens her whole face. Joel’s attention has shifted—he’s not looking at the camera anymore, just at Ellie, and there's something proud and bone-deep in the way he’s smiling down at her.

Frame 004

JOEL, TOMMY, LEELA, & MARIA. They’re bunched close, like they’re about to break into a group prayer or a brawl. Maria has her arm around Leela’s waist. Joel stands slightly behind, one hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy’s got his eyes closed like he’s already regretting whatever Joel’s about to say.

JOEL (murmured): Don’t you dare put your scaly ass lips near my wife again.

TOMMY (winking at Leela): I got one more kiss left in me.

LEELA (laughs): Me, too.

JOEL: Don't encourage him, honey.

MARIA: Shut the fuck up and smile.

Frame 005

MAYA. She stands in the front lawn by her swingset, a sunflower tucked behind her ear, grinning so wide her cheeks nearly touch her eyes. She frames her chin with her little hands, posing like someone’s taught her pageantry. Her gaze is angled up—someone tall, probably Joel, is just off-frame.

Frame 006

JOEL & TOMMY. They're in a mild standoff, both half-turned toward each other and toward the camera, bickering with their eyebrows.

TOMMY: You go left. I go right.

JOEL: You ain’t ever been right.

Frame 007

MARIA & TOMMY. Maria’s head is thrown back in a real laugh, eyes crinkling. Tommy’s kissed her cheek mid-frame, smug. His tie’s crooked. Her blouse is wrinkled. They look like the only people who didn’t try and still somehow got it right.

Frame 008

TOMMY & MAYA. He crouches beside her, both of them duck-pouting for the camera. Maya quickly throws up bunny ears behind his head just as the shutter clicks.

TOMMY (growls): Little nightmare. C'mere, I'll yank your nose out. Can't have one good photo.

[MAYA squeals, running off.]

Frame 009

ELLIE & MAYA. Ellie lifts Maya up at the waist, both laughing like they’ve just shared a secret. Maya’s braid is lopsided now. Ellie's hair is blown upward by the wind. They don’t care; they erupt into laughter.

Frame 010

JOEL, LEELA, & MAYA. The final frame lingers. Joel holds Maya in his arms, her small hands looped loosely around his neck, her cheek tucked against his shoulder. His other arm is around Leela, drawing her in without hesitation. She leans into him, one hand resting gently over his heart, holding it there, the wood-and-gold ring twinkling in the sun. Joel doesn’t smile often, but he does here. It’s lopsided and big. It took a long road to arrive at this moment.

X

L. MILLER MAYA DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #117 October 3rd, 10:12 P.M.

(Soft click. A breath. Fabric rustles. Distant sound of wind chimes, maybe a creaky chair.)

“Okay. Six years, four months.”

“Maya asked me today if the sky always looked this old. And I didn’t know what to tell her.” (She laughs.) “I am still thinking about it. She is absolutely incredible. Now I know how my parents felt.”

“She’s... sharp lately. Surpasses me in all ways. Picks up on patterns faster than I can redirect her. Her brain is restless—it wants to devour everything. Maps. Fire. Roots. Words she’s not ready for. Words I wasn’t ready to hear her say.”

“Transcend. Refract. Exquisite. And, ugh, gross. Which she gets from Ellie.”

“She is Joel’s mirror. Her eye-roll, the little tilt of her head, the way she leans. She wears his old shirts, tucked into her jeans, sleeves all rolled up. She still bolts out the front door at exactly four every afternoon, barefoot if I don’t catch her, just to meet him halfway, and grabs his bag like it’s hers to carry. She sings with him now, plays guitar with him, little fingers on the frets. She even talks with that same Texas drawl of his.”

“She’s started naming weather. Not just clouds, but moods—“grump-storm,” “whisper rain,” “sun that’s pretending.” I think it’s how she handles the chaos. Which makes sense. It’s how I handled mine.”

(A beat passes.)

“I have decided that this is the last one. The last log. Not because she’s finished—well, she’s just getting started—but because I think she’s moving beyond me. And that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“My brilliant baby girl doesn’t need me to define her anymore. She’s learning what kind of person she wants to be. All I ever wanted was to get her this far. Alive. Unbroken. Curious. Aspiring. And so damn beautiful.”

“I think… I think I did that.”

(A brief rustling, a soft clink of glass—maybe a whiskey. Quite out of character for Leela.)

“As for me...” (She clears her throat. A chair creaks as she leans back.)

“I’m still working. I finished my notes on the zeta convergence problem last week—well, finished for now. There’s a ceiling I keep hitting, but I’m trying to trick myself into thinking it’s just another kind of symmetry.”

“I never thought I’d leave anything behind of mine own that mattered. But lately, I’ve been helping Jackson map our winter grid—energy storage with the lightning battery, food supply routes, even water rationing patterns. We’re building a resilience plan that doesn’t rely on luck anymore. A bunch of futurists here.”

(She exhales.) “I drew up the town’s first curriculum guidelines last month—basic logic, analytic equations, geometry... Maria says we’re going to turn the old sawmill into a school next year. Joel says if I make him teach fractions, he’ll fake his own death.”

(A small laugh. She lets it fade.)

“But I think he’s proud. Quietly. Of me.”

(And here—she gets a little softer, thoughtful, speaking more to herself now.)

“I don’t know if any of this will last. The world still breaks more than it builds. But maybe we leave behind, um... enough blueprints. Enough questions. Enough people who believe something good is possible.”

(Silence, just the faint hum of wind outside. Then—)

“I keep the hard math separate from the home stuff. Thanks to my handy chore chart. Usually. But sometimes—like today—I sit at the window with my pen, and I think about proof, and beauty, and entropy, and how somehow we still made this little family work. Even after everything.”

(Beat. She takes a sip. The glass touches the table again.)

“I mean, I still get the nightmares. Can't stop it. Not every night, but some. Sometimes I wake up with the scream still stuck in my chest. Sometimes I can’t get near my daughter's room without remembering what was done to me. What I survived.”

“But I’m doing better than I ever was. I don’t flinch as often when Joel touches me. I like taking walks around Jackson with Maria. I like to listen to people talk. Sometimes I visit Joel at the contracting yard, just to wake him up a little. I still freeze when I smell bleach, but I tell myself I’m safe, Maya is safe, and sometimes it even works. And when it doesn’t... he holds me through it. No questions or pushing. Just waits for me to fall asleep, and is awake before I am to reassure me that I didn't disappear.”

(Her voice softens here—full, held together like something precious she doesn't want to break just by saying it aloud.)

“Being with Joel is... loving a faultline. It is too silent, too deep, and it waits there. Ancient. Worn. Presence over promise. There’s something in him that bends toward my grief without being afraid of it. He just knows it’s there.”

(A soft breath, like she’s amazed by her own truth.)

“I think I love him more now because I know he’s seen the worst of me. And somehow he still leaves coffee by my nightstand every morning and kisses me like I’m his gift.”

(A faint, amused exhale—almost a laugh. She sniffles.)

“God, I sound so corny. He’d tease the hell out of me for this.”

“I never thought I’d have this. But then Joel knocked on my door one night, and everything began again. I’m... still learning how to let myself have that. Which is the hardest goddamn part. Belonging.”

(She sighs.) “Anyway... that’s the... my everything for now.”

“Joel’s downstairs—hinge number six. Maya’s his shadow, as always. I’ll go to them in a minute.”

“If I never say anything else—let this be the one that stays. I'm still here. I’ll hold onto this as long as the world lets me.”

[Click.]

X

© damneddamsy

I think it took me a really long time to post this because I had to say goodbye. To everyone who made it this far, thank you. What a wild journey this has been! Round two starts here -> FALLING masterlist Or if you're interested in something else, it's here -> DAMS main masterlist

{taglist (my literal family) 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[heartfullofleeches]

You know the phrase "pulling wool over their eyes"? Something something sheep reader. I dunno it definitely fits in that universe but I'm very sleepy rn. Sorry if you've already mentioned itttt also happy late birthday!

"Can't see- I can't see!"

Darkness shrouds your vision- Clawing desperately at your face for freedom, thick patches of unkempt fur mask your eyes as light bleeds through. It surrounds you at all corners; face, neck, and shoulders binded with twisted fibers of hair. You can barely catch a breath as it consumes you entirely. Is this how you're meant to go out?

"Hold still, My Dear- I'd never forgive myself if I clipped those ears of yours"

Snip! Snip!

Clamping your eyes shut tight, your ears perk high at the snap of metal. Your nose twitches - brushed by falling curls as you fight the spell of dread and trepidation come natural to getting your hair trimmed. During the colder months, it's like you blink and it's back to the bushy length it was when you first moved into town. You hate asking the mayor for his help, but holding sharp objects gives you terrible tremors in your hands and knees.

"Thanks again for your help, Mayor.... Sorry if I'm bothering you...."

A sympathetic hand pats your shoulder as the mayor sets his scissors aside. "Nonsense, Sheep. It's my job to keep my citizens safe."

"Mayor....If it's alright for me to ask, what do you do with my fur afterwards? I doubt wolf fur has much value in these parts...."

"Would you believe I keep it all for myself?"

"Ah-... M-mayor..."

The mayor barks a laugh, broad antlers scrapping the roof of the ceiling. "Don't look so tense, it was only a joke."

[4linos]

— stray kids links ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ mdni.

warnings: porn.

after a full day of arguing over anything & everything you let chan eat you out as a way of asking for his forgiveness.

lee know has been away from you for so long that he doesn’t care if your roommate can hear you two having sex.

ex bf!changbin was only supposed to pick his things up from your apartment but he couldn't help himself you just looked too sexy in those pajamas.

hyunjin was too horny so he decided that you'd ride his cock in the back seat of his car.

han knew the only way to get you off your phone was to eat out your cunt.

you had enough of felix being on his computer all day, you got on your knees and gave him head under his desk in hopes that he'd fuck you after.

seungmin loves playing with your pussy while the other members are in the same room.

when subby innie is bratty and wants attention you make him wear a controlled vibrator. you love to watch him squirm.

—

n's notes!! 100224.

like or reblog if you'd like more of these. 🩷

i hope you have a great day! & my asks are always open whether you have a question, concern, or want to send nsfw links..🐇

<if there's any problems with the links or any spelling errors please Imk i'd really appreciate it!>

- 🎀

[revelboo]

Hi, this is my first request and I don't know if I'm sending it correctly because it's the first time I've made a request and English isn't my native language, so I'm writing it through a translator, but I hope it's understandable. I'd like to know if you could write about Uno Reverse-sparked for Soundwav by tfp, please.

Sure! I have a soft spot for Soundwaves. 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Uno Reverse-Sparked

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Thighs trembling as a tendril curls around your waist, behind your knees and another slides against your back to support you, he lazily moves you. Apparently trying to kill you by over stimulation, though you’re not complaining about him using you for stress relief. When he’d returned to his habsuite tendrils restlessly thrashing, you’d immediately known something had gone sideways. That he was upset. “Soundwave, please,” you whimper.

• Head tipping as he moves you unhurriedly on his spike, he feels you begin to tremble, getting close again. And he feels guilty about using your body like this to take the edge off, still afraid to put his servos on you after nearly being offlined by one measly Autobot. One wrecker. Venting softly when you arch in his tendrils, he’s pulls you down, grinding himself against you until he’s filling you.

• Whimpering as his visor bumps your head, nudging you gently, a servo brushes your bottom lip. “Bad day?” You ask, voice shaky and he gathers you to him, easing back. Tendrils coiling about you restlessly in gentle touches that almost feel like an apology. Resting your cheek against his chassis, you can feel his spike still buried deep inside you, hear the hum of his internal systems. “I don’t mind if you get a little rough with me, you know.”

• Sweet, little mate, always forgiving him so easily. Servos trembling slightly as he touches your face, his head tips to study you. That old ache that never quite goes away lifting through him. Knows Lazerbeak doesn’t blame him for what happened, but he blames himself. Always will for that failure, but sometimes he holds you and thinks of healing. Of trying again. Would it be a betrayal of what he’d lost? To have a family again? Start over? Doesn’t even know if it’s possible between you.

• Leaning up on him to see his visored face better, you grimace as his spike slips free along with his excess trailing down your thighs. Getting on both of you. And his head turns, probably feeling it, half expecting him to seize you in his tendrils and carry you to the wash racks even though it’s his mess. Instead he reaches out a servo to brush against the center of your chest before laying his hand on his own chassis. What’s he asking? Startling when he shifts his plating and you see his spark pulsing and beautiful.

• Coiling a tendril around your wrist when you reach for him, it’s an effort to be still. To not arch up and forge that connection. Bond and claim you as his. Do you understand what he’s offering you? Those eyes look up at him and his servos intertwine with your little fingers. Bringing your hand closer to where he aches for you to touch and then letting go of you. Letting you choose. And you don’t hesitate in reaching for him.

• He arches under you when his spark arcs to meet you. And he’s everywhere, you’re falling into him, overwhelmed with memories and thoughts that aren’t your own. Him. You’re seeing and feeling him, his love and affection for you as you sense a question hanging between you and don’t hesitate. Agreeing to him even though you don’t know what he’s asking. But you’ll always choose him. Distracted as his warmth and light wraps around you, there’s a coaxing and a pull. A feeling that’s almost loss that takes your breath away.

• There you are. All of you right there. He’s not limited to just your emotions anymore, can see your life, every moment, every aspect of you within reach. And something shifts, something he was afraid to imagine was possible. Feels your alarm and it becomes his, his grief rising up, that old pain overwhelming you both as he relives his worst day and you’re drowning in that memory he didn’t mean to burden you with. Hooking a tendril around you to lift you away and break the contact, his spark aches as tears slide down your face, grieving for him. For his lost cassettes and he hides away his spark, gathering you to him and wrapping himself around you. Feeling that new spark you gave him tangled in his own. A future, a way forward through the pain.

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH6

Daddy takes you on a road trip, happy to have you as his passenger princess.

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Dom/sub undertones. Pet names. Road trip. Age gap. Size difference. Explicit language. Over-clothes-touching. Nature hike. Tooth-rottingly-sweet fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.4k 🔷️ READ ON AO3 🔷️ 1–2–3–4–5–6 7–8–9–10–11–12

A/N: Quick recap: Reader (we call her pumpkin), in her 20s, has hair and female genitalia, suffers from depression and anxiety, and has agreed to become the little girl/submissive to a couple she's supposed to call Mommy and Daddy, who are in their early/late thirties. In this chapter: Daddy POV incoming! We learn a bit more about him, including his name and age. Turns out: he is an original character, but he was inspired by all the men tagged in this post, I hope you can forgive me for still using those tags. His name is barely mentioned if it's not his POV, so he'll remain (the) Daddy (of your choice) of course. (READ THIS if you'd like a longer explanation!)

Chapter 5 🔷️ Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7

You were settled on the bench seat of the truck, your shoulder leaning against the passenger door, your feet tucked under your butt, as you watched about curiously. The small backpack he'd given you, filled with extra clothes, water and some snacks, rested against your side.

His eyes were on the road, but he kept looking over, out of the corner of his eye or openly when he had to stop at a traffic light or before taking a turn. You looked calm, relaxed, the way those braids framed your pretty face made him smile softly. It had only been a few days, less than that even, but you already looked so different.

When he first saw you shuffling into the living room, nervous and shy and uncertain about everything, he'd hoped to break you out of your shell, make you smile and laugh and see the world in a different light again. He hadn't imagined you'd change so quickly. As if you'd been looking for someone to take care of you all your life, immediately jumping at the chance.

And how fast you'd opened up to him specifically, after just these short moments you'd had together, it warmed his heart. Whatever happened in the shower this morning hadn't been planned, but he was glad it had evolved like it did. It would make things much easier in the future. You might have hesitated a little at first, but he could see that you wanted to be close to him.

There was still a lot of shame inside you, probably stemming from a conservative upbringing or lack of proper communication with your parents or mother in particular (seeing that you never really had a proper father figure in your life), but you did better than he would have thought at first. In hindsight, he had pushed you a little too much as he remembered your distraught face and tears when being presented with the simple task of saying 'cock' and 'cunt' and asking to be touched.

But you pulled through, and he couldn't be more proud. You'd do just fine with all the things to come.

“Daddy?” Your voice rang in his ears, pulling him from his thoughts. The way you said that still tightened something low in his stomach, making his cock twitch.

“Yes, pumpkin?” he replied, throwing a short glance at you, his hand flexing on the steering wheel.

“Where exactly are we going?” you asked. You'd moved on the seat, sitting on your knees, slightly closer to the middle now, the seat belt pushing between your small breasts.

“To the mountains,” he answered, watching you frown before he had to look back at the road. “We'll take a little hike. I'd figured you'd like to get out of town for once, get some fresh air. You'll love it. It's one of my favorite trails.”

“Okay,” you whispered, sounding a little flat. “I hope I can keep up...”

He looked back at you, noticing how you chewed on your bottom lip as you stared out of the passenger window. Before he knew it, he'd reached his hand out and brushed his fingers against your thigh, smiling when you turned your head to him. Instead of maybe pushing him away or dodging the touch, you grabbed his hand and cradled it between yours, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

His smile widened when you blushed slightly, focusing your gaze on how much bigger his hand was in yours. “You'll be fine, baby,” he told you, and you nodded, continuing to play with his long fingers.

You must be so touch-starved, with how you soaked up the tiniest of skin-to-skin contact. He was glad about it, knowing there'd be so much more to come, but he also felt bad for taking advantage of you like that. Then again, you were the perfect little girl, the one he'd been looking for for quite some time. Already so submissive, timid but curious, cute and enticing. Just perfect.

It had been Isabella's idea (the woman you only knew as Mommy) to add a little something to their busy lifestyles, something to ground them both, to calm them when life got too much. He'd known his partner for more than a decade then. They'd met as business partners, working for different companies, started out as passionate lovers before they realized they weren't made for a conventional relationship.

Soon they merged lives, business and private, working as equals in the company he'd built up from the very bottom. She was a good partner, knew how to handle herself in a still mostly man-dominated world, mainly because she knew exactly how to dominate right back. She had a fiery temper that he admired both in the office and in his bed, and they soon slipped into a different lifestyle, sharing a passion for the rougher kinds of love-making.

And as much as it grounded him to explore the deepest kinks with her, something had been missing. They were both dominant people, clashing more often than not, which wasn't always a bad thing, but he knew it couldn't go on like that. With their unique relationship being as open as it was, Isabella had been experimenting with submissives long before him (as far as he knew she still had some on the side, juggling it all at once which was impressive), but somehow that only fueled their darker sides.

So one day, she came to him, nursing a strained wrist after some malfunctioning flogger exercise. “Papi,” she'd said, sitting down on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “Something's gotta change.”

He'd leaned back in his chair, watching her. He'd always been blown away by her natural beauty, her long black hair, those thick lashes, the perfectly structured face, full lips, deep eyes full of fire. He knew she didn't do much to maintain her looks, which was even more impressive. That day, she'd been glowing, an idea blossoming in her chest.

“What are you thinking about, babe?” he had asked, tilting his head.

“We should get a dog,” was the first thing she'd said, a tease in her velvety voice, a smirk on her lips. “Or we could adopt. A kid.”

He'd stared at her. “A kid? I thought you hated kids.”

“Well, I do, and you'll never catch me with a bun in the oven, no matter how hard you try to put one in there, mister,” she'd added, poking her pointy nail at his chest. He'd chuckled. “No, I mean...” She'd sighed, pursing her lips. “Listen, I will not be caught dead admitting this, but... I know you'll understand. I think you feel the same. Something's missing.”

“You think we'd have time to raise a kid?” he'd asked, frowning deeply. “We of all people?”

“No, not raise a kid. That'd be a terrible idea, wouldn't it?” She'd laughed her beautiful laugh. “No, stay kinky, chico, I mean we need a little girl, a fully developed human, of age, of course, but someone to take care of and pamper and cuddle on the couch after a long day in the office. Someone who will cherish us and devote her life to us, someone for both of us.”

“You want to be a Mommy, huh?” he'd mused.

“I wanna be called Mommy!” she'd clarified, slipping onto his lap, one arm around his neck as she drew circles over the buttons of his shirt. “And you, papito, were destined to be a Daddy too!”

“You think so?”

“Oh yes, old man, it's now or never,” she'd teased, smiling at him. “You won't get any younger, you know?”

He'd shot her a glare, grabbing her waist and tickling her until she hit his chest, breathless and flushed.

“You'd make a great Daddy,” she'd whispered, nuzzling her nose against his neck. “You were my papi first, but I am more than willing to share. You have so much love to give, let's find a girl who needs it. I'll look around first thing tomorrow, ask around.”

“What? Do you expect to find our little girl on the street?” he'd asked with a raised eyebrow.

In the end, after a long and fruitless search with many failed attempts, she did indeed find you right there on the street, lost and alone, left behind by a life that had gone by too fast. And it had been so easy to open his arms to you, to pull you onto his lap, welcome you into your new life. He smiled as he remembered how small you'd been, shoulders tight, curled into your shell, grabbed tightly by anxiety, but slowly you'd grown, stuck your head out, looked at him with so much hope.

Exhaling loudly, he noticed you were tugging on his hand. Blinking his eyes into focus, realizing he'd been driving mindlessly (luckily it was a straight road for miles), he turned his head to you, finding you smiling shyly at him.

“You okay, baby girl?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but bit your lip. He squeezed your hand gently, knowing you were about to ask something, fighting with yourself to find the words. He gave you an encouraging smile, waiting patiently, his eyes flicking back to the road for a moment before he felt how you placed his large hand onto your belly, giving it a soft press.

He looked back at you. “Hungry?”

“Can we stop for breakfast or lunch?” you then asked, and he smiled wider.

“Of course we can, pumpkin.” He looked at his watch, realizing it was already noon. Their shower adventure had taken longer than he'd expected and he'd whisked you away right after, completely forgetting about feeding you. What a Daddy he was... He scanned the road signs flying by. “How about a gas station sandwich? Not much else around,” he mused.

“Sure,” you said quietly, still fondling his hand to your stomach.

“I had our chef pack some real food though, for later. But if you're really hungry, we can dig into that right here on the side of the road.”

“No, it's fine, a sandwich will do.” You paused, then whispered: “You packed food, like... for a picnic?”

He looked back at you, nodding. “And I have just the spot to do it too, you'll love it.”

Leaving the road at the next exit, he brought the truck to a stop at the side of a small building. The two gas pumps sat vacant, nobody was around. It looked empty, almost abandoned, but there was a blinking OPEN sign in the dirty window. He considered leaving you in the car, but then thought better and unbuckled your seat belt, motioning you to join him. You slipped back into your shoes and followed immediately.

He waited with his hand extended and you grabbed it quickly, comfortable, as if you'd known each other for a long time. It felt right to walk with you like that. You were so tiny next to him, his hand swallowing yours, and with your braids and those shorts, you looked younger than you were. And somehow, to his own surprise, he didn't have a problem with that.

He pushed the door open and pulled you in after him, the little bell ringing from above. The small store was as empty as the rest of the property, though he heard shuffling in the back. Looking around, he skipped the shelves filled with snacks and went straight to the counter where an array of baked goods sat inside a small glass box.

“BLT or PB&J?” he asked you as you followed his gaze towards the sandwiches.

“Tomato,” you whispered shyly, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, pulling you slightly into his side. A moment later, an older woman came from the back, smiling a toothless smile as she greeted her customers. He ordered two tomato sandwiches to go and a coffee for himself.

“We also have milkshakes,” the clerk chimed as she packaged the food items. “I think you'd love the strawberry one, my dear,” she added, looking at you with a fond glint in her eyes. “Surely your Dad wouldn't mind?”

He noticed the flinch jerking through your body as you lowered your eyes, staring at the counter, your cheeks heating up. It did sound a bit weird to be addressed as your father, and he knew you were bothered by it a lot more than he was, but it was what it was. He was older, taller, bigger, you looked particularly young today, it was an easy mistake to make for a stranger. He decided to address the issue later.

For now, he squeezed your hand, tilting his body towards you. “Do you want one, pumpkin?” he asked quietly.

You looked up at him, your eyelids fluttering as you bit your lip. “Yes,” you breathed, and he smiled, then nodded at the cashier.

When you left the gas station, your hands curled around the large cup, you already seemed to have brightened up again. He slipped onto the driver's seat, watching you climb onto the bench, immediately shifting towards him. He put the sandwiches on the dashboard and his coffee cup in his other hand before he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You melted into his embrace, smiling shyly as you started sucking on your milkshake.

“Listen, pumpkin,” he started, taking a sip of his coffee. “I'm afraid that may happen more often now. People mistaking you for my daughter. It's fine, isn't it? Nothing to be ashamed of or weirded out by. We know better, don't we?”

You looked at him from under your lashes, your lips puckered around the straw. He had to clench his jaw at the sight, knowing now was the worst possible moment to imagine those same lips wrapped around his cock, but he couldn't help himself or the twitch against the zipper of his jeans. Clearing his throat, he put the coffee into the cup holder and grabbed the sandwiches.

“I'll never force you to show any kind of affection in public, baby, okay?” he said, pulling the wrapped triangles out of the paper bag. “Unless you want to. I don't care what people think about me, but I don't want to embarrass or humiliate you. I want to be there for you, in whatever form you want. I –”

He stopped short when you had shifted on the bench seat, scooting closer on your knees, the milkshake in one hand while your other hand rested on his chest. Without saying anything, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, the taste of artificial strawberry overwhelming for a moment. He smiled against your lips, then gave you a peck back.

“Is it weird that I... liked it... that she thought I was your daughter?” you whispered quietly, your cheeks flushed. He put the sandwiches on his lap and cupped your face, shaking his head.

“Nothing weird about it, it flatters me,” he said quietly, rubbing his thumbs over the twitching corners of your lips.

“How old are you, Daddy?” you asked, watching him closely.

“38, pumpkin. Does that bother you?” he added, knowing he was fifteen years your senior. But even though it was the biggest age gap in a relationship for him too, he found himself not really minding it as much as he had thought. And neither did you, apparently.

“No,” you breathed, leaning closer again. “I think you look younger. You don't look like any of the men my mother dragged into our house...”

He raised an eyebrow, not wanting to imagine just how many step-fathers you had to live with and endure. “Thanks, baby girl,” he replied instead, brushing his nose against yours.

“So I don't mind if people think you're my... father, but... I...” you stammered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. His thumb teased at it, pulling it back. The tip of your tongue slid against the pad of his finger. “I also want to... show affection in public... I mean, I want to hold your hand and... and kiss you... and not pretend that I am just your... daughter. Is that... okay?”

He smiled wider, nodding, tilting his head to press his lips to yours. “Of course, pumpkin. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“And at the same time, I... I'm not sure if I... if I want to call you... Daddy... when others can hear me... that does feel weird, a little bit,” you mused, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, teasing at his chest. “Maybe I could... call you... by your name? Do you have a name, Daddy?”

He laughed, both surprised and impressed by how you managed to word your wants and needs almost freely to him. “Of course I have a name, baby,” he said with a smirk.

You stared at him, waiting.

He stared back, amusement flushing his body.

“What's your name, Daddy?” you then asked, catching the unspoken command to ask him properly.

“Noah,” he said. “My name's Noah.”

You mouthed his name silently before you voiced it. “Noah,” you repeated. “And I can call you that when we're among people?”

“Yes, you can, pumpkin,” he replied, watching you closely. “If that makes you happy.”

You hummed, the sound vibrating against his lips.

“Do you want me to call you by your name too, or do you prefer the pet names I gave you?”

“I like it when you call me pumpkin,” you said quietly, inhaling deeply before you slipped from his hands and leaned your head against the backrest of the seat, snuggling into his shoulder. “Or baby or baby girl or anything else. I never really liked my name anyway...”

“But it's a beautiful name, baby,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around you to pull you even closer. “It is,” he stressed with a nod when you were about to roll your eyes, “but I respect your wishes, pumpkin.”

You smiled at him, warmth flooding your big eyes. “By the way, why pumpkin? Do I look like a pumpkin?” you then asked.

He chuckled. “No, I just think it sounds cute, as cute as you look,” he said, nuzzling his nose into your neck. You gave a soft giggle, accepting his answer.

You settled against him, bringing the milkshake back to your lips. He kept his arm around your shoulders, picking up the sandwiches with his free hand. Taking a bite of one, he then held it towards you. Instead of maybe grabbing the other one, you took his and bit off another piece, much smaller than his, and he watched you fondly as you chewed.

For a while the two of you ate in comfortable silence, still parked at the side of the gas station, leaning against the other. When he gave you the last bite of the second sandwich, he teased his fingers against your jaw.

“Hey, by the way, I am really proud of you, you know that?” he said nonchalantly, emptying the rest of his coffee.

You looked at him with a frown. “For finishing my food?”

He smirked. “That too, of course, but also for voicing what you want. I know it's not easy for you, but you did so well.”

You squirmed away, blushing deeply, but he knew you weren't ashamed, just humbled, probably. “Well, it's easier than to ask for... for something else...”

He nudged your arm. “I bet it is, but you'll get better at that too.”

“Hmm,” you made, licking around your lips, not daring to look at him. He leaned in instead, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your cheek that made you giggle, before he took the empty milkshake cup from your hand and gathered the rest of the trash.

When he opened his door, you looked at him, meeting his gaze. “Be right back,” he told you, adding Stay where you are in his mind, then left the car, disposing of the cups and paper bags in a nearby trashcan. The sun was high in the sky, a few clouds shifting in front of it. He had planned to take you to the mountains early in the day, but somehow you were a bigger distraction than he had thought.

He'd have to take a different route to get there quicker, hoping they'd still have enough daylight to make it to the vantage point he wanted to show you. It'll be fine, he told himself when he returned to the truck. You were still perched on the seat, right in the middle where he left you, watching him curiously when he slipped behind the wheel again.

“You wanna stay here, pumpkin?” he asked, and you nodded, snuggling against him, your legs tucked under your body, knees pressing into his leg, sock-clad feet wriggling beside you on the seat. He smiled, leaning in to fish the middle seat belt up to strap you in. “Safety first,” he mused, his face close to yours. You gave a sweet snicker, and he couldn't help but grab your chin and capture your lips for a short but deep kiss, tasting the remnants of milkshake and sandwich in your mouth.

He had to force himself away eventually, sighing deeply as he put his own seat belt on and started the engine that came to life with a loud roar. He had missed taking the truck out into nature (usually using one of his other cars or getting driven by Isabella's driver when he was in the city), but what he had missed even more was to have a little passenger princess beside him.

His hand slipped to your thigh once he was back on the road, heading straight ahead, and again, you cradled it between your fingers, the touch soft and sweet, if you wouldn't have pushed it closer and closer to the hem of your jean shorts, teasing it between your legs.

“Still hungry, baby girl?” he mused, eyes on the road.

“No, just... it feels nice... having your hand there...”

“Where, pumpkin?” he teased, feeling you squirm against him.

“On my... between my legs...”

“On your what?”

You sighed, but instead of ditching the want or fighting him, you shifted on the seat, spreading your legs a little. You didn't ask him for it, and he might have to teach you some manners in the future, but for now he let it slide when you pressed his fingers right onto your warm mound, his hand so big his thumb was resting on your leg.

“My cunt, Daddy,” you said quietly, closing your thighs around his hand. He gave your crotch a few nudges of his fingers, wishing the thick fabric of your shorts wasn't in the way so he could sink them directly into your slit, but he settled for feeling your warmth and the hint and promise of dampness beyond.

“Good girl,” he praised, meeting your hooded gaze. “Return the favor?” he then asked before looking back at the road.

You complied quickly, one hand still holding his between your legs, the other moving towards his leg, rubbing up his thigh, and he had to fight a little groan when you curled your small hand around the obvious bulge in his pants as if you'd never done anything else. He admired your confidence, but still adjusted your hand to rest comfortably along his cock, pressing his other leg up against the steering wheel for a moment to keep the car steady.

You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he threw you a smirk, rubbing his fingers against the seam of your shorts, and connected as you were, he drove on. A few hours passed before he pulled onto the empty parking lot. It was later than he would have liked, but it would be fine. You had fallen asleep against him, holding onto his cock, lulled by the occasional flick of his wrist.

He carefully peeled his hand away, feeling it tingling from the blood rushing back into his digits. For a moment, he let it rest on your warm thigh, watching you sleep so peacefully. Gone seemed the worried girl who couldn't stop crying as she told them about her failed attempt at life. Who choked on her words as she had to recount the events that led to her ending up on the street.

He knew that in your head, it was a lot worse, and it wasn't easy to begin with, falling into depression, dropping out of college, losing your place to live, unable to return to your family because you didn't have the money (and courage) to do so, but he had been certain that you would prevail.

There had been hope in your big wet eyes, a plea you couldn't word yet. And you pushed through by accepting his and Isabella's offer, probably still unsure what that all entailed, but you grew into your role (or what you thought it was) quickly, minute by minute climbing back out of the dark abyss that had swallowed you whole.

Helping you by simply being there, cuddling you, holding you, praising you, had been a new experience for him too. He'd had submissive partners before, but nobody had been like you, so soft and innocent and helpless in a way that triggered something inside him he hadn't known before. The need to protect, to guide, to pamper. Be a Daddy, a caring authority figure, a father figure even, and not just in sexual ways.

For the first time in his life, he would prefer holding you against him over sinking his cock into your tight cunt and fucking you senseless (he'd do that eventually too, but for now, because you were just getting adjusted, it was enough to simply feel you in his arms). A new chapter, for every party involved.

Inhaling deeply, your sweet scent filling his nostrils, he leaned against you, bringing his lips to your sleep-warm cheek. “Pumpkin,” he whispered softly. “Wake up, sweet girl.”

You startled awake, flinching badly, your hand gripping at his cock which in turn made him shift away with a wince and a stifled laugh. He grabbed your hand and eased it off him, then chuckled softly when you blinked your eyes into focus and stared at him.

“You're alright,” he whispered, cradling your hand in his, giving you a bit of space as you came to. “We're here.”

“Here?” you mouthed before your jaw opened for a big yawn that you didn't even bother to hide. Seeing his amused gaze, you cleared your throat and wiped a bit of drool off your chin, looking around.

“We might have to change our plans a little because we got here so late. Lucky for you, there's also a shorter trail to where we want to go,” he told you, watching you as you stretched, a little squeak escaping you that made his stomach tense. You were so fucking adorable.

“Okay, Daddy,” you whispered, slipping back into your shoes as you sat up straighter on the seat.

His resolve was really tested now. The urge to grab you and devour you, take you in the most primal ways possible, was thrumming low in his guts, his cock straining against his jeans. But he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Alright, let's get going before it gets dark, hm?” he then said and slipped out of the car, waiting for you to follow him. You grabbed the backpack from the bench while he took the larger one off the backseat, and together, hand in hand, the two of you started up the trail into the forest, slowly easing your way up the mountain.

He watched you as you admired the nature around you, giggling when a squirrel crossed the path, your mouth agape when you watched a woodpecker hacking away at a nearby tree trunk, your hand squeezing his before you showed him something in the distance. His heart nearly melted by how at ease you were, how easy-going and free, not a single black cloud circling your head at the moment.

He'd do anything to keep it that way.

The trail wound past a thick pine forest on one side and a steep slope dipping down into the thicket on the other, allowing a more or less clear view on the river snaking through the valley below. Most of it was already covered in shadows as the sun was slowly descending behind the mountains, but some areas were still sparkling, clear water rushing by, echoing up all the way to the trail.

You walked silently next to him, pressed to his side when the path got narrower, holding onto his hand and stretching your arm out when you had to climb over an obstacle, never letting go. Even after more than thirty minutes of walking, steadily ascending the mountain, you still looked around in awe, sometimes pausing to marvel at a certain view, showing him things he hadn't noticed before on the many treks he'd taken along this path.

You opened his eyes to new things, and he was grateful, enjoying his time with you more than he had initially thought. He had tried taking his subs here from time to time, but most of them, no matter how obedient, would start complaining and downright protesting after having to walk this much. It didn't matter to him as he did enjoy a good punishment, but it would have been a nice change to just enjoy nature together instead of thinking about ways to properly discipline the girls he had been with.

You, on the other hand, gave him time to let go, to empty his mind, to enjoy the bird song around him, the noises of the forest, the wind in the leaves, to feel the sun on his skin, the breeze in his hair. You were perfect to spend time with.

When the both of you eventually reached the spot he wanted to show you, the sun was just peeking past the top of the mountain, painting everything in a warm orange glow. “Almost there, pumpkin,” he told you, quickly taking you around a bend before you saw it: a little plateau jutting out of the forest, and on top of it sat a watch tower, the smaller kind, to watch animals.

He led you to the steep wooden ladder and helped you up, watching you climb on unsteady legs, the sight of your rear shifting left and right a welcome one. At the top, you crawled over the edge and disappeared, and he quickly followed. You were already standing against the banister, hands curled around the top, looking left and right with your lips parted and your eyes wide. He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, leaning his chin on top of your head.

“This is beautiful, Daddy,” you whispered, and he followed your gaze, letting his eyes wander over the valley below, the river twinkling in the last rays of the sun, the mountains dark and imposing behind it, endless rows of trees filling the slopes. He lowered his head and turned it, pressing his lips to your warm cheek.

“You are beautiful,” he said quietly, making you squirm and giggle. “You are. My perfect little girl...”

You looked at him, meeting his gaze, then meeting his lips, the kiss slow and gentle, your hands finding his forearms as you leaned into him. He inhaled you, holding you closer, feeling your soft breaths and little twitches. The vantage point and its pretty view was forgotten as he pulled you onto the little bench on the side of the structure, settling you on his lap.

Your hands on his shoulders, his hands on your face, lips sliding and pressing, tongues gliding and delving deep. The noises around you faded as the sun set behind the mountain, plunging the world into darkness, a gentle glow left on the horizon. He focused on kissing you, tasting you, until you were both breathless, leaning into each other, his large hands rubbing over your bare arms, caressing the goosebumps away.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

You pressed into him. “A little,” you murmured barely audible.

He pulled the backpack closer that he'd barely had time to put down before his desires had taken over. Without letting go of you, he extended a hand and rummaged through it before pulling out a thick blanket. He'd planned to put it down on the meadow next to the tower, enjoying a nice picnic with you, but with the light gone, that wouldn't happen. So he threw it around your shoulders instead, wrapping you up completely.

You snuggled into him, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed softly. “For this and for taking me here... it was really special.”

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” he replied, pulling you even tighter against him as he looked over your head and past the balustrade into the approaching night. “But it's not over yet.”

“What do you mean?” you whispered, sounding rather sleepy.

“When I knew we'd come here so late, I remembered that there is a little cabin nearby. We didn't bring any necessities, but I think we can skip your night routine for once, hm, pumpkin?”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a frown on your forehead. “We're spending the night here?”

“Mommy will be furious, but it can't be helped. I'm not taking you through the forest at night,” he explained, shifting on the hard bench. “It's only a few yards down the hill, and luckily I did think to bring a flashlight.”

Your lips twitched as you watched him. “Sounds good, Daddy,” you mused, your hands digging into the fabric of his shirt. “As long as you're with me, I feel safe.”

“You do?” he whispered, a little surprised by your words.

“Yes,” you breathed, scooting closer to nestle your face into the crook of his neck. “And you're warm and strong and I know you would never hurt me.”

“Of course not, pumpkin!” He blinked, rubbing your back, furrowing his eyebrows at the way you worded that. “I'll always protect you.”

You hummed against him. It really was unusual how quickly you started to trust him. But it just showed him how dire your need for a caregiver was, for someone to hold you, to give you attention, to be there. It might have been only about forty-eight hours since you left the streets to come live with him and Isabella, but it felt like so much longer already. He inhaled deeply, burying his nose in your hair.

“Oh pumpkin,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “My sweet little pumpkin...”

He heard your soft giggle as you squirmed on his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck as you inched closer to him, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. It was getting darker and darker, but he would always be able to see the hopeful innocence shining in your eyes.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” you whispered, your breath fanning over his lips.

“Never better, sweet girl,” he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. “You just make me really happy, you know? I'm old, let me be sentimental.”

You chuckled quietly. “You're not old, Daddy,” you said softly, your fingers brushing up his neck into his hair, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. “You're well-seasoned, experienced, knowledgeable...” He watched you as you listed those traits, the warmth radiating off your cheeks.

Nosing at your temple, he smirked at you. “Well-seasoned, huh? I think you are indeed still hungry...” he said, grabbing your waist under the blanket to dig his fingers into your sides until you writhed on his lap, gasping for air after a full-blown laughing fit shook you.

“Daddy!” you squeaked, your hands heavy on his shoulders.

He let go of you, only to wrap his arms around your back and pull you flush against him, his mouth inches away from yours. “Would you like another taste of Daddy, pumpkin?” he whispered, licking his lips, feeling his cock stir to life beneath you.

He heard your sharp inhale, felt your burning skin, but he also saw the jerky nod you issued before you buried your face in his neck, clinging to his shoulders, a little shudder crashing through your small body.

“Let's get to that cabin then, hm?” he whispered, standing up slowly, the bundle of limbs and hair and blanket tight in his arms. He put you to your feet, digging through the backpack to fish the flashlight out. Switching it on, he placed it into your hands, considering putting the blanket back, but deciding against it. The night was chilly, and you were only wearing that cute kitten shirt (and it was too dark to appreciate your stiff nipples beneath).

After shouldering his backpack, he told you to stay put as he climbed down the ladder first, then waved at you to follow him.

They were quickly losing light, the last glow vanishing behind the mountains. The flashlight didn't do much, but it was enough to illuminate the path to the cabin. When he reached it, his hand tight around yours, he realized he might have exaggerated things a bit. The cabin was more of a shed, the only window was a little glass pane in the door, but at least it had a roof and four walls, which was hopefully enough protection against any nighttime critters or bigger animals.

He ushered you inside and closed the door. “Well, this is home sweet home for the night I guess,” he said, looking around as you shone the flashlight from wall to wall. It was one of those hiker huts, just a place to stay, one wall lined with two very primitive looking beds, just raised wooden slabs, really, but it had to do. “Sorry, pumpkin. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

Instead of saying anything or showing disdain about your situation, you stepped forward and snaked your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest.

“It's perfect, Daddy,” you whispered. “And I'm sure you will...”

Chapter 5 🔷️ Chapter 6 🔷️ Chapter 7

End notes: So Mommy and Daddy have names, how about that. It just fit the story, what can I say. You can still imagine them however you like, though. There will be a few more Mommy/Daddy POV chapters in the future, just to switch things up.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: After spending the night in the woods, you find that Mommy isn't too happy with Daddy for disrupting her plans with you...

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[yoomiwrites]

Paper Cuts

Summary: Reader (g/n) always has to clean up Kizaru's mess. But to your surprise, he respects and likes you more than expected.

Note: Something light! Buncha teasing in this one, I'd say.

✦═════✦═════✦

It was always the same.

You cleaned his desk, corrected his reports, backdated his debriefs, and picked up after every single conversation he should’ve had but didn’t. Admiral Borsalino—Kizaru to most—floated through his days like he was made of mist and light, untouchable and unconcerned.

Meanwhile, you—the unfortunate assistant glued to his hip—drowned in his workload.

“I swear to the seas,” you muttered through clenched teeth, arms full of abandoned documents, “if this man forgets one more damn requisition form—”

The stack slipped. You caught it with your knee, nearly cursing out loud. Huffing, you shoved the door open with your shoulder, only to stop dead.

He wasn’t alone.

The door was cracked, and two familiar voices carried inside—his and Admiral Onigumo’s. You lingered. You really shouldn’t have. But something in Onigumo’s tone—sharp and dry like old steel—held your feet in place.

“You still dragging that assistant around like a shadow?” Onigumo sneered. “Tch. You really don’t have standards, do you?”

Your grip on the folders tightened.

“Hm?” Kizaru’s voice floated lazily. “They’re quite helpful, y’know…”

“Helpful?” A scoff. “More like clingy. All soft eyes and desperate little tasks—like a stray mutt begging to be noticed.”

You flinched.

Onigumo chuckled, low and unpleasant. “Bet they’d do anything you asked with a wag of your fingers. Pathetic. The Marines are too lenient. A thing like that should be on their knees, not your payroll.”

Silence.

Dead, heavy silence.

Then—

A sound like air being sliced apart. Fast. A blade? No—a paperweight, maybe. Something shattered.

“…Ah-ah~,” Kizaru said, his tone almost sing-song. But something was… wrong with it.

Not bored.

Warning.

“You’ve always been such a sharp tongue, Onigumo,” he said, still low, still calm—too calm. “But maybe you forgot who you’re talkin’ to.”

“Relax, Borsalino. I’m just sayin’—”

“You’re just runnin’ that mouth of yours,” Kizaru cut in, smiling. Still smiling. “But see… that mouth is gettin’ awful close to sayin’ somethin’ I don’t feel like lettin’ slide.”

The silence deepened. Onigumo bristled.

“You threatening me?”

Another soft hum. “Mmm… maybe. Or maybe I’m just remindin’ you that the last person who disrespected what’s mine stopped talkin’ permanently.”

Your breath caught.

What’s mine?

Your chest squeezed tight.

“I don’t share. I don’t forget. And I don’t forgive the kind of filth you just let spill,” Kizaru said with eerie finality. “So get the hell out of my office before I make a mess I won’t bother cleanin’ up.”

Chairs shifted. Heavy footsteps retreated fast—boots stomping in silence like even the floor knew better than to creak.

The door snapped shut.

You remained frozen in place behind the wall, heart pounding in your ears.

Kizaru didn’t get mad. Not in the way people understood it. He didn’t yell. Didn’t curse. He didn’t punch walls.

But right now, even the air was buzzing with static.

Something in you fluttered.

You slipped away before he could see you.

You were not sick.

And yet, for the third time this morning, you dropped a pen. It clattered noisily against the tile as you bent down with a sharp “sorry!”—earning a curious look from the clerk passing through the hall.

Your fingers trembled when you typed. You accidentally spilled coffee (on yourself), filed a report backward, and called Vice Admiral Doberman “Dogman.”

That last one got you a full ten seconds of silence before the man walked away shaking his head.

You’d been flawless for nearly a year—sharp, composed, efficient to the point of robotic. And today?

An over-caffeinated rookie with two left feet and a guilty conscience.

It was all his fault.

The memory kept replaying: “I don’t share. I don’t forget.” And—worse—“things I like.”

He couldn’t have meant you.

...Right?

You hugged the files against your chest tighter, slipping past the doorway into Kizaru’s office. He was leaned back as usual, sunglasses low on his nose, doing absolutely nothing.

At least, nothing you could see.

“Mm, mornin’~” he drawled, voice too smooth. “You’re late.”

You blanched. “I—I brought the updated mission logs from G-5.”

“Didn’t ask about the papers,” he said without opening his eyes. “I said you’re late.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

You were.

By six minutes.

You never were.

He sat forward slowly, long legs spreading slightly as he rested his forearms on his thighs. His face angled up toward you, lazy smile quirking at the corners.

“You alright, sweet thing?”

Sweet thing.

You dropped the files.

Clatter.

The silence was sharp.

“Okay, that’s the third thing you’ve dropped today,” he noted, brows lifting behind those amber lenses. “Might hafta call medical.”

You bent down quickly, trying to mask your face. “I’m fine. Sorry, Admiral.”

“Oh?” he said lightly. “So you’re not runnin’ a fever... not dizzy... not poisoned or possessed?”

“...No.”

Kizaru leaned back again, but his gaze followed you now—curious. Amused. Like a cat noticing a mouse starting to twitch.

“You’re actin’ mighty strange, y’know that?” he mused. “First time I’ve seen your hands shake. Usually you move like you’re runnin’ the whole system.”

You bit your cheek.

He was watching too closely.

You weren’t prepared for this.

And then—you caved.

You didn’t mean to. It just spilled out. Quiet. Awkward.

“I… might’ve heard what you said yesterday.”

Silence.

Kizaru didn’t move for a beat. Then a very slow, very smug smile pulled across his lips.

“Ooh~?” he said, drawing it out. “Now that explains the pink on your face.”

“I’m not—!” you started, then stopped.

Because you were.

He chuckled.

Low, rich, warm.

Then stood.

It wasn’t that he towered over you—though he did. It was how easily he took up the room, stretching and adjusting his jacket before approaching, hands casually in his pockets.

“So, you heard me threaten a man’s tongue for disrespectin’ you,” he said, voice like honey soaked in sunlight. “And now you’re droppin’ pens and bumpin’ into walls.”

You cleared your throat, backing up a step as he stopped just shy of your space. “You were angry. It doesn’t mean anything—”

“Doesn’t it?” he interrupted.

You met his gaze and regretted it instantly.

That look.

Sharp as glass and smooth as a lie. But there was something behind it—something molten, something that had always been there, maybe, only now you could finally see it.

“You thought I never noticed, didn’t you?” he murmured, voice low. “The way you’d brush off compliments from anyone else but never from me. How you always made sure I had coffee—no sugar, extra hot—even if I didn’t ask.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in just slightly.

“I’ve noticed every little thing you’ve done for me. Every way you tried not to care too much. Tried not to be obvious.”

He smiled.

“And now look at you. Can’t even hold a pen.”

You opened your mouth, unsure if it was to argue, explain, or breathe.

But before you could speak, he plucked the folder from your hands, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I’ll read through this later,” he said smoothly. “Don’t worry—I’ll be real thorough.”

Then he winked, turned, and walked to his desk.

As if your whole world hadn’t just tilted.

But you swore you’d act normal today.

Back to business. No nerves. No more heart-thumping meltdowns over that ridiculous, molten-voiced menace you called your superior officer.

You were composed. Sharp. Dry-witted.

Except you weren’t.

Because he was everywhere.

You rounded a corner? He was there, arms crossed, leaning lazily on a wall like he owned time.

Walked into a meeting room? Already lounging at the end of the table, sunglasses down, grin lazy as ever.

You tried not to look at him—but your eyes always found him.

And the worst part?

He knew.

You could tell. He’d smile a little too wide when you stumbled over a sentence. Make a humming sound every time your hands fidgeted. You were going to combust at this rate.

By the time mid-day rolled around, you were half-certain he was doing it on purpose.

And you were right.

You were in the office again. Alone—for five precious seconds.

You exhaled, eyes shut, repeating your internal mantra: You’re fine. He doesn’t know. You can—

“Y’know~”

You jolted, nearly throwing the stack of documents you were holding. “A-Admiral!”

Kizaru was at your side.

You didn’t hear him come in. He was like a damn shadow—if shadows were six-foot smug mirages wrapped in black and gold.

He raised his eyebrows slowly, clearly amused. “That’s three days in a row you’ve flinched when I speak. Makes a man think he’s scary.”

You opened your mouth to lie—to deny it all, to retreat behind your usual sarcasm—but he cut you off.

“You weren’t like this before,” he said softly. “Somethin’ changed.”

You stiffened.

“…I don’t know what you mean.”

He smirked. “Oh, you do.”

He stepped a little closer.

You stepped back.

It became a pattern. One he indulged in, slowly, predatorily—closing the space between you like a dance. Lazy, warm, and deliberate.

“And now,” he continued, “every time I call you sweet thing, your face goes all pink.”

“It does not!”

“Ohhh~?” he cooed, clearly enjoying himself. “Guess I should say it more often then.”

Your brain was melting.

Then he leaned a hand on the wall behind you—textbook cornering, except it was somehow worse because he didn’t need to.

“You know,” he murmured, voice like warm syrup, “I’ve been thinkin’ about what I said.”

Your breath caught. “W-What part?”

“That I don’t forget things I like.”

You stared up at him, completely still.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Didn’t say it lightly, y’know.”

The silence stretched.

Your heart was hammering. You were very aware of his scent—like ozone and something clean, cold—his presence overwhelming. His mouth was close enough that you swore you felt the warmth of it when he spoke.

“You know what else I don’t forget?” he whispered.

You swallowed hard. “…What?”

He smiled.

Then leaned back.

“Lunch breaks.”

You blinked.

“What—?”

Kizaru straightened, brushing his coat sleeve smooth as he turned toward the door. “Takin’ mine now. I suggest you do the same. You’re twitchin’ like a faulty den den mushi.”

And then, just before leaving, he looked over his shoulder and added:

“Oh. And don’t bother with your usual order from the commissary.”

He winked.

“Already took the liberty. Hope you like salmon rice.”

You stood frozen.

You did like salmon rice.

You liked it too much.

You didn’t know what was worse—that he noticed…

Or that you liked that he noticed.

Lunch was a mistake.

Not the food—it was perfect, of course. Salmon rice, made just the way you liked it. You didn’t even know they made it like this in Marine HQ.

No, the mistake was agreeing to eat in his office.

You should’ve known. You did know. But you said yes anyway.

Now, here you were. Cross-legged on the rug in front of his floor-length window, a bento half-eaten in your lap, while Borsalino freaking Kizaru sat across from you, slouched like a damn cat, golden coat draped behind him like it had never once seen a wrinkle.

He looked dangerous.

Not in the way the Wanted posters described. No—this was worse. He looked comfortable.

Comfortable around you.

And you… were not.

You kept fidgeting. Picking at your food. Not meeting his eyes.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, resting his head against the wall. “That’s new.”

You tensed.

“I’m just thinking.”

He made a soft “hmm” sound. “About?”

Your jaw worked. You hadn’t meant to answer honestly. But the pressure had been building since yesterday—since his voice dipped, since he cornered you, since he brought you lunch.

And now, with only three feet of space between your knees and his, no desk to hide behind, no stack of paperwork to keep your hands busy…

You finally snapped.

“You’re playing with me.”

The words came out too fast. Too sharp. They surprised even you.

His gaze—calm and unreadable—didn’t shift.

“…Am I?” he said, voice quiet.

You felt your throat tighten. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You flirt. You smirk. You watch me like you know what I’m gonna say before I say it. But you never say anything real. It’s all a game to you.”

Silence.

You should’ve stopped. But your heart was pounding now—racing, furious—and it all came tumbling out.

“I can’t tell if you’re being kind or cruel. And it’s driving me insane.”

He set his empty bento down.

Then stood.

You froze.

He crossed the space slowly, crouching in front of you. His knees brushed yours, close enough that your breath hitched. You tried to look away—don’t, your instincts screamed, don’t let this mean anything—but his fingers caught your chin.

Gently.

Firmly.

He tilted your face toward his.

And when he spoke—low, even, and dead serious—it didn’t sound like a joke.

“You think I’d let anyone else talk to me like that?”

Your lips parted. Your voice caught.

“I don’t…” you tried.

“You think I let people in like this?” he asked again, the edge of his voice dark and warm. “Let them close?”

You blinked, stunned. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying—”

He reached for your hand.

You let him.

He brought it up—slow, deliberate—and placed it against his chest. Right over his heart.

Beneath the layers of uniform and silk undershirt, you could feel it.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Not slow.

Not lazy.

Fast.

Strong.

It made your stomach twist.

“I feel it,” he said softly, like a truth dragged from deep waters. “Same as you.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes—deep brown and golden with the window light—held yours without blinking.

“I don’t say it,” he murmured. “’Cause if I do, there’s no taking it back.”

The weight of it crashed over you. You felt it in your chest. Your fingertips. The heat in your face. You hadn’t expected this. Not like this.

But he wasn’t done.

“I like you.”

The words were simple. But devastating.

Your eyes widened.

“I’ve liked you longer than I should’ve,” he continued, fingers still wrapped around yours. “And I thought if I joked, if I danced around it long enough, maybe it’d pass. But it didn’t.”

His voice lowered.

“And now every time you sigh, or snap, or throw a file at my head—I want more.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“Kizaru…”

“Borsalino,” he corrected gently. “Say it. Just once.”

You swallowed.

“…Borsalino.”

He exhaled like you’d pulled the trigger on something dangerous.

And then he kissed you.

Soft. Controlled. Still with that quiet, calculated touch—like he knew exactly how much to give, how far to lean in. But his hand trembled slightly where it held yours.

You pressed closer.

And he didn’t stop you.

[lucycore]

Let me make it up to u - Fred weasley

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊ ˚ ☁️💌☁️ ₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

Kinda enjoying to write fluff one shots these days..weird..

Summary: You catch Fred talking to Angelina in a place not visited often so it brings misunderstanding with it.

☁️ Fluff one shot ☁️

˚˖𓍢ִ໋☁️✧˚.💌༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋☁️✧˚.💌༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋☁️✧˚.💌༘⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋☁️✧˚.💌⋆˚˖𓍢ִ໋☁️✧˚.💌༘

Fred and you were dating for 10 months so almost a year. Since the Yule ball you became more in love with each other.

After class you were making your way up to the tower to enjoy the nice view and some peace. It was rare that people went up there but you needed that and it was your favorite spot to hang around even with Fred.

Finally up there you raised your head just to see Fred talking to Angelina. Your heart stopped. You almost couldn't believe that it's real life.

You stood there frozen for almost two minutes. They didn't notice you after you grabbed onto the railing of the stairs, feeling like you gonna pass out in a second.

They gave you a shocked look. You were good at holding your tears back while giving Fred an look of absolute desperation and devastation.

"Y/n.." Fred whispered before you turned around, running down the stairs with tears escaping your eyes.

He immediately left Angelina to run after you.

'Y/n wait!' He called after you but you ignored him. You just wanted to be alone, not wanting to see him.

'It's not what you think it is!' He continued trying.

You ran out of the castle getting few looks even from Harry and his friends.

'Oh no..That smells like trouble..' Hermione said to the round.

You hid behind a big stone and sinked to the ground, just crying while the wind was blowing through your hair.

Fred was quick enough to see where you hid and went to you without hesitation kneeling in front of you.

'Y/n please let me explain..' He placed his hand on yours which was wrapped around your knees.

You pushed his hand away and looked at him with red, tears filled eyes.

'There's nothing to explain, Fred..I saw you with her alone away from others..' You stood up ready to leave but Fred grabbed your arm, moving his hands to your shoulders.

'We were just talking...About you actually.." He said calmly looking into your eyes. He clearly felt guilty, continuing: 'I thought talking face to face in a place filled with people would bring false suspicion..Clearly I was wrong and I'm so sorry if it seemed like I betrayed you..You know I would never, my love..' He placed his two fingers under your chin, stroking your cheek with his thumb, moving your chin up to let you see his soft smile.

'I wish I could trust you but..' a tear ran down your cheek.

His smile disappeared immediately and turned to a worried look.

'But I don't know if I can trust you..It seemed-' Fred cut you off. 'I know it looked like I was betraying you but I swear that's not the case..'

He took a few steps closer to you.

'What were you discussing about me then and what would she know? We aren't even friends..'

You looked up at him, still resisting his touch so he gave you some space and put his hands into his pockets.

'Well..You know I never had a girlfriend nor were interested in any girl but I still wanted to spend a nice day with you..take you on a date so..' He struggled a little, feeling slightly embarrassed about it but then looked back at you.

'So I asked her what girls like to do on a date and she gave me some ideas..We decided on one..Well I won't tell you cuz I want it to be a surprise but you should know that I'd never betray you..I can consider myself the luckiest guy on this planet..I wouldn't ruin it like that.'

Fred carefully took your hand and gave it a kiss like a gentleman.

You finally stopped crying but Fred reached up to wipe your from tears wet cheeks.

'I'm really sorry, baby..Can you please forgive me?' He asked.

You nodded. 'Yes I can..'

He gave you a smile and pulled you into a kiss. The both of you closed your eyes, enjoying your lips on another.

You had your hands placed on his chest while he had his on your waist. After kissing he pulled you into a hug.

'Let me make it up to you..Let's go on a date tomorrow by sunset.' He suggested.

'Sure let's do this.' You smiled while looking up at him. All happy and giggly again.

'Love to see you smiling again.' He smiled and the two of you returned to the castle.

The next day in the evening, Fred lead you hand in hand to the place next to a big tree, where the two of you could have some privacy.

You didn't know what he had planned until you saw everything prepared.

The date idea from Angelina was a picnic. One of the most romantic date ideas. You loved it. You couldn't stop smiling while holding onto his hand.

Next to the food on the blanket laid a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was absolutely beautiful and you immediately threw yourself around his neck hugging him. He loved seeing you this happy and it was a great apology for what happened yesterday.

[terry-perry]

Hey, I see you're looking for Alastor request to write him better.

Could I get Alastor x F! Reader where they're constantly flirting with each other until someone shouts just kiss already which takes Alastor off guard enough for the reader to sweep in and kiss him, then as he kisses back she gets dragged off to is room. The rest from there is up to you :)

Inspired by the writings of F. Scott Fitzgerald

"Do you think I ought to bob my hair, Alastor?" Y/N asked the distinguished demon by her side as they shared a few drinks at the hotel's bar. Husk busied himself by wiping some glasses, refraining from rolling his eyes as the pair continued with this back-and-forth.

"I'd look rather darling with such a hairstyle, don't you think?"

"An absolute dream, my dear," Alastor responded, regarding her more intently than usual.

He wasn't sure what it was, but something about her was especially vivacious that night. Perhaps it was the way she seemed to make a bit of effort to be on his level for the dinner-dance the hotel was hosting to celebrate its grand re-opening. Like with many of the antics that go on in the place, Alastor stood passively by, subtly scaring those who came close to him.

Then he spotted her.

He liked how becoming the dark red dress she wore was and how It set off her unnaturally shadowy eyes. Let's not forget about the way her hair glistened so! It was almost like the stars were woven into it.

"You know, back when I was alive, having such a hairstyle would be considered immoral, sinful," Alastor remarked, shamelessly reaching out to twirl a few strands of her hair around his sharp nails. "It was a sure and easy way to attract certain attention."

She took in the way his eyes floated towards hers, but not before making their way up slowly from her legs. Had he been anyone else, she would've disregarded his remark with a brutal slap (perhaps with something worse if she were in the mood). But this was the Radio Demon she was speaking with.

She knew she had him right where she wanted him the moment she stepped in. If her attire hadn't drawn him in, then it was definitely all the attention she gathered from the other party guests who would offer to dance with her. Each one that would head her way with enthusiastic determination would have Alastor's eye twitch before he finally decided it was his turn to cut in.

After that, she was his and no one else's. After all no one would dare be stupid enough to steal the Radio Demon's dance partner.

"Well, it's a good thing we're in Hell then," Y/N said, going as far as laying a hand on the normally touch-aversed Alastor's knee. In this case, however, a glow settled almost imperceptibly over him.

Their eyes met completely, and they stopped talking entirely as they stared at each other. It wasn't until an irritated voice intruded on their space and made the glow fade away.

"For fuck's sake, will you two just get it on already?!" Angel Dust screeched from the Y/N's other side. "This was amusing for a while, but you've been dancing around each other all night. The party ended hours ago, and you still haven't even kissed yet."

An awkward silence followed this. Alastor looked at Angel, eye twitching once more. He wouldn't understand that a classy lady like Y/N deserved to be wooed properly. She's, no doubt, heard every practiced line known in this side of the Pentagram. And she certainly wouldn't react well to such bold actions like hot kisses and heavy petting.

Alastor opened his mouth to explain as much when Y/N grabbed a hold of his face and placed a big kiss on his lips. He would've been more shocked had it not felt like such blissful oblivion. It was better than any glass of rye he had ever drank. He kept a stronghold of her, his claws piercing the small of her back while his other hand took hold of her hair.

They eventually released one another, going back to looking at each other.

"Forgive me," she managed to say between heavy breaths. She kept her bold smile on as well as a tight grip on his lapel. "You've got an awfully kissable mouth."

And with that, the glow returned along with a desire to finish this upstairs.

"About fucking time," Husk uttered, watching with Angel the way Alastor dragged a giddy Y/N to his room.

[megistusdiary]

i have a vision i need you guys to see.

2000s!arle who's looking to get some sleeve fillers. her bandmate, tartaglia, recommends her to try this new shop. he told her the artist is "insanely talented," so she figures, why not?

(longer post/nsfw utc - tw smaller reader, transfem arle mentions)

when she walks in, she sees you sitting on the counter, legs swinging as you greet her.

"hey, welcome in. what can i help you with?" she watches you hop down off the counter, now having to look down at you given your shorter stature.

you don't look like you have many tattoos at all, funny enough. doesn't look like you really belong in a place like this, but she thinks you're a pretty cute counter-girl.

"i'm looking to get some sleeve fillers, sweetheart." she leans down over you, a hand on the wall by your head.

"go figure." you snort and she's a little taken aback.

"you're a little fiesty thing, huh?" she asks and you tilt your head. she cuts you off, waving her hand. "anyways, i'm thinking of adding onto my sleeve." she rolls up her shirt, flexing her bicep for you.

"do you have anything specific you want?"

"i have some ideas." she shrugs, leaning back to her full height with a smug little grin. "so, there an artist back there?" she gestures to the back of the shop.

"actually-"

once again, she cuts you off. "my friend said-" she takes her phone out, flipping the lid open and showing tartaglia's message with the artist's name on it. "she works here. you know her?"

you blink at the phone being shoved in your face, but you laugh anyway. "oh, really? you're looking for her?"

"yeah, what about it? is she shitty or something?" she doesn't seem to notice your half-annoyed eyeroll.

"nothing. i'll go set you up in the room." you tug her along, grabbing the consent forms and other things she'll need to fill out. "here, fill these out." you sit her in the chair, handing her the clipboard.

"aw, won't you stay with me? i get nervous when the ink comes out." she sends you an almost sleazy grin.

"oh, i'd love to, but i can't." you feign a pout. "gotta go get the artist." you grin and escape the room quickly, leaving her to her own devices.

she fills the papers out easily, having done so before many times.

she hears the door click, seeing a taller woman covered in tattoos walking in and setting up. she collects the paperwork from arlecchino, checking through it.

"cool, the artist will be in shortly."

arlecchino tilts her head. "it's not you?"

the woman arched an eyebrow, shrugging, closing the door again and leaving arlecchino in silence.

she looks around the room, hearing the door click open after a few minutes. "finally-" she turns around to see-

you?

she stiffens in the chair. "you're joking, right?" she asks with a laugh.

"what's the problem?" you scoff, sitting down on the chair next to the tattoo bed. "you don't trust me?"

"you don't have a speck of ink anywhere on you. how exactly am i supposed to trust you?"

"your friend seemed to think i was 'insanely talented,' right? do you trust him?" you counter and she bites the inside of her cheek.

she stays quiet while you set up, showing her some of your designs, which she picks from to fill in her sleeve.

she sits still the entire time, feeling your gloved hand on her skin. you look small next to her, cute, she thinks, and-

"stop staring at me." you cut her thoughts off without even looking away from her arm.

"can't help it, sweetheart." she quickly covers and you sigh. she grins mischievously up at you.

you set your gun down, grabbing her jaw and tugging her up to meet your gaze. "don't call me that. watch your mouth." you suddenly snap, your cute little aura gone, replaced by something darker.

it only makes her breath hitch, feeling your fingers on her jaw. "oh, little kitty has claws." she taunts and you scoff, leaning in.

your lips graze the shell of her ear and she shivers. "don't talk to me that way, or i swear, i'll have you on your fucking knees begging me for forgiveness." you mutter.

she isn't sure if it's a real threat, but the change in your tone is enough to have her nodding regardless. her mind is filled with thoughts of you, riding her, a hand on her throat as you control the pace.

you see her hardening beneath her jeans and you arch an eyebrow. "you're pretty pathetic for a flirt." you snap.

and she swears she could cum right then and there from just your gaze.

too bad you go right back to tattooing with everything re-sterilized.

damn.

[greenandsorrow]

Can I ask for an obscenity with Alastor in the nun outfit he wore when he fought with Lucefer... Female reader if possible

AN OBSCENE FAITH

nun!Alastor x fem!sinner!reader

Warnings: adult content, graphic/explicit descriptions, consensual chaos, no plot just porn, bodily fluids, horniness, low-key public setting, corruption kink, spanking, creampie, just an overall filthiness, switch!Al, switch!reader, possessiveness, Alastor's shadow

💜 I'm an orthodox Christian, so I didn't go ALL out when it comes to using religious themes as a kink. That being said, I don't think it's lacking in kinkiness at all... See for yourselves and let me know! 💜

The chapel is quiet, the kind of silence that demands reverence... or indulgence. Flickering candlelight carves long shadows on the walls, but your focus isn't on the setting around you. It's on him.

It isn't every day that you find yourself in an abandoned chapel with Alastor... Especially not when he is wearing that outfit.

Alastor stands by the chapel's altar. He's clad in a nun's habit that clings to his tall, lean and wiry silhouette like second skin. The white collar frames his pale face, his ever-present grin twisted into something darker -something predatory.

As he tilts his head, you can see the exaggerated innocence in his expression -as if he hasn't planned this just to make you squirm.

"Oh, my dear" he drawls, voice dripping with mock sympathy.

"Do you think you're prepared to repent?"

You bite your lip and nod, trying not to let him see how affected you already are... But Alastor, being Alastor, can read you like an open book.

"Now, now" he whispers as he moves closer and closer, each step echoing in the empty chapel.

"You know it is a sin to lie, don't you?"

The long, flowing skirt swishes as he approaches you, but before you have time to register his new proximity, two gloved hands start trailing down your arms -featherlight touches that leave shivers in their wake.

The tension is electric and also amplified by his obvious delight in the whole charade.

Your breath hitches when he presses a hand against your lower back, guiding you toward the altar. The cold stone at your back contrasts with the warmth radiating from him.

He pauses. Then he leans down, lips hovering just by the shell of your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"Perhaps" he muses, "I should help you see the… error of your ways."

Your pulse quickens dangerously as Alastor closes the gap between you, pressing against you while both his hands come to rest on hips. His grin broadens, eyes narrowing with that familiar spark of wickedness and mischief.

"Let's see, my dear..." he murmurs, his voice taking on a playful edge, "Are you nervous? Or just… excited?"

His gloved fingers trace your collarbone, slipping down to rest just over where your heart is. The fabric of the glove -smooth and cool- presses firmly against your skin, while his gaze flicks up to meet yours with an intensity that nearly steals your breath away.

"You're shaking" he notes, amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "How delightful."

You scoff, hoping to mask the way he makes your heart race uncontrollably.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be the virtuous one."

Alastor's laugh is rich and dark. He liked that little statement quite a lot.

The roleplaying is fun, but he's getting a bit impatient... Not that he's going to let it show. No, no, no.

"Confess."

Damn, you were looking forward to this.

On your knees before him, you press your palms together and look up at him through your eyelashes.

"Forgive me, Father..." you whisper, trembling with anticipation you can barely contain. "...for I have sinned.

Alastor chuckles, crouching until his face is perfectly level with yours. His hand slides beneath your chin in a smooth motion, tilting your face upward so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Oh, darling" he purs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Sin doesn't frighten me. In fact, I'd say I encourage sin!"

His smile stretches wider -if that's even possible. "Now, tell me... What exactly have you done?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. Instead you lean into his touch, lips parting as his thumb presses past them. Your tongue swirls, tastes, explores, the sensation earning a soft hum of approval from him.

"That's a good girl" he murmurs, withdrawing his hand slowly and deliberately, like he doesn't really want the moment to end. You did leave a lipstick stain on the glove, which makes you oddly proud.

"But I think you've been bad enough to warrant a little... punishment. Hm?"

Before you can react, he drags you to your feet, spinning you to face the altar.

His hands waste no time whatsoever, tearing your dress over your head and leaving you bare. The cool air of the chapel makes your overheated skin prickle, but nothing compares to the sharp sting of his palm as it strikes your ass.

"You dare to stand here like this...", he hisses in a voice that's dripping with mock indignation, "in a place of worship, no less, without the common decency of putting on underwear? Shameless, filthy slut."

You gasp as another sharp smack rings through the room, your body jerking helplessly against the altar.

"I-"

"No excuses." he cuts you off, his hand smoothing over the reddened skin he's just punished. Meanwhile, his other hand finds its way between your thighs, sliding effortlessly through the wetness there.

"This is what you came here for, isn't it? To be debased?"

"Y- Yes..." you whimper, the word tumbling from your lips before you can stop it.

"Say. It. Louder." Alastor's gloved fingers still, hovering just where you currently need them the most.

"Yes" you moan, your voice rising. "I want this- I want you."

A growl rumbles low in his chest as he slides two fingers into you. His pace quickly becomes unrelenting, every curl and thrust designed to unravel you completely.

"Look at you" he taunts, withdrawing his fingers and holding them up, glistening with your wet arousal. "So needy. So eager to pay for your sins."

Once again, there's barely any time to process his words... before he frees himself from the confines of his habit. The sight of his cock -thick, slightly curved upward, flushed and already dripping- makes your knees buckle.

But he's not done teasing.

"Do you see this?" he asks, gripping the base of his cock as he presses the mushroom tip against your folds, dragging it up and down but never quite pushing in. "This is your reward. But only if you beg for it."

You let out a choked moan, writhing against him.

"Please" you gasp. "Please, Alastor. I need you. I need you to ruin me."

"Oh, you're so convincing!" he mocks, but the rasp in his voice betrays his own growing desire.

Finally, he thrusts into you, filling you completely in one devastating motion. Your body arches against him, a strangled sound ripping from your throat as he sets a brutal, unyielding pace.

"You take me so well" he growls, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

His words only encourage you more, your body moving in sync with his now. The slick, obscene sounds of your deed echo through the chapel, mingling with the faint creak of wood beneath you.

The expression behind his eyes is sharp and feral as his shadow comes to life, slithering across the room. You feel the darkness around your wrists, squeezing them and guiding them behind your back. The demon's voice is a velvety purr in your ear, taunting you as he slows down his thrusts.

"Oh my goodness... Let's see how much you can take."

The shadow dissolves and his movements start becoming faster again.

Alastor starts leaning over you, until his chest presses against the valley of your back. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head up to force your gaze forward. "Look at the altar. Look at what you've defiled."

You can barely think, let alone obey, but your gaze does its best to focus on what he's fucking you on.

"You're mine" he growls, his other hand sliding down to grip your throat. The pressure is just enough to heighten your sensations without blocking your breathing.

"Say it."

"I'm yours" you gasp, the words tumbling out willingly. "Only yours."

The slight restriction you feel at his long fingers around the column of your neck -paired with the significant pressure of his cock- has you reeling, the tight coil in your belly snapping as your climax crashes over you. Your filthy cries fill the chapel, raw and unrestrained.

Not only that, but the way your pussy muscles clench around him send Alastor over the edge with you.

With an animalistic groan, he buries himself as deep as he can go inside you, spilling his release in hot, pulsing waves. The warmth of it makes you mewl, but his grip on you doesn't falter even at this moment.

For a bit, the two of you stay like this, bodies trembling as you try to catch your breaths. Then, with a low chuckle, Alastor withdraws, adjusting his habit as though nothing happened.

"You're a mess" he proceeds to say, his grin as sharp as ever. "But what a sinfully beautiful mess you are."

You huff, pulling your dress back on with shaky hands. "You're impossible."

"And you adore it, sugar" he replies.

"Shall we continue this... little charade next week?"

You smirk, your legs still unsteady as you head for the door. "Only if you're ready to confess your own sins, Alastor."

His laughter follows you all the way out.

Um... Justify my sins 🤧 -> PayPal link

🔮Hazbin Hotel masterlist🔮

This work is part of the nymph's daily gifts! 💜

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[hikakuriyyu]

poison. (Mickey Altieri smut)

⁎ warnings: toxic relationship, arguing, smoking, kissing, cussing, !smut! (p in v, unprotected, no aftercare or foreplay) female!reader. not proof read.

⁎ summary: you hated your life. you were in college, lonely and depressed. until you met Mickey, your current boyfriend. he made you feel loved. seen. but there was a problem: he was toxic. and you loved it...

⁎ author note: heyy. i know i said i didn't write smut, i wanted to experiment with stuff. so here u go, smut lol...

You were drowning. College wasn't helping, and loneliness clung to you. Your only escapes were drugs, cigarettes, and him. Mickey.

You met him on campus one late evening, leaning on a brick wall, cigarette hanging from his lips as he lazily asked where you were headed. It was casual. Innocent. But from that moment, he had you wrapped around his finger. He became your muse, your obsession.

Then came the fights. The shouting. The slammed doors and broken glass. The cycle... It never got better, but you didn't want it to. You loved the way he always came back, fists against your door, voice filled with desperation. The way his hands trembled when he touched you after. The way he'd drop to his knees, eyes glossy with regret and possession, begging for forgiveness.

And you forgave him. Everytime.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

A cigarette dangled between your fingers, smoke curling toward the ceiling of your empty dorm. You were lucky. You'd managed to score a room all to yourself, not having to deal with a burden of a roommate.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up: Mickey <3, the caller ID said. This was the 11th call of the night. You didn't answer. You just watched it ring, controlling yourself to not give into his desperation.

His voice still echoed in your ears from earlier. The sharp words, the venom laced in every breath. The argument had been bad. Even worse than usual. You could still feel the heat of it, the way his eyes had darkened, the way his grip on your hand had tightened a little too much...

☆FLASHBACK☆

''Oh so now you care ?'' Mickey's voice was sharp, his eyes wild with something between anger and desperation. He stood in your dorm room, pacing like a caged animal, running a hand through his messy hair. You scoffed, arms crossed, a cigarette burning between your fingers. "Don't start with this jealous boyfriend act again, Mickey. It's exhausting..."

''Jealous ?'' he laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe I'm fucking sick of you acting like I don't exist when we’re not in bed or when you're not using me to feel something."

Your jaw tightened. "Oh, fuck you. You're the one who disappears for days, then comes back like I should be waiting for you !"

He stepped closer, towering over you, voice dropping to something almost soft, but laced with anger. "Yeah ? And what do you do when I'm gone, huh ? Who the fuck were you with last night ?" he said. This again... Your eyes narrowed. "I was alone, Mickey." you told him. Which was the truth, but he wouldn't believe it.

"Bullshit." his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you flinch. "You ignore my calls all night, come back smelling like a fucking bar, and expect me to believe you just had a little me time ?"

"Oh, so now I need your permission to breathe? Well Mickey, you're the one who fucks off whenever it's convenient. Don't act like you're some loyal saint." You sneered at him.

His hands curled into fists, trembling with restraint. "I'd never fucking cheat on you." his voice was low, dangerous. "But you ? You're so fucking detached, it wouldn't surprise me if you already fucked someone else."

That one stung. Your blood boiled, and before you could think, you were shoving him back. "Fuck you, Mickey. Get out."

His nostrils flared, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, you thought he might leave. But then his expression changed, dark eyes softening, lips parting, regret settling in.

"Baby… I didn't mean that." he murmured as he walked closer to you.

But you turned away, refusing to look at him. And just like that, you heard the front door close...

☆BACK TO PRESENT☆

You stared at your phone as it continued ringing. It then stopped.

*ding* ''Open the door.'' the message said. You knew Mickey wasn't gonna give up. It took him 2 hours to ''recover'' from that argument. You sighed before putting out the cigarette.

Dragging yourself up, you walked to the front door and unlocking it. The second you did, Mickey shoved his way inside, slamming it shut behind him. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess, his breathing ragged like he ran here.

"You're useless." he snapped, jaw clenched.

"And you're a fucking psycho." you shot back, walking towards him.

His lips twitched, something between a smirk and a snarl. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer. "You love it."

You did. You hated him. You loved him. It didn't fucking matter.

You crashed into each other, lips colliding in something desperate, messy. His hands tangled in your hair, yours clawing at his jacket, pulling, needing. Teeth clashed, nails scratched, breathing ragged between kisses that felt like drowning.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Without further warning, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, his body pressing against you. You could feel the heat from his skin and the hardness of his arousal through his thin clothing. His mouth found yours in a brutal kiss, forcing his tongue between your lips and claiming your mouth as his own. You could taste the alcohol on his breath, the fire igniting a spark within you.

He pushed you towards the wall, his hands roaming freely over youre body as he unbuckled his pants. You waited there impatiently, watching as he freed his erection from his boxers. His dick was now fully visible, thick and throbbing.

Mickey turned you around before he entered inside you without any prep. He only cared about his pleasure right now, only seeking you to relieve his stress. But that didnt matter at the moment. You moaned as you felt him stretch you out... ''Fuck...'' you heard him groan.

He then started pounding inside you, not planning to stop anytime soon. His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to remind you who was in control.

''You're such a fucking bitch...'' he hissed, his other hand slipping between your thighs, fingers ruthless against your clit. ''And you're a cheater...'' you snapped back before letting out another moan.

His hips stuttered for a second. Just a second. Because you both knew it was true. But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. This was how you punished each other, how you forgave each other, all in the same breathless, broken cycle. His hand clamped over your mouth, silencing your hurtful words. His hips snapped forward with reckless abandon. You moaned against his palm, the sound muffled but desperate, your climax hitting you like a freight train. Sharp, all-consuming, leaving you breathless and trembling.

The way your body clenched around him dragged him over the edge, a guttural curse spilling from his lips as he came, hips jerking, breath hot against your temple.

For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of your ragged breaths. Then he pulled out, standing up without a word, and you knew it wouldn't be long before he walked out that door again. You felt amazing and disgusting at the same time.

''Do you think it's always gonna be like this ?'' he asked you as he fixed his clothes. You let out a sigh as you thought about it. Was it really going to be like this ? Argue, hate, forgive, repeat. ''Who knows...'' you murmur as you softly sat down on the couch. You still loved him to death. Nothing was going to make you leave him.

Then, his phone dinged on the coffee table: Message from Sid💕: is she gone ?

The End.

[uconndallas]

The Space Between Us

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first ever one shot, I personally don't know if i even like it but i tried. Tysm for reading!! Xx faith

POV: Paige

It started with silence. Not the kind that slips in softly and holds you like a blanket. This silence had edges. It scraped the inside of my chest every time I walked past her on campus. Every time we ran drills on the court. Every time I dreamed about what I should've said that night.

The argument wasn’t loud. It was short. But it shattered us.

We had just lost the Sweet Sixteen game. I was playing through pain, but I hadn’t told Azzi the full truth. That my knee ached every second. That I was afraid every time I planted it. That I was falling apart.

Azzi had begged me, "Just talk to me, Paige. Please. I'm here. I love you."

And I—I couldn't say it back.

I remember turning away, staring at the dorm ceiling, feeling like I was drowning. I said, "Maybe we were never meant to work off the court."

She looked at me like I'd hit her. Then she left.

She didn't come back.

POV: Azzi

I told myself I wouldn't look for her when I came back to UConn.

It was our last year. I thought I could handle seeing her again. I was wrong.

The first time I saw her, it was like my chest forgot how to hold breath. Paige stood across the gym, her blonde hair tied back, face older, leaner, tired. But still her. Still beautiful. Still... Paige.

She looked right through me. Like I was no one.

But I knew her tells. The way she avoided eye contact. The way her jaw clenched. She felt it too.

POV: Paige

Coach paired us up in a shooting drill. I didn't complain.

Azzi didn't speak.

Her form was the same—fluid, perfect. But there was tension in her shoulders. I wanted to ask if her ankle still gave her trouble. I wanted to apologize.

I didn't.

That night, I sat in my dorm room and stared at the old video of us. Celebrating a win. Her jumping on my back. Me turning to kiss her cheek. We looked stupidly happy.

I deleted it.

POV: Azzi

It was after a win in January that things cracked.

I was walking to the locker room alone when I heard footsteps behind me. Paige.

"Can we talk?" she said, voice low.

I should’ve said no. But I nodded.

She sat next to me on the bench, elbows on her knees.

"That night... I lied."

I said nothing.

"I was scared. Not of us. Of getting hurt again. Of loving someone while not loving myself."

I laughed. Bitter. "And you thought breaking me would fix that?"

She winced. "No. I didn’t think. I just... broke."

We sat in silence for a while. Then I asked the question that had lived in my chest since she left:

"Did you mean it? When you said we weren’t meant to work off the court?"

Her voice cracked. "No. I never stopped loving you. I just didn’t know how to hold you without breaking myself."

POV: Paige

I didn’t expect her to forgive me. I just needed her to know.

But she didn’t walk away.

The next day, we talked again. After practice. In the weight room. Then outside the dining hall. Always small moments, like we were relearning each other’s timing.

One night, we watched film together in her room, knees touching. She fell asleep on my shoulder.

I stayed.

POV: Azzi

She braided my hair before Senior Night.

"For luck," she said, like she used to.

I looked at her in the mirror and whispered, "You know it was never just luck, right? We made each other better."

She smiled. "Still do."

We didn’t kiss. But the look in her eyes felt like a promise.

POV: Paige

We didn’t win the title. But we made it to the Final Four. We played our hearts out.

After the last buzzer, after the crowd faded, we found each other in the tunnel.

I reached for her hand.

She took it.

"So what now?" I asked.

"Now," Azzi said, pulling me into a hug, "we don’t run anymore."

I kissed her.

It felt like coming home.