#Can’t believe I had a hand in making this

[damneddamsy]

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

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

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

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

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

And the mother?

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

But it wasn’t warm.

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

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

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

But it was.

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

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

But then—he hesitated.

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

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

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

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

The poor mother looked like hell.

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t do it.

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

“Let me try.”

X

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

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

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

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

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

He stepped inside.

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

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

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

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

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

“Girl.”

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

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

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

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

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

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

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

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

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

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

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

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

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

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

“She got a name?”

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

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

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

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

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

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

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

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

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s stomach turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

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

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

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

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

Joel looked up at the home.

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

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

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

X

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

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

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

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

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

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X

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

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

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

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

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

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

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

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

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

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

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

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

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

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

“Hello, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nodded. “And?”

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

He frowned. “That’s it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

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

But finally, she forced herself to move.

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

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

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

The crying stopped almost instantly.

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

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

Then, she winced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She let him guide her.

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

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

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

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

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

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

Joel pressed his lips together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

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

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

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

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

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But before he could, Maya stirred.

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

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

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he have many children? No.

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

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

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

“I understand,” she murmured.

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

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

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

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That did something to him.

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

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

So, he did what he could.

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

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

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

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

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

It was something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

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

X

Fifteen days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was unraveling.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shot her a look. "No."

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

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

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

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

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

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

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

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

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

He hesitated.

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

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

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ellie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt Leela before he saw her.

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

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

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

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

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

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

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

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

He’d let himself care.

X

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

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

[artemisiasmuse]

sex ban | toxic rafe x toxic reader

cw: obvi mdni 18+, toxic jealous rafe, physical violence (not towards the reader), sex ban lifted!, p in v, multiple rounds, unprotected (don’t do this), munch of the year rafe, crying during sex, squirting, headlock, oral receiving for both of them, mentions of blood, again these bitches are crazy

~ 4k words

an: this was so filthy i think i need to go to church (im not even christian) also don’t know if how i described the positions made sense but we move T_T

“you can’t be serious?” rafe looked up from his hands, you’d cleaned off the blood all the while being extremely pissed off. you couldn’t believe he beat someone to a pulp, again, just for checking you out. you hated how good he looked covered in blood, hated how even now you could feel your underwear getting sticky from your arousal.

“i am, no sex for two weeks, maybe then you’ll stop being such an asshole!” surely you were joking, there’s no way you’d hold out on him that long. he knew he wouldn’t survive without your pussy and he prayed you would give up after a few days. his prayers weren’t answered.

two weeks passed with the ease of a thousand pounds dropped onto rafe’s shoulders. he was irritable all the time, practically blue-balled the entire time, and couldn’t stand being in the room with anyone that wasn’t you. at some point, after he begged to at least eat you out, you stopped letting him come over at night even. rafe was practically vibrating with need, yet you seemed so unaffected.

he had a fucking reminder set on his phone for midnight when the two weeks was over, of course he was already on the way to your place at 11:50. you expected nothing less, unlocking the door for him preemptively, and he huffed out a breath when he found you sitting on your couch watching tv like it was nothing. like you didn’t care. rafe was so pent up he might come from a single stroke of your tiny hand around his cock, but here you were, calm and collected. you muted the tv when you saw him, he sat next to you, leaving a gap he normally wouldn’t, and began to apologize.

“baby it’s been two weeks, i’m sorry okay? i’ll do better.”

“you said that last time.”

“i mean it this time, i won’t beat anyone up, unless you want me to.” you roll your eyes at his addition, turning your body to face him. rafe’s eyes tracked the way your shirt rode up your thighs, realizing it was actually his shirt. his mouth felt dry, he hadn’t been so hard from so little since he was a fucking preteen.

“okay.” you conceded, you kinda had to, rafe looked a lil too good like he knew the exact outfit that would make you forgive him easily. his hands were veiny and a ring accentuated his long thick fingers, fingers you missed dearly. yours just weren’t cutting it any more, he knew exactly how to touch you, fill you, make your mind numb. and that was just his fingers, his pink tongue had slipped out to lick at his lips and you can’t focus much longer, all the memories flashing by.

“okay?” rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he couldn’t believe you were taking him back so easily. he didn’t dare move or touch you until you confirmed.

“uh huh, your apology is accepted.” you nodded slow like molasses, your eyes already glazed over with need. he couldn’t tell, he was so caught up in his own desire. and as the word left your pretty lips, the spell was lifted.

“fuck come here” the words are empty, his large hand closes around the back of your neck and pulls you to him, his lips finding your own. you’d kissed the past two weeks but this is different, this is urgent. he’s sloppy with it, tongue peeking out into your mouth, tasting you, sucking on your tongue. it’s less of a kiss and more of a bite, he wants to consume you. you groan into his mouth, unsatisfied with the distance between you two and you move to straddle him. rafe pulls back at that, no he wouldn’t let you, he’d much rather have you on your back, he pushes you down by your neck, the slight pressure makes you keen. there’s no chance for you to sit back up when he’s leaning over you, settling between your legs and kissing you back down.

his kisses trail off, bites and open-mouthed kisses trailing your neck till he reaches your collarbone. your shirt is discarded with a blink of your eye and you wonder if he’s moving too fast. you can barely keep up when a mouth latches over your nipple, sucking harshly. “fuckkk i missed my girls” a lewd pop releases it from his mouth, giving attention to the other one and you arch into his touch. his large hand closes around the now sore nipple, pinching and massaging while he sucks on your tit like his life depends on it. the cold metal of his ring soothes the sting of his bites and you moan his name in desperation. the stickiness in your underwear is getting embarrassing and you feel like a fire is burning in your core. there’s no need for you to ask, rafe wants to eat, he’s been starving for weeks and your pussy is the only thing that can satiate him. after littering your chest and neck with hickies he kisses down your stomach, marveling at how soft your skin is, how he should never take an inch of it for granted any more. when he finally reaches your pink lace panties, he realizes it’s too much work to take them off you. that would require him getting off you and he really couldn’t afford to move an inch away. his fingers trace the flimsy material and he decides very quickly, tearing it off you with ease, and you hear the rip before you feel it. you don’t even notice him stuff the material into his pocket from the shock.

“rafe!” you don’t know if you’re mad or even more turned on but you wiggle under his gaze, blue eyes glued to your puffy and slick cunt. the tv screen illuminates enough for him to see his pretty girl is soaked. he nearly drools.

“getting in the way of my meal, i’ll buy you new ones.” he murmurs, not even looking away once, you huff at his words, and push his head down. he doesn’t need any encouragement, he’s nearly cumming in his pants from the sight of your pussy alone. if he could he’d take a polaroid of it and keep it in his pocket forever.

rafe is a man possessed, pushing you up the sofa length to make space for him between your legs, he hikes one up the cushions to rest on the back of the sofa, the other onto his shoulder so he can fit between them. you don’t even know if you exist to him any more because he’s smiling at your pussy like it’s his girlfriend instead. he shoves his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal, it’s honey to his senses and his eyes flutter shut at how good you smell. then his tongue flattens against your pussy and he might just cry. you gasp at the feeling, wet and hard across your opening and clit, so brief you think you imagined it. rafe moans at the taste, let’s you coat his tongue before he goes back in for seconds, swirling his tongue along your weeping cunt until he’s thoroughly cleaned his plate. he’s moaning at your taste, tears pricking his eyes as it stains the back of his teeth, his hands grip your waist to drive you down to his tongue. he knows you’re gonna run from it, you always do. finally his tongue fills you up, delving into and cleaning you out, the feeling of the muscle squirming inside you makes you writhe in pleasure. “taste so fucking good, never letting this go again,” he slurs into you. you can feel yourself get wet again and he feels precum stain his boxers as more of your ichor slips down his throat. it’s not enough, he wants more, his right hand joins in, one finger curling into you along with his tongue and his thumb idly swirls along your clit. the combination of his tongue and finger fucking you and his drunken moans, make you come on his tongue embarrassingly fast. you’re gushing into his mouth more and rafe doesn’t even budge when you push at his forehead, the overstimulation stings and your poor walls flutter around his tongue, trying to drive him out, he only goes crazier. his tongue slips out a trail of saliva and your slick connecting him to you before he attaches his lips to your clit. you shake at the sensation, not yet come down from your previous orgasm. he sucks and laves over your clit, setting your body aflame. he takes the opportunity to slip another finger in, stretching you more than anything in the past two weeks, and he can tell your pussy is going to feel amazing on his cock. you’re struggling to take two fingers and he can’t help but moan at the thought. you hate how quickly he brings you to your next orgasm, your legs threatening to close around him and he makes a noise of disapproval. your mind feels numb now and you jump at his touches. rafe gives you a few seconds to recover, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, but when he tastes you again it’s not his fault he needs another hit. you’re a bit shocked yourself when he releases his hold on your legs and sits back. your wide round eyes making him chuckle at your disbelief. “you’re gonna sit on my face baby.” he resounds and you blink at him twice before sitting up, you wince at the way you’re drooling onto the couch and how you suddenly feel empty. rafe positions himself with his head poised for your pussy to sit on. you gawk at him.

“won’t i crush you?” besides your question you’re raised up ob your knees almost hovering over him, he could just-

“shut the fuck up.” he pulls you close and pushes your hips down to sit you down himself, your sloppy cunt meeting his lips and he’s in heaven. he wants to die like this, suffocated by your pussy. you try to shift your weight back onto your knees but he doesn’t let you, holding you down by your ass. when he licks up into you, you lose your resolve entirely. if he was a mess before, now he’s a goner. he’s spitting up into you, making out with your cunt and swirling his tongue along you, along every inch he can. your rock your cunt over his face, lost in pleasure and when his nose bumps your clit your legs nearly close on his head, he groans at the pressure. you’re practically dripping into his mouth and it’s all he could ask for; tears falling down his face just mix in with the mess of liquids running down his face and pooling on his neck and chest. you continue to rock against him, your cushiony thighs closing around his head and rafe feels himself twitch in his pants, he’s so fucking close just from eating you out. but he can’t even find it in him to care, no he’s crying from how good you taste, he’s past the point of caring. when you finally cum around his tongue he comes in his pants, moaning as you scream his name. you’re shaking uncontrollably, riding out your orgasm and thrashing along his face. your thighs press tightly against his head and he continues to drink you in, until finally your legs give out and you fall off him.

“pussy so good i came in my pants and you’re gonna clean it up.” you look at him in a daze, your body moving on its own accord, moving to your knees on the carpet. your body’s shaking but you still manage to claw at his buttons. “good girl.” he smiles down at you, chin and lips wet from your release and he’s not even dreaming of wiping himself clean, he wants it to stain him, seep into his pores. a whine crawls up your throat as you work his pants off, he’s sitting on the couch in front of you and you want to help him so badly. his cock finally springs free and he breathes out in relief, the cool air making him more sensitive after his release. the worst part is he’s still fucking hard. your eyes round at the sight of him, come lining his length, dribbling down the veins and blushed pink top. it’s so pretty you can’t help but stare. rafe slips a hand around your face, pulling you in, making you stop your staring and instead get to work. you might be drooling from the sight, it’s hard to tell because your mouth closes around him and everything is already so wet. a sick squelch resounds in the air as you lick up and down his length, he fights the urge to thrust into the wet tight heat of your mouth. you make sure to clean up his balls, your hand jerking him off while you’re down there, “fuck you’re doing so well baby.”

“missed this rafey” you hum at the taste of his come, thick and gooey on your tongue and the vibration makes him twitch in your mouth. rafe feels so close already, you’ve already cleaned him up, now you’re just cock drunk, taking him down as far as you can and pressing kisses to his tip. he doesn’t want it to end like this no, he’d rather fill you up properly, so he pulls your head off his length with a pop! and you glare at him and whine, like an insolent puppy whose toy was taken away. there’s a delicious sting from the hair he pulled and heat pools in your stomach again, you can’t tell if you’re wet or if it’s rafe’s saliva you like to think it’s both.

“come here.” rafe hoists you onto his lap, giving you two seconds to adjust before he lifts you both up and makes his way to your bedroom. his shirt comes off along with yours and you clamber up the length of your mattress to rest your head on your pillow while you still can. from how angry and hard his cock still is you know it’s gonna be a long night.

“remember your safe word right?” rafe flips you over, your momentary comfort gone just like that, he presses against your back hard. your ass perks into the air while he arches you just so. he’s waiting for your response, because one look at your pussy, glistening from another wave of desire, rafe knows he’s going to find it impossible to hold back. he’s vibrating with a need to fuck you already, dribbles of precum spurting out of him against his stomach. what a waste, there’s a perfect little hole that could use it. he smacks your ass once, lightly just to remind you to use your words.

“yes, fuck me please.” your voice is muffled against your bedsheets, but he hears it perfectly. when his tip presses against your tight hole, he thinks he might be religious. not to god or anything else, just you. you’re sucking in him, holding your cheeks apart for him like you know he likes and he groans at how you feel like silk around him. your cunt’s so warm and tight, rafe thinks he might never leave you again. once his tip is in you remember how to breathe, the initial stretch finally over. he can’t give you the time you need to adjust, he might start crying again, or worse come early. rafe pushes the rest of his inches in, bullying his way in, pressing you into the mattress just so your cunt could give in. you scream at the feeling of him being all the way in, the angle making him nestle against your g-spot while his tip rubs against your cervix. you feel ropes of pre spurt inside you and you feel tears slip down your cheeks from the pain, you know it hurts, you just can’t find it in you to care.

“s’good,” you’re mind is numb, the only thoughts are spiraling around your boyfriend and his stupid long cock. a sick ring of come and your slick circles the base of his length, his pubes soaked from both of you. he can’t hold back any more, not when you’re wiggling your hips for more. rafe pulls out all the way and slaps back into you, pulling you into him just so he can really fill you all the way. the force of his thrust and the way he tip nudges along your walls, grazing where you needed him most, as you screaming in pleasure, your poor pussy closing on him just so he can stay inside. not that it matters he’s hammering in and out of you so fast you think you might get whiplash. his hips drive you down into the mattress, stuffing you as much he can so you don’t run from it, like you’re already trying to do.

“fuck fuck fuck! too much hng rafe i can’t-“ the slap of his hips against yours are almost bruising, he’s pulling you back by a tight hold around you and it’s hard to breathe. there’s a pressure building in you that you don’t recognize and it’s almost painful how bad it feels to go unaddressed, something must be wrong. but rafe can feel himself getting close, just from your pathetic whines and screams.

“you can and you will.” there’s no room for argument when he’s flipping you onto your back, your head jostling and you blink away the tears in your eyes. you want to see him, want to look into his pretty eyes, rafe can’t help but laugh at your desperate expression. no, he’s no too far gone.

“dumb little girl, i could tell you were turned on, you know?” he maneuvers you onto your side, spooning you and pulling your leg over his so he can slip back in. the new angle steals your breath as you try to focus on what he just said, panic seeping into your system.

“wh-no i wasn’t.” you shake your head insolently, he’s rolling his eyes at your meager denial. his thrusts start out slow, testing the limits of how far he can reach, and it’s not far. a huff of annoyance teases the shell of your ear and you gulp at his proximity.

“tell me the truth and i’ll let you come.” it’s a whisper, soft and sweet, you know what’s to come will be anything but.

“fine! you looked so hot covered in blood-“ he grabs under your knee and lifts it up, slamming deeper into you cutting you off. “oh my god-“ rafe can’t handle not being all the way in, he loves the way his head kisses your cervix, how his veins have molded you to fit them, how he can feel come slipping out of you and dribbling down his length since there’s no space for anything. an addiction, one that he won’t give up. “that doesn’t make it-rafe!-okay!” you manage to get out between thrusts

“yeah yeah i get it.” he’s had enough of your lecturing, the arm that’s not holding your knee, loops around your front, closing around your neck and throat. his thick bicep presses against you in a headlock and he leverages the tight grip to pull you back into him, shutting you up finally. the only sounds that can be heard are of your pretty pussy squelching and gasping for him to be back inside. there’s the occasional moan from you when his grip loosens and the curses and groans from him, but mostly the room sounds like a porno. you’re not sure if you came or you ever stopped coming but your pussy feels warm and fuzzy, like it’s just given up on trying to decipher pleasure and pain.

“can’t come-fuck-need to” rafe frustrates himself with how quickly he feels like he needs to come. his balls are pinched tight, aching for release but he can’t stop, he needs to make it right, make it perfect. rafe won’t admit it anyone else but he’s so in love with you he hates coming without looking in your eyes. his hold on your neck releases and you slump forward tears and drool staining the mattress.

“pretty baby, you’ll give me one more yeah?” somehow rafe knows when you’re cumming, you stopped noticing. you nod dumbly, blurry eyes vaguely make out his face as he finally lets you rest on your back. your body aches and your legs haven’t stopped shaking, but you still welcome him with open legs. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead, shoving into you again, his thrusts aren’t so hurried this time, he’s savoring it. the slow drag of his tip inside of you warms you. you stop crying when he lifts your legs, pushing your knees to your chest, he wipes your tears and kisses down into you. the position is familiar, one of your favorites, and you kiss him back, it’s salty and messy but you can taste the words i love you.

“most beautiful girl in the world, fuck ,how did i get so lucky?” he peppers your face with kisses, giggles erupting from your lips and he can’t believe you’re his.

“love you rafey.” you say it so sweetly anyone would think he’s not 9 inches deep inside you, in a mean mating press.

“i love you angel, can i come inside?” your eyes light up, you both rarely do it since birth control is horrible on your body, but you can’t help but love how it feels.

“please…fill me up.” the words make his dick twitch inside you, more precum dribbling out of your cunt.

“fuckkk gonna get you pregnant, then everyone will know you’re mine.” he’s mumbling to himself, rocking back and forth and a whine leaves your lips. you should be concerned with how possessive your boyfriend is, you know that, but the image he paints in your head is too tempting.

“please.” you kiss his right arm that supports his weight next to your head and he smiles down at you. rafe takes it as his signal to pull out and fuck down into you, your mind blanks. it doesn’t take more than a few hard thrusts for the pressure building inside you to finally snap, seeing white under your eyes as you gasp and scream his name. you’re squirting onto him before you realize it, soaking his chest and dick and he keeps fucking you through it until you stop. rafe can’t help but lose himself as you do it, fucking down so brutally you think he might rip your cervix, if it’s even possible, the overstimulation claws at your senses and you fight the urge to push him away, scratching down his back instead. rafe feels his balls pinch and he can’t hold back any longer, you’re pulsing around him riding out your orgasm and he shoots gooey ropes inside of you. thick and never ending, coating your walls and slipping out the sides, the angle at least keeps most of it in, just like he wants it.

“can’t believe you squirted.” when he finally stops spurting into you, he pulls out, your legs falling to your side as you wince at the aches in your body. without the cloud of pleasure you can feel how sore you’ll be tomorrow.

“sorry” you mumble, turning to where he lays beside you and he shakes his head.

“nah baby i’m gonna make you do it every time.” a wolfish smirk graces his features and you decide you’ll never do a sex ban again. you won’t survive it next time.

[sincerelybubbles]

"I love you" warnings: none, fluff, written forever ago and reread and edited to shreds ||||

The first time Spencer says, "I love you," it’s an accident.

It happens in your kitchen again, but this time it's quiet. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, and the soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound between you. You're leaning against the counter, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes, while he stands a few feet away, watching you with that careful gaze of his, the one that makes you feel like he's analyzing you but not in a clinical way. No, Spencer looks at you like he’s memorizing every tiny detail, tucking it away in some secret place in his mind where he keeps things that matter most.

You’re mid-yawn when he says it, so casual you almost miss it.

"I love you," he murmurs as he passes you a cup of coffee, like it's just something that slips out when he isn’t thinking.

Your fingers nearly fumble around the handle, and your whole body goes still. Your stomach twists in on itself, because you've thought about this moment a thousand times. How it would feel to hear it, how it would sound in his voice. You just didn't expect it like this—so offhanded, so natural, so completely without fanfare.

Spencer doesn't realize what he’s done at first. He takes a sip of his own coffee, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and in an instant, you see it—the delayed reaction, the widening of his eyes, the way his throat bobs as he swallows too hard.

"Oh," he says, like he's just processed his own words, and the air in the room shifts. "I—" He swallows again. "That wasn't—I mean, it was, but—"

You bite your lip, unsure if you should help him out of his flustered state or let him dig his own grave for another second.

"You mean it?" you ask, voice small. You hate how insecure you sound, but it’s there, that creeping uncertainty that whispers: maybe he didn’t mean to say it at all.

Spencer's hands tighten around his mug. "Yes," he says, barely above a whisper. "I mean it. But I didn’t want to say it like that. I wanted it to be special."

Warmth unfurls in your chest, battling the self-doubt that always seems to lurk just beneath the surface. You set your mug down before you drop it and step closer, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin is warm under your fingers, and you feel him exhale, long and slow, like he’s been holding his breath.

"It is special," you tell him. "Because it's you."

Spencer lets out a soft laugh, a little self-deprecating, shaking his head. "You deserve something more than an absentminded confession over coffee."

"Stop that," you scold gently. "You always act like you have to prove something to me. You don’t. Just being with you is enough. You are enough."

His eyes flicker with something deep—something you almost can’t bear to look at because it’s so raw. He nods, absorbing your words like he’s trying to believe them, and then, after a beat, he tilts his head.

"Do you…?" He trails off, hesitant, the Spencer who still second-guesses when it comes to emotional things.

You take a breath, feeling your pulse in your throat. The truth is, you've known for a while. Maybe since the moment he showed up at your work with lunch, or when he called just to make sure he hadn’t done something to mess things up. Maybe it was the first time he kissed you, or maybe it was even before that, in the little moments where he let himself be fully himself with you.

"I love you," you say, because it’s true, and because he deserves to hear it.

Spencer blinks at you like he can’t quite believe it, and then, before you can say anything else, he kisses you. It's not hurried or desperate. It’s slow and reverent, like he’s savoring the words on your lips. His hands come up to frame your face, gentle but firm, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. "I’ve never had this before," he admits, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. "I don’t always know what I’m doing."

You smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "Neither do I. We’ll figure it out together."

He nods, closing his eyes for a moment, just breathing you in. And then he exhales a soft, "Okay."

It’s not a grand declaration, not fireworks or an earth-shattering moment. But it’s real. It’s steady. It’s love, spoken in small moments, in morning coffee, in nervous laughter, in the spaces between words. || you can consider this a continuation of "it's a date" if you squint.

[mxltifxnd0m]

meddle about ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you have a date night with sam and he gets tipsy (and horny)

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', porn with very little plot, fluff, mentions of drinking, tipsy reader and sam, smut, oral fem! receiving, unprotected p in v sex, a sprinkle of a praise kink, aftercare, title is a chase atlantic song of the same name, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 1.7K a/n: i just need to have tipsy sex with sam RN, this was inspired by an ask blondie (@ohsc ugh i miss them dearly T-T) sent me a while back but i was reminded of it recently and decided that i needed to write it. lowkey sped run writing this bc intended it to be a blurb but i love to yap so enjoy the one shot! sam winchester masterlist

SAM USUALLY DOESN’T drink a lot, preferring to stay level-headed and coherent enough to watch out for you and Dean when the three of you go out. There are times when he indulges himself after a successful hunt and gets tipsy, but he is usually sobered up by the end of the night. 

Tonight was different though; the two of you had a date night, which was far and in between considering how often the three of you went out on hunts across the country. But lately, monster appearances were scarce, and other hunters were sent to take care of them. But you were starting to get stir-crazy within the bunker. So Sam took the two of you out on a nice dinner date, having gotten a reservation at one of the nicer restaurants in Lebanon.  

The both of you indulged in the drinks that the restaurant was serving, having copious amounts of wine—which always managed to make Sam a giggly and a happy drunk, his cheeks flushed and a dopey smile on his face. 

You were the one who drove back to the bunker since instead of having one last glass like Sam did, you had some water instead, sobering you up quite a bit. You were glad to see that Sam was letting loose for once and that the tension that he always held in his shoulders had dissipated. But once you got back to the bunker, Sam clung onto you and peppered kisses on your face and neck, stopping the two of you from heading to your room by pinning you against the cool walls of the bunker and pulling you into multiple small makeout sessions. 

You laughed against his lips at his sloppy kisses—they were usually more coordinated and precise. But tipsy Sam was eager and uncaring, but his kisses never lacked passion, whether it was a slow and sweet kiss or a lustful and dirty kiss. 

You managed to finally make it to your shared room with your boyfriend. You weren’t as tipsy as Sam, but you had a pleasant buzz thrumming through you, and you could feel that your face was flush with warmth (or it might have been from how Sam cupped your face in his hands as he pushed you against the wall and kissed you). 

Sam’s hands were on your hips and backing you up until you fell on the soft sheets of the bed. He all but collapsed on top of you, catching himself before he could hurt you with his broad frame. You let out a small laugh, Sam smiling widely at the sound, and you saw the amusement and desire shine in his hazel gaze as he looked down at you. 

“What?” You asked with a smile on your face as you cocked your head to the side slightly as you looked up at the man hovering over you. 

One of his hands came up to caress your cheek. “You’re beautiful. Just can’t believe that you’re mine.” Sam’s words were slightly slurred, but his tone was filled with reverence and adoration. 

“M’all yours.” You said with a breathy smile. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you, his body slotting in between your open legs. “Love you Sammy.” 

“Love you too, honey.” Sam placed his lips against your slightly swollen ones, the feeling of love and desire washing over you as his soft lips moved against yours. He tasted like the sweet wine the two of you were drinking earlier and something you could only describe as distinctly Sam. 

The kiss slowly turned hotter and passionate, Sam’s tongue swiping at the seam of your lips before delving into it and sliding his tongue against yours in a sensual dance. Sam started to rut against you—his jean-covered bulge rubbing against your covered core sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough, and he could tell. 

Sam broke the kiss, and you didn’t realize that you needed to breathe until you almost gasped for air. However, he was relentless with his kisses, trailing them down your jaw and neck. He nipped and sucked at your neck, marking you up as his hands went to the hem of the dress you were wearing for the date and started to lift it higher on your thighs. 

Sam made quick work of your dress, leaving you in only your underwear in front of him and let out a low groan at the sight of your bare chest. Before he could do anything, you sat up and tugged at the button-up shirt that was driving you crazy all night. It was a simple, crisp white button-up (no doubt from one of his fed getups), but the kicker was that he had rolled them up to the crook of his elbow, exposing the tanned skin of his forearms that never failed to make you salivate over them. You had a hard time focusing on him when all you wanted was to stare at his arms all night.

You managed to get all of the buttons undone before Sam’s hands landed on your shoulders and pushed you back on the bed, making a startled laugh escape your lips before it turned into a soft moan, feeling Sam nip at the smooth skin of your inner thighs as his hands trailed up your legs and thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his deft fingers found the hem of your soaked underwear. 

Sam’s eyes were honed in on the wet patch of your underwear before leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss against it, making you jolt from the sudden contact before you heard a rip of fabric. You opened your mouth to chastise Sam for ruining another pair of underwear, but all that came out was a moan of his name as Sam’s dexterous tongue began to lave and lick at your weeping cunt. 

“Taste s’good, baby.” Sam’s words were mumbled into your skin, sending vibrations through you and adding to the already rising heat of pleasure running through you. 

Sam ate you out messily, uncaring of the slick covering his nose, lips, and chin as he drank in your arousal. Your hands were wound in his hair, pulling at it slightly and grinding into his face, chasing your high. 

You could feel sweat coat your body as Sam worked over your heated cunt. You came with a shout as pleasure shot through you and clenched around nothing as Sam kept his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, sucking on it softly, working you through your orgasm. 

When you came to your senses and calmed down from your high, Sam was in the process of stripping off his jeans, his shirt long gone, and you stared at his bare torso. His sun-kissed skin was littered with scars, some big, some small, and the black ink of his tattoo stood out on his chest. 

“See something you like?” Sam teased as a sly smile grew on his face as he stroked his hard cock. 

You bit your bottom lip. “Yeah, you.” 

Sam let out a small chuckle before getting back on the bed, making you shift up to the pillows as Sam crawled up and over your body. 

There was still a haze over his eyes, but it mainly was lust rather than the haze of inebriation. Sam dipped his head down to kiss you deeply as his bare cock rutted against your slightly sensitive core. 

A groan left Sam’s lips as your tight cunt stretched around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so tight honey.” 

A whine escaped you at the feeling of Sam’s cock filling you up to the brim. The two of you panted into each other’s mouths; the feeling of one another was overwhelming—the air was buzzing with lust and thirst for one another. 

Another whine left you as Sam began to move slowly, pulling out until his tip was the only thing inside of you before pushing back in with a sharp thrust. From there, Sam started to pound into you with reckless abandon; his thrusts were unrelenting as he let his inhibitions run rampant—no longer clouded by rational thought. 

“You feel so good around me– fuck– such a good girl f’me.” Sam groaned out before pulling you into a kiss that was mostly teeth and tongue as he continued to fuck you into the mattress, the headboard thumping against the wall of your bedroom. 

A symphony of moans and groans filled the room alongside the sound of Sam’s skin hitting your flesh. You and Sam ran on your basic instincts and the urge to reach and fulfill your unrestrained desires for one another.

Both of you were unaware of how loud the two of you were being as Sam slammed into you. You were scratching at Sam’s back as his head was buried in the crook of your neck, biting and continuing his work of marking you up— red and purple bruises already blooming in the spots he had already nipped at. 

“My pretty girl, can’t get enough of you. So amazing. Love you so much baby.” Sam’s voice was thick with lust as he murmured praises in your skin and ear. 

He managed to wind one of his hands in between the two of you, Sam’s thumb swirling circles into your clit as he shifted his hips slightly and started to hit your g-spot with every thrust. 

“Gon-gonna cum.” You whined out feeling the heat in your core bloom brighter and hotter. 

“Yeah? Be a good girl and come around my cock.” Sam’s commanding tone made you clench harder around him, a low grunt coming from him as his hips stuttered slightly at the sensation of you wrapped tightly around him. 

Sam pressed down on your clit harder and you came with a sharp cry, your cunt contracting around his thick cock, triggering his own release as he shoved himself inside of you and let his cum fill you up even further.

The two of you stayed connected for a while as the two of you came down from your highs. Sam pulled out his softening cock, a whimper leaving your lips at the sensation of being empty. Sam made his way to the on-suite bathroom and used warm water to wet a hand towel. He quickly cleans you up and then himself up before maneuvering your tired and pliant body underneath the covers—tucking you into his side before falling asleep, uncaring of how he would probably wake up with a slight headache in the morning. 

[advantagealcaraz]

sometimes i genuinely can’t believe brocedes is real like what do you MEAN they were each other’s best & only friend as children because they were so far ahead of everyone else. what do you mean one of them came from unimaginable wealth and privilege and the other grew up in public housing and faced classism and racism in probably the world’s biggest nepotism sport. and what do you mean they both make it to the top of the sport they’ve spent their entire lives trying to reach, and they fulfill all the dreams they had as children, and they’re doing it together. they reach the peak of their careers together, and both shine so brightly that they burn each other out. like what do you mean as soon as one of them beats the other after three years (and a lifetime) of trying to get the upper hand, he retires instantly from this sport that has been their entire lives because beating the other was all he ever wanted to get out of it? what do you mean one of them can’t even say the other’s name to this day? what do you mean they still live in the same building??? and that’s not even the full extent of their lore. it’s downright shakespearean and it’s worse because they’re REAL

[dykespirk]

I think both tos and aos Jim survived Tarsus. but I think tos Jim was older (15-17) and aos Jim was younger (10-12).

I think tos Jim became the de facto leader of children survivors (as we see with Kevin Riley and Thomas), because of his age. That Jim carries the survivor’s guilt of not being able to save more kids—of watching the youngest ones die (ostensibly) in his care. his coping mechanism is thus leadership—usurping and clinging to positions of authority in an effort to save others; he craves authority, wants and needs to embody it to turn it into something that would’ve saved the others, would’ve saved him. Starfleet becomes his white whale. he needs the myth of Starfleet—an intergalactic emblem of peace, carving through deep space purely to discover (and defend). he embraces starfleet’s militarism because it echoes his understanding of power (some evils need to be defeated; innocents need to be protected). Jim also loves to defend—to entrench and hold boundaries (with the Klingons, the Romulans, with any hostile life). deep space is at the same time mystical—where birth and rebirth are always possible, where miracles happen every day—and orderly, where regulations and boundaries are clearly defined. Jim finds solace and role stability in this space, defending others, acting as a father figure, and indulging in hyper-independence & isolation.

that’s how we get tos Jim, who’s desperate for connection & intimacy, but ultimately clings to his leadership role like it can sustain him—like it’s all that can sustain him. (love, you’re better off without it, and I’m better off without mine. this ship, I give, she takes…I’m the captain…I’ve lost the enterprise, I’m losing command…nothing is more important than my ship) the guardian role is essential to his self-image.

conversely, aos Jim was the child. he was the scared, too-skinny kid who had the rug ripped from under him. aos Jim is born into a world where fatherhood/authority is already dead; George Kirk’s absence is a gaping hole in his life. Starfleet’s idealism makes martyrs, but it also cannibalizes its men to sustain its ideals. George’s replacement, Frank, neglects if not abuses him. that Jim witnesses the complete breakdown of authority. he watches Starfleet come with too little, too late. he sees the older kids die. he watches his only solace from Frank’s terror, his fresh start, become a waking nightmare.

that Jim learns that no one is coming.

his coping mechanisms are withdrawal from the system entirely; to bare his teeth at it, to claw at it, to draw blood. scare them before they can scare you. act bigger than you are. appearances are everything. to distrust authority entirely. give up on Starfleet, because Starfleet is an empty vaccum that will take and take, ineffectual at its core and hypocritical at best.

instead of being defined by his attraction to space, aos Jim is defined by his inability to stay still; his distaste for Earth, for Iowa, for groundedness. for him, staying in Riverside is a kind of self-harm, one he doesn’t understand how to escape and ultimately believes he deserves.

this Jim is lonely not because he uses distance as a defense, but because he’s so distrustful of others, he genuinely can’t imagine an open hand. (enlist?)

that’s how we get the Jim that ultimately cares way more about his crew than his ship; who latches onto Bones like a leech and craves Spock; who wants connection with far less shame has absolutely no expectation of receiving it. this is the Jim that blares sabotage while charging into battle, says fuck you to the admiralty, and would rather die saving lives than live with taking them—that’s what I was raised on.

there’s also the fact that tos Jim is a Jewish man written in an era of liberal internationalist optimism underscored by the early Cold War and the shadows of the Shoah whereas aos Jim is the flashy product of peak commercialized Hollywood in a post-9/11, post George-Bush America. anyways.

[revelboo]

Idk if you know this but wasps fucking. LOVE sugar and honey. Its what the adults usually eat iirc. Thats why Wasps usually go after bee hives (for multiple reasons, the bees become food for the larval wasps, its basically an all you can eat buffet, its also getting rid of competition, ect)

Anyways. All this to say: Waspinator finding the sugar/honey and being like "What. What is??? Smells weird, like antifreeze a bit. is it antifreeze?? (bc fun fact waaaay back in the day Antifreeze actually had a sweet taste that was super dangerous bc ppl would poison others with it so a bittering agent had to be added but like, i dont think that would be a thing for cybertronians so theyre used to mildly sweet antifreeze anyways-) Then he tastes it and is like OH FUCK YEAH LETS GOOOOOOO. But sadly sugar is SUPER BAD for vehicles like cars and stuff. So i imagine poor Waspinator goes on a sugar bender and then comes to like "Wha happun...." and hes aching and feels AWFUL, sprawled out in the barn, covered in christmas lights from someone else's house and SO much dirt and sand from like 6 different states and the human is just like "So. youre awake. Get up, i got the powerwasher. You're COVERED in dead bugs, youre not coming in my house."

Oh, I love this!

Worker Bee Pt 19

Waspinator x Reader

• Inhaling because you don’t have the energy to deal with his misguided ‘dating’ right now or even to try and figure out why he thinks that could ever work, you yank your hand out of his grip and he makes a noise of whining protest. But you can flex your fingers now even though they’re sore. Magic, alien bug spit. “Waspinator, sweetie. I have to report in to my boss and get some loan applications processed or I’m going to get fired.” And he’s just staring at you, head tilting. You’re pretty sure all he heard was ‘Waspinator blah blah blah.’ Right. “If I get fired I can’t afford food or my house.” That he’s pretty much trashed. “I’ll be homeless.” There’s a reaction, antenna back and wings buzzing. “You don’t want that, right?”

• “No,” he growls, wings humming and flaring out slightly. Because no one is taking little friend’s hive away. And you reach up and pat him on the cheek. ‘Great. So you just go watch cartoons, okay? And be quiet,’ you say, nudging him into the other room and he allows it, because you’re touching him voluntarily. Settling himself on the couch, he fidgets with the skinny control stick that makes the screen work like you’d shown him. Can hear you talking to someone else on the little screen he’s forbidden from touching. Why do you sound different talking to them? Venting in annoyance, he fidgets before slipping out of the hive to patrol. Too agitated at the idea of someone daring to try and take your home, his home.

• Somehow you manage to convince your boss that you’ve not been checking in because you’ve been deathly ill. Too ill to go to the doctor. At least, you pray he brought that lie. Catching up on loan applications, it’s a couple of hours before the quiet really registers. Maybe Waspinator is just being good. Watching cartoons. Teeth gritting, you can’t make yourself believe that. He’s got to be quietly destroying something. Or rooting up someone else’s azaleas to drag in your house to go with the other one. Dating. How are you going to explain to him that’s not happening?

• Roaming the property, his wings tuck close to his back against the cold. Heading through the trees surrounding your home, he moves in a widening spiral and vents softly when he leaves the trees and comes across a series of black boxes. That smell sweet. Circling one and toying with it, that scent is somewhat familiar. Sweet and cloying. Transforming he leans his upper body on the box and uses his mandibles to begin chewing through it to get to that delicious smell.

• Startling when you hear a boom, you inhale. Then there are several more in quick succession, you save your work and get up. Know the guy closest to you is a bit trigger happy, but if he’s shooting at skunks again and you have to smell a dead skunk for two weeks straight again, you’re going to- the house is quiet. Swearing, you run to get your boots and coat after realizing Waspinator isn’t in the house. Why would he go over there, though? The old man is coming out of the woods, face ruddy and wearing coveralls and slippers, a shotgun in his hands when you get outside into the snow. “Are you out of your mind?!” You scream at him, going with righteous indignation. And the old man hesitates but doesn’t lower the shotgun. ‘There’s a monster wasp. I saw it. Tore up my bee hives,’ he says, turning in a circle. “You’ve seen some whiskey. You even hear yourself? A monster wasp?” Feel bad as you say, trying to convince him he’s crazy to get him to leave. “Get the hell off my property before I call the cops!” And he’s scowling at you, insisting he saw it as you dig out your phone in threat and he starts moving. How much are bee hives? Because you’re going to owe him. Waiting until you’re sure he’s long gone, you head into the barn.

• Groaning and shivering uncontrollably, his head lifts when the hay he’d burrowed into is dug away from him. And his little friend has come to see him, eyes narrowed. “Waspinator’s frieeeend,” he drawls, feeling absolutely awful and jittery as he snares you with two limbs and drags you into the hay with him, curling his altmode around you, limbs grabbing on as you wriggle, screeching that’s he’s sticky. Very, very sticky. And feeling not quite overenergized, but close. Processor miserably buzzing as he rests his head on top of yours and curls tighter around your warmth.

• “Let go!” He’s back in his awful giant wasp form and he’s curling up like wasps do when they die. Is he dying? And he’s forcing you into a ball, legs drawn up to your chest as his thorax curls up. He’s humming now. Is he singing? Wait. Is he drunk? Arms now pinned to your chest, you can feel whatever he’s absolutely covered in sticking to you, too. Beehives. It’s honey. He’s covered in honey and dead bugs. And you are, too now. Why? Why is he like this? Legs shifting against you as he slurs ‘Waspinator’s little warm friiiiend.’ Wondering how long it’ll take him to sober up right as he makes a funny hitching noise and you’re thrashing to get away when he shudders and does it again. “Don’t you dare throw up honey on me-Waspinator! Don’t you dare!”

Previous

[dilfologies]

older stepbro!suguru that's getting annoyed by his sister being jealous and touchy - just because he has a girlfriend

omg he’d get so sick of you coming into his room while he’s on the phone with his new girlfriend and sitting next to him on his bed, grabbing at his muscular bicep and pulling it close to your chest to rest your head on it. he’d try to pull it away, but you would not budge!

you could hear his girlfriend speaking through the phone, and you rolled your eyes at the mere sound of her voice.

“suguru, you okay?” she questioned. as she spoke, you trailed your hand down his abdomen until you reached his waistband and he grabbed your wrist harshly. he gave you an authoritative glare that you would’ve listened to if not for the fact that he’s been on the phone with her practically all day.

suguru sighed, letting go of your wrist. “yeah, sorry. my sister’s just bothering me,” he pressed the mute button and turned his head towards you. “the fuck is your problem?”

“you’ve been talking to her all day,” you whined, “i’m bored.”

suguru scoffed. “not my problem.”

other times, when his girlfriend is at the house and they’re watching a movie in the living room, you’d come down in your shorts that showed off a little too much of your ass, and sit right on top of his lap when his girlfriend would saunter off to the bathroom.

you’d whisper in his ear, “i miss you, sugu… y’sposed to hang out with your little sister.”

your breath fawned on his neck and suguru closed his eyes momentarily, a mix of annoyance and temptation visible on his features. his breath hitched when you wiggled your ass a little, putting pressure on his soft cock that you were just aching for.

“i can’t believe you’re acting like this,” he groaned. you only grinned in response before placing a hand on the side of his face, cupping his jaw and sliding the pad of your thumb across his bottom lip.

“is it so hard to believe that i want you for myself?”

suguru should’ve stopped you when you started leaning closer. he should’ve pushed you away and off of his lap. he shouldn’t have allowed you to swipe your tongue along his lips before placing your soft lips on his.

but he didn’t, and now here he was, caught in a whirlwind of emotions as he kissed you back with hesitation. what he was doing was wrong in so many ways. for christ’s sake, his girlfriend was just down the hall! she could walk in any time. but suguru was too swept up in the heat of the moment to form a coherent thought.

you, on the other hand, were hoping she walked in on this scene of you straddling your step brother’s—her boyfriend’s—lap, grinding down on his hard cock. maybe she would make a scene, declaring the relationship over and storming out the door. or perhaps she would make a silent exit and leave you to get fucked by suguru right where she had sat on the couch.

either way, you knew your little half-devised plan had worked when you and suguru were interrupted by a voice coming from the front of the hallway.

“what. the. fuck.”

[lostinlovingrevery]

Audacious

Logan Howlett X F! Reader

A/N: I'm ovulating and this came over me. I imagined 70s! DOFP Logan, or Worst! Wolverine but you could really picture any Logan honestly. I need a cigarette after writing this

Plot: You ghosted him, and he came back to take whats his.

Warnings: SMUT MDNI!, CNC/DUBCON (but like reader really enjoys the fight/chase), Logan gets a little dark and possessive, rough sex, Unprotected PiV, multiple creampies, bondage, reader passes out a couple times and Logan doesn't stop, mention of oral (f! recieving), Logan gets surprisingly soft and a lil embarrassed by himself at the end

Word Count: 3297

Your keys jingled as you pulled them out of your purse, sticking them into the lock of your apartment door. It’s been a long day, and you wanted nothing more but to go inside, take a hot bath, and relax for the next two days that you have off. 

The moment you stepped inside, all the hairs on your body stood up. You felt a presence looming in your apartment. It was pitch black inside, your curtains were pulled shut, and all the lights were off. This wasn’t how you left the place this morning. There was a lingering scent of cigars, something extremely familiar. A sinking feeling of anxiety floated down your stomach, as you squinted, fumbling in the dark for the closet lamp. Your hand found the string of a lamp and pulled the switch. 

“Welcome home.” 

Logan was sitting in your chair as if he made himself at home in your apartment. He leaned back, legs spread, the seams of his snug jeans pulling tight over his muscular thighs, his belt buckle gleaming from the lamp light reflecting on it. His arms resting on the arms of the chair, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a glass of whiskey in one hand, holding it lazily by the rim. 

You yelped, dropping your bag and keys and covered your mouth in surprise, stumbling back. 

“Logan!” You yelled, your hands falling to your side, fists clenched. “What are you- You can’t be coming in here without telling me!” 

“I was just dropping by.” He says, swirling his drink in the glass, before bringing it up to his lips. The way he acted so casually made you nervous, your fight or flight instinct was kicking into gear. “Haven’t heard from you in awhile.” 

You met Logan Howlett a few months ago. You immediately fell for his charms, his smart mouth, and his sinisterly good looks. You went on a few dates and thought you felt a connection. Logan on the other hand though, couldn’t seem to be farther away from connecting to you. He acted aloof and stoic, rarely would he really try to connect with you during dates and you began to question whether this would go anywhere. You always put in the effort to call, plan the dates, and make the conversations. When you brought it up, he shrugged you off and his casual and uncaring demeanor turned you off immediately.  

So you dropped him.

You stopped calling, you stopped making the effort to see him. Honestly, you believed he wouldn’t notice by the way his mind always seemed to be somewhere else. Admittedly, your feelings were a bit hurt, you did really like Logan- you thought you saw something in him, that he would open up to you; but you refused to let a 3 month fling get to you. You hadn't even had sex yet, only having done oral on each other a few times.

It’d been a month since and you’ve begun to realize you made the right choice because he never reached out. 

Until now.

“Well, you could have called.” You scoffed. “Not break into my apartment! How- How did you get in here?” 

“Not important.” He clicks his tongue, moving to set his glass on the nearby table, atop a coaster. The clink of the glass made you flinch, as your stomach turned and you wondered about Logan's intentions because surely they weren’t innocent. Especially with the way his eyes were trailing down your body, staring at you like a predator looking at prey. 

“You- You should leave Logan. I’ll- I’ll call you.” You say, forcing a smile, as you bring your shaky hands to your chest, stepping back to your door. 

He smiled, stretching across his face, his head giving a little shake. “No you won’t.” he hums, tipping his chin up. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, and for a moment you felt relief as he walked towards you. His heavy footsteps weighed against the floor, a creak with each step as he stalked over to you. You moved to open the door for him, turning the knob and pulling it- but he slammed it shut, the press of his palm against the wood. His hand slid down and he turned the lock. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes as you took a few steps back from him. 

“You look scared darling.” He states, standing over you. He reached out, brushing some hair behind your ear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You swallowed, your hands trembling, and your heart pounding. “Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see my girl.”

Your face fell, and you shook your head in confusion. “What? No, no Logan, I'm not your girl.” You state firmly. “You acted like you could be any less interested in me whenever we went out together.” 

He quirked a brow, a very faint twitch of his lips. 

“I mean, I tried to bring it up to you but you brushed me off. I stopped calling a month ago, did you only just now notice?” You asked in disbelief, crossing your arms. Your nerves began to disappear, as an angry confidence began to take root. “How could you sit and call me your girl when you wouldn’t tell me if you wanted us to date? Then you show up to my apartment like you care or something?” You scoffed. You stared at him, brows creased angrily and lips turned downwards in a frown. All your frustrations came out, as you began to realize that Logan had gotten under your skin more than you cared to admit. 

“You done?” He asks. You scowled.

“Logan. Leave. We are done.” You say, reaching to turn the lock and open the door. Before you knew it, his hand was on your neck as you were pushed into the wall, as his lips crashed onto yours in a messy and possessive kiss. You struggled against him, hands coming up to try to pull him off you, before you pushed at his chest, and twisted your head away. “Logan!”

“We’re done when I say we’re done.” He mutters against your lips, his breath fanning over your face and sending goosebumps through your body. You swallowed, your body trembling as you brought your hands up to his hand around your neck, gripping him gently to try to get him to loosen his grip.

“Lo, let- let me go.” You beg softly. 

“You think I didn’t care darling?” He asks quietly in a low voice, tilting his head so his lips brush along your cheek. “That's why you stopped calling?”

A quiver of your lips, as you felt your eyes water, and you nodded. He let out a soft breath, almost like he was disappointed and he tuts. 

“I care sweetheart.” He says softly. “I’m gonna show you that I really care.” 

His lips pressed to yours, and you kissed him back- only for a moment. His hand loosened around your neck, moving to cup your jaw instead. The feeling of his lips against yours, desperate, romantic, needy. He licked your bottom lip, and you allowed him in. He licked into your mouth, against the back of your teeth, moving to press himself closer to you. 

You took the chance and kneed him in the crotch. 

“Shit!” He groaned falling back from you, you took the chance to shove him away, moving to run further into your apartment. You didn’t get far, Logan's recovery time from getting kneeled in the dick seemed remarkably fast. He grabbed your arm, pulling you against him. “That was cruel.” He says his tone was a bit more lighthearted, with a bit of humor behind it.

“You are a bastard!” You struggled to pull away from him, but he only chuckled. He moved down, kissing you again despite you fighting against him. It was pathetic, considering the man was much bigger, and much, much, stronger than you. You were merely a rabbit in the mouth of a wolf. 

“Stop struggling.” He murmurs against your lips, capturing them once more in a heated kiss. For a moment, you fell into him, feeling your mind go fuzzy at the way his hands gripped your arms, keeping you close. His beard scratched at your face, and his scent was overwhelming you. The smell of men's cologne and his natural musk mixed together. “You can’t get away from me, pretty girl. Try as you might” He moans against your mouth. 

His words spurred you on to fight again, as you struggled and shoved him away. 

“No! No Logan!” You pant. “I don’t want this, and I don’t want you.” 

The arousal that was soaking your panties said otherwise. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your veins were thrumming with adrenaline. You loved this, even if you acted otherwise. You wanted him to chase you, and you wanted him to take you, make you his girl. A few months of him not paying you much mind, of you chasing him. If he wants you, he’ll get you; but he has to work for it first. You wanted him to fuck you, and see how far he’ll go to claim you. 

He sniffed, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes turned dark as he stalked towards you. “I don’t think that’s true sweetheart.” He says in a low voice. You swallowed, stepping back into the hallway that led to your bedroom. He was inches away from you. “You’re gonna play hard to get? That’s fine. We can play.” He says a small shrug. 

His hands reached out to your blouse and a quick movement ripped it open. You gasped, your hands coming to cover your chest. “I always win though, and I’ll take what I want.” 

You turned to run into the bedroom, but he was faster, grabbing you around the waist and slamming you onto the bed, the mattress creaking as you bounced on it a few times from the force. He stood over you, his hands reaching down and ripping your bra apart in one swift motion.

“Logan!” You gasped before his hands came and grabbed your wrists, pinning them to either side of your head. His mouth came down, taking a nipple between his lips, his tongue running over the bud, stimulating you. You felt heat rush through your body, another coat of arousal. His thigh pushed between your legs, as he grinded it against your core. 

You whined, squirming and fighting underneath him as he attempted to work you over. He nipped at your peak bud, before growling in frustration at your constant squirming. He stood up, letting go of you and flipping you over onto your belly. You attempted to crawl away, but he kneeled on the bed, sitting his weight on you and keeping you pinned. 

“Since you won’t stop squirming…” He mutters. You heard the clink of his belt. Your arms were pulled back behind you, and you felt the leather binding your elbows together. Once secure, he stood from the bed and flipped you back over onto your back. 

He pushed your skirt roughly up your thighs, exposing your panties. He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing over the fabric that covered your cunt. “Fuck. Acting like you don’t want this like you don’t want me.” He shook his head. “You’re fucking soaked pretty girl.” 

He ripped your panties off, sticking himself between your legs, pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs, his hard cock popping out, tapping against his belly a few times. 

“Normally I’d take my time but since you gotta act like a brat….” He mutters, hooking his arms around your legs, pulling you closer, “We’ll just have to skip to the good part.” 

He aimed himself against your wet pussy, and in one quick thrust pushed himself inside you. You yelped from the intrusion, arching your back. He felt so damn good. His hard cock stretches you open perfectly. He let out a guttural groan, tipping his head back. “Fuuuck yeah-” He grinned sinfully, eyes shut as he let out a hard pant.

“You’re so fucking wet-” He moaned. His hands grabbed your hips, and he began pounding into your pussy, abusing it with each thrust. You turned your head to the side, gasping and panting as he continued to fill you to the brim over and over. The bed shook violently as he thrust into you, his fingers digging into your hips and pulling you down onto him. 

You were powerless against him, forced to take what he was giving you. “You’re mine baby.” He grunted. “Ain’t no argument about it now.” 

He leaned down over you, his throbbing cock deep inside you, his chest pushed into the back of your thighs as your legs came up to your chest. You turned your head away from him, and he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. He squeezed your cheeks, making your lips pucker as he leaned forward, kissing you, his tongue shoving into your mouth roughly. Your pussy tightened around him, causing him to chuckle warmly into your mouth. “Acting like you don’t fucking like this-” He grunted, thrusting harshly into you, eliciting a pained gasp from your lips. “Your pussy does, she’s fucking squeezing me tight. You love this, don’t you? Me taking what I want from you.”

You let out a moan, tipping your head back. You finally nodded and didn’t have to look at him to see that cocky grin on his face. 

“Damn fucking straight.” He growls. “You’re gonna fucking take it all.” His thrusts became more frantic, rougher. He leaned down, biting your neck, as he slammed into you with a ferocity you never felt before. It was so much, he was too much, as you felt an explosive finish approaching quickly. “Fucking stupid, acting like I didn’t care about you. I’ve been fucking obsessed with you since day 1.” He groaned into your neck. 

The admission made you snap. Your eyes rolled back as you let out a cry of his name. Your body shook, as your pussy squeezed and spasmed around him, so tight he could barely pull out.  He grunted, slamming into you one more time, before moaning so loud you’re pretty sure the neighbors could hear, and you felt his cum fill you up. 

A moment passed, and he sat up, pulling out of you. He flipped you over, onto your belly, pushing you further up the bed. He let you lay there, trembling with his cum leaking out of you, while he shed the rest of his clothes off, and then pulled off your skirt, leaving you in just your torn bra and blouse. 

He kneeled back onto the bed clambering over you and grabbed your hips, bringing your ass into the air.

“You look good like this sweetheart.” He mumbled, his thumb brushing over your puffy pussy, before capturing the cum that was leaking inside you, pushing it back in. You whined, squirming under him, too sensitive to his touch. 

“Logan…” You gasped.

“I’m not done with ya.” He says, adjusting the both of you, and you feel his tip slide back inside you, an embarrassing squelching noise in the room as he fills you up again. 

“Ah!” You whimpered. How was he hard again already? “Lo-” 

“I don’t think you get it darling. You’re mine. I’m gonna fuck that nonsense of me not caring out of you.”

“I believe you!” You gasped, as he harshly slammed into you, the bed slamming into the wall. You didn’t know if you could take him more. He felt so good, yet your nerves felt it was on fire. You didn’t want him to stop. 

He chuckled, “You want me to stop?”

The silence was deafening. You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you prepared yourself. 

“Good girl.” He purred. His hand grabbed your hair, tugging it back as he began pounding into you again. A chorus of whines escaped you as he fucked you with renewed vigor. His stamina was insane. Your pussy was on fire, the way he stretched you out, his hips slamming into your ass, and you were sure you would end up with bruises everywhere. 

The rest of the night ended up a blur. Logan used you like a fucktoy, and you were fairly sure you passed out multiple times. The first time, you woke up on top of him, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you as he fucked up into you. The second time, you woke to him eating you out, his tongue swirling over your swollen clit, sending shocks through your body. The third time, your wrists were tied together above your head to the frame of your bed. Your legs spread with Logan on top of you, hands on either side of your hips, as he thrusts into you slowly, almost romantically. He leaned down to pull a soft kiss from you. 

Your body felt numb, yet the pleasure still enveloped you, as you felt the honey-sweet feeling pooling in your belly again.

“C'mon baby. One more for me.” He moaned, resting his body over yours, pressing soft kisses over your face. “I know you can do it.”

He brought his fingers between your sweat-soaked bodies. There were countless bite marks and hickeys that covered your body. His fingers found your clit and began rubbing it, his thrusts still slow and soft. 

Within seconds, your legs were trembling, as your pussy tightened around him again, and he tipped his head back, his pace picking up as he felt you tighten and pulse around him. He fucked you through your orgasm once more, before finally finishing inside, a loud curse and moan of your name, as he panted, eyes shut tight as the last bit of his energy finally drained inside you. He collapsed on your chest, his arms still somewhat bracing himself up, keeping his full body weight off you. 

He sighed, pushing himself out, and you heard a snikt!, as you watched in amazement and exhaustion as sharp metal claw-like appendages came out, and he carefully cut the cloth around your wrists, your arms falling limply above your head. He climbed off you, rolling to your side, and pulling you against him, your cheek against his chest. You didn’t bother to ask about the sharp knife-like pieces that just came out of his fists and then disappeared.

“You alright?” He asks softly, his hand massaging up and down your back. “Too much?” 

“Mmm.” You barely mumbled, as your eyes grew heavy again. You were too tired for pillow talk now. 

A small chuckle. “Y’know. I really do care about you. I just…Some things are going on in my life, things I’m a part of, that I haven’t told you about. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring you into that part of my life yet. I uh…Thought you’d be safer.” 

You opened your eyes at his admission. His voice was soft, in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before. 

“I honestly was relieved when you stopped calling. Cause I was constantly wondering if I was selfish being with you. I thought it’d be easier that you broke it off because I couldn’t bring myself to do it but then I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Missed you a lot and I guess I got a little…Possessive.”

“You think?”

Another scoff escaped him, and his hand came around your arm, his fingertips softly tracing up and down your arm. “Yeah well…When you recover, we should talk about some things.”

“Like the claws?” You asked. 

“Yeah, like the claws...”

“We should talk about you breaking into my apartment too.”

“Uh…Yeah…” He says, a tone of embarrassment. “I’ll...Explain everything tomorrow.”

[bunji-enthusiast]

thought of another request !! (Obviously platonic, love being used in a more parental manner bc yk,, found family)

so, doey is one of the few toys you managed to save and bring back home. He unfortunately has a anxiety meltdown from being outside for the first time in years and reader having to comfort him, talking to him softly and holding him in their lap while he just sobs bc it's so much at once,,

They're like "shh, it's okay, i know, love, i know.."

Idk if that would make sense for a one shot 🙏

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫

Sypnosis [Being outside for the first time in years can take a special toll on a person, especially if that someone is Doey in particular.]

Character [Doey]

Note || I believe I understand what you mean, correct me if I don’t lol.

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet. The toys, having found their way to your home after months of struggling for survival, were finally beginning to settle in. The factory was far behind them now, the haunting memories of the place slowly fading into the recesses of their minds. The Safe Haven was a place where they could breathe again, feel safe. You, having escaped the nightmarish grip of the factory, had taken it upon yourself to provide for them, to help them heal. You had promised yourself that no matter the cost, you would make sure they were never subjected to the horrors of the factory again.

But even in the safety of this new home, some wounds never healed. You watched as Doey, the plump dough creature, sat at the corner of the living room, his normally playful demeanor replaced by something more distant, more uncertain. His eyes—holes in his head, just faint shadows in the dim light—seemed lost, unfocused. He was far from the carefree toy who had led the Safe Haven group with bravery and kindness. No, this was a side of Doey you had never seen before, and it was clear that something was wrong.

You walked over to him, kneeling down so that you could meet his gaze. He flinched slightly at your approach, and you noticed the subtle trembling in his yellow and orange arms. You had seen toys face the horrors of the factory, but nothing quite like this. Doey had always been strong, calm, a beacon of hope for the others.

But today, that strength had crumbled.

"Doey," you said gently, your voice low and calm, "hey, what’s going on? Talk to me."

Doey's mouth, that simple line of dough, quivered slightly as he took a deep, shuddering breath. He could barely hold it together, his usual bubbly nature drowned under the weight of something far more sinister.

“I... I’m not sure I can do it anymore,” Doey muttered, his voice thick with emotion. It wasn’t like him to sound so fragile, but you recognized the desperation in his tone. “I’ve tried. I’ve always tried... But it feels like no matter how hard I try, I’m just going to fall apart.”

You frowned, reaching out to place a hand gently on his arm. The warmth of your touch seemed to help, though Doey flinched at first. He wasn’t used to being touched like this, not in such a vulnerable state. You could see his struggle, the fear of being broken, of losing himself to the horrors of his past.

"Hey," you said, your voice steady despite the situation, "it's okay. You're safe now. We're all safe."

"But I don’t feel safe," Doey whispered, his eyes downcast, avoiding yours. "Every time I close my eyes, I see... I see them. The factory. The screams. The things I did... the things I couldn’t stop. And now I can’t stop feeling like I’m just one bad thing away from falling apart. What if I’m just a... a toy? A toy made to be broken? What if I’m not strong enough to lead them, to keep everyone safe?"

You could feel the weight of his words, the burden he was carrying. Doey wasn’t just a toy to you. He was a friend, a confidant. His strength was a shield, not just for himself, but for all the toys in the once Safe Haven. And now that shield was cracking.

You knew that the other toys were counting on him, but even they didn’t know the full depth of the struggle he was going through. Doey was made up of the memories and personalities of three children—Kevin, Jack, and Matthew. Each piece of him brought its own light, its own shadow. And while Matthew's kindness and gentle spirit were a dominant force within him, there was also the fiery temper of Kevin, and the deep yearning for something lost within Jack. It made Doey... complicated.

"Doey, listen to me," you said softly, but firmly. "You're not alone in this. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep going. And we’re all here to help you. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Doey's right arm—yellow and thick—shuddered as he reached up, his hand going to his face, his body folding in on itself as though he could hide from the world. A soft sob escaped him, and your heart ached. You had seen him lead, seen him face danger with a brave face, but this... this was something entirely different. The weight of the factory’s horrors, the responsibility of being a leader, had taken its toll.

"Doey, it's okay to feel broken," you said, your voice trembling just slightly now. "We all have our broken pieces. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be whole. You’re not just a toy. You’re not just the past. You’re Doey. You’re the one who stood up for all of us. You showed us what it means to keep fighting. And we’re not going to let you fall now.”

Doey looked up at you, his doughy face streaked with tears—tears made of the very clay he was formed from. You could see the conflict in his eyes. The fear of what might happen next. The anger bubbling up from deep within, the fiery Kevin side of him, just waiting to lash out.

But you didn’t let him retreat. Instead, you gently cupped his face in your hands, the warmth of your palms pressing against his cool, doughy skin. “Doey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. We’re all here.”

A long moment passed, where Doey simply breathed, shuddering in your hold, trying to steady himself. Slowly, his trembling ceased, his body slowly relaxing into your touch. There was still an undercurrent of fear within him, but you could feel him starting to regain control.

“I... I don’t know if I can lead anymore,” Doey said quietly, his voice still uncertain. “But I... I don’t want to let anyone down.”

You smiled softly, your hand brushing his long orange arm. "You don’t have to lead alone, Doey. We’re all here for each other. Here—it’s not just you. It’s all of us, together."

His yellow and orange arms hung limply at his sides for a moment before he slowly, carefully, wrapped them around you, his stubby red legs shaking beneath him. His embrace wasn’t strong, but it was filled with a sense of quiet gratitude. He was fragile, yes, but he wasn’t alone.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough. You’d be there to help him, just like he had helped so many others before.

"Thank you," Doey whispered, his voice muffled against your shoulder. "I’ll try. I’ll try to be strong. For them. For you."

And as the two of you sat there in the quiet of the room, surrounded by the other toys, you knew that, despite everything, Doey would find his way. Because sometimes, strength wasn’t about never breaking—it was about finding the courage to put the pieces back together when everything felt like it was falling apart. And you’d be there to help him do just that.

[baeksqt]

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄 — aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!reader

a/n: accidentally deleted this when I wanted to edit it ಠ_��� (I hate tumblr), so if you feel like you’ve seen this before, you have, just leave a like and keep stepping

word count: 1245

genre: fluff

summary: an adorable aitana meet cute

On a breezy spring afternoon in Barcelona, the cosy bookshop cafe Letras Vivas buzzed with its usual charm. Tucked away on a quiet side street, a haven for readers and coffee lovers alike. The warm aroma of roasted beans mingled with the soft rustle of pages being turned and the occasional tinkling of laughter from patrons. The cafe was the kind of place where time seemed to slow, where strangers might strike up conversations over dog-eared novels or debate the best way to make a cortado.

You step inside, grateful for the reprieve from the city’s lively streets. The team had arrived in Barcelona a few days early to acclimate before the upcoming Champions League final. The pressure was immense – two giants of women’s football going head-to-head – but you had sought this little sanctuary for some peace. As much as you thrive on competition, moments like these were a way to offer clarity amidst the chaos.

Clad in a casual, well-worn shirt and a pair of faded jeans, you seemed a world away from the electrifying football star celebrated in the vibrant match posters that adorned the streets of Lyon. As you moved through the dimly lit bookstore, your fingers delicately glided over the spines of countless books lining the shelves near the entrance, occasionally pausing to absorb the titles that beckoned softly. Your gaze eventually landed on a novel, its cover a breathtaking watercolour that captured the charm of a seaside town, an irresistible pull urging you to pull it from the shelf and delve into its world.

At the counter, Aitana Bonmatí, FC Barcelona’s fiery midfielder, was already ordering her cappuccino. The barista seemed charmed by Aitana’s easy banter, her quick wit and warm laugh lighting up the space. She exuded the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged. The distinctive red-and-blue hoodie with Barça’s crest proudly displayed was casually slung over her shoulders, and drew occasional glances, but most were too polite to approach her.

As you approached the counter, Aitana turned, her grin wide and inviting, her hazel eyes bright with recognition. It took you a heartbeat to place her–you had seen that grin a hundred times before, from game footage to interviews to across the pitch. The face of Barcelona’s squad and one the most formidable centres in the game. And in just three days, your opponent. Once again.

Aitana didn’t miss the split second of hesitation that flickered across your face, and she seized the opportunity to break the ice with a playful energy. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm and laced with just a hint of mischief. “Nice to see you off the pitch.”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard but managing a smile. “Oh, uh, hi. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” Your Andalusian accent was unmistakable, and Aitana’s grin grew wider.

“You Lyon players just can’t resist the good spots, huh?” Aitana quipped, leaning casually against the counter. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hand. “Good choice. That’s one of my favourites.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding up the book. “Really? You’ve read it?”

Aitana’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she nodded, her ponytail swaying rhythmically with her head. “You won’t believe how captivating it is! It unfolds in this charming little fishing village—teeming with intense drama, sweeping love stories, and heart-wrenching heartbreak… it’s absolutely everything you could want! Imagine it like football, but infused with much more romance and way fewer tackles!”

A smile crept across your face as you placed the book on the counter, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. “I’ll take your word for it, but relying on my opponent’s taste in literature? That feels like a risky move!”

“Oh, come on! Today, we’re not opponents at all!” The mischievous glint in Aitana’s eyes mirrored her playful smirk. “We’re just two enthusiasts who appreciate fine coffee and extraordinary tales.”

The barista expertly crafted Aitana’s cappuccino, the velvety foam adorned with an artful heart-shaped swirl that seemed to float above the cup. Instead of making a beeline for the door, Aitana lingered, her presence radiating warmth and curiosity as she patiently waited for you to finish your order, the air around you charged with an electric sense of connection. When you joined her at a nearby table, your conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Listening intently, as Aitana, ever the local, effortlessly wove stories about her childhood in Vilanova. Her voice softened as she talked about watching games at Camp Nou as a kid, her dreams of one day playing on the same pitch now a reality. She pointed out a few must-visit spots within Barcelona, her favourite tapas bar tucked away in El Born and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city at sunset.

It was your turn to share, Aitana leaned in, intrigued as you painted a picture of life in France. Your voice gained a quiet pride as you described Lyon’s relentless training culture—the way it pushed everyone to their limits and brought out the best in them. The early morning drills in the pouring rain, late-night strategy sessions, and the camaraderie that came from working with some of the best players in the game.

“So you’re telling me you actually enjoy those gruelling training sessions? Compared to the easiness of Madrid?” The brunette questioned.

“It’s not about enjoying them, exactly.” You shrugged, your smile softening. “It’s about knowing they make me better. And there’s something fun about the discipline, the way it transforms you. Being at Real Madrid, I never had that.” You finished.

Aitana nodded thoughtfully, her playful demeanour giving way to a moment of genuine admiration. “I get that,” she said. “I think that’s why I love playing here—Barcelona’s always pushed me to be more, too.”

Her words hung between the two of you, a shared understanding unspoken but felt. Despite the teams you represented and the rivalry that defined you two season after season. You were both, at your cores, not so different. For a moment, the looming match disappeared, replaced by the quiet connection of two people who understood what it meant to give everything to the sport they loved.

“So,” Aitana began, cradling her cup, her tone suddenly teasing, “how’s Lyon feeling about Saturday? Ready to lose?”

You leaned forward, a playful spark in your eyes. “Confident enough to say you’ll be the one losing.” you shot back. Your laughter mingled, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons, but neither of you seemed to care, bantering for what felt like hours.

As the sun began to dip, casting the cafe in a warm golden glow, you both reluctantly stood to leave. Outside, the streets buzzed with life, the distant hum of a guitar echoing from a nearby plaza.

At the door, Aitana paused, turning to you with a smile softer than her usual confident smirk. “You know,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “maybe after the match, we should grab a coffee again. No rivalries—just books and good company.”

You tilted your head, cheeks dimpling into a grin. “Deal. But only if Lyon wins.”

Aitana laughed, backing away towards the bustling street, her voice carrying over the noise. “We’ll see about that!”

As you walked in opposite directions, you felt a strange lightness—a fleeting connection sparked by chance, lingering even as you prepared to face her on one of the biggest stages in football.

[ultravi0lence14]

DEMON ATTACK

DEAN WINCHESTER X DEMON!READER

WARNINGS: smut (MDNI), p in v (wrap it up ppl), rough sex, finger sucking, biting.

SUMMARY: when it comes to their alone time, dean’s little monster can’t help but let her demonic spirit shine.

WORD COUNT: 1k

the slamming of dean’s door falls onto deaf ears as both he and his little monster stumble through his room.

lips tangled together, with your legs clung together around dean’s hips, he wholly believes that he has made it to heaven.

you two had just come back from a hunt with sam, leaving the remains of a werewolf in your wake. it was a total bloodbath, and god, does dean know how much carnage and blood make you horny.

“you were so hot back there, baby,” he pants into your mouth, lips trailing down your jaw as he suckles hot and desperate kisses on your neck. “all covered in blood and looking like my own, sexy monster.”

a moan leaves your lips at the sensation of dean’s words and his masterful tongue leaving marks on your skin. hands tangled in his hair, you pull at the strands in response, allowing a deep groan to leave your lovers throat.

as he places you among the pillows on his bed, dean crawls up your body, throwing his shirt somewhere in the room during the process. “do that again, pretty girl, you know i love it when you’re rough with me.”

you reciprocate with a fierce tug to his hair, a small smirk dancing on your lips as dean’s pelvis grinds into yours at the feeling.

clothes are flying everywhere, and in record time, both you and dean are left to your undergarments. the black lace bra and panties adorning your body make the strain in dean’s boxers tighten, and you could see the way he got worked up over the sight of your scantily clad body.

“no foreplay tonight,” you breathed in his ear, nails digging into his shoulder until it stung. “i want to feel you, dean. want you buried deep inside of me.”

the guttural groan that leaves dean’s lips could be heard from a mile away, and you watch as his head falls in between your breasts, ragged breaths fanning across the expanse of your chest.

lifting his head up, green eyes bore deeply into yours, leaving a tingly feeling in both your chest and southern regions. “fuck, i think you were made for me, little monster.”

“obviously,” you reply with a smirk, reaching behind you to snap at the clasp of your bra, pulling the straps slowly down your arms. “show me how perfectly i was made for you. fuck me like you mean it.”

deep rumbles leaving his chest, dean grips tightly onto your boobs, fingers flicking at your nipples as you slowly grind your pelvis into his. you knew he would be in between your legs soon enough. he was always such a good listener, and if you wanted to be throughly fucked, dean would give it to you.

peeling away both yours and his underwear, dean hikes your legs over both of his shoulders, pressing your thighs into his chest, making sure you were completely bore to him.

watching as he stroked his cock in his hand, dean placed his tip inside of your tight hole, not even giving you a second to breath before he was slamming his full length inside of you.

a loud, high pitched moan left your lips, and they didn’t stop as dean thrusted deeply inside of you, not giving you a second to adjust before he started moving at a rapid pace.

completely pile-driving his dick against the spongy spot inside of your core, the sound of skin slapping against skin and your loud, drawn out moans were the only thing that could be heard bouncing of the walls of dean’s room.

nails dug deeply into dean’s shoulders, you watched as your fingers broke through the layer of his skin, blood seeping from the cuts and eliciting a deep groan from dean.

his pace was relentless, the bruising feeling of his dick slamming deeply into you sending a wave of euphoria through your body. but somehow you needed more, and you couldn’t help but find yourself moaning out, “harder dean, fuck me harder.” while dean did just that and bore into you at a much faster and harder pace.

the sound of the headboard bouncing off the walls in quick succession, alongside your head repeatedly slamming into the wood behind you was in no match for the loud, high pitched moans that left your lips in frequent order. each blinding thrust had you crying out loudly in pleasure, and dean slipped one of his hands off the backs of your thighs so he could place three of his fingers in your mouth.

“shh baby,” he groaned, not stopping his relenting pace as the sounds coming from your lips gargled around his fingers. “you gotta be quiet. sammy’s just down the hall.”

though when his fingers slipped from your mouth, and the moans and mewls continued to bounce throughout the halls, dean thought of a better idea.

“cmon, little monster, bite onto my shoulder.” his words came out in a breathless succession, somehow not slowing down his harsh movements as he spoke to you. slowly taking one of your legs off his shoulder, dean pressed his chest to yours so his arm was on full display to your awaiting teeth.

his words left a blinding feeling in your gut, and you didn’t have to be told twice before you latched onto the top of his bicep, moans muffled around his skin as you sunk your teeth into flesh.

the feeling had a shiver of pleasure running up his spine, and it somehow elicited dean to go even harder and deeper.

looking at the look of pure pleasure on your face, mixed with the sight of your teeth baring into his skin had that feeling in dean’s gut tighten, and it didn’t take until the feeling of you screaming around his arm and spilling your warm cum around his dick before he came himself.

but dean wasn’t stupid, and he knew that when you said you wanted to be fucked hard, you meant it. so without slowing down, dean continued his exact same pace inside your tight walls even after you both had came.

your moans grew even louder around his arm, and dean wasn’t planning on stopping until you had come at least three more times.

meanwhile, sam sat in his room with his noise cancelling headphones on, shaking his head in slight disgust as the sounds of your muffled moans and the headboard quickly banging against the wall could still be heard even through his loud music.

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @deanangel @sunsbaby @haunteres @beausling @deanswidow @figthoughts @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @gibson-g1rl @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke

NAT BABBLES: a lil monster treat before i go into hibernation to grind out pearl reprise and fall from grace🙏

[hscherrywine]

Tired Teasing

Summary: A relaxing night with Harry takes a naughty turn. Some more cute fluffy smut. Harry is a tease and you’re tired.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: none really just some smut, female receiving

Ever since you and your boyfriend, Harry, decided to become serious, Sundays have been your favorite day of the week. The two of you have the day off almost every week and always make the most of it.

The day itself was great - being able to be lazy with Harry and watch some movies. But now it was night and the two of you were getting ready for bed. You took a shower and got cozy in your fresh sheets, excited to read some of your current book read. Harry was somewhere downstairs finishing up some chores he’d promise to do.

If you could capture a feeling, it would be this one. So content with life that nothing could bring you down. Plus part of your nighttime routine tonight was an everything shower because you just needed some “me time”. You felt so relaxed and comforted by your bed.

You lay peacefully on your side, book in hand, curled up under the covers. You were waiting for Harry to come up to bed. Before you knew it, you heard his footsteps padding up the stairs. Within minutes he wandered into your room. You put your book down so transfixed by his being. He walked into your sight line since you were still lying on your side. You watched in awe as he changed from his everyday clothes into something more comfortable to sleep in.

Without even saying a word to you yet, he found his way to bed. His body dipped behind you and your body ignited. He was quick to wrap himself up in you, hugging your body from behind.

“Did you like the show?” He asks and you know he was aware that you watched him get dressed. Your cheeks flush feeling called out a bit, but you know he can’t see because your back is pressed to his front. You’re glad you're not facing each other because you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You don’t respond to his comment. Partly because you had no shame in watching your hot boyfriend strip and another part because you were too tired to engage him. Harry could sense this or something because he didn’t antagonize you much more, he just snuggled himself deeper into your neck like he couldn’t get close enough. You liked when he was soft and clingy with you.

His hands rubbed up and down your arms as he made small talk with you about your days. You loved being able to unwind with him like this. It was all very casual, him pressing mindless gentle kisses to your exposed skin as you talked. Until, he got a bit more carried away and you could tell that he was looking for a bit more.

“Harry…” you start but only trail off. The half of you that is exhausted just want to go to bed, but the other half always melts at his touch. Which one will win? you still don’t know. He keeps going up and down your neck and shoulders showing his affection until you call out his name again seeming slightly aggravated. He stops briefly, but only to get a few words out.

“You always smell so good..can’t stay away.” He mumbles and you feel his breath on you. That’s how close you two were. He reaches up to move your wet hair away from your shoulders to get closer to the spot he knows you love. “Can’t believe you showered without me baby.” He admits.

His affection tonight was undeniably adorable, so you give in. “I was waiting for you, why do you think it took me so long in there?” you tease. Truth is, you did take a long shower tonight, but not entirely for his sake.

“We’re not good at showering together.” He admits breaking away from you. “We never end up clean after those.” He jokes and you know exactly what he means. Memories come flooding back of times the two of had sex in your marble shower. “We’re not good at a lot of things, Harry, we always end up just having sex or something.” you laugh. It’s funny because it is entirely true. The two of you just can’t resist each other it’s like in your pheromones or something. Even mundane tasks like cleaning, doing the dishes, or folding laundry tempt the two of you. Right now is no different. With every delicate touch from Harry, you were getting less relaxed and more worked up and you were unsure if that was part of his plan or not.

“Look at us right now.” you point out “We can’t even relax in bed without being horny.” you scoff.

“Who said anything about that?” Harry asks playing dumb. Not cute. He doesn’t get to purposely rile you up and then pretend like that wasn’t his intentions.

“I know what you’re doing, Harry, and honestly i’m not sure if I have the energy right now.” You confess to him, still facing away. You know he respects your boundaries and everything but you’re shy to admit it.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want Y/N, but what if I do something for you. You know..just so you don’t over do anything.” He suggests. The idea is very tempting. At this point he was already slotting his leg in between your thighs and slowly moving the two of you so you were facing each other more. When you don’t immediately answer, Harry places a kiss away from your back and neck and on your check instead. The sweet gesture has you turning to face him with a smile. The two of you look at each other for the first time tonight all tangled together.

When you look into his eyes, you give in completely. After mere seconds, you are the one making the moves. You lean in the short distance to kiss your boyfriend in the lips for the first time tonight. The action is desperate in itself and quickly deepens. You hand Harry wrapped up in each other find a rhythm with your lips and body. All you can do is moan into his movements.

His hands trail up your back trying to squeeze you closer into him. Eventually they find their way under the hem of your shirt and up to your bra. Without breaking the kiss, he unclasps it like he has a hundred times before.

Slightly in awe you pull away and notice a guilty smirk on his face for what he just did. It’s one of your favorite things that he does. “I’ll never get tired of you doing that.” you says to him. “And i’ll never get tired of how perfect your body is” He compliments. You don’t always agree with the compliments he showered you with. Sometimes you feel like he says things just to make you happy, but the way he delivers them is impossible to make them insincere.

It’s like he can hear your thoughts going round in your head. “I mean it, baby, every time. Everything about you is so perfect.” He rambles. He goes back to his favorite position with his mouth on yours. This time his hands travel back to your back but they take of your shirt instead. His is quick to come off too.

“I know my girl is tired and it’s been a long week, but I just need to appreciate you a little.” he whispers to you. The energy between you two is heating up so much so he is practically above you at this point. He is taking in your body with his eyes even though the two of you are still under the covers. Harry isn’t a huge fan of that and gently exposes the two of you from your bedding. It is here where he notices that the shirt he removed from you was the only thing you wore to bed.

He is slightly shocked by the discovery. “You had me doubting the mood tonight, but here you were all ready for me.” he scolds. You rarely sleep completely naked so this is a surprise for him. He can’t contain himself now running his hands up and down your thighs. Teasing you with a soft touch. He makes the split decision to move from your upper body to focus on your lower half. He did a lot of teasing already when the two of you were mindlessly chatting. He didn’t think he had that much of an effect on you until he revealed what was under the conversation and it became every apparent.

He slowly worked his way down until he was inches away from your core. He was slow to give you what you wanted, knowing that you were struggling without his conceding. He kissed and sucked in your thighs until he couldn’t contain himself. He gently ran one finger up and down your folds just to gather some arousal. He then sucked his digit clean and leaned back up for a kiss.

“Relax for me. I’m gonna make you feel so good before we go to sleep.” He mutters traveling back down to your heat. This time he gently caresses two digits on your labia but careful not do really pay attention to your clit yet. He was too teasing in his actions that you reached your hands up to play with your own tits while he teased your bottom half.

“Normally I’d be upset with you for touching yourself, but just this once you can because you look so hot tonight” he smiles completely enticed by the way your hold and squeeze your own breasts.

“I wouldn’t have to if you just gave me what I wanted.” you shoot back, tired of his teasing.

“And what is it that you want to bad baby?” He asks looking into your eyes and adding pressure on his fingers.

“Mouth. Fingers. I want it all Harry. I need it.” you whine at him. your hands move from your breasts to to clutch at the sheets beside you.

Before you know it, he’s feverishly answering your prayers. Wasting no time at all he inserted two digits into your wetness. The interruption made you gasp especially since you were so sensitive from Harry’s games earlier.

He wanted to be slow and take your time on you tonight since you needed to relax but he knew that it wouldn’t be possible. He abandoned all his plans and dove right into your cunt. Mouth attached and sucking feverishly on your clit and his fingers worked their way rhythmically in and out. Your release was approaching embarrassingly fast, but you knew you couldn’t give in.

You kept your eyes on him buried between your legs. Every time he does this you swear he gets better. You’ve never met someone who loved giving hess as much as Harry does. He out does himself every time. His fingers worked at a perfect pace moving all around your soft walls. they curled against the spongy area inside of you and encouraged your hole to leak and squelch.

In response he would just lick it up and go back to your clit. You were in heaven when he went down on you. You think he even bit your clit at some point to get you closer but you were too pleasured to even realize.

Listening to Harry’s advice about relaxing, you didn’t clench you body as your orgasm approached. You fought the tightening for your limbs and reached a whole new feeling. This was different than any other orgasm.

Harry could read your body like a book and knew you were about to come. He slowed to an agonizing halt only to receive an aggravated groan from you that he just brushed off. He was trying to work you up even more but quickly threw the bit out. The pleasure was too intense to risk at this point. Harry himself was grinding his hips into the bed to try and keep himself from exploding.

Your breaths became shallow and Harry’s grew intense. Your orgasm is seconds away from hitting you and your boyfriend is giving you everything he has.

“You gonna come for me baby? he asks taking his mouth away for a second. The cool air hits your clit and it’s almost enough to put you over the edge. Instead he takes his hands from inside you and rubs your clit with them until you release onto his hands.

He laps up the rest of the area with his tongue snd kisses your pelvis and thighs for a bit while you come down.

Your eyes are even heavier than before when you come down. The adrenaline wears off and you are left tired. “You want me to help you out now babe?” you offer but you can even get it out without a yawn. “Don’t worry about me.” He remind you “Just get some rest now honey.” he says crawling back up next to you.

He wraps his arms around your stomach after pulling the duvet back up to your necks. Between his hold and the sheets, you were ready to pass out.

So much for that shower, you ended up going to bed dirty after all. But all of it was worth it because Sunday nights with your boyfriend are the highlight of your week.

a/n: i swear i can write other things than my usual cute coupley tropes…i just choose not to rn. Also I wrote this while watching the chiefs lose the superbowl.

[taelortot]

Choso Smau Part 11

Pre relationship texts + immediately after texts

Not proofread :(

Total time knowing choso: 12 months

Thick air surrounds y/n, choking her— suffocating her lungs as she tries to even her breathing. She stares at her phone in her hands, rereading the text that stands out in bold black letters.

“I love you, bunny”

It’s almost as if she can hear him saying it with his low, warm voice. Choso voice was always the most satisfying to listen to. Velvety smooth, like a fresh pot of dark roast coffee first thing in the morning.

“Bunny I love you”

Oh, that was most definitely not y/ns imagination. Y/ns eyes snap up, hands shaking and chest heaving. Dropping her phone to her bed, she stands on unsteady legs, unsure if her best friend knows what those words mean. Unsure is Choso really understand what that will mean for them.

“Baby… please just open the door”

A faint squeak comes from y/ns lips, quickly being covered up with her hands. This isn’t real. It can’t be. In y/ns mind, she was hopelessly in love with her best friend, and he didn’t feel the same way. So she told him to go on a date, so maybe if he had another person to care for… she could move on. And he would never ever have to know.

But, of course not. Things never work out the way y/n wishes they would. Almost as if she has no control over the course her life will follow, just as she has no control over the way her feet move on their own. Closer and closer to the door that separates the two best friends.

“O-okay”

Voice trembling as she reaches out to unlock the deadbolt— a lock choso could have easily broken to get inside of he really wanted to.

“Choso” y/ns hand stills on the cool metal, resting her forehead against the wooden door frame. Choso rattles the door knob, hoping to push his way in. “Tell me you mean it” y/n begs, her voice desperate, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. So close to spilling over.

“I mean it, bunny. I fu-fuck I mean it baby… cmon baby. Open the door for me”

‘Baby’ y/n mouths, a small smile on her lips. Relishing in the way that one little word made her feel. Somehow the word making her melt from the inside out. An eruptions of butterflies swarming deep in her tummy, wanting to burst out of her chest. It was so out of character for Choso to say that word. She was always bunny.. and now she’s wondering what possessed him to call her that pretty name.

“Okay” y/n nods, unlocking the deadbolt. As soon as Choso hears the click, he’s pushing the door open, not meaning to use as much force as he had. Just feeling so desperate to see y/n, to explain to her these feelings he has.

“Bunny”

“Cho”

No more words. Just staring at each other in the barely lit room, as if time has stopped. Heart pounding so loud choso is sure y/n can hear it. Shit— he was sure she could see the way it was practically beating out of his chest, rattling around his rib cage as if it bursting out of his chest was the only way she’d believe his words.

Thud

Thud

Thud

“Cho-“ “shhh.. ju-just” the large man steps closer, closing the small gap between them. His callused hands reaching out, gently cupping y/ns face. Thumbs caressing her rose tinted cheeks with a tenderness neither knew he possessed.

Dark brown eyes searching, looking for any sign that she wants him to stop as he moves closer. Eyes darting between y/ns and her pretty lips. The lips he’s been dying to feel against his for over a month now. Y/ns eyes fluttering closed is enough of a sign for Choso to take. So he does.

It’s so pathetic— the noise that escapes chosos throat as he pushes his slightly chapped lips against y/ns perfectly smooth lips. Not caring that they taste a little salty from the popcorn she was eating just moments ago. Y/ns bottom lip slotted perfectly between both of his. One hand moving from her face to the back of her head, fingers carding through her soft hair—not leaving any room to move away. Never getting away from him, not after this.

The feeling is so hard to describe. Choso doesn’t understand how something so simple can feel so good and mean so much. Y/ns hands bunch up in Chosos white tee, pulling him closer. Needing to feel him everywhere, needing him to be as close as possible as their lips work together like they’re meant to be doing this.

So perfectly in sync, moving at a rhythm that was soft and sweet. Y/n so pliant in Chosos hands as he kicks the door closed with a slam, and nudging her back, deeper into the small room.

“Cho” y/n whimpers in her delicate voice that Choso loves so much, breaking the kiss, but not moving back. Pupils blown wide, breath heavy and the smallest smile gave it all away. Choso didn’t need to hear what y/n was going to say, he already knew just from the way she was looking at him. And he wasn’t so sure why it took him so long to realize that she always looked at him like this.

“I love you too Cho”

But it still felt good to hear out loud.

“Who told you to call me baby?” Y/n giggles as Choso tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear like this is some sort of romance movie.

“Gojo says that’s how he gets all the girls to fall for him”

Guess Gojo was right for once.

I am not a good writer.. but I’m trying :( I used to write a lot and was pretty decent, so im just getting back in the groove.

Yall! I got this emo boy to start calling me bunny and now I’m living my Wattpad fantasy lol

ALSO!!! I love to write psycho stalker obsessed type stuff.. so who do you think would be like that from jjk??? And I’ll write it :)

Taglist: @vellichor01 @loveyislost @ersharyzst @koreluvsspring @gradmacoco @emlient @namjooningera

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

Request: Could I get fem reader x demon where the demon and reader meet at a book shop, but suprise it's the demons book shop. It's neat closing, so after seeing read buying monster romance book, he gives her the real thing!

A/N: Accidentally very romantic (and a bit sad), probably will expand in the future because I really like the plot. Enjoy!

The curse

Demon x fem!reader || size difference, tail play

You’ve come to this library since it opened. It’s just around the corner from your house and you are completely in love with the vibe and the general aura of the place. It smells like old books and something sweet you can’t quite point out.

Most of the time it seems like there’s nobody around, not even somebody to ring your purchases, but you feel at home there. It’s like there’s a vibe in the air that makes you be so quiet and calm, your brain shuts up for a bit while you are browsing different titles, and it’s just… peaceful in a world that’s too noisy.

So you started to spend more and more time in the library, you didn’t even know why, but every time you left your house, something urged you in that direction. So you comply with your baser urges and end up walking into the library with a soft “hello” that nobody answers. As soon as you enter, calm washes over you.

Your feet walk on their own to the monsterfucker section, always well stocked. “Always around the monsterfucker books, human, I’m starting to think you have a kink...” A deep voice resonates behind you, half amused, half teasing.

You let out a loud yelp and turn around so fast your feet slip under you, and you feel the world tilting his axis as you fall to the ground. Your ass sounds like a thud when you hit the hardwood, an imposing figure appearing out of thin air with a smirk so big you can see his fangs. He’s magnificent, big and completely red, his eyes so dark they feel endless and his wings so wide you are a bit scared he’s going to knock the shelves over.

“Who- who are you?” You stutter, your heart is going so fast you almost think it’s trying to escape your chest.

He chuckles, looking at you with something close to… fondness? “I’m the owner of the place,” he finally says, bored, as if he’s said that exact same thing a thousand of times. His big body is leaning against the books you were just looking at, and there’s fire burning inside his deep black eyes. Literal fire that ignites something deep and primal inside your chest making you gasp. He looks relaxed and cool, very much like one of the book boyfriends of your preferred romances.

“I’ve never seen you around?” You intend it as an affirmative, but sounds more like a question.

“Haven’t you?” He asks you, his head tilted to the side as he bites back a smile. “The library has a spell, nobody can remember me outside these walls. But who do you think has been checking your books before you buy them? Giving you personalized recommendations based on the ones you already bought?” He tries to play it as if it’s funny, but you see past his cold demeanor and into his very sad eyes.

“That… that makes no sense,” you let out.

Your brain is spinning and you want nothing more than to believe him, something in your chest is pried open and exposed, like a nerve you didn’t know was there but it’s screaming at you to understand whatever he’s saying.

“Of course it does. Come here,” he extends his hand to help you up.

The second your fingers touch an avalanche of memories flood your brain.

Him telling you about the books he likes. You telling him about your obsession with monster romance. Him offering you some tea and sitting in silence with you as you both read. You talking about your past and your most embarrassing memories as you both laugh...

You remember him giving back your memories every time you touch, and how it grew on you. How he changed the way of introduction everyday… and how he said goodbye every evening when you had to go, eyes sad and a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Why did you do that?” You ask, breathlessly.

Your brain continues spinning, and feelings you don’t know if you can name start blooming inside of you. It feels like one of those night flowers that close during certain hours just to open up again when the sun sets. He’s the moon rising in the horizon as your heart pulls you to him as if blooming...

He smiles, even more relaxed than before, releasing your hand and playing with the cover of a book that has a monster very similar to him on the cover. “What did I do?” He teases, a tiny smile showing his fangs.

“Why did you erase my memory every time I leave?” You ask, and deep inside your head there’s a memory of you asking something similar already.

And just like last time, he reminds you: “It’s a norm. The library forbids people from remembering me, that’s how’s supposed to be.” He sounds like a broken record when he tells you that, emotionless and bored as if it doesn’t mean anything, but you can see past that.

“Then… Then…” You try to threaten but nothing comes to mind. He’s staring at you with amusement, one eyebrow raised. And then you surprise you both: “Then I won’t leave.”

He stares at you with confusion, his eyebrows raised and his eyes big in surprise. “What?”

“I won’t leave. If leaving the place means forgetting you… I won’t leave.” It seems like the most reasonable solution and you curse yourself internally for not realizing it sooner.

He laughs without humor. “You don’t mean that. You have a life outside. You have things to do, a work to attend to…”

You cut him. “I will figure it out. I’m not leaving you again. I- I… I have feelings for you,” you confess. You don’t know where all this bravado and confidence is coming from, but every memory spinning inside your head screams at you to tell him how important he is in your life.

He moves so fast you barely see him before his hands are cupping your jaw and his lips are over yours. He’s so tall you are on your tiptoes, and in a second his hands are on the back of your thighs and he’s pulling you up against his chest. This angle is so much better and you are teasing his lips with your tongue, asking for permission.

His mouth parts and you are soon exploring every inch of his mouth, running your tongue over his fangs until he’s moaning against your mouth and his hands are massaging your ass. It’s the most passionate kiss you’ve shared with anybody, and the fact that is him, the fact that he’s a cursed demon and you are in his lair… It only makes it hotter. You feel like one of your book heroines, and you know what’s next. Your pussy knows what’s next.

“Make love to me?” You whisper against his lips, pulling back just enough to stare into his deep black eyes. He blinks slowly, and a wicked smile spreads on his face.

He moves his hand to the side and, just like that, you both are naked and pressing against each other. Your back finds the shelves and some books fall around you, but you don’t care, you can’t care when his hands are cupping your boobs and pinching your nipples. His tail curling around your middle and the tip of it finding your clit. To your utter mortification you are more than drenched, and the second his tail touches your clit, you cry out in an orgasm that leaves both of you surprised.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he says with a low chuckle. He looks so smug you want to kick him. Or kiss him senseless, you aren’t sure which one yet.

“Ugh, shut up and stop looking so smug,” you tell him, your hand pushing at his face like an annoying bug. He laughs against your palm, pressing a kiss against it and then against your forehead.

“Do you want me to shut up? Or do you want me to fuck you?” He teases, leaning down to peck at your lips.

You are breathing hard when you answer: “Both.”

His finger travels down your body until they rest against your opening, silently asking for permission before you nod. He kisses you at the same time he pushes two fingers inside your tight channel, making you moan against his lips. He starts a maddening pace, stretching you with his fingers until you are at the edge of a second orgasm and your brain is swimming in a mix of desire and pent up sexual frustration.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, please just fuck me already!” It comes out like a shout, and he chuckles as he pulls his fingers back.

“What my human desires, my human gets.”

He aligns his cock with your pussy, and slowly starts breaching you. He’s big, way bigger than any human you’ve been with, but the spark of pain only makes everything better. Your head is thrown back, and he’s holding you with just one arm as his free hand rubs slow circles over your pointy nipple. You are almost there… You can feel his dick hitting your G-spot… And when his tail touches your clit, you explode into a thousand pieces again.

“I- I’m starting to think your tail is magic,” you joke when your brain comes back from an amazing high.

“It’s not my tail, it’s you,” and with that affirmation he starts fucking you like a powered machine.

You chant his name as he fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow. He holds you to the shelves as the books fall around you, batting some with his hand when they fall dangerously close to your head. He grunts and groans, telling you how good your pussy is and how wonderful you feel around his dick. You are desperate to come again, your body in such need, you can’t even form proper thoughts as he keeps fucking you into oblivion.

“I’m gonna come, darling, I’m so close,” his voice sounds like a plea, and you grab his horns with force, kissing him senseless as you help him bounce you on his cock.

Your third orgasm is nothing like the ones before. The combination of the kiss, his dick and his tail playing with your clit is so good your brain short-circuits and you pant open-mouthed against his lips. His own noises joining yours as he comes deep inside, his release hot and sticky inside your welcoming heat.

You stay like that for a while, your body shivering in aftershocks and his breathing erratic. But reality arrives way sooner than you want it to.

Your brain is spinning in the thousand and one ways it could end wrong. The thousand and one things you should do if you really want to be there with him. But most of all, you need to figure out how to break the curse in the library so you can remember him when you leave. And for that you need to get out and go back home, start researching…

“You have to go, don’t you?” He asks against your neck, his face buried there as he kisses along your jaw.

Your heart is hammering inside your chest before you answer. “I have work tomorrow, but I’ll be back and we’ll figure it out. It’s too late for me to call and arrange for me to start working from home. But I’ll do it. I swear I will.” He doesn’t say anything when he helps you get dressed and walks you to the door. He looks very sad when you leave that day, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Sure…” He agrees, but you know he doesn’t believe you.

The sound of the door closing behind you leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, but you can’t exactly figure out why...

A/N: I’m sorry for that ending (but lowkey not).

[starmatzz]

Hiiiii

I NEED a smut inspired by the song "Let the world burn" and that new trending audio "loveyouloveyouloveyou" on dom yunho

IT SCREAMS CRAZYYYY

and maybe not jump into action right away a lil foreplay would be GREAT 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Let The World Burn

classmate!yunho x fem!reader | smut, 1.8k

nsfw tags dom/sub, vaginal sex, pet names, violence, death, possessive, stalking, ropes, bondage, orgasm, penetration, touching

You woke up on a cold, unforgiving floor. A dull ache pulsed through your body as you tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge—they were tightly bound. Panic rose in your chest as your mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was running.

Running through a dark alley.

Running from someone.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A deep voice emerged from the shadows before the figure stepped forward. It was him.

Jeong Yunho—your classmate. The one you had caught staring at you far too often in class. The one who always seemed to be watching. And every time a guy showed interest in you, they mysteriously stopped coming to school the next day. Or came injured. 

Now you knew why.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on your face, his lips curling into a smile—one that sent a chill down your spine.

“I never wanted things to turn out this way,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you left me no choice.”

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all

And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love

Look what it made me become

His voice softened, almost gentle. “You love me, y/n. We belong together—you just don’t see it yet.”

Then, his smile widened, dark and unhinged. “But that’s okay. You’re here now. You can’t run anymore.” He took a slow step closer. “And I’ll make you understand.”

And I know you think you can run

You're scared to believe I'm the one

But I just can't let you go

“So… beautiful.”

His hands trembled as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t recoil—not with the ropes biting into your skin.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Yunho suddenly pulled away, flashing you a smile before disappearing into the shadows. The moment he left, everything clicked. From the anonymous notes that kept appearing on your doorstep, through the unsettling feeling of being watched, to your underwear disappearing from the changing room after sports class while you were showering. 

It had all been him.

Before you could process it any further, Yunho returned—this time dragging someone with him. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remember Yeosang?” he asked, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. “He asked you to prom.”

Your stomach twisted as you took in the sight before you. Yeosang—bruised, bound, with tape covering his mouth—struggled against Yunho’s grip, his eyes wide with terror.

Yunho only smiled.

Fear in their eyes

Ash raining from the blood orange sky

I let everybody know that you're mine

Now it's just a matter of time

Without warning, Yunho pulled out a knife, the blade glinting under the dim light. Before you could react, he pressed it against Yeosang’s neck, his grip unyielding.

“No one can have you,” he growled, his voice laced with possessive fury. “Only me.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dragged the blade across Yeosang’s throat.

A sickening sound filled the air—a wet, gurgling choke as Yeosang’s body convulsed. His wide, pleading eyes met yours for a fleeting second before the life drained from them. Blood spilled down his chest, soaking his shirt, pooling at his feet.

Yunho let him go, and his body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun.

But Yunho? He simply wiped the blade clean, turning back to you with that same twisted smile.

I'd let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end

If I can't have you then no one can

Yunho let the bloodied knife fall to the floor with a soft clang, his focus shifting entirely to you. Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the distance before kneeling beside you.

His hand reached out, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. The touch was gentle—almost tender—yet it sent a wave of dread coursing through your veins.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.

Yunho’s expression flickered, his brows knitting together as if your words had wounded him. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hurt you?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. “Darling, I would never.”

He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “How could I? You mean everything to me.”

As if to prove his point, he cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. But no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how tender his caress seemed, the blood still stained his hands.

Yunho's palm slid down to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your pink shirt, his touch possessive and sure. Raw desire blazed in his eyes as he watched you, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze.

“You're so beautiful,” he growled, squeezing your breast until you gasped. His hand traveled lower, trailing fire across your stomach before finding the hem of your skirt. His fingers teased along your thigh, making promises his touch would soon fulfill.

“So pretty..my pretty girl, all mine,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. One hand held you firmly, fingers tangled in your hair, while the other remained poised, as if daring you to challenge his claim. 

His hand ventured beneath your skirt, but you reacted swiftly, clamping your legs together and bending your knee to kick him in the stomach.

"Don't you dare touch me," you warned, your voice steady and firm despite the adrenaline coursing through you. Yunho's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in their depths. 

Yunho huffed, clutching his stomach as he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features. But the shock quickly morphed into anger, and his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. The air between you crackled with tension, his fury palpable as he regained his footing, the predator in him reawakened.

“I wanted to make it nice for the both of us,” he growled, rolling up the sleeves of his button up, “but you're not leaving me with any other alternative.”

With that, he took steps forward, pushing up the fabric of your skirt before ripping your panties in one swift motion. 

“Whore..” He mumbled under his breath, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers fumbled in his pocket. You barely had time to react before he pulled out a roll of black tape, his hands shaking slightly—whether from excitement or something more unhinged, you couldn’t tell.

With an eerie sort of patience, he tore off a strip, the sharp rip of adhesive filling the tense silence.

He grinned, pressing the tape firmly over your lips. His touch lingered for a second, as if savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingertips.

Your muffled whimper was the only sound you could make now. Panic surged through you, your body twisting instinctively against the ropes, but it was useless.

He shouted directly at you, his finger jabbing towards Yeosang's motionless form on the ground, exclaiming, “What do the other guys have that I lack?!”

He forced himself between your legs, before grasping your bound arms and securing them above your head, unzipping his jeans.

“Fuck, you're all pink down there,” he exhaled, his eyes focused on your private part, “It's a pity I'm going to ruin this pretty cunt right now.”

He didn't hesitate for a moment; he pushed in immediately. You whimpered over the tape as the pressure and burning sensation overwhelmed you, and you instinctively tried to squirm away.

Yunho groaned. The warmth and wetness of your pussy was driving him insane. He proceeded, his long fingers grabbing your hips in a bruising grip as he set a steady rhythm. 

He pounded into you, his gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every trace of fear.

You couldn’t bear it—the pain was unbearable. Strands of hair clung to your damp skin as your body trembled, shaken by both agony and fear. 

“Love you, love you… I love you so much,” he babbled, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, as if trying to make you understand the depth of his obsession.

Nails dug into your palms as Yunho refused to stop, his hands pressing firmly against your shoulders. He grabbed you tightly, fucking deep into you. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, causing a piercing pain to wash all over your body. 

“Did it hurt?” he cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy because repeating the same movement over and over. 

“You’re mine, y/n. Finally mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possession. “See? We fit perfectly together.”

He looked down, watching his cock disappear in your pussy. The way you stretched around him, how you cried and whimpered, it was all his fuel. Keeping his gaze on your face as he moved his hands from your shoulders, he gently cradled your breasts, squeezing them. 

Yunho continued fucking into you, curses and moans escaping his lips. He leaned closer, sucking and biting the soft skin on your neck, below your ear and over your collarbone. 

“Oh god..I'm close..” he whimpered, his eyebrows pulling in in taunt as his thrusts have become twitchy. Your sweet scent enveloped him, sending a dizzying rush through his body, as if every nerve was awakened at once, leaving him lightheaded and lost in the intoxicating fragrance of you.

His large hand slid up your thigh, his grip tightening as he squeezed. “Fuck, look how deep I am in your pretty cunt...” he breathed out, massaging the bulge in your abdomen. 

You laid there, motionless, waiting for him to finish, the stillness pressing down on you.

“Your eyes are mesmerizing,” he murmured, leaning in, his fingers softly brushing the hair from your face. “I wish I could see you look at me like this every day.”

He slowly withdrew, his cock rubbing against your velvety walls, before forcefully slamming back in. You cried out, the sound muffled by the tape, as your hands shook uncontrollably from the excruciating pain, each tremor making the ache feel even more unbearable.

“Ah..fuck!” Yunho suddenly groaned, staying buried deep inside you. His hips twitches as he came hard, filling you up. 

“So pretty…” he mumbled, his breath shallow as he struggled to regain control, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled out, watching the strings of thick cum connecting his tip and your pulsating slit. 

Suddenly he pushed back in, rolling his hips in circles as he continued fucking you through his orgasm. “Don’t think we’re over, princess,” he smirked, his eyes glinting as he watched the fear spread across your face. Your eyes widened in realization, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.