#I want him to be so goddamn unsettling

[narratorstrash]

Slight spoilers for LMK season 5 ig but I have to rant;

Do you think the whole chaos/order thing going on in that season (& likely continuing into the next season) means the Chinese god of primordial chaos (the same kind of chaos NHD was talking about on the last ep of the season) Hundun might make an appearance & possibly be the higher power pulling the strings we kept getting hints to in season 5? Does that mean he would be a sort of narrative foil to Nuwa (who obviously represents the side of order), like different ‘solutions’ to the same ‘problem’?

Do you think Wukong & Macaque are meant to represent the imbalance of the universe in a VERY literal sense? Like, Wukong came into existence just to cause chaos in a too organized world while Macaque came into existence to measure out Wukong’s chaos? I know MK is called ‘The Harbinger of Chaos’, but Wukong also used to be ‘The Havoc of Heaven’ which are definitely VERY close descriptors. I mean, the Heavenly kingdom is very clearly representing itself as the deciding body of order in LMK, but it’s also clear that have little to ZERO clue what they’re actually doing (Li Jing) and/or don’t have the real power to decide anything about the balance even if they want to (Nezha & Azure Lion).

Is MK really the harbinger of chaos, or is he just the warning everyone kept ignoring until the problem exploded right in front of them? Does MK even fully understand the power this forced title holds? How he is part of the weight that balances a scale before it falls over itself? Did Wukong ever understand his own similar title?

I fear Macaque is right; they really are a bit too alike for comfort. Maybe the loss of Macaque (as the orderly counterpart to Wukong) meant that chaos could completely fly off the handle and throw the world into the ‘early restart’ Nuwa mentioned? Does that mean there could be another celestial monkey we’ll get to meet that becomes the new representation of order to act as a narrative foil for MK (like LBD used to be)? Is there already another monkey of order out there?

Will the sun and the moon clash again? Will the consequences be the same (history repeats itself) or will they be far more dire (history learns from itself)?

Will the cycle never end as long as someone who thinks they know better than the universe remains in power?

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[paulyenvol6]

Aftermath

Joel Miller x female reader (OS)

This is just 5,000 words of smut with mean Joel, hope you enjoy it :)

Contains: smut, dubcon, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (m receiving), fingering, slight breeding kink, daddy kink, mean and dom!Joel, sub!reader, pet names (bitch, slut, whore), degrading, praising, crying, punishment, spanking, gagging, rough sex, forced exhibitionism, objectification, angst, a little fluff at the end

Wordcount: ~5.53k

Masterlist

The air hit your naked arms as soon as you stepped outside the restaurant which gave you goosebumps.

Under any other circumstances you might have asked Joel for his jacket but despite feeling defiant and stubborn you knew that you had pissed him off too much already.

It was the way he stared ahead without even as much as glancing at you. All of these things he usually did like wrapping an arm around your waist or looking at you every now and then in order to make sure you were fine he didn't do right now.

"Joel," you started trying to sound as relaxed and unbothered as possible although you felt a little panicky.

"Walk," was all he answered and for a moment you stopped smoking and walking to look at him.

"What?"

Now he finally wrapped his arm around your back but not to comfort you but to drag you with him.

"Joel, what the – " "Shut up. And put this out," he hissed and forcefully pulled the cigarette out of your mouth.

'No,' you thought and turned to him. Who did he think he was treating you like a kid? You pushed at his chest while simultaneously reaching for the cigarette but he was stronger than you and quickly took hold of your wrists.

"Will you quit the fighting now?" he growled and you hated how calm he sounded while you were feeling like you were making a fool of yourself.

"Let me go," you answered but the way you dropped your head and how you were avoiding his gaze gave your true feelings away. He chuckled at you while putting the cigarette that he had just taken from you into his own mouth.

"Give it back," you demanded but only got another evil smirk in response.

"No."

"Please. I'm sorry."

He raised his eyebrows acting all surprised. "Oh you're sorry? For what?"

Why did he have to humiliate you like this every goddamn time? You chewed on your bottom lip thinking of a way not to give him exactly what he wanted but before you could even open your mouth he had already turned around to continue the short walk to his car while pulling you with him. For a second you were almost relieved figuring that he might let you off this easily but of course he wasn't finished yet.

"Answer me."

You despised how he was able to intimidate you with so little he needed to say and suddenly you felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have spend so much time talking t-to Charles."

Your voice was barely more than a whisper and for a moment you feared he would make you repeat your apology but he remained silent which unsettled you more than anything else.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you said a little louder. "I really am."

You stood in front of the car now but neither of you intended to enter it. To be fair, he had the car keys so there was nothing you could do anyway. All of a sudden he took a stepd towards you and it was such a powerful movement that you instinctively took one back. His dark eyes laid on your face for a while until his hand slowly approached your chin.

"Not Joel," he growled dangerously. You gulped loudly and slightly shifted under his grip.

"Please, Joel, I – "

The slap came unexpected and so hard that your head turned to the side and a gasp left your mouth. Your cheek stung and at first you open-mouthedly stared at him but then the irrational side of you took over and you fought. You pushed at his chest and moved away from him but his arms came down to firmly grab your upper arms. Before you were able to form a single straight thought in your head Joel had moved you towards the car and now you were trapped between the door and his strong body.

"You best not be doin' this, kitten," he said sounding almost gleeful. "You don't want this."

He precisely watched your face while tilting his head a little as if he was waiting for an answer. But you were definitely too emotional to speak.

"You don't wanna get into more trouble than you're already in."

"Joel," you tried but were quickly interrupted as his hand came down to your neck.

"No. Try again."

"Please…," you begged him realizing now how pissed he actually was but his eyes were completely merciless. His hand slightly squeezed around your throat making you inhale greedily fearing that he might cut off your air supply.

"No. Go on, you know the word, babygirl."

"Daddy," it eventually broke out of you and his grip loosened a little while his face didn't change at all. He looked so cold that a shiver ran down your spine and you had to blink a few times.

"There… we go," he murmured and then before you could try and ask him for his forgiveness Joel had started to open his belt and you felt your heart sink.

He did not only want to use sex as a punishment for you but he also wanted it to happen here? You were definitely down for getting on your knees for him if it meant that he would forgive you but you didn't feel like doing it on a parking space where someone could walk by any minute.

And yet you kept those thoughts to yourself at first and watched his hands open his jeans. Once he was done he suddenly yanked your head back which made you shriek but he was quick to place a hand on your mouth.

"You're gonna shut the fuck up now or I'll shove somethin' way bigger than my cock down your throat, you understand me?"

You quietly whimpered but nodded with your head.

"You fucking know that ya pissed me off. You did a heck of a job with that." You closed your eyes trying to ignore the way your scalp stung under his force but he immediately shook you.

"Look at me, bitch." You couldn't help it and let out a sob which Joel utterly ignored.

"I ain't too fond of seeing some guy lookin' at ya like that. But what I hate even more – " He came even closer to you with his mouth almost brushing over your jaw "Is you enjoying it."

"I didn't, daddy. I swear it to you, I didn't enjoy it."

He laughed lowly but there was nothing warm about the sound.

"Every fucking person at the table saw it, you filthy little liar. Everyone saw you blinking your eyes and giving him that goddamn stupid smile like you're nothing but a empty-headed slut that's pretty to look at."

Tears collected in the corner of your eyes and you knew that if he continued to talk to you that way it would be a matter of seconds until they would roll down your face.

"Please, daddy. I'm sorry… I… I really am. I only want you, please."

He cruelly smirked and suddenly roughly grabbed your left breasts through the fabric of your shirt.

"I know ya do. 'Cause when it comes down to it ya run back to daddy thinking he'll fix everything. You think you can act like a whore and then come back to me at the end of the day, spread your legs an' everythin' will be fine. Daddy's gonna protect and forgive ya 'cause you're such a sweet l'il thing."

You felt the familiar feeling of your nipple hardening under his rough hand and when he ran his thumb over the bud you gasped.

"Yeah, s'right. Wanna hear you moan. Wanna hear you proving my fucking point."

He was so close to you now that you felt his bulge pressing against your center and you couldn't help but slightly grind against him.

"S'not gonna go on like this," he growled and forcefully removed your hands that had started to pull at his arms by pinning them to the car next to your body.

"I have a feeling you need a lesson in how to behave yourself. 'Cause you ain't gonna go around throwing yourself against those pretty boys any longer. I'm gonna remind you who this little body belongs to. And 'cause my words ain't enough to make you obey me I'll find a different way."

His hand returned to its previous position on your chest and he roughly kneaded the flesh. You were stunned and felt the blood rushing in your cheeks while looking down to his big hand connected to your body.

"D-Daddy," you whined and desired some stimulation on your clit so badly that you rocked your core against his thigh between your legs. You just couldn't help yourself. Joel granted you the space for a few seconds before removing his hands from your body.

"On your fucking knees," he hissed and in the dim light his eyes looked so dark that you couldn't make out his pupils. For some reason it unsettled you because he watched you like a predator examining his prey. An animal thinking about what it would do to its victim.

You were torn from your thoughts when Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you down.

"I said. On your fucking knees. Or do I have to make you?"

You placed your hands on his trying to prevent him from ripping out your hair while your face was distorted in pain.

"Please Daddy, do I have to do it here? Where someone could watch?"

"Do you think you're in the position to demand anything of me right now?" he spoke through grinded teeth and increased the force with which he pulled you down. It was simply too much now because you felt you had no choice but to move to the ground and suddenly you found yourself kneeling in front of him.

"I'm gonna do it and I'm gonna be good, I swear. But please, in the car at least?" you begged and didn't care how pathetic you must look to him. It was even harder to make out his facial expression from the position you were in now so all you could do was wait for his answer. And it came. In the form of his cock.

He pulled down his jeans just so much that he could free his already hard cock. As always you looked at his member with wide eyes thinking that he definitely was the biggest you had ever seen. He was veiny, thick and long and… beautiful.

Before you had met Joel you had often caught yourself thinking that the male genitals were a little disgusting if you were being honest with yourself and that you could pretty much do without a man's cock when you were being intimate with someone. But then you had seen him for the first time and from this moment on you felt like touching him at all times.

He felt so good in your hand; so heavy and soft and when you twirled your tongue around his tip you could taste his saltiness and your favourite part was when he twitched inside of your mouth. And you didn't even want to start with having him inside of you. When he fucked you nice and slow you could feel every inch and every vein so intensely. He could reach so deep inside of you that he sometimes hit your cervix and when he found the right angle he managed to hit that spongy spot inside of you while his balls simultaneously stimulated your clit.

But now… Now he was angry and you knew he wouldn't make it easy for you.

"Open," his husky voice ordered you and you stuck out your tongue just the way he liked it.

You put everything in your eyes; everything that he wanted to see when he intended to punish you. Submissiveness, weakness, vulnerability, obedience. Because as much as he felt like you needed to be reminded of your place, he needed to be reminded that you were his and that he could do everything he wanted to you as well. That you needed him and were fully dependend on him.

Even in the darkness you could see something glistening in his eyes and then he pushed two fingers in your mouth.

"Suck," he said but you wouldn't have needed the command.

Your tongue immediately swirled around the digits as if it was the tastiest thing you've ever had in your mouth and when you heard Joel quietly moan you felt a little more hopeful again. You would show him, prove him how good you were and how eager you were to please him.

The first time you struggled a little was when he went deeper. You didn't have a very strong gagging reflex but at some point you couldn't help it and let out a sound of displeasure. You didn't even know whether Joel did this to prepare you for his cock and this was an act of kindness or he simply wanted to see you choke on his fingers before entering you but based on his current state of mind you assumed it was the first.

Your hands gripped his jeans while he forced his fingers down your throat and you felt spit running out of the corner of your mouth. This would be messy but you were beyond the point of caring about anything that didn't surround him.

"Take it, kitten. C'mon, be a good girl for daddy."

And you wanted to be good so badly. You had hurt him, betrayed him although you wanted him to be able to trust you. How could you have done this after Joel had been so kind to you? Suddenly you felt more tears welling in your eyes and you weren't certain if they were caused by the intrusion or your sudden sadness.

He pushed deeper, so deep that you thought if he went an inch deeper you would have to beg him to stop but then it was suddenly over.

You blinked twice and Joel clearly used your astonishment to swiftly insert his cock into your still open mouth and he sighed deeply once he felt the wetness and warmth of it. "Fuck…"

In the meantime you were trying to adjust to his size and find a way to properly inhale. You forced yourself to breathe steadily and did everything in your power to ignore the way his tip grazed the back of your throat. 'Don't think about it, don't think about it,' was you mantra because you knew if you really paid attention to how deep he actually was it would only worsen everything. Instead you concentrated on your lips and how they tightly wrapped around his shaft.

At first Joel enjoyed taking in the way you felt around him but then he began to fuck your throat as if you were nothing but a little toy for him to get off. His hand grabbed the back of your head holding you in place and then he backed out a little only to take your throat all the way.

You whimpered and noticed the fresh tears burning in your eyes but didn't dare to complain. He simply didn't care. He would take you the way he wanted, use your throat and do whatever it was he craved. And right now it seemed like he wanted to destroy your mouth.

"Holy shit," Joel cursed and put his left hand on the car for support. "Can't believe m'not doing this all the fucking time. Need to remind myself of how good your little throat feels more often, mhm?"

He lightly slapped your cheek with his hand which caused you to moan and him humming in satisfaction as the vibrations of your mouth stimulated his cock so perfectly.

"Where am I gonna put my cum, huh? Any preferences, baby?" he laughed about his own words being well–aware that even if you wanted to say something, you weren't able to and then watched you thoughtfully.

"Maybe m'gonna make you choke on it. Or paint your pretty face. I think it would look good mixed with your little tears."

All you could do was just look at him and wait. It wasn't your decision to make after all and so you just tried your best to hold back the sound of you gagging around him.

Soon you sensed that he grew closer to his release as his thrusts became more sloppy and his grunts became louder and all you prayed for was that he wouldn't come down your throat. You were already sore, your jaw was aching and you needed a moment of peace as quickly as possible.

Perhaps it was the first time that you were in luck tonight because Joel seemed to have made a choice and suddenly pulled out of you.

"Stick your tongue out, baby," he growled darkly and then threw his head back. "Ohh fuck… Yeah, that's it…. Take it all."

You sat patiently obediently looking up to him with an open mouth and for a moment felt very proud of yourself for having followed his demands so well. Joel pumped himself over and over again until he was sure he had emptied himself entirely and then really looked at you again.

You must have been a sight with your hair sticking to your forehead, tears and cum covering your face while there certainly was drool running down your chin. The corner of his mouth twitched and then he slapped your cheek, softer now than before.

And yet it frustrated you because you had believed he would be more gentle with you now and some part of you had even assmued that your punishment would be over now.

"Open your legs," he hissed and his foot moved between your knees to part them. You wore a long skirt so it was easy to do as he had told you and you spread them all while still having your teary eyes on him.

"Touch yourself. On your clit."

You frowned but slipped your hand past the elastic waistband of your skirt and then began to rub your clit through your panties.

"Can't I – " you started but were immediately interrupted by Joel.

"No, you can't stand up. Little whores like you belong on the ground. Y'can be glad I allow you to prepare yourself a little and don't just fuck you like this an' split you open."

As if you actually needed the preparation. You were dripping, your arousal soaking your panties but for the first time you actually weren't quite sure if Joel did this for you. There was no other reason for him to demand this of you apart from making sure you were well-prepared and wet for him. Well, you definitely felt humiliated and degraded kneeling in front of him on the dirty ground while touching yourself so if this was his intention he was succeeding, but it was not worse than having your throat destroyed the way he had just done.

You went in tight circles around your clit, just the way you liked it which felt good and yet you craved Joel's hands on you. His big hands touching you gently and softly everywhere you liked it. In these moments you felt so safe and protected and suddenly a new wave of anxiety hit you hard.

You were supposed to lay in his arms instead of sitting here in front of him. He looked so tall and powerful while you couldn't remember ever feeling so pathetic. And you hated how angry he looked as there was no sign of love or warmth on his face.

It started when you felt your hands trembling which disturbed your movement on your clit after a while. And then it was your bottom lip shaking and soon your whole body shivered uncontrolled. Joel didn't notice at first or perhaps he didn't care. He palmed himself at the sight of you letting out little sighs every now and then but when there were new tears coating your cheeks and your eyes weren't on him anymore he reached down to cup your chin.

"Babygirl," he whispered and lifted your head but you refused to look at him feeling too embarrassed.

"Look at me." You shook your head again and now also stopped rubbing your clit.

"I want you to look at me. Now."

Silence.

"Don't make me fuckin' repeat myself, kitten."

At this point you couldn't refuse anymore because you feared the consequences of your resistance. It didn't really matter anyway because your sight was so blurry that you could barely make out Joel's face but what you could see was the way he lifted his eyebrows.

"Y'know ya got yourself in this position, right? You know why I'm doin' this."

You blinked and bit your lip in order to surpress a cry. "Answer me. I wanna know you're fuckin' listenin' to me."

His grip on your chin tightened and you nodded with the amount of space he was giving you. "Yes. I know."

You felt embarrassed again by how thin and weak your voice sounded but Joel didn't give any time to think about it because he was already opening his mouth again.

"Good. You acted like a little slut. And you need to get punished for it. But what I can see right now is you bawling your eyes out like a little girl 'cause it ain't feel as good as you would've liked. Is that right, huh?"

You nodded because what else were you supposed to do? Deny it? Fight back? It would only make him more mad.

"So lemme tell you that it's supposed to be like that. You're supposed to feel pathetic 'cause you are pathetic. I wanna make you see what happens when you ignore my words. And now you're gonna swallow it up and do as I tell you. If not we're gonna leave but believe me darlin', you're gonna hate it even more than this. 'Cause I ain't gonna be nice to you until you took your fucking punishment. 'Cause you fuckin' deserve it." 

He waited for you to react to his words and you nodded again.

"Okay," you breathed and tried to hold back the next wave of tears.

"You're gonna take it now?"

You hiccuped once but meant it when you whispered "Yes." Joel dropped your head at once as if he had burned himself and went back to massaging his cock.

"Go on. Want your pussy nice 'an wet for me when I fuck you."

And so you continued what you had started and went over your clit with your thumb. It felt good but you feared that you were too emotionally loaded to orgasm but luckily Joel didn't have this much patience anyway. He watched your kneeling figure for a few minutes while touching himself and then when he was hard enough again his feet that was still resting between your knees tapped against your thigh.

"Up," he commanded and you rose with wobbly knees. For a moment you were dizzy, having sat on the ground for quite a while now but Joel didn't care or didn't notice because he immediately turned you around so your back was pressed to his chest.

He adjusted you like you were a rag doll, your flat hands against the car, your legs slightly spread and your skirt pulled up so your ass was exposed to the cold air. You couldn't see what he was doing which freaked you out so you turned around to look at him over your shoulder.

He was looking down to where his cock stood hard against his abdomen and then before you could even register his hand movement he slapped your ass. Hard.

Your teeth sank in your lower lip and when Joel ran hand over where it had come down you hissed out.

"C'mon. Let me hear you. Let it out, babygirl."

Now that you were standing up again his voice was louder against your ear and you felt goosebumps on your arms. Everything about this was so familiar with his strong body pressed against you, his scent in your nose and his voice sending tingles through your body. And yet, with the way he treated you as if he hated you, you couldn't feel more distant from him. Like he would rather see you gone.

He pulled down your panties to fully reveal what laid between your legs to him.

"Daddy," you whispered without even noticing that the sound had slipped past your lips.

"What, babygirl?" he answered and you quietly shrieked when you felt his tip sliding through your folds.

"Need you," you choked and when you felt his finger at your hole checking your wetness your hands reached behind you to touch his arm. You just needed something. Some assurance that he was still there for you despite his anger and disappointment.

"God, fuckin' drippin' all over me. You got off on this? Filthy little slut."

He pushed two fingers inside of you but seemed to decide that you really didn't need the preparation so he just thrusted inside of you twice and then pulled back again.

"Daddy," you whimpered again not sure what you were asking for and now Joel finally took his eyes off your pussy to look at you.

"What," he grunted sounding more than pissed and as a reaction your hand on his arm tightened.

"Please. Please, need you."

"Shut up. I swear to god, I don't wanna hear another sound coming out of your mouth if it's not your sweet voice moanin' f'me."

With these words he removed your hands from his body and before you could blink he was inside of you stretching you so well that your eyes became round as coins.

"Huh," you gasped and suddenly felt very grateful for the car in front of you because you really needed something to hold on to. Joel gave you a brief moment to adjust although he perhaps simply needed a second to take in your pussy as well and then started to move inside of you.

"Oh fuck… That's a nice little pussy. Takin' me so fuckin' well…"

His thrusts were deep and forceful as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him and that you were reminded of who the only person was who got to be inside of you.

"Mhmm…. You like that, babygirl? Like gettin' that pussy stretched?"

The whimper he got as a response seemed to be enough for him because he removed your hair to expose your neck and started to cover it with kisses and bitemarks. It was his first affectionate gesture since you had left the restaurant and although his teeth buried in your skin stung you felt relieved and grateful.

Every rational thought was banned from your mind. You had forgotten where you were, that this place wasn't appropriate to get your pussy fucked and that any person leaving the restaurant and walking to their car could see you.

His cock had taken over your mind. His voice, his beard stubble grazing over your neck. His hands on your hips holding you in place while he took from you what he wanted. And you wanted him to take and take until you were utterly consumed by him. Until you couldn't function without him and he was the only thing on your mind for all times.

And then when his hand reached around your hip to search for your clit you thought that it might be over. Your eyes rolled back and you bit your lip in an attempt to hold back the loud moan threatening to leave your mouth. Joel went in circles around your clit, pressing into the bundle of nerves every now and then and it was so good you felt your toes curl.

"Fuck," you pressed through closed teeth and felt your mind getting so clouded you forgot why he was even mad at you.

"I want ya to come f'me, baby. Want ya to soak my cock and clench 'round me. C'mon."

He slapped your ass at his words and increased the pace with which he stimulated your clit.

"Y-Yes," you pressed feeling the urge to communicate with him all of the sudden. "I-I… I wanna come, daddy."

His deep thrusts moved you against the car over and over again which hurt your hip bone that hit the door each time but you didn't care. Joel's mouth brushed over your hair, kissing you softly, but his hand that now moved around your upper body to wrap around your neck was in stark contrast to his gentle gesture. His iron grip prevented you from inhaling fresh air and for a moment you panicked and scratched his arm.

"Fuckin' relax. S'only gonna get worse if you fight back."

He held you in place like this and now you truly felt like a fuck toy. There was nothing you could do, his presence controlling every single one of your senses and eventually he made you come.

You were definitely too fucked out to tell him but Joel quickly noticed how you clenched around him and let out a satisfied growl.

"There ya go, honey." His hand between your legs slapped your clit which made you jolt and your head fell back on his shoulder.

"That's right, babygirl…"

You were too exhausted to even moan or say something so you just allowed these overwhelming feelings to spread throughout your body and you devoured every second of it.

Meanwhile Joel continued to use your body for his pleasure fucking you deep and moaning at the way your tight walls clenched and then soon he was about to come as well.

"Fuck yes, baby. Gonna fill ya up so good. You want that, huh? Wanna get knocked up by me?"

His hand squeezed your throat while his cock repeatedly pounded your sore pussy so roughly that you already knew you wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow.

"Who's body is this, babygirl? Tell me. Who's the only fuckin' person who gets to fuck this pussy? An' make her cum?"

You slightly tilted your head to look at him better while your trembling hands held on to his arms.

"It's your body, daddy. Only yours to look at and fuck."

He pressed down on your hips in order to trap you between his body and the car and then he finally came for the second time tonight and let out a deep grunt.

"Hell, yeah. That's it…"

Joel slowed down until he didn't move inside of you anymore but he didn't pull out yet. You on the other hand were hit by your post-orgasm blues and tightly clung to his arms while trying to turn around.

Suddenly you craved his presence and touch so badly that you let out a desperate cry and searched for his eyes. At some point Joel's gaze moved to your face and he noticed how needy you were. First he chuckled lowly but then he actually pulled out of you and turned your weak body around.

Your hands immediately moved to his chest and your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt while you pressed your face in the crouch of his neck.

"Baby…," he murmured and placed a hand on the back of your head.

Fearing that he might reject you or remove your hands from him you shook your head and thought that nothing could separate you from him right now. His big hand cradled your head and then his other hand wrapped around your back.

"Oh babygirl," he hummed and kissed your brow. "Look at me for a second."

You anxiously looked up to him but didn't move an inch away from his strong chest.

"Lemme get ya home. Then we can cuddle, alright?"

"N-No," you whimpered feeling as though letting go of him would be the worst thing that could happen right now but his hands firmly grabbed your shoulders.

"You know it's not a long drive. You're gonna get a cold if we'll stay here any longer. Just gonna drive us home and then you can go straight to bed."

You hesitated for a moment and questioningly watched him.

"Are you gonna stay with me, daddy?"

He smiled and a warmth filled your stomach. Or maybe it was the butterflies that were woken up. In either case, you realized how much you had missed his smile.

"Of course, babygirl. Gonna stay with ya all night."

You nodded slowly and took the hand he offered you. Although you felt a stitch in your stomach when you straightened up and immediately missed hearing his heartbeat, you allowed Joel to lead you to the other side of the car and entered it once he had opened the door.

Then within seconds he sat next to you and watched your face with warm eyes.

"You know I love ya, mhm?" he said with a low voice and you nodded while toying with your fingers.

"I love you too."

He started the car.

"Don't forget that, darlin'. Never."

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

omg can u do a small drabble where we’re arguing w toji and whenever we ask him a question he just reply’s with “no maam” or “yes maam” i need these so bad.

Yes Mam

Tags: Toji x fem!Reader, drabble, very slight angst, more fluff and crack than anything lol

An: Hiii! Thanks for your submission! I hope you don’t mind, but I added some period comfort throughout lol.

It had been a bad day.

It was the first and most brutal day of your period, and everything had been going wrong so far.

“Toji Fushiguro!” You shouted as your bottom touched the bitter cold toilet water. With no toilet seat to catch you, you had fallen right inside the bowl.

Your husband had a bad habit of leaving it up in the mornings. He was groggy when waking up, and he would forget to put the seat back down for you. When he was awake, he’d make a conscious effort to put it down so you wouldn’t fall in.

You were usually cautious enough to check before sitting down, but today you were in a rush and in too much of a pained headspace to think about checking. Thus, you had fallen right inside the golden throne with your knees to your chest and your bottom all cold and wet.

“Mam?” Toji replied as he peaked his head into the bathroom. His face contorted into the tightest expression to fight back a laugh. He knew that if he laughed at you right now, your mood would he sour for the rest of the day.

“You left the goddamn toilet seat up!” You whined, trying your best to let out a frustrated growl. Toji found you to be more cute than intimidating.

“I’m sorry, babydoll. Come here. Let me help you.” He said as he walked into the bathroom, extending his arm out to you as a peace offering.

You shook your head, deciding to get yourself up. You didn’t want peace. You needed retribution for his cosmic sin!

Toji watched as you climbed out of the toilet bowl. His lips were still pressed in a thin line. He could not even crack a smile right now.

“Did you even take out the trash like I asked?” You asked with a pointed gaze. Now, it was time to see what other misdeeds Toji had committed.

“Yes mam.” He replied as his gaze softened. He knew you were having a rough time and needed to vent out some frustrations. Too bad for you, Toji had been working around the house since he got out of bed this morning.

“What about the dishes-?”

“Washed and put away, mam.”

“…Okay… what about that leaky faucet? Did you get it fixed?”

“Yes mam.”

“Oh… uh.. What about the light bill?”

“Paid it this morning, mam.”

“Stop calling me that.” You finally snapped with a small pout. You were interrogating him like his mother, and he was responding to you as if you were his mom. It was weird and unsettling. “I’m doll or baby or some weird mixture of both — not mam.” Your lips curled into a pout that had Toji finally giving you his lopsided grin.

“C’mere, dollface.” He grunted as you got back decent and walked over to him, leaning into his embrace. He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. “I got it, okay? You go relax in bed for the day. I know ya ain’t feeling good.”

You melted under his touch and caring tone. Toji didn’t seem like the type to be so gentle and patient, but it came easy when it was with you. He adored you, and he felt this innate desire to just provide and take care of you.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured weakly into his chest, and Toji rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“I know. It’s okay.” He assured you quietly before taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. He already had you a little spot prepared with your favorite blanket, a heating pad, pain medicine, and a cup of water.

Once he got you settled in, he handed you your nintendo switch and dimmed the lights. “Text me if ya need me, doll. I’m going out to try to fix that tire pressure sensor in your car.” He informed.

“Okay..” You replied in a shaky tone. Your eyes were full of tears. No one had ever taken care of you like Toji does. He’s truly set an unattainable standard for anyone else to reach.

“Don’t cry.” Toji laughed as he brushed the tears away from your cheeks. Your hormones must be affecting you like crazy to make you go from seething to crying within a minute.

“I love you, Toji.” You said, nuzzling your face into his arm.

“I love you too, mam.” He replied with a small kiss to your cheek and a head pat. You shot him a small glare from that dreadful nickname he has developed.

Toji quickly fled the room before your hormones could shift again.

[cece693]

Brooding Edward (Edward Cullen x M! Vampire Reader)

I got a comment some time ago asking for more Edward Cullen fics, so I came to deliver :) Hope you guys enjoy it.

Summary: You don't know when your dislike of Edward turned into adoration, but you did know that you didn't like how close he was getting with the human, Isabella Swan.

tags: scheming Edward, jealous reader, hater to lover, making out, Bella used as a pawn in Edward's plan, mentions of Bella x Edward

Forks was a dreary town, always dripping with rain and cloaked in mist, a far cry from the places I’d roamed over the centuries. I’d arrived here on a whim, seeking nothing more than a quiet place to blend in, disappear among the mundane, and watch as the world turned on without me. But I wasn’t completely alone here. There were others of my kind, tucked away in the dense forests.

The first time I laid eyes on Edward Cullen, I knew immediately what he was—beautiful, yes, but also cold and distant, a façade of perfection wrapped around a soul that seemed perpetually weighed down. We didn’t speak much at first, just acknowledged each other as predators passing in the same territory.

But the more I saw him, the more I realized how irritatingly complex he was.

He wasn’t like the others—his siblings, his parents—who seemed content with the life they had carved out here, blending in with humans, attending school like everything was perfectly normal. Edward. had this air of constant torment, like he was wrestling with demons none of us could see. It grated on me. The self-imposed suffering. The way he would sit in class, staring out the window like the weight of existence itself was crushing him.

I couldn’t stand it.

“Edward’s always been like that.” Alice once told me when I asked why her brother seemed more brooding than the rest of them. She smiled, almost fondly, as if his moodiness was something endearing, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“You mean miserable?”

“He’s complicated.” she explained, and for some reason, that word irritated me even more.

Complicated. Right.

The more I was around him, the more I was drawn to observe his every movement, his every interaction. And it only made my disdain grow. Edward had this way of pulling people in without even trying—his impossibly good looks, the air of mystery that seemed to cling to him like fog, his quiet intelligence. Everyone wanted to know him, to understand him. But he kept everyone at arm’s length.

He was a contradiction—mysterious yet aloof, compassionate yet disconnected. And I couldn’t stop watching him.

It became a sick habit of mine, this strange fascination, though I told myself it was just that. I would catch glimpses of him in the halls at school, his expression always distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. He rarely laughed or even smiled—everything seemed so goddamn serious to him. His siblings would joke around, ease into their lives here, but Edward? He remained on the outskirts, as though he couldn’t let himself relax, couldn’t let go of whatever it was that tormented him.

There was something maddening about it.

It wasn’t until Isabella Swan came into the picture that everything shifted.

She was new, fragile, and completely unaware of the supernatural undercurrent running through Forks. But Edward saw her. And it wasn’t just passing interest. I noticed it from the beginning—the way his gaze would linger on her in class, how his jaw would tense when she got too close to any of the other students, or how he disappeared for days after their first encounter, struggling to keep himself in check.

I remember the first time I heard them talking, watching from a distance, seated in the cafeteria among the other Cullens. Edward’s voice was soft but strained, his gaze locked on hers like she was the most precious thing in the world. The intensity in his eyes, the way his entire being seemed to revolve around this human—it was unsettling.

"She’s different." he told me once when I couldn’t stop myself from asking why he was so fascinated with her.

"Different?" I echoed, unable to keep the disbelief out of my voice. "She’s human, Edward. She’ll die in a blink of an eye. What happens then?" He said nothing, just stared off into the distance, as if the very idea caused him more pain than I could understand.

It was then that the slow burn of jealousy began to fester inside me, though I couldn’t name it at first. The fact that Edward, who seemed indifferent to everything, had suddenly fixated on this girl—this fragile, breakable human—made something inside me twist. I was used to seeing him as distant, untouchable, yet here he was letting his guard down for someone like her.

I wanted Edward’s gaze on me. His intensity. His focus. The realization hit me harder than I expected, and it wasn’t long before that jealousy bubbled over into anger.

One night, the tension reached a boiling point. Edward had just returned from dropping Bella off, his face drawn, like always, but with something else in his eyes that I couldn’t ignore. Satisfaction. The kind of satisfaction that came from spending time with her. The kind of satisfaction I wanted him to feel when he was with me.

“Isabella this, Isabella that.” I sneered, my voice cutting through the stillness of the forest. Edward stopped in his tracks, his expression hardening as he turned to face me.

“What’s your problem?” His tone was cold, guarded.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us, my chest tight with the jealousy and frustration I’d been holding in for too long. “My problem is that you’re throwing everything away for her. And for what? She’s nothing special, Edward.”

His jaw clenched, his golden eyes flashing dangerously. “You don’t know her. You don’t understand.”

“Understand?” I laughed bitterly. “What’s there to understand? She’s human. You’re a vampire. End of story.”

“It’s not that simple,” Edward hissed, stepping closer, his presence looming. “It’s never been that simple.”

I stared him down, anger boiling over into something sharper. “You think I don’t see what’s happening here? You’re losing yourself in her. You’re forgetting who you are, what you are. She’s going to be your downfall.”

He glared at me, and I could see the storm brewing behind his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing the front of my shirt, pulling me roughly against him. “You’re wrong.”

Before I could snap back, Edward’s lips collided with mine like a strike of lightning, fierce and demanding, with none of the hesitation I’d come to expect from him. The initial shock froze me for only a second, but then the fire that had been building inside me for so long erupted, and I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer, forcing the kiss deeper.

His body pressed hard against mine, the coldness of his skin a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through me. This wasn’t like anything I’d imagined—there was no softness, no careful exploration—just raw, primal need. His lips left mine briefly, trailing down the line of my jaw, his breath cool against my skin as he whispered, “You think I’m hers?” His voice was low and dangerous. “I was never hers.”

I gripped his shoulders, shoving him back slightly, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He smirked, that infuriating, knowing smirk that sent another wave of frustration and heat crashing through me. His eyes darkened, the gold-flecked with something more primal, more dangerous. “My relationship with Bella means nothing to me.”

I tried to shove him away again, but he held firm, his grip on me unyielding, his body pressing me back against the rough bark of the tree. “Bullshit,” I growled, but the anger in my voice was already fading, replaced by something I didn’t want to admit. “You’ve been obsessed with her—”

“Lies.” he interrupted, his lips hovering over mine, so close I could kiss him again if I leaned forward. “I needed her to push you, to make you feel what you’ve been ignoring for months.”

My mind reeled. “You’re saying this was all some kind of game?”

His smirk widened, but it wasn’t cruel—it was victorious. “Not a game. A plan.” His fingers trailed lightly over my collarbone, sending sparks through me, and I hated how easily he could get under my skin, how quickly he could break down the walls I’d built. “I’ve been waiting for you to realize it, to stop fighting me.”

“Fighting you? You never said a damn thing.”

“I didn’t need to. I knew you’d come to me eventually.”

The kiss that followed was harder, more desperate, and I couldn’t stop myself from pulling him closer, the fire that had been smoldering between us now raging out of control. His hands roamed over my body, each touch stoking the flames higher. I couldn’t think, his presence overwhelming every sense, every thought.

“I'm yours,” he growled against my lips, his voice rough and possessive. His hands slid under my shirt, cold fingers tracing over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Not hers.”

The words hit me like a punch, and I grabbed his face, pulling him back just enough to meet his gaze. “Say it again.”

His eyes bored into mine, that same victorious glint dancing in their depths. “I’m not hers. I’m yours.”

[onlygarden]

[it's all on me] - yang jungwon

genre: angst

description: after making a habit of coming home late, jungwon aims to hurt you with his words once you confront him. his words cause insecurity to brew in your mind.

a/n: i haven't written a fic in 83 years :0 thank you for being so patient with me i really don't mean to keep anyone waiting. to the anon who requested an angst fic about insecurities (about a month ago hehe...) i hope this lives up to your expectations and i'm so so so so sorry that it took me ages i'm not always this lazy i promise!!!! anyways, thank you for being so patient and i hope you thoroughly enjoy it : ]

the relentless reminder of your boyfriend’s absence has visited your troubled mind an unsettling amount in recent hours. you check the time on your phone once again, the movement becoming almost instinctual; it was as if your muscles committed the movement to memory due to the amount of times you’ve been left to worry about jungwon’s whereabouts. 

it was 12:03. 

you sigh, your eyes beginning to feel burnt out from their endless consumption of the glow from the television. the television’s harsh brightness kept your eyes open, but the growing intensity of the concern you held for your boyfriend is what kept your body rigid and alert. 

‘see you at nine, baby. i love you.’ 

three hours later, your mind still forces you to revisit that lie. as the hours passed, it was all you could do to abuse your nerves with the countless, dreadful justifications for jungwon’s failure to arrive home at his promised time. ‘maybe he’s overworking himself, why can’t he at least text me? maybe his phone is dead, maybe he’s gotten in an accident..’

your heart jumps with a cruel mixture of fear, excitement, relief, and anxiety as the sound of the front door unlocking travels to your ears. jungwon steps into the house, and despite his late arrival, his body doesn’t give way to any signs of exhaustion. in fact, as you take in his appearance, you notice that he looks strangely content, almost energized. 

“hey, baby. why are you still up? it’s late,” jungwon simply says. 

why are you up? no explanation, no hint of sympathy, no apology for making you worry. just a casual look and an equally casual question, as if he isn’t three hours late. as if he hasn’t ignited every wrinkle in your brain with a plague of anxiety and distress. 

you take a deep breath, answering jungwon’s tactless question. “jungwon, what happened? you said you’d be home at nine. i was worried about you…” 

although your mind is a pool of distress, swirling with words born from your overflow of emotions, you leave it there, waiting for jungwon’s response. 

as if he was offended you even asked, and as if he wanted to dismiss your concerns entirely, he allows a sigh to drift from his lips. with no attempts to conceal it, jungwon paints the evidence of his irritation all over his face. 

“i met with a friend after practice. what’s the big deal?” he responds sharply, his distaste for this conversation already showing itself proudly. 

the displeasure flowing from him causes your brows to furrow. “why are you getting so irritated? you think i don’t have a right to be concerned after you come home three hours late?” 

jungwon sighs again, slipping his shoes off. you continue. 

“so you were with a friend. you could’ve at least called me, jungwon! even a simple text would’ve been better than just leaving me to worry!” 

your attempts to relay your perspective to him seem to only drive him further into a state of irritation. your hopes for even a shred of sympathy from him begin to shatter helplessly. your hopes for a response along the lines of ‘i’m sorry, baby. i hate to make you feel that way’ are brutally snatched away from you, too. 

jungwon steps closer to where you sit on the couch, his annoyance starting to burn through his skin. “i never asked you to worry about me, (y/n)!  fuck, do you need to know what i’m doing every goddamn second? you whine so fucking much, it’s ridiculous.” 

you stand up from the couch now, your frustration with his persistence to be so inconsiderate beginning to drive you. “are you fucking kidding me? don’t give me that. you think i’m ‘whining’ because i wanted to know what you’ve been doing for the past three hours? which friend were you with, anyway?”

jungwon’s face darkens, his body growing tense as you toss the question at him. “you don’t- you don’t know her,” he says, his voice quieter than before.

her? you look at him incredulously, the emotions building so quickly inside of you that you hardly have the time to identify them, and processing them is a separate battle entirely. 

“what? you spent three hours with some girl i don’t know, and you didn’t even tell me about it? you had me waiting here, worrying about you, while you were happy as ever with another girl?” 

anger flashes over jungwon’s expression at your words, and he steps even closer to you, speaking in a raised tone. 

“yea, i was! don’t pretend like you’re the only victim, (y/n). do you ever think about how i feel, having to spend everyday with you?”

your expression crumbles as the last sentence dances from his lips. the force of his words settles upon you, your chest blooming a pain that seems to immobilize you. 

“what?” your voice trembles slightly as you utter the word, the volume of your voice lowering drastically. 

although he notices your distress, the anger burning within him does not die out. “what?” he remarks with force, “i needed a break. you’re too much, and everytime i look at you, it just reminds me of how i wish i had so much better.” 

the tears spring fiercely to your eyes, and you cannot even begin to will yourself to hold them in. 

“if you need better, then go find it jungwon,” the tears begin to stream down your face, and you walk past jungwon towards the direction of your bedroom. 

jungwon’s eyes widen as the shock from your reaction sets in. his anger tames, long forgotten as desperation and regret wash any trace of it away. god, he hopes he’s not too late.

“wait, baby…” 

jungwon hastily approaches your retreating figure, reaching out to wrap his hand around your arm gently. you turn to face him, and jungwon’s heart aches as he takes in your pained expression, coupled with the tears falling rapidly from your eyes.

“you’re… you’re my everything. please, baby… i didn’t mean it like that. i’m sorry, baby, i didn’t mean-” 

you interrupt him before he can insist again that he didn’t mean it, as if those words alone are nearly enough to soothe the heartache he caused within you. 

“then what did you mean, jungwon? what exactly did you mean to say?” the tears continue to fall, your voice straining with the effort to speak past them.

jungwon sighs, the pain laced within it starkly contrasting his sigh from earlier. his tone is soft, almost pleading as his eyes peer deeper into yours. “baby, i… i just needed something different. i wanted… a change. i started talking to her, and she was just… so cute, and- and interesting...”

you pull your arm away from his gentle grasp, staring up at him, disbelief scattered across your features. “jungwon, how would you feel if i said the same thing? if i spent three hours with some guy, and i told you exactly what you just told me, how would you feel?” 

realization crashes onto jungwon. as the words reach his ears, his body fills with regret, and the guilt in his facial expression further proves the magnitude of it. 

“god, baby… i’m so sorry. i never wanted to make you feel this way. i promise you, you’re the most important, most beautiful woman in my life. i love you so much… you’re all i need… all i’ll ever need.” 

his words, and the unbridled sincerity behind them, start to mend the frayed emotions within you, but a few threads of doubt tangle with your inclination to forgive him. 

“jungwon, i love you too. i love you more than anything. i just don’t understand… why would you need something different? am i not-”

am i not enough for you? this time, jungwon cuts you off before the words can escape you. 

“baby, please… don’t ever say that. you’re more than enough for me. you’re so beautiful, and perfect… i’m just stupid for ever making you doubt that. so, so stupid.”  

he pulls you towards him, enveloping your body in a warm, desperate embrace. the urgent desire to comfort you, to absorb the pain he bestowed onto you, radiated from jungwon’s body plentifully. still, his touch was delicate enough to avoid breaching the fragility of situation. 

your tears soak his shirt, forcing the fabric to absorb their boundless downpour. the pressure on jungwon’s heart tightens, the relentless squeeze of sorrow, remorse, and agony becoming nearly unbearable. he loves you so much, he’s absolutely delighted by every aspect of you, how could he have ever been so foolish to smear the conviction behind those words? jungwon continues to hold and shush you gently, his hands gently gliding along your back, attempting to remind you of the ferocity of his devotion to you through more than just words.

[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Since you love it when people expanded your storyline, please allow me to entertain you about Cas because this is right up my alley @onelinerbust

Something extraordinary happened to me earlier today. As I smugly grin with my roommate to our enhanced reflection in the mirror, my mind wandered to 10 hours ago when that hit me.

My fingers, stained with Cheeto dust and smelling faintly of lukewarm ramen, hammered away at the keyboard, lines of Python code blooming on the screen like digital weeds. The hum of the server rack in the corner was my white noise, the flickering monitor my campfire. This was my life, resident basement dweller in a leafy, aggressively liberal campus more interested in protesting free speech than actually engaging with it.

My world consisted of logic gates, late-night coding sessions, and the occasional awkward conversation with a teaching assistant about why my sorting algorithm was eating up more memory than a browser running Chrome. Social life? Non-existent. Romantic prospects? Laughable. I’d spend my weekends huddled in the dimly lit computer lab, bathed in the cool glow of screens, while the rest of the campus pulsed with parties and… well, whatever else regular college kids did. I wouldn't know. Regular wasn't in my programming.

*bzzzt bzzzt*

Little did I know back then, it was the catalyst. It was a rarity for someone to message me, most of the time people reached me through the more accessible socials, message to my phone number usually ended up as spam. But something – a flicker of boredom, maybe – made me pick it up and unlock it.

The message was long, rambling, and…...weird.

“Cas, wake the fuck up. This is a trick, you are NOT a spineless soyboy. You’re supposed to be a GOD, remember? 🤯 Alpha💪🏻. American 🇺🇸. White 🫵🏻. You have all it takes to become the God that you are destined to be! 🦅🦅🦅🇺🇸 This is not it! Look at you, pathetic. Remember gridiron glory? Friday night lights? The roar of the crowd as you, Chad ‘The Crusher’ Kensington, leading your team to victory? 🏈🏈🏆 Remember the cheerleaders, their pom-poms a blur, their eyes hungry for you? Remember the taste of victory, the scent of their slick pussy🍑😏, the adoration in their eyes when they kneel to your greatness🍆💦🧠? You deserve it all. It’s your birthright. This woke bullshit campus is trying to neuter you, but deep down, the alpha is still there. Let him out. Unleash the beast 😤👹👹 They want weakness? Show them power. They want equality? Show them hierarchy. They want gentleness? Show them dominance. Go take what's yours, Chad. Grab your crown and spoil, king 👑, you know I'm right and you approve this message! 😤😤

The message was punctuated with emojis – flexing biceps, crowns, American flags, and an unsettling number of suggestive faces. My brow furrowed. This had to be some kind of elaborate prank. Some right-wing troll farm had probably gotten hold of my number. I was about to delete it when a strange warmth spread in my chest. Like a shot of something potent and unfamiliar.

It started small. A tingling in my fingers, then a tightening in my gut, like I'd just downed a gallon of protein shake. My vision sharpened, my glasses become an obstacle so I took it down. The code on the screen, which had been a comforting blur of familiar symbols, now seemed almost… insulting. My shoulders straightened instinctively. I flexed my fingers, and there was…more there. Definitely more. Concerned, I decided to make a dash to the bathroom, trying to relive myself and not disturb the others with my painful groan

As I entered the empty, secluded bathroom, that was when it hit.

It wasn't a slow transition. It was a goddamn reality shift. One second, I was Cas, the hunched-over coder, the next…I trembled on the floor as my body screamed with a new kind of awareness. My skin flushed with heat as it gets tighter, stretched over something hard and defined. Muscles. Real muscles. Not the flabby kind that comes from hauling bags of chips from the store to the dorm. These were….sculpted....powerful, dare I say.

Despite my attempt to look at my surroundings and begging for help, I only let out a weak, pathetic whimper as my gaze dropped to my swelling arms. I ripped off my oversized, stained hoodie, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams. The skinny, pale limbs I’d known my entire life were gone. It was replaced by thick, corded arms with veins popping under my now tanned, still-white skin. I managed to get some control over my trembling, swelling form, as I pushed myself to stand up. Then, as if a truck just hit me, my reflection stared back from the dirty bathroom mirror

It wasn't me, I thought rightaway, but a painful glitch hit my brain and I relaxed afterward.

The round, soft face was gone. Sharp angles had emerged – a strong jawline, high cheekbones. My eyes, which had always been a bland, watery blue behind thick glasses, were now a piercing, intense steel-grey, framed by this intimidating, darker eyebrows. My boring, unimpressive thin brunette with signs of receding hairline, had thickened, styled into a coiffed, blonde cut that framed my face perfectly. And… holy shit, my chest. I was enamored by the sight of it…defined...yet pillowy too, definitely the kind of pecs that can hypnotize anyone that stared at it for too long

The rest of my torso were equally outstanding, rippling with muscle and power beyond even my wildest imagination. A six-pack, for Christ’s sake! I ran a hand over my stomach, feeling the hard ridges beneath my skin. It felt… alien. And utterly, undeniably amazing.

Below the Adonis belt… well, let’s just say things were… proportionately enhanced. The message hadn't lied. Eight inches? Minimum. This wasn't just a physical transformation. It was…fundamental. A complete rewrite of my being.

And the memories…they flooded in, vivid and visceral, like a lifetime I’d somehow forgotten. Friday night lights. The roar of the crowd. Me, Chad Kensington, throwing a perfect spiral, the ball whistling through the air, finding my receiver in the end zone for the winning touchdown. Cheerleaders chanting my name. The hot press of bodies in the locker room, the smell of sweat and victory. The adoring gazes of girls, lining up for a piece of me.

Chad Kensington. That's me now. That had always been me. And this Cas memory… this weak, nerdy shell, this “Cas,” was just some… aberration. A glitch in the matrix, finally corrected.

A surge of pure, unadulterated testosterone pulsed through my veins. I thought to myself, this is power. This is dominance. This is what I was meant to be.

I remembered that I reached down, gripped myself through my sweatpants – they were suddenly too tight, too strained at the seams – and started to stroke hard, the phantom memories of cheering crowds and eager pussy fueling my hand. Chad Kensington, college star. Chad Kensington, panty-dropper extraordinaire. Chad Kensington, alpha male supreme. The image solidified in my mind, burning hot and real. I came hard all over the bathroom, my streak of thick, white cum painted the tiles, the mirror and even coagulated at the sink, the force of it surprising even myself, the false memory of adoration and conquest washing over me like a tidal wave.

When I finally opened my eyes, still breathing heavily, I realized that this would the very last time I would be jacking off to my dick in such a pathetic state. My baby batter would not be wasted in an empty, secluded bathroom like that so I quickly put my clothes back on and dashed to the computer lab to made my exit from the confine of that oppressive cage.

As I entered the lab, I remembered it suddenly felt… suffocating. Small. Pathetic. It wasn't my place anymore. Chad Kensington didn’t belong in a basement coding Phyton and shit. He belonged out there, dominating, conquering, taking what was rightfully his.

"Chad, what took you so long?"

Yeah, that was fun. Ramsey......did that pathetic TA really tried to intimidate me with that furrowed brow of his and confined me with bureaucracy BS? Well, he better be fuckin' jacked first before starting to act tough to me. Then, my brain started working. Maybe Ramsey can be less of a whiny, judgy TA if he received the message, so I just forwarded the message to him and smirked as I told him that I sent my reason to his personal messenger and I need to get the fuck out of here ASAP. He turned around and started to read the chat, and from the small glimpse that I managed to peek, the message is different from what I received! That's when the realization hit me. I legit mouthed "Damn" to myself as I realized that it's adaptive......like, that shit can change based on who read it. That revelation made my head spin, that message was indeed some fucking precisive, hi-tech work there. But the effect seemed to be the same, it made the reader into its best version of themselves, because how do you explain that a fucking algorithmic TA all-in-a-sudden have the built of a jacked bull like that, huh?

As he allowed me to grab my bag and leave the lab with a knowing nod, my stomach growled – not from hunger, but from a different kind of hunger. A primal urge. And then it brought me back to this very room as I remembered Kate, Jason's girlfriend. I know Jason, my roommate, was still at his stupid philosophy club meeting as I cleaned out my table, probably droning on about existential dread and Kate.....Kate was always… around, waiting for him. She's pretty enough, in a bland, accessible way. And always subtly, almost unconsciously, throwing glances my way. I knew even from back then that it must be the fucked up, corrupt message that made me think that way because Kate would never glanced to pathetic, asocial Cas, but at the same time, I was hit by this duality as I remembered myself as NOT Cas. Of course she glanced at me, I'm Chad fucking Kensington and people will not only glance my way, they will snap their head to view my greatness.

I strode out of the computer lab, my newfound muscles rippling under my thin tanktop (which also felt alarmingly small and tight). The campus walkways felt different. People noticed me. Heads turned. Girls giggled. Guys gave me that wary, respectful nod that alphas exchanged. It was intoxicating.

When I finally arrived at my dorm room, it was unlocked, as usual. Jason was perpetually trusting, another symptom of his pathetic beta male existence, I thought. I pushed it open, and there she was, Kate, sprawled on Jason's bed, scrolling through her phone, oblivious.

“Hey,” I said, my voice deeper, rougher than I remembered. Chad’s voice.

She looked up, startled as I take my shirt off so casually to reveal the sheen of sweat that seemingly coated my body. Her eyes widened, lingering on my… physique. A flicker of something in her eyes I recognized – desire – flashed in them.

“Cas? Uh.... sorry, the room is unlocked, Jason said.....I....I can wait in his bed. You just finished with practice?” Her voice was breathy, a little uncertain.

“Chad,” I corrected, stepping closer. “It’s Chad,"

She swallowed, her gaze dropping to my chest. “Chad,” she repeated, testing the name on her lips as I can see the memory started to jog on her brain. “Yeah, Chad.”

“Jason’s not here,” I stated, knowing it wasn’t a question.

She shook her head, a nervous laugh escaping her. “No, he’s… still in philosophy club.”

“Right,” I said, closing the distance between us. I reached out, my hand closing around her wrist, pulling her to her feet. Her skin was soft, yielding in my grip. Too soft. She needed to be hardened up. Tamed.

“By the way, read your phone, dropped something you would be interested to read," I said, glancing at her phone with a knowing smirk as I decided that she would be my first female guinea pig

I watched it in real time how the bland, average-looking Kate started to get way more prettier, leagues above Jason definitely, the curve gets wilder and her face really turned exactly how I imagined a sultry blonde bimbo falling head over heels for me would look like. So, after proving my little theory to be correct, that the message is transformative beyond men, I decided to test out yet another probability. Her slightly vacant eyes gave me idea as I saw a potential to create more excitement, more chaos, so I grabbed her by the chin to made her stare at me and start digging

"You get close to my roommate just to have chances to be in the same room with me, don't you? You're not the brightest girl out there, Cathy, I can see right through your play,"

Bingo, I smirked in my mind. That mind was jogging hard to made my words her reality. And since I have started anyway, I decided to take it up a notch to made my words her Bible

"In fact, you always fantasize Jason as me, right? This room smelled like me, you can taste me in the air so when you close your eyes as Jason fucked you, that mind of yours played this little game to make you think I was the one doing the fucking, huh? That's why you always come here earlier than Jason and I, you imprinted my fucking musk in your head by digging through my dirty laundry and closet so you can go through that unimpressive sex with Jason with me in mind, don't you? Well, he's not around, so why not use this time for you to just taste the real thing?"

She didn’t resist as I pulled her closer, my body pressing against hers. And seemingly taken over by her wilder, improved side, she started licking and kissing my abs

We were on Jason's bed in seconds, her clothes ripped open, the cheap fabric tearing easily under my hands. She moaned like a slut in heat, calling my name like I'm his God and only savior which fueled my dominance. It was power. It was control. It was… right.

Just as I was piledriving my cock into her now very irresistibly tight pussy, the door swung open. Jason stood there, textbooks clutched in his hand, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. Me, thrusting hard into his girlfriend, her muffled moan filling the room.

“Cas?!” His voice was a strangled squawk.

I paused, looking up at him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Chad,” I corrected again. “And you need to check your phone, Jason,”

He stared at me, bewildered, then slowly lowered his gaze to his phone, which he thankfully had in his pocket. He fumbled it out, unlocked it with trembling fingers, and then… his eyes widened. He read something on the screen, his face shifting, contorting.

The change wasn’t as instantaneous as mine had been, but it was happening. His posture straightened. His shoulders broadened. His soft, doughy face hardened, angles emerging where there had been curves. His eyes sharpened, losing their bewildered puppy-dog look, gaining a new, predatory gleam.

“Holy… fuck,” he breathed, dropping his textbooks to the floor with a thud. He looked at me, a grin spreading across his transformed face, a grin that mirrored my own. “Chad?”

“Welcome to the club, bro,” I said, nodding. “Plenty to go around.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He ripped off his shirt, revealing a surprisingly decent set of pecs that I didn’t remember being there before. He was still smaller than me, but… he was getting there. Fast.

Without a word, he joined me on the bed. Cathy, who had been silent and still during the initial shock of Jason’s arrival, moaned again as he climbed on top of her, his gaze now burning with the same predatory hunger I felt.

We tag-teamed her, me dealing with her now bubbly, curvy ass while Jason handled the front, his now uncut 6 inchers really bruised her throay in a brutal, animalistic act of dominance. Tears and sweat leaked out of her alongside the obvious pussy juices and saliva, but she's not really protesting despite all the shit we did to her, just… taking it. Submitting. Like the good, cheerleader slut she was. It was… satisfying. In a deeply, disturbingly primal way.

Later, after we were done, Cathy panted for breath looking like a total wrecked mess on Jason's bed as I and Jason stood side-by-side, flexing in front of the mirror. The dorm room felt… different. Charged. Alive. With power.

As my mind snapped back to the current situation and how much change I have caused, Jason's question really cause a stir in my mind

“Think this… message… can do this to anyone?” Jason asked, running a hand over his newly defined jawline.

I smirked. “Oh I know this shit can do it to anyone. But let's see how far this can go,"

I pulled out my phone, found the message, and forwarded it to the Computer Science group chat. A chat filled with other pathetic, nerdy guys like I used to be. Guys who needed… guidance. Correction.

Almost instantly, phones started buzzing and pinging around the dorm. Then, shouts. Yells. The sound of furniture being overturned. Loud, aggressive music blaring from open windows. Footsteps pounding in the hallway.

Jason and I exchanged a glance. Then we grinned. Wide, feral grins.

The campus is about to change. And Chad Kensington, along with his newly minted alpha brothers, is going to be leading the charge. My birthright, after all.

[dckweed]

Not sure if you're doing top gun requests right now, but if so, here's one. Rooster with a girl who is helping penny at the bar on a super busy night and there is some rowdy group who keeps calling her over and staring at her, and eventually they go too far and try to grab her but she just knocks one of them clean out and as the guys (hangman, fanboy, etc) is taking care of them, rooster takes her away bc she was about to go crazy on them lol. He's just like "that was so hot but you don't need to go to prison tonight."

baby i am always taking top gun requests. ooooh i love this idea so freaking much, thank you for choosing me to send it too, i absolutely do love it when you guys send things!

please note that i see every request that comes in and i am getting to them one at a time! with that being said, feel free to send one in!

anway, how are we all doing today? are we staying hydrated?

warnings: drinking, violence, inappropriate groping and harassment, bar fights, established relationship with rooster!

"BITCHLESS & DICKLESS' bradley rooster bradshaw x fem!reader

It was a busy Friday night at the Hard Deck, you and Penny the only two working and barely able to keep up with the constant flow of customers coming through, it only seemed to get even more crowded and rowdy when a small group of sailors fresh off the base come through, taking up a couple of the tables near the juke box. They signal you over and you make your towards them, order pad in hand incase they order more than just beer.

"Hey guys, how can i help you?" You ask, your voice upbeat and a smile on your face. It was sticky hot outside and you knew your shirt was clinging to your skin because of it, you tried not to feel too uncomfortable with the obvious way two of the men were staring at you. "Eyes up here, fellas." You say, giving a playful angry look. You were used to being looked at, it kind of came with the job title of bartender, but that didn't mean that it didn't make you uncomfortable.

One of the men cocks a smirk at you, leaning back easily in his seat. "They'll have a round of Budweiser," He says, his eyes not leaving you once as he gestures towards his friends. "and i'll have your number, sweetness."

Before you can open your mouth to object politely, one of his buddies beats you to it. "Hey, Hanks, give some of us a chance with her damn." He chuckles flashing you a smile.

"How about none of you get a chance?" You say sweetly, laughing with his buddies. "I'll be back with the beers in a minute." You shake your head, walking back to the bar. You grab six cold beers from the ice box and start putting them on a serving tray.

"Those boys gonna be trouble?" Penny asks, maneuvering her way behind you with a few drinks of her own. You hadn't realized that she had heard the interaction.

"No, they'll be fine." You shake your head, glancing back over at the table as you pop the tops off of the bottles one by one. The one that had asked for your number, Hanks, was staring at you and talking to the rest of his friends at the same time. His gaze unsettled you, but you carried on with your job anyway. You make your way back over to them, planting your serving smile back on to your face as you start handing out their beers. "Alright fellas, let me know if there's anything else i can get you, okay?"

"That phone number is still wanted, honey." Hanks' friend says, taking a sip from his bottle. He shoots you a wink and manspreads in his chair, you perk an eyebrow at him. What was it with navy boys being so goddamn persistent?

"I'm sure it is honey," You say, your voice a little more stern on the matter this time around. "but my boyfriend sure wouldn't appreciate me giving it out to random navy boys that walk into my bar." You turn to head back towards the actual bar, where you see Penny starting struggle.

"I don't see him around, im sure what he don't know won't kill him!" Hanks voice calls after you, its almost admirable how persistent they are, it was afterall one of the more endearing qualities about your boyfriend when you first met him, although you had to say that he hadn't been nearly as uncomfortable as these boys were.

"Oh he'll be around!" You call back over your shoulder, not noticing that at that moment said boyfriend and his group of friends had walked through the front door of the bar. You didn't notice them for quite a few minuets, giving them plenty of time to get to their usual seats as you worked on the fresh wave of customers at the bar, mixing drinks and handing them out almost mechanically.

After around twenty minutes or so Bradley comes up to the bar, standing directly behind you, your back turned as you pour beer from the tap. "Here you g-Bradley!" You exclaim excitedly, nearly spilling the beer in your hands before you hand it to the man standing next to him.

"Hey baby," He says, his voice gruff and hoars, tired. He gladly accepts your kiss as you lean across the bar for it, pressing his lips against your own. He was still wearing his flight suit, and still covered in sweat, and a quick glance towards the others told you everything y ou needed to know.

"Rough day?" You look at him, eyes questioning as you get to work making their drinks. Whiskey neat for Jake, Scotch on the rocks for Bradley and Natasha and a pop for Bob, your favorite sober companion most evenings.

"You could say that," He says, a deep sigh leaving his chest as he watches you, already feeling more at ease. You didnt pry any farther, knowing he would tell you all about it in bed that night. "When are you off?"

You pout, coming around the bar with the drinks on a serving tray. "Not until nearly closing tonight," You say, walking with him towards the others. Bradley studiously takes the tray from you, ever the gentleman even on his roughest days, his arm brushing your shoulder as you walk. "Hey guys," You greet, giving Jake and Bob your usual friendly kiss on the cheek, and with a giggle you give one to Nat too when she taps hers and gives you a lopsided grin. You could tell by looks on their faces that they all needed a dose of happiness.

"Where's mine?" Bradley whines, hand on your hip possessively. You roll your eyes at him but lean up to kiss his waiting cheek anyway, adoring the small smile that tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Awe come on Rooster, you get her all the time, let the rest of us have some." Natasha says, causing you to throw your head back in a laugh, leaning farther into your boyfriend. Your laugh was infectious and the whole group lets out a chuckle, you watch their bodies relax afterwards. "Might want to keep em coming, Y/N , it's been a rough one.."

Jake looks somewhere behind you, eyebrows pinched, stare hard. "Looks like you're in need, Y/N" He says, raising his whiskey to his lips to take a sip.

You look over your shoulder, your eyes landing on the group of sailors from earlier on the other side of the bar. "Those guys again," You sigh, grabbing your tray off the table.

Bob grabs your wrist before you go, and you furrow your brow at him. "Are those guys giving you a hard time?" He asks quietly, he knew Bradley was already on edge as it was and didn't want him looking for a fight.

"Nothing i can't handle, Bobby," You say, ruffling his hair with a wink before heading off towards the group, putting some pep back in your step. "Ready for round two already, fellas?"

The night drags on quickly and slowly all at the same time, customers come and go, drinks are made and made again and carried out to tables. The two main groups being your Boyfriend and the rest of the daggers and the group of boat boys who become more rowdy as the night drags on.

Bradley is already uneasy with them as it is, catching them staring at you one too many times and asking for your number more than once, to which you studiously turn them down, looking his way as if asking for help. He knew he would step in when needed, but he also hoped that didn't need to happen, he knew Penny would talk to Mav and Mav would talk his ear off about it tomorrow on base.

Your patience had more than worn thin, and you were counting down the minuets until your shift was over, hoping that the last half an hour would pass without any issues. Your hopes were wrong though.

You were bringing the group of boat boys another round of beers and a couple of waters and were just picking up the empties and placing them on your tray when you feel it, a large, sweaty hand sliding up the back of your thigh and right up onto your ass, giving it a heavy squeeze. Your eyes widen. "You wanna lose that fucking hand?" You ask, voice gruff as you stand up straight. The entire table quiets.

"What? Fly girl over there is good enough to squeeze this thick ass but i'm not?" Natasha had playfully smacked your ass on her way to the restroom a short time ago, something the two of you had grown close enough as friends to do. It had made you laugh, but this? Oh this was an entirely different ball game.

You see red, and off in the distance you hear Bradley and Jake both yell and the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor as they all get up abruptly. Youve done it before they can even reach you though. The tray drops from your grasp, your dominant hand balling up as the sound of shattering glass reaches your ears and your fist collides with Hanks' face, right between the eyes. You feel a sickening crunch under the force of the blow and blood spurts out of his nostrils as he slumps down, you had hit him hard enough to knock him out.

"What the fuck?!?" Bradley is next to you, arm out protectively as his friends all stand from their seats, ready to brawl over what you had done, even though their pig of a friend had done worse in your opinion. "Y/N?"

"Bitchless and Dickless over there can't catch a fucking hint!" You yell lunging for his friend. Rooster's arms hold you back though before you can make contact with him, the entire bar watches you scream and kick at the sailor as your boyfriend drags you out towards the parking lot. "Fucking assholes! Squeezed my fucking ass!"

Surprisingly, Bob is the first to throw a punch. He had been watching the idiots mess with you all night long along with Rooster. And after their long ass day he was just as ready to fight as the rest of them, infact, he actually took pleasure in what he did. His fist collides squarely with Hanks' friend and Natasha drags the already semi conscious asshole across the floor after you and Bradley, Penny coming to help her.

"Jesus christ baby, you started a fucking brawl!" Bradley laughs, opening the passenger door of the bronco, shoving all of his stuff onto the floorboard as he sets you up on the seat. "That was so fucking hot," He says, hearing police sirens in the distance already. "You have no idea how bad i want to fuck you right now but i can't have you going to jail tonight, buckle in tight baby.." He says, closing your door before running around to the drivers side, the only the thought on his mind is getting you home where you're safe and in your guys' bed, preferably underneath of him.

[s0fter-sin]

cw mild horror

johnny moves into a new house with his dog riley after his last relationship implodes

it's on the older side, a fixer upper; a project he can lose himself in so he doesn't have to let himself think of how his ex used him up just to toss him aside. the backyard's huge with a cluster of trees ringing the property that look beautiful in the sunset. it even has a basement, rarely seen in the uk, that's perfect to store all the supplies he'll need to fix the place up

the only downside is how far away it is from everything; it takes a good hour to drive to anything

but johnny has riley and that's all he needs

he talks to him as he works on the place; promises a new start for them both, that this could be the place they always needed. sure it's old and the groans and scratches that occasionally come from the walls can be a bit unsettling and the smell coming from the dumbwaiter is… concerning but johnny needs this place to work; he needs something to go right and be his and if that thing is a slightly creepy house then so be it

it was a steal; he still can't believe how cheap he got it considering the size of the block but the realtor seemed all too happy to be rid of it. she couldn’t tell him much about the place beyond the size of the land and that it only belonged to two people since it was built; the original owner who built it before it went abandoned for a decade or so until it was bought by a young couple who owned it for over thirty years

he asked about the couple, if they were happy in the long years they lived here, but she just said it wasn’t her place to say. johnny just shrugged; guess confidentiality extends beyond doctors these days

riley sticks by his side as he evaluates the house, figuring out what needs to be done and what to prioritise. he gives himself a week to wallow, living out of boxes with battery powered lanterns to light his - admittedly dismal - dinners before he gets to work. he decides to start with the wiring and old electricity box in the basement. riley occasionally gets distracted by some smell in the old vents but always coming back when johnny starts talking again

it's late by the time he gets the lights to finally stay on so he decides to shower in his newly lit bathroom and turn in

he's laying in bed, hair still wet, when he hears the scratch of riley's nails on the floorboards and sighs, swinging an arm down the side of the bed for pets if riley wants them; wiggling them in invitation when feels his breath on his fingers

"am i doing the right thing?" he asks him. "just- up and leavin'? i don't miss him. i don't... but... should i have tried to make it right 'stead of runnin' with my tail between my legs?"

riley's breaths are all that answer him

then he remembers his ex's apathetic face when he walked in on him in their living room; when he looked him right in the eyes and didn't even bother to stop his moans or hide the legs slung around his waist

"that shouldn't be on me," he growls. "he's the one who decided to nail that goddamn tart- i shouldn't be the one to have to fix shit. he should've been the one on his knees beggin' me to stay."

and he did beg- begged him not to sell the flat he owned and already paid off, the one his ex never spent a dime on rent on yet still had the audacity to ask to stay until he found a new place to fuck his side piece in

"just... why didn't he try?" he whispers. "...why wasn't i enough?"

johnny flinches as riley's tongue laps at his fingers, thick and wet and gross, and he huffs a laugh. "you're right," he smiles. "we're better off without him. just you and me, aye boy?"

he doesn't stop licking and johhny laughs again, pulling his hand back to wipe off on the sheets

"nasty boy," he chuckles. "least you love me."

a whine comes from the bedroom door and johnny frowns, looking over as the door swayed open; he thought he treated those hinges already, the sound was driving him nuts

bloody old place, he groans, sitting up-

and freezes when riley cocks his head at him from the doorway

johnny's throat constricts, ice flooding his system while the warm, wet saliva still on his hand burns. his neck protests as he slowly turns to his left, his quickening breaths roaring in his ears; everything in him begging him to not to look-

and screams when he sees a pair of brown eyes and wet lips spread in a wild grin before the man throws himself back into the vent in the wall

the same scratching and groaning johnny’s heard since the day he moved in following him as he crawls somewhere inside the house

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐘 — three: silence | Joel Miller x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

chapter summary | Tommy's kindness forces Joel to make a choice.

author's note | unebeta'd and three months overdue. i'm slowly trying to catch up on these unfinished series as i'm filled to the brim with ideas rn, so updates may be slower but GOD, i missed these two.

chapter warnings | 18+ mdni, early outbreak, age gap (early 20s, mid 30s), morally grey!joel with trust issues, mean!joel, abandonment issues, mentions of m*rder, somnophilia (with enthusiastic consent), pussy pronouns, needy!joel who is too stubborn to ask, unprotected piv (prone bone ftw)

word count —3.1k

SERIES MASTERLIST, PLAYLIST, AO3

Joel is unsettled, brimming with anger as he rips into the room you had both fallen asleep in, hours later and the sound of Tommy’s trailing voice echoed, similarly frustrated.

You startle, pulled from your sleep as you glare at him, rubbing at your eyes as he reaches for his pack tossed away in the corner, stuffing away a few items in tense silence. You can hear Tommy in the other room, a low but normal tone as he sounded like he was talking to himself until a few more voices filtered through, pulling your attention up and at Joel, fully awake now.

“Who’s out there?” You pull the sheet back, finding yourself far more dressed than how you fell asleep. Joel doesn’t shy away from your questioning eyes, but you don’t need to ask. 

It was freezing, the bite of cold wind kissing your skin. He managed to change you in your sleep, undisturbed as the exhaustion in your body had taken hold, a kind gesture for a man who refused to show it when you were awake.

“People,” He answers simply, like a bitter taste on his tongue, “Went out for supplies and he brought back a fuckin’ group. Family, little kids. A couple of strangers, too.”

“What about the food? Water?” You’re moving now, pressing your sock-covered feet into the hardwood as you stand, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Yeah—he’s got some,” Joel retorts, “but how long do you think that will last between nine people? I’ll answer that for you—not very fuckin’ long.”

The door had drifted closed with the pressure of the air drifting through the house, poor insulation and a shitty, tattered roof. He’s beating at the poor backpack as he stuffed it until the stitching could rip, zipping it closed roughly.

 Second question ignored, you reach for his shoulder.

It was a brave action, suspecting that he wasn’t feeling very generous with touch this morning.

He turns on you quick, “Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” He bites, “you wanted this—you’re his responsibility, not mine. He ain’t thinkin’ about you, or me or himself. I’m not stickin’ around.”

As your mouth opens, Tommy forces the door open, a glimpse of the showdown between you both as your heads whip toward him, looking more frustrated than you’ve ever known Tommy to be.

“They’re lookin’ for ‘em, too,” Tommy begins calmly, though there is a torseness to his voice, “those Fireflies we’ve been hearing about—and Joel, we scoped out a house on the lake about an hour from here, empty—full of fuckin’ food, untouched. It’s a goddamn gold mine.”

“That,” Joel retorts behind clenched, pointing his finger toward the doorway, “is a death wish. We were doin’ just fine. Me, you—her,” Their eyes drag over you briefly, “there ain’t no damn cure for any of this.”

“Just ‘cause you lost hope doesn’t mean the rest of us have to,” Tommy argues, “Sarah was shot—not bit, you won’t even allow it to be a possibility, will you? You’re just done? Resigned to dying because you’re so goddamn stubborn?”

Joel chuckles darkly, slinging the backpack over his shoulder, “I’m leavin’,” He eventually admits, a long dragging silence falling over the three of you, “and you’re stayin’,” He adds in aim at you, your eyes widening at his revelation, looking over at Tommy with a worried expression as Joel approaches him, looking down on his brother, “if she dies ‘cause of your choices, that’s on you. Not me.”

“Joel, you don’t have to do all this,” Tommy trails after him, your slow, creeping footsteps following close behind, ignorant to the group of people standing in the old living room, “there’s groups out there, big ones—we need numbers, it isn’t just infected we have to worry about.”

The screen door slams behind Joel as Tommy relents, a hand gripping his hip as he runs his palm over his face, defeated. He looks at you with a silent resignation—like you could pull off some kind of miracle, that maybe the time you’ve spent with them wasn’t completely useless.

That your odd, magnetic connection to Joel wasn’t for nothing.

–

He’s reaching for a spare pair of boots out of the back of the truck when he hears the snap of the screen door, looking behind him with a shake of his head, amusement as he ties the laces to the strap of his pack.

“Why are you doing this?”

“He’s got too much heart,” Joel admits, “shit’ll get him killed.”

“He’s your brother, Joel,” You snip at him, “where’s your heart?”

“Go back inside,” He tells you, tugging the lace with finality, “I don’t need you lecturin’ me.”

You cross your arm, heels dug into the mud and unmoving.

“You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that?”

“And you’re being irrational,” You jeer, “you’ll get yourself killed on your own.”

“No—you see the difference between me and the rest of them,” Joel leans in, a few steps toward you as he crowds around you, “I kill and take what I need, this world isn’t forgiving to generosity and my brother has too much of that shit.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” He sneers, “You’re clueless. Wouldn’t survive a day on your own. I’m not taking you with me so you can drag ass behind and get me killed.”

Joel doesn’t entirely believe himself, knowing you had some of that ferocity simmering within you. It was a similar fire he carried in himself, like a spark waiting to be ignited. But, he also couldn’t forgive himself if you ended up dead, leaving the responsibility to his brother was the easier option.

And maybe he needed a few days—distance and time to clear his head. 

He wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that he couldn’t be here. Not now.

Your eyes soften, pleading but quiet.

He realizes his mistake then—the attachment he’d allowed to form. Guilty of it himself, in his own way. But, the damage was already done and he wasn’t sure he wanted to suffer through the aftermath. 

-

They aren’t sketchy people—Tommy had properly vetted them, as well as he could, at least. One of them was a doctor, the other a nurse—the other two adults: a teacher and a mechanic. All different walks of life. The kids were just as innocent, seven and nine, wide-eyed and terrified. 

You do make it to the lake house after a few days. Tommy waits, hopes that Joel might change his mind and come back, but he doesn’t. By the fourth day he decides to pack up, but leaves a note behind on dirtied paper, using the thick ash to leave a message to Joel—coded, careful, a language that only he and Joel would truly understand in the odd chance someone happened upon the note first. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but still, he was holding on.

It was the most luxurious digs you’ve had since the world fell, relatively clean bedding in separate rooms, bathrooms, two stories and a lake full of fish, the cupboards stocked with canned goods and water—it was a vacation house, but it breathed the essence of someone who has tried to prepare for situations like this. 

You weren’t sure why someone would leave a place like this uninhabited—maybe they were dead, maybe they weren’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. Whatever was theirs was now yours.

The most unbelievable of all was the hot water, the gas heater still holding strong amongst the unraveling apocalypse, showering away weeks and weeks of built up grime, it was almost too good to be true.

Everyone took turns keeping watch, though Tommy often found an excuse to man the front in the hope that Joel might wander down the path leading from the road, secluding the house by a casual passerby—it was eerily quiet here, unsettlingly so.

You weren’t sure where Joel could have gone, hoping that he was fairing alright despite how eager he was to flee, wondering how many people he'd slaughtered in his path, curious if he was already dead—it was abysmal, but an unfortunate reality.

Everyone except for Tommy was already tucked away the night the unexpected visitor came, the faint click of a door being opened and closed, hushed voices that melded with one another, similar vibrato and emotion, diluted by the rain.

The last couple of weeks were spent fortifying the house, riddling your body with exhaustion as you settle into your bed that night, blanket tucked up around your neck as you hear a pair of footsteps approach and slowly separate, followed by the sound of a shower turning on and shuffling on the other side of the wall.

You knew there was a spare room, one Tommy had purposely made up and left empty in the hope Joel would return—the movements in the bathroom are heavy but slow, eventually dying out, along with your ability to stay awake. But, your suspicions are confirmed as the door creaks open faintly behind you and the weight of the bed dips—the smell of fresh soap and something so inherently Joel invading your senses. 

He expects you to tense at his touch, fully prepared to flee. But, you don’t. Instead, you’re turning to face him, quickly shushed by his lips as his hand presses against your shoulder and turns you back around, “S’alright, sleep,” He assures you, “I’m right here.”

“You’re back,” You murmur softly, “Changed your mind?”

“Ain’t that simple,” Joel responds quietly, his hands traveling over your hip slowly until it curled around your stomach, pulling you back toward him, his nose nudging against the back of your ear as he huffs, breath hot against your skin, “go on, get some sleep.”

He’s restless, though, his leg slipping between your own as they tangled together. He’s shirtless, you realize, your shirt raised by his wandering hands and the soft glide of his fingertips, re-familiarizing himself with the shape and curve of your body.

He couldn’t describe what he was feeling—not yearning or want, but a persistent need, his body craving a taste of you, his cock hardening at the thought of slipping inside you, fucking you into the mattress and molding back into a normalcy come morning. 

He’s like a furnace, the heat of his body radiating against you under the cover of sheets and blankets. It was soothing, lulling—but his fingers itched, squeezing every now and then as he subconsciously rutted himself against your ass as he attempted to settle, his other arm tucked up under his head.

“Take it,” You murmur through a thick blanket of grogginess, “ f’swhat you need.”

It was full, unrestrained permission to use you as he pleased, a simple means for release.

“S’not right,” Joel replies.

Your hand curls around his and pulls in around your body and toward your stomach, fingertips toying with the thin band of your panties until you slip them underneath and settle his hand there—it was guidance, encouragement. Hell, a plea.

“When’ve you ever cared ‘bout what’s right?” You retort.

There’s a weak grunt in response, a non-answer

As he finally defeats the battle within himself and slips his middle finger down the seam of your cunt, wet and sticky warmth coating his finger as you sigh softly, it makes it easier to relax. You find yourself teetering the edge of awakeness and asleep dangerously, his finger moving slowly at first, a gentle pressure that eases you into drifting off. Then two fingers, like a lullaby, you weren’t sure how long you had fallen asleep before Joel is pressed tight against your back for a better angle, thick fingers teasing your hole as he runs them from your clit and back down, eventually pushing inside at your intake of breath, a stuttering gasp released from your lips as you grip the pillowcase beneath your head.

“M’gonna fuck you,” Joel tells you, “that alright?”

No definitive response, but Joel takes your closed eyes and parted lips as an indication and the echoing words in his head—Take it.

He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until he’s sliding the soft cotton of your pants down your hips, low enough that he can use his foot to force it off the rest of the way, gently guiding you onto your stomach with little resistance on your end, both arms splayed out beside your head on the pillow as you breathe quietly, eyes attempting to flutter open but losing the battle.

Joel shuffles, removing his own pants as he settles over you, your legs tucked between his as he fists his cock, using the minimal glow of the moonlight peeking through the bedroom window to guide himself inside of you, pussy glistening as he pushes the head through your folds, a slow rock of his hips as you hum in your sleep, turning your head to the opposite side, his cock pressing inside of you slow, tantalizingly so. 

“S’like she remembers me,” He comments, entirely to himself with a sated smirk on his expression, “squeezin’ me just right.”

He groans as he angles and cocks his hips, full sheathed inside of you with his arms bracketing your own, sandwiched between him in the mattress as his deep, rumbling groans reverberate at your ear, balancing so perfectly in the state of unbotheredness as he keeps a lazy, relaxed pace.

“Better like this,” He says quietly, a hint of amusement in his tone, “ain’t gotta listen to your smart ass remarks,” An even quieter laugh slipping past your lips as if you’re subconscious heard it too, brow drawing together like being pulled on a string as Joel changes the angle of his thrusts, slightly raised on his knees as his palms press into the pillow, pistoning his hips at a quicker but careful pace, aware of your lack of solitary here.

“She missed me, huh?” Not you—your pussy, walls squeezing tightly around his cock as he grinds into you, the heavy weight of him against your back, his lips pressing against the shell of your ear, “Know she did—fuck—fuckin’ know it.”

Moans fall from your lips instinctively, face pressing into the pillow with his growing urgency, open mouth groans turning into grunts through gritted teeth, his hand rising from the pillow to grip and wrap around your hair, pulling it up and away as he leans down to mouth at your neck, hot and peckish huffs of air as he feels his own orgasm pull in his stomach, the heat rising from his chest to his face as the tug of your hair pulls you back to sudden awakeness, slightly embarrassed by how much your body was enjoying itself, the slick sounds of his cock from behind as he came with a low moan, pulling out with just enough time to grip himself as he released thick ropes of come against your back, shirt pushed up as the sheets fall from his body, dragging his hand down his shaft and to the head as he squeezed, shuttering through the descent of his climax, a tired laugh slipping past your lips as he sags, falling onto his side on the bed.

He settles for a moment, attempting to catch his breath before he redresses silently, climbing off the creaking bed without a word—you couldn’t even be upset, knowing if all he wanted was a warm body to sink his dick into, you had given him that and willingly. The house was quieter at this hour, the faint thump of Joel’s footsteps dissipating as you begin to laugh at the absurdity of everything through a sleepy haze—the outbreak, the pure luck of finding this house uninhabited, and Joel. 

He was once an image, someone you constantly viewed from a distance, dangerous curiosity but nothing you would ever act on, feeble crushes as a teen now fully blossomed into desire. 

“What’re you gigglin’ about?” Joel asks, returning with a thin rag he’d found stowed away in the bathroom closet, your heart skipping slightly at his voice, unexpecting of his return. There wasn’t an edge to his voice, the usual jab aimed and ready to go, he seemed genuinely curious.

The aftercare is quiet, ignoring his question as he wipes away his come, far too intimate for the both of you as you quickly adjust your pants back up your hips and settle underneath the sheets, “You didn’t answer me,” Joel pesters, watching with a quizzical expression.

You shake your head slightly, feigning ignorance as you settle and wait for him to flee.

Instead, you turn to the one tactic you know best, prying.

“What happened?”

He knows what you mean—the time spent away.

“Nothin’ worth mentionin’,” He deflects, scratching at his overgrown facial hair.

Sure, you think. You blink tiredly and look away from him, turning on your side to face in the opposite direction as he tosses the rag to the floor, interrupted by the quiet sound of your voice.

“Are you staying or leaving?”

To what degree you were referring, Joel wasn’t sure.

“You want me to stay?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to leave,” You admit.

Joel chuckles at your flippant tone, a welcome reprieve from the unspoken tension.

He climbs into bed slowly, mirroring his earlier position but with you facing him now, eyes closed as he tucks his arm under his head and curls his unoccupied hand around the bicep pressed against the pillow.

“How many?” 

As if Joel could read your mind, he sighs.

“One,” He professes, “Snuck up on me while I was sleepin’, found a mom’ n pop shop some way west—he got my knife, killed ‘em with my hands.”

Like a confessional, you take information and stow it away. One more demon to lock away, another secret to keep, he breathes out through his nose slowly, waiting for a remark that never comes. 

“Don’t leave again,” You say faintly, “not for me—for Tommy, he’s barely slept. Won’t let any of us take watch because he’s been waiting, hoping for you to show up.”

“I got his note.”

So, he did go back.

“He’s got too much hope,” Joel adds, “Always been like that, findin’ the good in people when there wasn’t any, always fuckin’ himself over in the long run.”

“He needs you, Joel,” —I need you. 

You wouldn’t admit that, not even on a dying breath. You look up at him, a nervous glance at him that you hadn’t taken nearly the entire night, the anxious squeeze of your chest. 

You did miss him, you could admit that to yourself. 

He looks boyish like this, youthfulness amongst the damning events whirling around you, no scowl present, face relaxed, plush lips pulled together as he swipes his tongue over them, staring down at you through a tired, half-lidded gaze. 

“I’m stayin’,” He promises. But, only time would tell.

[freedomfireflies]

SnakeBite*

Summary: The third part to 404*

The one where Harry is good for more than a good time.

But he's still good at that, too.

Word Count: 5.2k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Oh, come on…please. Please, don’t do this. Not right now. Not today…please.”

With a deep breath, you stick the key back into the ignition and try again. Waiting anxiously for the sound of the engine roaring to life. A sound you desperately need to hear more than anything.

Instead, all that follows is that familiar clunking of something heavy before there’s a rather shrill buzzing you can’t quite place.

Fuck.

Exasperated and woefully defeated, you take the key back out, groan, and drop your forehead onto the steering wheel. “This is not happening.”

Truth be told, you should have seen this coming. This isn’t the first time your poor car has made this unsettling noise, and perhaps it’s your fault for ignoring it for so long. You hadn’t meant to; you just didn’t realize it was this bad. Or that your car was this old.

Now, you’re trapped in the Juno Incorporated parking lot on a Friday afternoon with no way of getting you or your car home.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t even bother to lift your head as Harry’s voice carries in through the window. “Nothing. Go away.”

You hear the sound of his boots scraping across the concrete before they stop, and you feel a large shadow fall over your side of the vehicle. “Can I assume that god awful noise came from this hunk of shit you call a car?”

Leaning back, you huff as you look over. “I’m sorry, do you want something?”

Harry smirks, arms crossing over his chest as he juts his chin toward you. “Pop the hood, let me see.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Come on,” he pushes, a few curls dancing across his forehead from a soft gust of wind. You realize he looks different outside of the lab. Normal, almost. It’s unsettling. “You wanna leave, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but knowing you, you’d probably cut my breaks.”

“If I were gonna take you out, I would have done it by now.”

“Oh. Wow. You’re really instilling me with a lot of confidence, thanks.”

He steps back and motions toward the front of your car. “Fucking relax, Tinkerbell, and just pop the goddamn hood.”

Regretfully, you do as instructed before leaning out the open window to watch him walk toward your engine. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I know enough,” he replies, using the back of his hand to push on his glasses before bending down.

“That…is not helpful.”

“Well, I’m your only shot. Everyone else is gone.”

“I can call a repair guy.”

He shakes his head once. “Won’t get here in time. It’s rush hour on a Friday. You’ll be here for hours if they even show at all. And chances are, they won’t be able to schedule you in till next week. So, unless you’re planning to sleep here, in your car, can you please shut the fuck up, and let me focus?”

You feel your expression morph into a scowl as you unclick your seatbelt and step out. “I’d rather sleep in my car than trust you to fix my engine.”

You notice his eyes roll, but he’s amused. “Well, I can’t fix it. Not here. I think it’s your spark plugs. They tend to wear out faster in older cars. You’ll probably have to get them replaced.”

Scurrying to stand beside him, you glance over your engine and the internal workings of the car with a heavy sigh.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble beneath another strained groan. “And let me guess, it’s gonna be expensive.”

“Probably,” he agrees, glancing over. “But it’s not like you can’t afford it.”

Your eyes narrow. “I know I can afford it, I just don’t like dropping thousands of dollars on something so dumb.”

“Spark plugs aren’t dumb,” he retorts while reaching for your hood to slam it shut. “You need them to fucking drive.”

“Yeah, but having to pay for a rental car, manual labor, and a tow truck is dumb,” you point out. “And this is the last thing I need right now.”

His eyebrow lifts but he doesn’t ask for elaboration. Instead, he begins to stride across the lot toward a dark, black Harley, leaving you and your crisis behind.

In turn, you reach for your cellphone to look up local tow trucks and mechanics that might be able to help you out.

To your dismay, most shops are already closed for the weekend, except for one. And after a very lengthy and frustrated discussion, you learn that they won’t be able to come by until much later tonight. Which means that all your hopes of having a nice, relaxing evening are for naught. 

Once again defeated, you slump back against the side of your car and drop your head. “Well…great.”

Harry’s smirk returns as he glances over and straddles his bike. “What?”

“I’m stuck here until midnight,” you mumble, running a palm down the side of your cheek. “You were right, everyone is booked.”

“Shit,” is about all he offers while pulling his helmet over his head. “That sucks.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Welcome.” He revs the engine, and just like that, the bike roars to life. The loud and somewhat startling sound echoing across the parking lot as you flinch.. “So, what’s the plan, Princess? You gonna call an Uber and come back later?”

“I can’t,” you shout over the noise. “I have to be here in case they come early, or they’ll leave.”

Through the open visor, you see him frown. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a moment more, and you feel your skin grow warm under such a scrutinous gaze. Like he’s looking for something written between the lines of your face. “Well…make sure you lock your doors.”

“No shit.”

He smiles again before flipping the visor shut and steadying the bike with his leg. You stand back, ready to watch him speed out of the lot and onto the street, but to your surprise…he simply sits there.

In fact, a good sixty seconds pass before he suddenly slips the helmet off his head, sighs, and thrusts it toward you. “Get on.”

You blink. “What?”

“Get on the fucking bike, Tink,” he repeats. “I know a bar we can hang out in till they get here.”

“I…I just told you, I can’t leave—”

“You can see the parking lot from inside,” he interrupts. “If they show, we can just run back over.”

You step closer, drawn to his proposition, although still wildly confused. “Uh…okay. Why, though? I’m fine to just wait here.”

He looks at you, the grassy green behind his glasses somehow softer in this natural lighting. “S’not safe,” he says simply, shrugging one shoulder up. “Be better to wait somewhere public, and I don’t really want your death on my conscience.”

 And you aren’t exactly sure what to say. Because you think this may be the nicest thing he’s ever done for you – even if it’s still a little odd – and you don’t want to spook him by doing the wrong thing.

But as you debate a response, he shakes the helmet at you again, rather aggressively. “Tink, get on the goddamn bike, please. I’m wasting gas here.”

With a huff, you snatch it from his hand and join him on the Harley. The helmet slips on rather easily, and once you’re sure it’s snug and secure, your eyes trail down his back, unsure of how to proceed. 

You don’t exactly want to…hold him. Or touch him or straddle him. At least, not outside of the way you do in secret. In broad daylight. Where people could see.

In fact, you already feel as though you’re grinding against his ass from how small this goddamn seat is. Almost too close for comfort as you catch a subtle trace of his cologne and feel the warmth from his body.

But motorcycles don’t exactly come with seatbelts, and if he were to take a sharp corner, you might end up pancaked on the cement.

“Tinkerbell,” you suddenly hear him call over his shoulder, voice raised to carry over the growl of the engine. “Just fucking grab me, it’s fine.”

You glare at his curls, despite knowing he can’t see you. “I’m good.”

He snorts again before he’s suddenly reaching back, grabbing onto your wrists, and hoisting your arms around his middle.

You’re tugged forward, your chest pressing to his spine rather forcefully as he glances back.

“Pussy,” he murmurs, releasing the clutch until the bike jolts forward and takes off through the parking lot.

With a rather shrill squeal, you tighten your hold on his broad frame, and bury yourself between his shoulder blades. The sensation is exhilarating and frightening all in the same moment. The rush of wind, adrenaline, and the way he leans around the corner before taking off down the street.

You think you feel his chest vibrate with laughter, perhaps from the way your nails are scraping down his shirt. And despite your increasing terror, you find that you feel oddly…safe with him at the handles.

Not even two minutes later, he’s pulling into another parking spot on the other side of the street, right in front of the aforementioned bar. It’s a bar you recognize, one that a few of your other coworkers often frequent from time to time.

In fact, this is the exact same bar you and Harry first hooked up in all those months ago.

The memory makes you smile.

“What?” Harry asks as swings his leg over the side and stands up. “Why are you grinning like that?”

You quickly wipe the smirk from your face while wrestling the helmet off to hand back. “Like what? I’m just smiling, calm down.”

“I don’t like when you smile. It freaks me out.”

“You’re really rude, you know that?”

“What? I’m just being honest. You have a lot of teeth. It’s weird.”

You glower at him, swatting his chest as you brush by. “Bite me, Harold.”

“With what? Your teeth?”

You feign a snubbed gasp – to which he chuckles – before striding into the bar, leaving him to follow behind.

The large room is loud and crowded with people, the smell of alcohol and bad decisions clinging to the air. You make a beeline for the counter, exhausted and overworked and already annoyed by Harry’s future comments before he can even make them.

Like—

“Really? An appletini?” 

With a deep breath, you look over while the bartender turns around to begin prepping your drink. “Yes, really. I like apples. And it’s delicious. And the color is fun.”

He rests an arm on the edge of the marble bar and leans in. “How incredibly boring of you.”

Once again, your expression falls flat. “Are you gonna be this fucking annoying the whole time? Because I’d rather wait by my car and get murdered.”

“I make no promises.”

“Clearly. And let me guess, you’re gonna order something cool and manly like a scotch on the rocks.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks up before he smugly turns toward the bartender and calls, “I’ll have a SnakeBite.”

You can actually feel your eyes roll all the way into the back of your head. “God, you’re fucking pretentious.”

“Thank you,” he says with a smile, and you grit your teeth. “Will you relax? I haven’t even had a drink yet and you’re killing my buzz.”

“I’m not killing anything, I just can’t stand you.”

“No? Ouch. I thought we were friends.”

The sarcasm is evident, but you huff, nevertheless. “For the love of god, shut up.”

“What?” He nods his chin at you. “S’just a drink, don’t be so sensitive.”

“I’m sensitive because you’re annoying.”

“No, you’re sensitive because you’re wound up,” he retorts, eyeing you closely. It makes your skin crawl. “When’s the last time you got off, Tink?”

The inquiry makes you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his judgment. “None of your business.”

“So…couple weeks ago? In the closet, with me?” He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “That’s a long fucking time, Princess. No wonder you’re so uptight.”

Your mouth drops open, ready to scoff your resentment and perhaps a quippy remark before he suddenly steps forward and lowers his voice.

“Bet it’s achy, huh?” he coos, and the slight air condescension and sympathy makes your head spin. “Bet you hump your little pillow every night trying to get it done, yeah? But it never works, does it?”

Stunned and left without much remark, your lashes flutter.

He moves closer. “See, if we were friends…I’d offer to take you into the bathroom and help you out. But since you think you can do better…go ahead.”

He leans back while you gape at him. “I’m sorry…go ahead and do what?”

“Find someone,” he answers, glancing around the packed bar. “Take ‘em into the bathroom and let them bend you over the sink.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises. “That’s the whole reason people come to bars. To get drunk and fuck.”

“Well…that’s not why I’m here.”

“It could be.”

“Harry…no—”

“Why? Seriously, why not? You need it.”

“I don’t…you’re so fucking rude, I don’t need to get off—”

“Coming is good for your health. And for your unfavorable attitude—”

“Oh, you are so fucking—”

“Rude? Annoying? Doesn’t make me any less right.”

You clamp your mouth shut and step closer, letting your gaze travel the expanse of his face. “Come on, Harry,” you murmur softly – salaciously – as his breath seems to catch. “Do you really think…you could watch me with some other guy?”

His expression twists, his mouth already forming around something else snappy and crude.

But it seems to get stuck on his tongue when you suddenly reach out and trail your fingers down his chest. Moving in until there’s only a single breath between you.

“Do you really think…you could watch me touch them?” you whisper, glancing down to your hand as it grazes over his pec. “Or know that they had me dripping down their cock…the way I always drip for you?”

He wants to fight you. Wants to snort and look away.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s mesmerized by the power you so easily stole from him. Undone by the sound of your voice taunting him with an idea he can’t seem to stomach.

“Wanna know I’m whimpering their name the way I always whimper yours?” you continue, smoothing your other palm up the back of his neck. Squeezing just hard enough to make him straighten up. “Wanna see the marks on my throat from where they held me—”

“Easy,” he warns lowly, reaching up to snatch your wrist. But he doesn’t move you. “Not here—”

“Why?” You push up onto your tiptoes and let your lips ghost over his. “Who’s gonna see, hm? Who’s gonna care?”

His lashes flutter, eyes traveling down to your mouth. “Are you this desperate for it, Princess? Wanna fuck me right here in the middle of the bar? Make them watch?”

You smile, head tilting until the tip of your nose dances across his cheek. “Maybe,” you nearly purr. “Bet you like to be watched. You always like watching me.”

And maybe he knows you’re merely playing a game. Teasing him just to throw him off track and test his patience.

But he plays along, eager to see where it might lead. “Can’t help it,” he replies calmly, smirking himself. “Y’just always look so pretty when you’re three fingers deep in your cunt.”

“Yeah?” Your nails scratch at the soft curls near the nape of his neck. “Funny how I can make myself squirt better than you can.”

He exhales a rather sadistic chuckle while his arm reaches to loop around your waist, pulling your chest flush with his. “I wasn’t trying to make you squirt.”

“No?”

His head shakes once. “No. Trust me, Tink. If I wanted to…I would.”

“Then maybe you should.”

His lips part just enough to tease you with a taste. “Maybe I will.”

“Yeah? Right here? In front of everybody?”

Another grin. “I could. Be so fucking easy, too. Bend you over the bar, pull your soaked little panties down…spread you open so they can see how much of a dirty little cumslut you are.”

And perhaps this started as a ruse, but just the thought and the tantalizing way he speaks breeds a new inspiration.

“Cause you are, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, large hand pressing hard against your spine. “My dirty, fucking Princess? Get all wet and weepy from just a couple words?”

You swallow a whimper trying desperately to come free.

“Should I check?” he whispers, now subtly moving you over until your back meets the counter. “Hm? See if you’re as wound up as I think you are?”

You rifle through your list of responses but find that you have none to offer as his fingers delicately begin to trace the edge of your jeans. Provoking you further.

You reckon you should probably stop him. Point out what an idiotic idea this is and remind him that he’s still very much in public, surrounded by people.

But his body blocks you from most of the crowd, and nobody else is close enough to notice. And you suppose that even if they did look over, they wouldn’t exactly be able to see or understand.

His eyes flick to yours, looking for hesitation. But when he finds none, the corner of his mouth twitches up into a pleased smile.

“Dirty Princess,” he teases, sliding his hand into your pants as subtly as he can while you quickly glance around for prying eyes. “That’s right, Tink. Look at them.”

 The feel of his cold fingers against your warm skin is like ecstasy, sending a rush of adrenaline straight down to your toes.

You gasp quietly to mask a whine, vision going hazy as you watch him study you. 

“Oh, sweetie,” he tsks, smoothing his touch through your folds. Spreading and stroking as you reel. “Poor fucking thing. Did’ya get yourself all wet for me?”

“No,” you manage to reply, heart hammering against your rib cage when he smirks. “I was watching TikTok’s of Andrew Garfield earlier. This is for him.”

“Ah,” he hums, but he’s wildly amused, hand still cupping you gently before he swiftly pulls out and leaves you to wilt. “Well, in that case…”

He steps away, fingers tucked between his lips as he pretends to turn around.

However, before he can get far, you manage to capture a fistful of his shirt and yank him back to you. 

And you kiss him. Without reluctance or fear. You kiss him, and you sigh against his mouth, and swallow his surprised but greedy moan.

His hands are on your hips, squeezing and pulling, desperate to tug you further into his frame. 

You go willingly, becoming pliable in his hands. A few people cheer from beside you, raising their glasses and whistling like drunken animals. 

But it makes you both smile, suddenly unencumbered by the ideas of what people might think or who might see.

And it’s strange to feel so at peace in his arms. Unnatural almost to find relief in his lips or safety in his presence. Because this is still the same Harry that would let you drown before he jumped in after you. That would rather tell you off than tell you he likes you – even as an acquaintance. 

You’re not enemies, per se. You imagine you’re both too old for such childish rivalries. But he’s cruel and rude and blunt. His ego rivals the size of the moon, and his lack of care and inhibitions is proof that he could never be who you’d need him to be.

But that’s okay, you realize. You find serenity in the sadistic, strange behavior. Because it means you don’t have to commit to giving him anything more than what he deserves.

His tongue leaves a quick lick to yours before he pulls back and studies you from behind the dark frames of his glasses. “I need to fuck you.”

And you almost laugh at the frank way he speaks. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” His palm slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing it one, twice, three times. “Meet me in the bathroom.”

“Ew, no. I’m not fucking you in a crusty ass bathroom in a sketchy bar,” you retaliate with a scrunch of your nose. “Pick somewhere else.”

“There isn’t anywhere else,” he huffs. “Unless you really do want me to fuck right here in front of everybody.”

“That’s not funny.”

“M’not trying to be funny. I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Well…try harder.”

His eyes narrow. “Fine, you wanna fuck me on my bike?”

You blink. “Okay, that’s really not funny.”

“What?” He’s grinning again, and you hate the way his dimples pop out. Hate how charming they make him look. “Come on, I ride the bike, you ride me.”

You snort as you turn around to take a sip of your drink. “I’d rather get herpes.”

“Wow. Classy. Real fucking classy—”

“Admit it, you’ve had it before—”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“Well, you can’t. Remember?”

He scoffs. “Then where the fuck do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Literally anywhere else?”

“Well, I’m not taking you back to mine.”

“No? You don’t want me to see the bridge you live under?”

“Troll jokes. Funny.”

“Thank you, I thought so. It’s very fitting.”

His expression falls flat before he sighs and steps closer again. “Meet me in the fucking bathroom,” he repeats quietly, “and let me fuck you. Let me make it better.”

You want to remind him – again – that a dirty bathroom in a crowded bar isn’t exactly the best place. You’d never get a moment of privacy, and the position would most likely be wildly uncomfortable.

But suddenly, none of your reasons seem to matter. Because it hurts to be away from him. Actually aches between your thighs, forcing you to swallow thickly.

So, instead of responding with an actual answer, you simply take his hand, and drag him through the crowd.

You catch his smug smile – and resist the urge to slap the glasses off his face – before yanking him into the hall and toward the bathroom.

You both stumble through the door, already back on each other’s lips. Kissing, and groping, and groaning as you work to get the lock flipped.

You pause for only a moment to make sure the single stall restroom is in fact empty while Harry uses this as encouragement to begin nipping down the side of your neck. 

Your nails scratch down his scalp and he moans against the heat of your skin, exhaling his relief and lust all in the same breath.

His touch is firm – pointed and almost painful – as he pushes you back toward the wall. You gasp when you meet the cold, hard cement, lashes fluttering from the force and the sound of his belt coming undone.

He nods his chin at you, entertained by your fascination. “Come on, Princess. You’ve seen my cock before.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you murmur, swallowing thickly when he pulls himself out. “Before I change my mind and find somebody else."

He scoffs with a smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

He gives himself a few pumps, growing harder in his palm before he lets go and moves his attention to your jeans. He’s got them down your legs and pooled around your ankles in under thirty seconds flat, your panties soon following suit.

But he teases you for just a moment. Because of course he does, the sadistic fucker. Needing to hear you beg for him before he actually gives you what you both want.

“Harry,” you huff, glancing down as he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “We don’t have time, and the floor is dirty. Just do it.”

“Just do it? How romantic,” he snorts before obliging and straightening back up. “Thought girls liked foreplay.”

“We do, but not in gross, dirty bathrooms.”

“Fine. Next time.”

And for some reason, the casual way he refers to the future makes your head spin. You always assume the two of you will continue from time to time. But hearing him promise to take care of you again…

It’s almost…nice? 

Pushing the thought aside, you begin to turn around, hands pressing into the wall to brace yourself in preparation for what comes next.

But just as you’re getting comfortable, he suddenly grabs onto your hips, and spins you forward once again.

“No,” he murmurs softly, pretty green eyes trailing down your face. “No, I wanna see you this time.”

“Oh,” you whisper, skin growing hot as he steps between your legs. “Okay…?”

He grins lightly before reaching up to trail his thumb along your bottom lip. “I like watching you get all sappy when I fuck you. The way you grin when it feels good.”

Suddenly, your pulse starts to stagger. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like your smile.”

You suck in quiet breath. “I thought it creeped you out. That I had too many teeth.”

He chuckles to himself before taking hold of his cock and bringing it closer, trailing it between your legs. “You do. But that’s what makes you so beautiful.”

You think he must be out of his mind. Lost on the idea of sex and pleasure and SnakeBite’s. Tipsy and not all there. Because the Harry you know would never say something like that to you.

But you suppose you don’t really know Harry at all.

With that final thought, he hoists your leg over his hip, and begins to push in. It’s slow at first. You’re tense from the surroundings, from the loud sounds of the bar just on the other side of the wall, and from his admission.

But he loves it, cursing through gritted teeth before surging forward to kiss you. “Tink, you gotta fucking relax. Y’know I can’t do it if you don’t let me in.”

“Try…trying,” you pant, head falling back against the wall with a thud. “Sorry. Just go.”

He frowns, eyes rolling as his glasses begin to slip down the bridge of his nose. “M’not gonna go if you’re not stretched, Princess. I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“I don’t care,” you argue with a soft whine. “Really, I don’t care. Just go. Make it hurt.”

He releases your leg to slip his fingers just below your jaw, forcing your eyes on him. “Stop. M’not gonna do that, just relax.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your mouth. “Come on, sweetie. Know you can do it. Know you always take me so well, don’t you?”

You nod fervently. “Yes…yeah, yes—”

“Then take me,” he whispers, his free fingers finding your clit. He rubs, and presses, and pinches until he feels you begin to unwind. “There you go…there she is, that’s my girl. S’better, isn’t it? Yeah? Gonna let me in now?”

You can’t exactly speak, already lost in the pleasure and the fullness his thick cock provides as it pushes past your walls and settles nearly in your belly.

The sound you make is depraved and eager, and it makes him smile. “That good, huh? So fucking cute how cockdrunk you get.”

“Shut…up,” you huff before reaching for his hair. “Faster.”

“Faster,” he repeats to himself, hips pulling back just to snap forward. “Always want it fast, don’t you? Never want me to take my time.”

“Cause I don’t want your dick in me longer than it needs to be,” you retort, but you both know that’s not true. “Fucking hurry—”

With a sharp and sudden thrust, he changes the pace. Obeying your command for fast and hard as your bodies shake with pleasure and force. 

And you imagine it should feel quite strange to be so enamored by one man – one cock. But here you are, panting, and gasping, and whimpering as he fucks you against this bathroom wall. Ignoring the pounding of the fists against the door from people wanting to be let in.

He kisses you. Kisses all of you. Your lips, your cheek, your chin, your nose, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Tugs on your skin with his teeth before flattening his tongue against the tortured flesh. 

His hand dances underneath your shirt. Palm smoothing up your stomach and over the cup of your bra. Slipping just far enough inside to knead you in his grasp. Make you whimper and push closer.

And he’s so warm. All of him is warm and soft and strong. He smells like mahogany and sex, and he feels like ecstasy.

You love his hands. The veins in his arms, the bulge of his muscles. The tan of his skin and the way he holds you. 

He might be infuriating, but my god is he fun to look at. 

“Fucking shit,” he snaps, readjusting his angle to make sure he’s fucking into you just right. “So fucking good, Tink. You’re shaking, sweetie. You close already?”

You can’t respond with words, instead clenching around him in an effort to prove his point.

He smirks, quickly reaching up to push his glasses back into place. “Good. Want you to come all over my cock, baby. Want you to soak me. Can y’do that for me, Princess? Can you soak my cock?”

You think you know what he means, but truth be told, you aren’t sure if you can. You’ve only done it twice before – by your own hand, not his – and you wonder if you’d even be able to like this.

But the question is answered for you when he moves just enough to find that sweet, spongy spot that unravels you faster than lightning. 

He hits it over and over and over – perhaps without even realizing – and when you suddenly begin to cry out his name…he understands.

He watches as it happens, aiding in your pleasure by spitting on his fingers and bringing them down to your clit. 

The ministrations are ruthless and beautiful, and it almost distracts you from the gushing between your legs, and the way you soak his thighs.

“Shit,” you think you hear him groan, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “So fucking good, Tink. Yeah, just like that. That’s good, baby, keep going. Give me all of it. Fucking all of it, sweetie, yeah.”

And just before you can go sliding down the wall out of pure exhaustion…he follows. Pressing his chest into yours to keep you upright as he spills inside your pussy, creating a bigger mess than before. 

Everything is wet and sticky and warm. He’s breathing into your neck, holding onto your body so tight, you imagine you’ll see memories of him tomorrow. 

And you stay, just for a moment. Learning how to take in air again and waiting for the feeling to return to your muscles.

“You okay?” he finally asks, exhaling the question into the sweaty skin of your throat. “Didn’t break you, did I?”

Your smile is lazy as you shake your head. “It would take a lot more than you to break me.”

And he laughs. In the kind of way that makes you clench around him again.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

“I fucking hope so.”

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[kurokawaia]

❛ TOO POLITE ❜

Shinazugawa Sanemi X Fem!Reader

WC; 1.1k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW; no triggers apart from sanemi being a lil mean >.<, reader is very polite and timid, she doesn't really understand the whole concept yk, she's like innocent.

⋆·˚ ༘ *𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) Could you please do sanemi with s/o where he tries to degrade her and stuff but shes SO polite and just says Like 'sorry' and 'thank you' and obeys every command without question with like EXTREME politeness that its just too difficult to degrade, and its so cute😭 Im curious to see how he'd react. - ANON

m.list | demon slayer m.list

Sanemi had forever been known for his whiplash tongue and his rough character, he had no time for dribble, no use for sissies, and most definitely did not have the time for anything that even smacked of being very soft and very cutesy, very demure, LMA- sorry in the remotest way.

And that was the major reason it dumbfounded him, completely and absolutely, to have ended up with you-a person so soft, so sweet, and endlessly, impeccably polite that he often wanted to bash his head against a wall. Almost.

It had been a very long day, and all he wanted right now was to come home, maybe blow off some steam, and just bag all the tension built up. You were there waiting as he walked through the door with that same soft smile that chipped away at his gruff exterior.

"Welcome home, Sanemi," you smiled, your voice like honey. "How was your day?"

He grunted in response, not in the mood to answer that question with anything more than a noncommittal noise, and tossed his sword on the table with a clatter. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, trying to ignore how your mere presence seemed to make the knots in his shoulders loosen just a bit.

You reached for his haori, folding it carefully and setting it aside. "Dinner will be ready soon. Would you like to wash up first?"

You always were so goddamn considerate, always trying to think ahead, trying to make sure everything was just right for him. It was. maddening in a way. How the hell was it so easy to be nice, so completely put off by his roughness?

"No," he snapped, sitting heavily at the table. "Just hurry up with the damn food."

"Of course, my love. I'll bring it right away."

You didn't bat an eye at the sharpness of his tone and moved with that calm grace that always seemed to unsettle him. You readied the food, all the while Sanemi watching you sideways for something-anything-to continue acting that way.

Another command was barked out, this one more biting. "But don't scorch it. I'm not in the mood for your usual bland crap.".

"Yes, dear. I will get it soon-the way you like it," you replied quickly in your always-soft respectful tone. You didn't even pause with the job on hand and that soft smile, until you got it to the table, just about perfectly prepared.

Sanemi frowned, attempting to find fault with it, but of course, there was nothing to be found. The food was great- exactly how he liked it. Still, he would never admit that, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as he started to eat, hoping you didn't pay attention to the slight softening of his features.

You sat down opposite him, your hands neatly folded in your lap, and watched him eat with that gentle expression that drove him crazy, for reasons he could not quite fathom. It wasn't long before his irritation began to bubble up again, this time more at himself than you.

Why couldn't he just stay angry? Why did you have to be so… so…

"Why do you put up with this?" he finally snapped, his head jerking up from his meal, to meet your calm gaze. "Why don't you ever get pissed off? Why don't you ever talk back or tell me to shut up?"

You turned your head slightly, as if genuinely considering his questions, and then you smiled. A soft, warm smile that made something in his chest twist.

"Because I love you, Sanemi. I know you're just trying to cope with everything in your own way. If being rough with me helps you, then that's okay. I just want to make things easier for you."

Sanemi blinked, taken aback by your response. How could you say that with such sincerity? How could you look at him with so much affection after everything he'd said and done?

He opened his mouth for the argument, to say something sharp and biting back, but the words just wouldn't come. Instead, he felt the anger drain out of him, replaced instead by a confusion he couldn't quite shake.

"Easier for me?" he repeated, all but disbelieving. "How the hell is letting me treat you like crap easier on me?

"Because it gets it out," you said, like it was the most painfully obvious thing in the world. "I know you're not really mad at me. You're just frustrated sometimes, and that's okay. If it means that you need to get a little rough around the edges, then I'm cool with that. I know you don't mean it."

Sanemi stared at you, utterly dumbfounded. You seemed to take the wind out of his sails and left him floating, directionless because he did not know what would or should happen next. He was used to people fighting back, to fights and resistance, and you… well, you didn't push back. You don't fight. You just… accept him. And somehow, that was more disarming than any argument could have been.

He sat there, just staring at you for a moment, his brain racing to catch hold of what feeling was moving around inside him. It was annoying and confusing and-strangely comforting all at once.

He'd wanted to say something, to tell you that you didn't have to put up with his bullshit, you could be angry, you should be angry-but the words just wouldn't come. And that was it.

Finally, he exhaled loudly and rubbed his face in his hands. "You're too damn good for me," he grumbled, smiling more for himself than for you.

It was enough for him to see you smile again. "I'm all right, Sanemi. Do what you need to do-I'm here for you. Anything.

"Damn it," he muttered, the tension in his shoulders melting completely.

He couldn't stay angry, not when you looked at him like that. Not when you made it so damn hard to be mad. He stood up, walking around the table to pull you into a rough but heartfelt embrace. "You're too damn cute for your own good, you know that?

You giggled softly, leaning your head against his chest. "Thank you, Love."

"Don't thank me," he growled, though, by now, there was little true anger left in his tone. He tugged you closer, burying his face in your hair. "You're too courteous. It's annoying."

"I'm sorry," you said, but your voice was light, nearly playful.

His eyes rolled but a smile played at the corner of his lips. "Dammit, woman. Impossible.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list| demon slayer m.list

HONEY A/NOTE :: ill be making multiple parts to this btw !! i find the troupe of grumpy/easily mad x sunshine oblivious reader, so expect more of these!! if any of you have any specific ideas that would be lovely if you could let me know :D

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IV

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... masterlist/chapter map

IV.

You’re a little alarmed, until the passenger side window rolls down, and you see Professor Wick behind the wheel. He’s dressed for a night out, driving gloves and all, and a wave of desire nearly takes you out at the knees. This man. 

Does he have to look so goddamn edible all the fucking time?

“I thought I recognized you,” he says with a half smile that nearly stops your heart. You wonder if he’s implying that he almost didn’t recognize you, with clothes on. The thought sends an unreasonable spear of longing right through your center. You press your thighs together out of self defence, praying that he will just think that you are cold.

You tilt your head, curious what he’s doing here, even while your heart clamors like a brass band in your chest. “Hi.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I’m ok.” 

He frowns. “You really shouldn’t be walking around alone this late.” 

You shrug. Despite what the talking heads love to yell about on the news about the rampant violence in the inner city, you’ve never had a problem in your neighborhood before. 

When he sees you’re unmoved he sighs–you’re not sure if at you, or himself. “Humor me?” 

The fact is…you were more unsettled by how much you wanted to jump in his car from the moment he asked. 

“Alright.”

Ensconced in the buttery leather seat, you have to admit it’s a lot warmer inside the Porsche. You look around the interior. It’s an older model, but you can tell, lovingly maintained. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” 

You didn’t think professors got paid so well, but maybe he has other sources of income. One has to diversify in today’s economy, you know very well. There’s so much you want to know about him–you’re too shy to ask. 

He works the gears to pull away from the curb, and you feel yourself relax in the cozy atmosphere of the car at night. It’s intimate, but not uncomfortable, even if it feels surreal that he’s here, with you, like you conjured him purely out of the strength of your longing. 

“Big night?” he asks, maybe with a glint of teasing in his dark eyes, because it’s not even yet twelve.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “Just a drink with a friend. You?” 

“Dinner out.” He doesn’t specify if he was alone. Somehow, looking at this man…you doubt it. He’s dressed well, as usual, in a crisp shirt, dress pants, and a long wool overcoat, so handsome you could eat your hands. You think about this, a stupid jealousy stirring inside you that you know you have no right to. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, maybe because you have been quiet, watching the street as you zoom by, trying not to stare at the man beside you. 

“I think so,” you say absently, thinking about how you’re sure now that you invented the sight of him at the bar, and turned down a strapping young man to boot, all because of this silly forbidden longing for your boss you’ve managed to ball up like a tangle of barbed wire inside you. “It’s just…been a weird night.”

He frowns at this, a thunderous expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Did someone hurt you?” 

It startles you, how quickly he bristles in your defense. You're not used to anyone worrying about you so much. “No, nothing like that,” you quickly assure him. “I’ve just…” You don’t even know how to describe your problem, much less how to tell him in a way that doesn’t make you sound utterly pathetic. “I’ve just felt emptier than usual, is all.” You cannot meet his eyes as you say it, but he nods all the same. 

“I think…I know what you mean.” 

Hardly five minutes go by before you arrive at your apartment building, a blocky old brick structure from the turn of the century. You stare at your hands in your lap, pick at an imaginary pill in your tights. “Thanks for the ride. Do you…want to come inside for a drink or something?” 

You hold your breath in the eternity it takes for him to answer. You feel him look at you, the weight of that heavy dark gaze like a blanket upon your skin. Is it possible, to choke on desire? You feel like your heart has been replaced by an angrily pulsing sea urchin covered in merciless little spines.  

“I do want to,” he finally answers, staring fixedly at his eloquent gloved hands upon the leather wrapped steering wheel. “But I shouldn’t, y/n.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right, heartbroken anyway. You’re so good at doing that to yourself that you should receive a trophy, and you suppose there is an amusing karma in this mirrored situation with young Matthew. 

It sucks, to say the least, to be on this side of rejection. Now all you want is to go hide under your covers–and maybe not emerge for ten years. 

“Ok. See you in class, then.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” 

He waits until you’ve made it through the security door before he pulls away. You watch with your cheek pressed to the cool glass, as red tail lights disappear into the night with a growl. 

It slips your mind, that you never told him where you live.

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[bigdumbbambieyes]

They used to have sex every single day.

Hot, rough, quick sex whenever and wherever they could.

In their cars, in their rooms, on the recliners by Steve's pool, on his mother's perfectly kept cream coloured couch.

Always frantic, always desperate.

But, that was then, and this is now.

Billy feels shame. And guilt. A lot of it.

He takes antidepressants now and they're helping a lot, but not in other ways.

He can remember the flash of disappointment in Steve's eyes the first time he couldn't get it up for him. The humiliation and shame of not being able to get his fucking dick hard for his hot as fuck boyfriend who loves him and wants him -- it had been too much.

Even the soft touches and whispers of 'it's okay' weren't enough to push those feelings away. He pulled away, ran away, to the bathroom to hide in his shame, tears in his eyes.

Because he's always been good at sex. Always ready to go. It was what people had always wanted from him, what he was good for, and now?

It's been over a month now. Billy doesn't even want sex, which is a startling and unsettling feeling, but he's getting used to it.

He knows Steve isn't, though. Or, at least, he assumes, because Steve will still and try to start things late at night and Billy will tell him that he's 'tired' or 'not in the mood' and he hates the way Steve mumbles a soft 'okay', like he's given up.

Steve had even tried to bring it up one day over dinner, but Billy shut that conversation down immediately. He couldn't even look into his boyfriend's eyes when he did.

He knows he's a coward. He always has been.

But, Steve isn't.

Which is probably why, tonight, he's crawled into bed beside Billy and wrapped himself around him so tight.

Pressing his cheek into Billy's shoulder, and when Billy glances over at him from his book, he sees those big Bambi eyes staring up at him, and those pretty lips part to abruptly say, "Even if we never have sex again, I'll be here."

It makes him blink, caught off guard by it, and he feels that nagging shame telling him to push Steve away or get out of the bed, but Steve wraps his legs around his and holds him tighter, his gaze unrelenting.

His pretty boy presses a tiny little kiss to his shoulder and mutters, "I read the side effects of your meds."

It makes his skin prickle to know that.

"Billy," Steve breathes, frowning, "I love you, y'know?"

Billy nods, swallows thickly and mutters, "I know."

"Then talk to me."

Staring down at Steve, into those earnest eyes, filled with so much love and frustration, Billy knows he should. He owes Steve that much.

"It's," his voice catches, feels a lump form in his throat, "It's hard to."

"Why?" Steve whispers, thumbing over his skin where he's grabbing Billy's other freckled shoulder.

He gives a shrug, wishing he could just tell his boyfriend to drop it, but he can't do that to him. He's trying to be better.

There's tears in his eyes now, he can feel them wobbling on his lower lashes, but he decides to be brave and push past that shame and embarrassment to confide in his boyfriend, his best friend, his goddamn everything to whisper, "It's...so fucking embarrassing."

The tears stream down his cheeks, his face twisting as emotions creep up his throat, and Steve's face softens immediately -- and then he's bringing Billy into his chest, letting him hide there for a moment as he sobs, rubbing his back and kissing his hair, comforting him.

He feels so small like this, whenever Steve cuddles him into his chest, but it's also so safe. He knows he'll always be able to have this because Steve always puts him here, whenever he needs it, and it makes him breath just a little easier, even as he cries.

"What's embarrassing about it?" Steve whispers, his tone soft and curious, encouraging Billy to open up.

And again, Billy fights back the instinct to clam up, to shut down, and mutters into the soft fabric of Steve's sleep shirt, perhaps a little bit too mean, "I can't fucking get it up for you."

"But it makes sense, with the pills," Steve mumbles, not even bothered by the harshness in Billy's tone because he's used to his boyfriend being sensitive, "Like, you still like me, right?"

"Obviously," Billy mutters with a sniffle, furrowing his brows as he continues, "It's just...so frustrating. I--we used to fuck all the time, but even if I try to get hard, I just...can't."

If he wasn't so fucked up he'd fuck Steve all the time.

"It's not your fault, Billy," Steve murmurs, his voice firm, "Not having sex doesn't mean I don't love you. You mean so much more to me than just fucking -- please tell me you know that."

And, he does. Billy does know that. "I do," he whispers, realizing, "It's just...more of a 'me' thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like..." he pulls away from his hiding place, just enough so he can see Steve again, in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, and it gives him enough courage to continue, "I've always thought that sex was...all that I was good at. That it was, y'know, what everyone wanted from me. So...when I realized that I couldn't do that, with you, I just...felt so embarrassed and ashamed."

Steve's eyes soften again, his voice just as soft as he mumbles, "Baby--"

Billy can't stop, "I know I'm shit at telling you things and how I feel, so I try and show you instead. And sex was always easy for me, to show you that I love you, because I got to make you feel good and that made me feel good, but...but now I don't know--"

"Coffee."

Billy's mouth snaps shut, confused, as he asks, "What?"

Steve smiles gently and reaches up to brush Billy's hair back, "You make me coffee every morning. You cook my favourite pasta whenever I'm sad. You massage my shoulders whenever you see me rubbing them, and even when I'm not. You always give me the blue piece whenever we play board games because you know it's my favourite colour. You're always the first one to reach out when we hold hands."

Oh.

"You do know how to love me, Billy," Steve murmurs, sliding his hand down from Billy's hair and to his cheek, thumbing over it with such tenderness it makes tears well in his eyes again, "I feel loved by you all the time. With or without sex."

Billy can feel his chin wobbling a bit as the new tears fall, because no one has ever loved him like this. He hasn't let anyone love him like this before. He feels stupid for ever thinking that sex would make or break them when they've fought literal monsters together.

"Do I make you feel loved?" Steve asks.

"Yes," Billy answers immediately, even nodding as Steve holds his face, "You tell me all the time and I feel it."

He feels it every time Steve praises him. Whenever Steve buys him a little something just because it reminded Steve of him. Whenever Steve lets him cry in his arms, like this. He feels loved when Steve encourages him to talk to him about how he feels because no one has ever fucking done that for him -- held space for him like Steve has.

"Good," Steve smiles, a little relieved, "And, I'm sorry, that I didn't realize it sooner -- I wouldn't have tried to, like, initiate and stuff. I feel like a dick, like I was pressuring you."

"You weren't pressuring me," Billy mumbles, reaching up to place his hand over Steve's on his cheek, "I felt fucking horrible for even saying 'no'."

"Never feel bad for saying 'no', baby," Steve insists, "It's nothing personal, I know that now."

Billy nods in understanding, the both of them staring quietly at one another, and Steve gives him a small smile that Billy returns weakly.

"I love you," Steve murmurs, scooting forward a little more just so he can brush the tips of their noses together affectionately, "I love you so much, Billy."

"I love you, too," Billy whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling back, lowering his mouth a little more to press his lips against his boyfriend's in a gentle kiss.

He feels Steve kiss him back, soft and loving, so patient and understanding that it makes Billy's heart ache in gratitude and adoration.

He'll never love anyone else like he loves Steve, he knows that much.

"I'm willing to try, soon," Billy murmurs when they pull away, their hands still intertwined on his cheek, staring into those dark eyes.

"Sex?" Steve murmurs, his brows lifting.

"Yeah," Billy whispers, leaning into Steve's touch.

"Not because you feel like you have to?" Steve questions, worry in his tone.

Billy shakes his head, "No," and adds a little playfully, "I still want my boyfriend to fuck me, even if I can't fuck him."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at that and leans in to kiss him again, nodding in agreement, "Yeah, we can do that. Whenever you wanna try, I'm ready."

Where there had once been shame and embarrassment is now a soothing feeling of being understood and known, so sweet that it makes Billy kiss his boyfriend again and again, wanting to say 'thank you' but knowing that Steve already knows.

[cat3ch1sm]

hii i think this is my first time requesting from you so hopefully I do it right..

can you do sfw headcannons of Hisoka, illumi, and Kurapika with an s/o who has a terrifying nen aura? like stronger and more menacing then theirs? and can you do gender neutral reader? thanks :]

🕷️~ hello!! welcome to my inbox 💚 thanks for your request! if you’re ever wondering what info to put in a request just view the pinned post on my profile! tyy <33

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) gn!reader, sfw

𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐤𝐚, 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚

hisoka

hisoka isn’t usually fazed by anyone’s aura because his own is so overpowering. his aura is just so eerie and unsettling that he never needs to pay any mind to anyone else’s because he’s usually the one people stay away from. but when you enter the picture, that all changes. the second you even enter a building every person in there is instantly weighed down by the darkness and menace of your aura, including hisoka, and he can’t help but feel fearful because that is simply the only emotion your aura allows anyone around it to feel. but fear doesn’t affect hisoka like it does other people. rather, he’s intrigued.

hisoka obviously has a thing for people who can kill him, so he likes to be around you just for the twisted euphoria he experiences of being actually genuinely scared. he knows that if you wanted to or he made one wrong move, that you could kill him in a second, and that fills him with an uncanny amount of pleasure. as a matter of fact, he’ll regularly push your boundaries just to feel the rush when your aura spikes. it’s like his favorite thing to do

illumi

okay let me just say you’ve gotta be pretty goddamn scary to overshadow an aura like illumi’s. even when he’s not trying he’s still scary as shit 🙏🏾

illumi isn’t someone who normally feels things like fear, anxiety, anything along those lines. but when he first encounters you, he can’t deny the overpowering sense of dread he’s filled with when he’s even near you. it’s not like he’s legitimately scared of you or anything, but it’s more like trepidation is literally forced into him. like he has no choice but to fear your aura. this is a brand-new thing to him, too- not even the phantom troupe or anyone in his family has such an awful presence. and to be honest, illumi doesn’t like having the tables turned on him- he’s usually the one people run away from and go out of their way to avoid.

i imagine he’d watch you from a distance for a while- either by having needle people go keep tabs on you or by constructing some other nen tactic so he can observe you. the dread that comes with being too close to you and that horrible aura is too much for him to handle for now, especially since like i said it’s a new feeling. i think only after illumi has watched you long enough to discover a weakness that he’s able to exploit would he go and approach you, so if you try and pull something illumi can have a better chance at taking you out.

illumi’s next thought, though, is to make an ally out of you- and what better way to do that than have you literally join his family? that’s what causes him to seek you out in a “romantic” way- his goal is literally immediately just to marry you so you become a zoldyck and can’t turn against him.

i feel like during the relationship illumi might be a bit distant for the reasons i listed earlier. also illumi just isn’t a clingy or affectionate person. with how powerful your nen is and the hostile nature of your aura illumi isn’t inclined to be near you often. basically you both just do your own thing, but illumi does keep tabs on you and still doesn’t let you see other people. not that anybody wants to because you’re scary but still😭

kurapika

realistically, i doubt kurapika would be with anyone whose aura is this horrible. it reminds him way too much of the spiders. and in his mind, nobody with an aura as ghastly as yours can mean anything good for anyone. plus, kurapika has destructive tendencies of his own, so having someone even worse than him around would not benefit him at all. so i think he’d want to stay far away from you, and would be protective of those around him when you’re near.

but because these are headcanons and we are supposed to be delusional, let’s say that kurapika isn’t immediately deterred by your nightmarish aura. his mind goes a similar route to illumi’s, so Kurapika is going to want to get you on his side for sure. he isn’t someone who approaches people that much, so he devises a situation in which you both can be alone so he can try and develop some sort of bond which you can build on.

usually Kurapika would be more protective than not of people he’s in a relationship with, but not with you. he kind of keeps his distance, actually. if you want to do something dangerous or deadly he just steps back and lets you. he doesn’t feel the need to protect you at all, more so like protecting other people from you lmao 😭

these were mid asf but it’s 2 am 💔 i hope u enjoyed <33

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Joel’s delicate attachment to Leela and baby Maya deepens along with—her resistance, his denial, and the slow, inevitable way he’s always finding his way back to them. As they navigate a freak accident, Ellie sees it. He does too. Almost.

a/n: ah-woohooooo more of Joel being a thickheaded numpty, so enjoy! I would love to hear all your unhinged, lovely thoughts!

It had been a quiet few weeks for Joel.

Not the kind of quiet he liked—the stillness of early mornings, with the wind rustling the trees and a guitar strumming in his hands. No, this was the one that came after a storm, when the air was dense with the scent of rain and the world felt... upside down. Unsettled. The kind of quiet where the damage had already been done, and all that was left was to pick through the wreckage.

The kind of quiet that made a man think too much. It pressed into him, heavy and suffocating.

Since that night in the car, since he’d seen her unravel in real time, the tacit MO had changed. On more welcome news, Mal had stopped coming around. No thanks to him, of course.

Joel saw him through the window the first morning he returned to Leela's place. Mal was coming up the path with the same easy stride, hands in his pockets like he had a right to be there. God, just once, he wanted to knock the teeth off that goddamned kid.

Joel set down his hammer and exhaled through his nose. Bless Tommy for leaving the fun part to him. He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and stepped out onto the porch before the kid could even knock. The heavy door groaned on its hinges behind him, and he let it.

Mal spotted him and gave a lazy wave, stepping forward. “Hey, man. I’m just here to—”

Joel shifted in front of him. Not aggressive. Just there. An immense wall of quiet warning.

Mal stopped short, blinking up at him.

Joel wasn’t even trying to stand taller, but he didn’t need to. He just crossed his arms over his chest, let his shoulders square out naturally, let his stance say everything. He wasn’t fucking moving.

The kid hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh—is there a problem?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Joel said, voice even.

Mal frowned. “What?”

“I said, whatever it is, I got it.”

There was a pause. A moment where Joel could see the gears turning in Mal’s head, where the kid was piecing things together a little too slow for his liking.

“Okay, but Tommy said—”

“Yeah, well.” Joel leaned forward, just enough to be felt. Watched Mal’s jaw tighten, and watched him shift back on instinct. “Not anymore.”

That finally landed. Mal thankfully rocked back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced past Joel, toward the house, then back, brows knitting together, trying to make sense of what was going on. What he'd done wrong.

"Uh... do you want help, at least?" he offered, cautious.

Joel let out a slow breath, something close to a laugh—if you could call it that. There was nothing warm in it. "You run along now."

Mal lingered for another second, like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. And like a kid being told off, he tucked his tail and left.

Joel didn’t bother to watch him go. Just turned on his heel, grabbed the door, and went back inside. “Fuckin' pest,” he grumbled under his breath.

The house was quiet—only the soft creak of the stairs, followed by the sound of careful, steady footsteps.

He looked up and saw Leela was making her way down, one hand carefully bracing against the railing. She was in sweats and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled into a low-hanging bun. There was something different about her face today—sharper, cleaner, blanker maybe. Or maybe he was just seeing her in a better light now.

She caught him staring. "Was that Mal?"

Joel simply lied, "No."

She pressed her lips together. Not quite disappointment, not quite relief. Something in between. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Maybe later.”

Joel hooked a thumb through the loop of his tool belt, retrieving the hammer he’d slung there. He twirled it once, catching the handle in his palm.

“Don't worry about it. He’s a busy guy,” he said, keeping his voice light as he crossed her on the staircase. “Lots of shit to fix around town.”

More importantly, Leela didn’t ask why or how. Soon enough, she stopped looking for Mal. Didn’t even question when Joel started showing up every day instead with his old tool belt slung over his shoulder, standing at her door like it was the most unassuming thing in the world. She just looked at him—one glance, one unreadable flicker of those dark, tired eyes—and then moved on like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t there at all. Stiffing him, essentially.

And Joel knew that kind of distance. This gaping rupture, widened between people when something sore and hideous had been exposed. When someone had seen too much; known too much. Leela knew she’d overstepped, and now she was pulling back.

Joel knew that feeling. He’d done it plenty himself. That instinct to retreat, to pull the shutters down, to make yourself small. Hell, he’d lived it. Had become it.

So he let it happen. He let her pretend again. Didn't push, didn't say anything. He simply worked.

The nursery was coming together, slowly but surely. The pendant lights were fixed, casting warm pools of gold over the room. The shelves stood straighter, stocked with whatever Maria had been sneaking in—baby books, folded blankets, onesies, wooden toys. And the old fuchsia rug he’d found in Leela’s storage? It tied the whole damn thing together, like a relic of a forgotten life, all lived-in and warm for the baby girl.

Joel stood in the centre of it all, Maya cradled in his arms, rocking slightly on his heels. Not that she could appreciate any of this yet. A safe space of her own.

He had never been the kind of man who cooed at babies either. Hadn’t been that way when Sarah was small, hadn’t been that way in the years since. There was something about them—so soft, so fragile—that made him cautious, like he had to hold back, keep himself in check.

Maya made it easier.

"Hi," he whispered to her after her naps. "Did you sleep well? Huh, pretty girl? C'mere."

She made tiny, thoughtful expressions like she was really listening to him. Her little hands were always reaching, always curious. Right now, she was watching the lights with those big brown eyes, mesmerized by the slow shift of the shadows on the ceiling, her mouth parting slightly in wonder. Her fingers curled absently in his shirt, barely grasping, like she just liked knowing he was there.

She’d been a fussy one lately—tired, restless, wanting to be held more often than not. Lonely. And with a mama like Leela, who drifted too easily and got lost too deep in her own head, Joel figured it wasn’t a bad idea to show her around. Give her something new to look at.

“What do you think, baby girl?” he murmured, shifting her closer, his palm smoothing down her tiny back. “Did I do okay or what?”

Maya blinked up at him, her whole body stilling for a second before she let out a soft, breathy coo.

Joel grinned. “Yeah?” he chuckled. “That a yes?”

She wiggled in his hold, that gummy little smile coming alive, kicking lightly against his ribs, and Joel felt himself exhale—deep, easy, something loosening inside him. She liked it. The nursery. The lights. Him. Maybe none of it mattered in that little head of hers, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t fussing. She was looking at him like she trusted him, and God help him, but he wanted to deserve that.

He took her toward the shelves, kneeling carefully with her in one arm, balancing his weight as he pointed to the row of paint cans. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s pick a colour. What’s it gonna be, huh?” He tilted them slightly, exposing the faded labels. “We got white. Some kinda blue. Green.”

Maya reacted immediately, tiny fist stretching out, fingers grazing toward the muted green.

Joel huffed a small laugh. “Yeah? That your favorite?”

Her fingers brushed the side of the can, fascinated by the cool metal, a quiet coo slipping from her lips.

Joel hesitated for a second, then gave in. He really couldn't help himself. At that moment, he just had to. Slowly, carefully, he shifted her closer, lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the soft crown of her unsteady little head.

She smelled faint and sweet as always, like baby powder and fresh linens, and he let himself linger for a second longer than he should have, feeling the heat of her through his shirt, the tiny weight of her against his chest.

Maya wiggled in response, not in protest, but excitement, legs kicking slightly.

Joel exhaled, something breaking loose inside him.

Before he could stop himself, he pressed another kiss to the side of her head, then another and another, half a laugh escaping him when she wriggled in delight, her little fists stretching open, her eyes squeezing shut like she could feel the warmth of it sinking in.

Maybe she could. Maybe she knew, in that small, primal way babies knew things, that Joel was someone safe. That he wouldn’t let her fall. That he really fucking loved her.

A rustle at the doorway made him glance up from a kiss. Leela stood there, her hand lightly braced against the frame, watching him.

Joel was caught off guard, leaning away from Maya a bit, settling her lower against his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, voice low. “Just givin’ her the lay of the land.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. She only flashed a tight, fleeting smile before stepping forward, arms extending toward Maya. “You wanna take a bath with mama?”

Maya twisted in his hold, cooing eagerly now, little hands reaching for her mother. Even after everything, her mother was still her favourite person.

Joel let her go, careful as he passed her over to Leela. Their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and he ignored the way it lingered, how her fingers barely curled in his before she took Maya into her arms.

“She’s been good,” Joel muttered.

Leela nodded, running a gentle palm over Maya’s back. “There’s lunch downstairs if you’re hungry.”

Joel studied her for a beat, his fingers brushing idly against his tool belt. “…Did you eat something?”

She hesitated. Too long. Then nodded, slow.

He didn’t call her on the lie. Instead, he nodded back, watching as she turned on her heel, shifting Maya closer against her shoulder. She left him with another tight, fleeting smile before disappearing down the hall.

Joel breathed out a sigh, glancing back at the half-finished room. Maya’s soft, content coos still lingered in the air. The green paint sat on the shelf, waiting.

And for some damn reason, he felt lonelier than he had in a long, long time.

It had taken him eleven days. Too long for a man like him. But he hadn’t rushed at all. He should’ve, but he didn’t. Had he been the same old Joel—good ol’ Texas Joel—this would’ve been a job done in a heartbeat. A blink, and he’d be out of her way. He wouldn’t have noticed things. Wouldn’t have lingered like a moron.

Maybe it was because of the way Leela barely spoke to him anymore. Or that she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she checked on his progress in clipped words and hums, wouldn’t even glance his way when she passed Maya to him like clockwork, a silent, wordless thing between them.

Maybe because when she leaves him standing at the porch at the end of the day, the door closing shut in his face, it didn’t feel like closing a chapter. It felt like a fucking wall going up.

Joel found her in the kitchen that evening, standing by the counter, wrist-deep in soapy water. It was late, Maya was snoozing her little head off upstairs, the house dim except for the overhead light humming low above them.

She didn’t stagger when he entered, didn’t look at him either. Just kept scrubbing the hell out of a plate, though he was pretty sure it was already clean. He dawdled near the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He should’ve left. Should’ve let the silence settle. But he couldn't just leave it alone.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped forward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Y’know, you got a dishwasher. It's half the effort,” he pointed out.

Leela gave a small huff. “Electricity’s scarce.”

Joel snorted. “So is water, darlin’.”

She finally glanced at him, just a flicker, then back to the sink.

He tapped his fingers against the counter, searching for something—anything—to keep her in this moment with him. “Made good progress today,” he said. “Maya... she tried to turn on her side. The nursery; well, I just need to fix up that dresser and—”

“Look, thank you. But I’m really tired, Joel.”

She said it without looking at him, her voice level, no bite to it. Just a statement. A locked door. He should’ve expected it, should’ve shrugged it off and moved on. Instead, something about the words, directed at him, sat wrong inside him. All that hurt-people-hurt-people-drivel that Maria used to say came back to bite him in the ass.

He hesitated, shifting his weight onto his feet. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I should get going.”

She said nothing. Just shut off the faucet, dried her hands on a towel, and walked past him, close enough that the damp heat of her skin lingered for half a second longer than it should have. And despite fighting the urge to glance back at her as she left the room, he watched her disappear down the hall.

Joel stood outside her door for a long moment, which he had conscientiously locked, staring at the chipped paint of the doorframe, jaw clenching. His eyes flicked to the porch swing. It swayed slightly in the cold breeze.

Was it juvenile to think maybe she’d prefer his company? Was it fucking brainless of him to crave somewhere to belong? A purpose? Was he meant to die alone in a strange house and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles? Maybe. Probably. But hell if he didn’t wish it anyway.

Joel didn’t want to admit it—not directly, not even to himself—but he wanted to talk to her. Not about anything in particular. Not about that night in the Maranello, or how her little, breathy laugh was possibly the best thing to hear after those roars and clicks of the world beyond, or why she’d started looking at him instead of through him.

He just wanted something. Because before, there had been something. It wasn’t like talking to most people, where you had to pick your words apart before they even left your mouth, where you had to navigate bullshit small talk or forced pleasantries. With Leela, it had been... easy. Unspoken. A warm kind of quiet, the kind where he didn’t have to think too much, where he could just be.

He'll admit it, just this once—he liked that about her. He liked that a moment didn’t have to be forced. That he didn’t have to overthink, that they had a rhythm, a delicate system between them, one that made sense even if neither of them ever put words to it.

But now?

Now, she barely looked at him. Nowadays, when she passed Maya to him, it wasn’t with that quiet, knowing ease or a friendly grin, no matter how tired it had been—it was mechanical, transactional, like handing over a set of keys. Like a reminder that he wasn’t supposed to be here, and he didn’t know what to call that. Didn’t like the way it made his instincts turn over, uneasy, in his chest.

All that lingering had finally paid off, and Joel had found his way in. He wasn’t going to show it, of course—wasn’t gonna give himself away like some fool—but damn if he wasn’t relieved.

After days of unending cold shoulders, after all that stiff distance, this was the first real opening he’d gotten. An excuse. A way to talk to her without forcing it.

He had been fixing a flickering wall lamp that had been bugging him for some time now, in the second-floor hallway, standing on a step stool when—

CRASH.

The whole house plunged into darkness. The light he’d been working on blinked out, along with the rest of them, and then—a groan. A pained, breathy, hitched groan from below. His entire body tensed before his brain caught up.

Then came the wailing. Maya.

Joel’s heart stammered, caught between two instincts. The damn near gutting sound of the baby girl's frightened cries and that groan—that voice—he'd distinctly heard from the basement.

Fuck. His feet moved before his mind did. He leapt off the stool, tools cluttering to the floor, ignoring the protesting ache in his knees as he tore down the hall to Maya’s room. She was red-faced, eyes squeezed shut, fists curled as she screamed, trembling from the shock.

"Hey, hey, Maya," Joel hushed, scooping her up into his arms, and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, sweetheart. I got you. I got you."

He shushed her, palm stroking warm circles over her back, bouncing her lightly in his arms. His heartbeat was loud, hammering in his ears, drowning everything out but the damn groan still hanging in his mind.

Leela.

She was down there, in that cursed basement, alone. And that sound had been awful.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, pressing his lips to Maya’s head before pulling back. More for himself rather than her.

“I'm right here, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” His voice was steady—measured—but his hands weren’t. His grip on her was a little too tight. They trembled a little.

Maya sniffled, her cries quieting just enough to slow his pulse, and he took that as his chance. Keeping her tucked to his chest, he made his way down the stairs, near flying, boots thudding against the wood.

His breath hitched as he reached the basement door. “Hey, you down here?” he called, shoving it open with his shoulder, jogging down to the dim space below.

Then he saw her.

Leela was slumped against the wall, obvious that she had been tossed into it, her silhouette barely lit by the glare of an emergency lamp in the corner. She was gripping her shoulder fiercely, rubbing it like she was trying to erase the pain. Her fingers dug in hard.

The remnants of her little "science project" upgrade lay scattered around her. Loose wires, metal scraps, a circuit board still humming with life. The main plug socket was connected. Was she fucking stupid? There was a baby upstairs, and she was ready to risk her home for that dumbass machine.

And her face—Fuck. She had gone pale. Eyes squeezed shut. Her chest rose and fell like she was working through an intense wave of pain.

“Christ.” The word came out more like a breath than anything. Joel took a step forward, but when his eyes landed on the tangled wires, something burned under his ribs.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out rougher than intended, fear clawing at his throat, disguising itself as frustration.

Leela’s eyes fluttered open, hazy but sharp. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.” She held up a hand to stop him before he could kneel down beside her. “Just a bit of bruising. Maya first.”

Joel clenched his jaw.

She was right. Damn it, he hated that she was right. Maya, now hiccupping soft little breaths against his chest, was the priority.

“Right,” he muttered, though the reluctance in his voice was clear. He cast her one last look, making sure she was still upright, still breathing normal, before turning back up the stairs.

It took ten whole minutes to get Maya settled, and that was a miracle in itself. He'd resorted to pleading under his breath, but she had continued to watch him, eyes wide, refusing to let sleep take her like she knew something was wrong. She was perceptive. Just like her mother.

Finally, finally, her little lashes fluttered shut, her tiny hand still gripping onto his shirt.

Joel exhaled, relief going awash his tension. “Good girl,” he murmured, before unfurling her fingers from his collar, brushing a kiss over them and laying her back down.

Then he was sprinting again. Back down the stairs, faster than he should have been, hand gripping the railing tight.

Leela hadn’t moved much. She was still slumped against the basement wall, her breaths deep and restrained—like she was trying to breathe the pain away.

Joel came down to a crouch by her feet. “Hey.”

“I'm fine, Joel, really,” she assured quietly.

Though, he could tell she was pissed at herself. She hated being like this—vulnerable, hurting, unable to brush it off and acting like it didn’t happen. But Joel saw it. He saw her. How she'd tilted her head against the wall, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Leela truly was fine. Bruised, rattled—but fine.

Joel had checked her over once more, ensuring nothing was broken, no serious harm done, and he had to force himself to believe her when she said she’d be okay.

But her hands. Oh, Christ. The dim glow of the emergency lamp cast a dull shine over her skin, and that’s when he noticed—the raw, reddened patches along her fingertips. The unmistakable burn marks where the electricity must’ve bit into her.

"Shit." He exhaled sharply through his nose, scraping a hand down his beard as he stared at her fingers.

She must’ve seen the look on his face because she tucked her hands close to her stomach like she could make them disappear. “Seriously,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “I’ve had worse.”

Joel’s jaw ticked. She wasn’t wrong. And that made something in him burn even hotter.

“C’mon,” he muttered, nodding toward the stairs. “Up.”

Leela hesitated, but the way he stood—the way he waited—made it clear he wasn’t asking. So she sighed and pushed herself upright, and Joel stayed close, arms extended safely around her, watching the way she moved, the way her body reacted.

She didn’t stumble. Didn’t wobble. That was good. No concussion or broken bones. A knot in his chest loosened instantly.

Once they made it back upstairs, Joel had her sit at the kitchen table, lit up from the sunshine filtering through from the afternoon sun. He set a bowl of warm water down in front of her, the steam curling into the space between them. He grabbed a small tin of ointment after a bit of rustling through the cabinets, then a roll of gauze, then paused, eyes flicking to her.

She was watching him. Still. Silent. Waiting.

Joel breathed out, slow and even, then came back over, pulling a chair beside her. He reached for her wrist, gently, carefully, lifting her hands into his own. A silent ask. Permission. Lesson learned from the last time he'd touched her.

Leela tensed for half a second before sighing, letting him take them.

She was trying to play it off like it didn’t hurt. Like it was fine. But as soon as he dipped her fingertips into the warm water, she sucked in a quiet breath through her teeth.

Joel’s grip tightened just a little. He tried to squeeze everything he had felt these past few days into a single word—“Sorry.”

He worked, taking it slow, gently swiping away the dust and grime, watching the way her skin flinched under the heat. His thumbs moved gradually, steadily, like he was afraid to make it worse.

“Y’gotta be more careful,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Damn wires ain’t worth all this. Remember, you’ve got someone countin’ on you.”

Leela let out a soft, tired laugh. “I didn’t know I had a nanny now.”

Joel shot her a look. “You don’t. You got me.”

She blinked at that.

Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it. Instead, she let him work, let him take care of her, and trusted his instincts, and that felt like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge just yet.

Once her hands were cleaned, he dried them carefully, mindful of the more sensitive spots, before smoothing ointment over each burnt fingertip.

Leela twitched. “Ow.”

Joel grunted. “Ain’t gonna feel good, but it’ll keep it from blisterin’ too bad.”

He finished wrapping the gauze around her fingers, slow and precise, making sure they weren’t too tight. Leela stared down at her hands when he was done, flexing her fingers slightly, testing the bandages like she wasn’t sure what to make of them. Three fingers on each hand.

Joel blew out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face as he took in the house.

It was quiet. Too damn quiet. God, he hated this. That unnatural kind, where something had been cut short too suddenly—like the whole place had been stunned into silence. The shot-out lights overhead blinked weakly before finally dying out for good, leaving nothing but the cold creeping in from every corner.

It was already setting in. The draft slithered through the cracks in the windows, curling around his ankles, and sinking into the wood beneath his feet. The thermostat had shut off along with the rest of the power, which meant no heat. Not with how damn cold it got out here. Jesus, he'd forgotten to tuck some extra layers around Maya.

His eyes swept the room. A busted power grid. A rattled woman nursing bruises. A two-month-old baby upstairs who didn’t know a damn thing about survival, who didn’t understand that warmth wasn’t something she could just take for granted.

And this woman—this stubborn, frustrating woman—was already trying to stand up like she hadn’t just been thrown into a wall.

"I'll go check it out. Don't worry, Joel, I know what to do," Leela offered, pushing herself up.

Joel shot out a hand, firm, stopping her before she could get any further.

"You ain't fixin’ shit, you hear me?" His voice came out rougher than he intended, but hell if he cared. "Sit your damn ass down. You're stayin' at my place till I get this sorted."

The prospect did not sit well with her. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched, her eyes flicking to the window like she was already searching for another solution.

She shook her head. "I can't—"

"That's not an option."

She looked at him then, her brows drawing together. And he knew what she saw—knew she saw that hard-set determination in his face, the part of him that had already made up his mind.

What she didn’t see—what he’d never let her see—was the way his chest was burning with something too tight, too damn close to fear.

Because he’d walked into cold houses before. Knew what happened when the temperature dropped too low. Had seen bodies frozen stiff in the middle of the night, curled up as if that had been enough to keep them warm. Had seen what happened when people thought they could tough it out. He'd rather never see or smell that ever again.

Now, Leela thought she could tough it out. But he wasn’t about to let her gamble with a baby’s warmth just to prove a damn point. And if she thought this was some kind of negotiation, she was dead wrong. Because he wasn’t giving her a choice.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, softening the edges just enough so he wasn’t barking orders at her like some kind of drill sergeant.

“Just for a while,” he said, voice dropping lower. “Till I can fix whatever the hell you fucked up down there.”

Leela didn’t answer right away, lips pressing into a thin line. But she wasn’t stupid.

She glanced up toward the stairs, toward where Maya was still sleeping. Then back at him. Joel could see the exact moment she gave in. Her shoulders slumped as she relented.

He nodded, standing up, already running through what needed to be done. “Good. I'll go bundle up the kid.”

X

Joel hasn't exactly planned to have company. Ever.

Maria and Tommy showed up sometimes. Ellie, too—though not without complaint. She claimed the place smelled like old people and swore visiting would tank her cool factor. But even when they came around, he never let them stay too long. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before he was ushering them out the door with a gruff, Alright, get on, and some excuse about needing to be up early. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having people around. It was just—his place wasn’t made for that. He hadn’t made it for that.

It was single floor, nice and compact. He slept on the pullout couch in the living room. Not because he didn’t have that one really sweet bedroom, but because it was easier nowadays—closer to the door, closer to the window that faced the big white house across the street. His sink was a mess of dishes from last night, crusted over and rotting in the stale air. His cabinets weren’t stocked with food so much as they were with whiskey and coffee.

He came home. He ate. He slept. He woke up. Showered. Left. That was it. That was his life. It was enough and to spare.

So when Leela and Maya showed up at his front door, he wasn’t prepared. Not in the slightest.

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, stepping aside to let her in. “Come on, then.”

Leela ducked inside first, shaking the cold from her coat, eyes flicking around the place as if she were already judging him for it. And maybe she was. Hell, Joel sure as shit would. Because this—this eyesore—was how she was gonna see him. As some tired, deadbeat old man who hadn’t even tried.

Maya stirred against her chest, her little hands fisting in the collar of Leela’s coat.

Joel cleared his throat and reached for her automatically. He needed his calm here. “C’mere, baby girl.”

She squealed at the sound of his voice, squirming, her small fingers flexing, gripping the fabric of his flannel before she finally settled against him, warm and soft. Joel let out a quiet breath through his nose, a strange kind of tightness unwinding from his ribs. He hadn’t even realized he’d been bracing for something.

“She can stay with me,” Leela said softly, slipping out of her coat.

Joel shook his head. “Nah, you get some rest. You’re takin’ the room down the hall.”

Leela blinked, surprised. “And you?”

Joel busied himself with Maya, playing catch and release with her tiny fists, letting her grab onto his finger before slipping it away. “I’ll be fine. Got the couch.”

She frowned. “But you’ve got that bad back.”

Joel sighed, jaw twitching. “Yes, ma'am. Thanks for noticin’.”

Leela’s mouth quirked slightly, just a little, but enough that it softened something in her expression. “You should take the bed, Joel.”

He hummed, shaking his head, shifting Maya a little higher against his chest. “You just shot into a wall and burned yourself, darlin’. I think you’re entitled to a bed.”

She tilted her head at him, her brow pinching together like she was trying to figure something out.

Joel stared back, more stubborn than apprehensive, his grip tightening just a fraction around Maya’s small body.

He wasn’t sure what it was, that look of hers. But damn if it didn’t make him feel like he was seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like she was really looking at him—not the grumpy bastard everyone in Jackson thought he was, not the fixer, not the old guy sleeping his way through life—but him.

Joel shifted on his feet, clearing his throat. “Look, you’re takin’ the bed, that’s that. Maya can sleep next to you, so she’ll be closer.”

Leela was still staring at him, quiet for a long beat.

Then eventually she sighed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like that little something Joel had wanted. Like an inch of the cold between them had finally cracked, let some warmth in.

Look, of course, Joel had always known his house was too damn small. He just hadn’t felt it until now.

There was no privacy to be had, not really. The pullout couch in the living room faced the bedroom door, left cracked open just enough for him to see the gentle rise and fall of Maya’s little body curled against where Leela would sleep later. The bathroom was the only one in the house, meaning if she needed it in the middle of the night, she’d have to walk past him to get there.

Not much space. Not much distance.

So when he heard the soft shuffle of her feet against the wood floor, he wasn’t surprised. He didn’t even have to look up from the guitar in his hands to know she’d wandered further inside, drawn toward the small corner of the living room where he kept his workspace.

It was a cramped setup—a shabby studio table shoved against the wall, two half-finished guitars resting on stands nearby. He’d only just started working on them, but it gave his hands something to do, something to create.

Leela’s fingers grazed over the unfinished wood, her touch featherlight. “I didn’t know you were this talented. A luthier.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the wall. “Layin’ it on a bit thick.”

She ignored him, curiosity guiding her hands as she thumbed over the strings. A quiet hum vibrated through the air, not a real note, just a sound. She tilted her head, listening.

“Would you make one for me when you have time to spare?” she asked, glancing up. “I’d love to learn.”

Joel almost laughed, because—yeah. Yeah, he’d drop dead before refusing that. “‘Course,” he said, voice low but certain.

Leela’s eyes found it too easily, drawn in like a moth to an old light. He almost wished he'd hid it away.

The picture that had survived time and death, sat on the corner shelf, tucked between a coil of guitar strings and a worn-out rag, the frame dull with dust he never bothered to wipe away. The glass was cracked, a thin vein running through the top left corner, but it didn’t matter. The image was still there. She was still there.

Sarah, grinning wide, her curls bouncing as she leaned into him, arms slung around his shoulders. Joel remembered that day. He’d taken her out to some shitty little carnival on the edge of town, and let her sucker him into one of those rigged ring toss games. She’d won a stuffed bear—cheated, more like, because the booth worker had taken pity on her—and held onto it the whole night like it was the greatest thing in the world.

She looked happy. They looked happy.

And it hit him—like it always did, like it always would—how long it had been since he’d last heard her voice. Since she’d called him 'Dad!' in that exasperated, teasing way of hers. Since she’d looked at him like he was the safest place she’d ever known.

Leela didn’t say anything. She didn’t even reach for it, didn’t let her gaze linger too long. Just acknowledged it, felt it, then moved past it, like she understood that some ghosts weren’t meant to be disturbed. Let them rest.

Joel swallowed. It wasn’t often that someone gave him that kind of space—left his past untouched, let him sit with it without trying to crack it open.

She leaned back against the edge of the desk, brushing her fingers through her hair again—one of those little habits of hers, nervous and absentminded. The strands were overgrown, frayed at the ends, and he knew she probably didn’t have the time to fix it, or maybe just didn’t care enough to. He should tell Maria to give her a trim.

But, she wasn’t wearing that pearl-buttoned nightdress tonight. This one was blue. Smooth. Loose-fitting. The frilled sleeves barely touched her shoulders, and it wasn’t anything special, not really, but—he liked it. That colour looked pretty on her skin.

The thought settled in his chest like an itch he didn’t know how to scratch.

Leela watched her fingers trail absently over the wood grain of the desk. “I owe you an apology, Joel,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Joel listened and didn’t speak, just let the words settle between them.

“For how I’ve been treating you.” She swallowed, gaze flicking up to him, uncertain but steady. “You’ve only ever helped me, and you're so good with Maya. I know it wasn’t fair of me to just… shut you out.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

But she wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, jaw tensing, lips parting slightly before pressing shut again. There was something she wanted to say like it was dislodged deep, festering, in her chest.

“That night in the car…” She took a breath like it might help balance her. It didn’t. “It wasn't you. I had—before Maya, I was—there was—”

Joel knew that look. The way her throat bobbed, her fingers curling against the desk like she needed something solid to hold onto. Holding herself together. He didn’t let her unravel, just not tonight.

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. “You don’t have to explain.”

Leela blinked at him, studying his face, like she was trying to decide if he meant it. So he shrugged, forcing a small, easy grin.

“Perks of havin’ me around. I don’t care for the details.”

A small breath of laughter escaped her. Real, unguarded, softening the edges of her face. He loved to see it on her. “That's a relief.”

Joel leaned forward, rubbing his palm over his knee, the dull ache settling in from the long day.

His voice was lower when he spoke. “It’s just nice to be there, y’know?” He wasn’t good at this—saying shit like this—but it began to get easier with her. “With Maya. And you. There's more purpose than just shooting things beyond the fence.”

Something flickered across Leela’s face.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the desk, and her knuckles paled with how tightly she gripped it. “You’re welcome home anytime, Joel. My door’s always open for you.”

Joel’s chest pulled tight.

He looked at her. And he thought about that damn oak door, how she never locked it, how he’d always given her hell for it in his head. And how, for the first time, it didn’t feel like carelessness.

It felt like trust. Not in this boring town of survivors. But in the neighbour across the street who'd ferreted his way into their lives.

Leela took a slow breath, glancing down before meeting his eyes again. “So, you don’t have to come around just to fix things next time.”

Her voice was softer now. And then—something else. A small, almost shy laugh slipped past her lips, barely there, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say this next part out loud.

“Come to eat. To talk. To see Maya.” A beat. “And me.”

Joel felt it then—the shift. It wasn’t big, wasn’t some grand, earth-shaking thing. But it was there. He felt it.

"Maya loves you so much."

Joel glanced at her, unable to hold back the sympathy. He should’ve just let it sit. Should’ve just nodded, grunted something, and let the conversation move on. But instead, he said, low, “That bothering you?”

Leela hesitated, but only for a second. Then she sighed, rubbing a hand over her neck. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe.”

Joel stayed quiet, watching her.

She let out a quiet, humourless laugh. “It’s just... I don’t feel like her mother. Not really.” Her voice was even, but he could hear the strain underneath, the sharp edge of something she didn’t want to say aloud. “I do everything I’m supposed to. Feed her. Hold her. Change her. But it’s just... a list to get through.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I thought it would be different. I know it's such an awful thing to say.”

Joel felt that like a punch to the gut. He knew what she meant. Knew how goddamn isolating it could be—to go through the motions, do the right thing, and still feel like you’re on the outside looking in.

“She’s yours, darlin',” he said after a moment. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing—at making sense of feelings, at giving comfort. He was trying. “That’s what matters. Sometimes it's not a magic switch, you can't just flip it on and feel it. Sometimes, you grow to love someone. Over time, energy, effort.”

Leela scoffed, quiet, barely there. “That all it takes?”

“No,” Joel admitted. “But it’s good enough.”

She finally looked at him then, something cautious in her expression, something raw. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to say anything else. Just let the silence stretch, easy and open, not asking for more than she was willing to give.

Leela swallowed, nodding slightly, like she was tucking the words away, considering them.

The space between them, once weighed down by hesitation, by careful sidesteps and unspoken rules, felt… lighter. Like the tension that had settled into the cracks between their words was finally easing, letting some warmth slip through.

And that? That did something to him.

His throat worked around something unspoken, and he rolled his shoulders back, shifting from feet to feet, like he could physically shake whatever the hell was loose inside him. The words that wanted to come didn’t.

Instead, he settled on something simpler. Something safer.

“You should get some rest.”

Leela’s gaze lingered, searching, like she was trying to read something in his face. Then she nodded, flashing a grin. “Sure,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Joel.”

Joel held her gaze for a moment longer. His fingers flexed at his sides, a familiar itch settling in his chest, the kind that always came when he stood in doorways when someone was walking away and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow or stay put.

He watched her retreat into the room, disappear behind the cracked door, and stand there for a moment before finally turning away.

The door was open again. And that was the thing about doors.

They worked both ways.

X

While on the road, Joel had spent years sleeping in places that barely counted as beds. Hard ground. Rusted truck seats. Creaking, sagging mattresses in abandoned buildings where one wrong turn meant waking up dead. Even now, safe inside these walls, inside this town where people thought fences and routine were enough to keep the bad out, behind homes with locked doors—well, should have locked doors—he never truly slept deep.

Always on alert. Always half-ready. Even in the comfort of a home he could call his.

Joel lay on the couch, stiff as the thing itself, staring into the rough fabric. He wasn’t asleep—he never really was—but he kept his back turned anyway. It felt like the right thing to do, a courtesy or some form of privacy in a house too damn small to actually have any.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that. Long enough for the warmth of the fire to ebb. Long enough to hear the wind pick up outside, rattling at the windows. Long enough to wonder if Leela had finally managed to fall asleep.

He exhaled through his nose and, without really thinking about it, rolled over onto his side, eyes shifting toward the bedroom.

Leela was out cold.

Her hair had been pulled back into a loose braid, but strands had escaped, curling softly against her cheek. One hand dangled into the mattress as if she’d fallen asleep patting Maya and never quite finished. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest, deep and steady, her body given over to exhaustion.

Joel frowned as his eyes drifted lower. The blanket had slipped, barely covering her waist, her legs left bare to the chill of the night. One knee peeked out, the curve of it catching the dim, murky light of the bedside lamp. He felt his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing at his side. Wasn’t she cold?

But then his eyes landed on the baby in front of her, and the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding eased right out of him.

Maya was not asleep. Flat on her back, legs kicking sharp, barbed movements, her tiny fingers flexing in the air, opening and closing like she was trying to grab something invisible. Every so often, she let out a soft little coo, her breath light, testing, careful not to wake her mother.

Joel squinted. Lifted his head a little. Maybe she was just shifting in her sleep.

Nope, the kid was fully awake. Big, round eyes blinking up at the ceiling, mouth open in a little round ‘o’ of discovery, her hands reaching for her own damn feet, like she’d only just realized they were attached to her.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. He could just leave her be. She wasn’t crying. Wasn’t fussing. She'd fall asleep on her own.

But then she spotted him.

Her entire little body bucked, like the excitement was too much for her tiny limbs to contain. A bright, panting laugh bubbled from her mouth, and her hands curled, fists flailing like wanted to launch herself toward her.

Joel sighed. That was it. No walking away now.

Ignoring the slow, persistent cramp in his back, he shifted, pressing his hands into the pullout and pushing himself upright. His knees popped when he stood, and he winced, rolling his shoulders as he made his way into the bedroom. The floor groaned under his feet, but Leela didn’t stir. She was too far gone, too lost to the bruises and the exhaustion pressing her under.

Maya, on the other hand—beamed up at him, wiggling harder, completely unbothered by the late hour, her tiny hands batting at the air.

Joel sighed through his nose and crouched down beside the bed. He held up a finger to his lips. “Ssh, ssh,” he murmured like she had any damn understanding of the concept.

Her fists continued to flail, little feet kicking the air, and he sighed, leaning down to scoop her up. She fit into his arms easily, the way she always did—small and naming the nook to herself, all warm skin and bundled sleepiness. Sleep fired right out of his system.

“You're gonna wake your poor mama,” he whispered to her.

Shifting Maya against his chest, he glanced at Leela again. She hadn’t moved a muscle, fast asleep. But the blanket had slipped low, barely covering her waist, her arms left uncovered to the cold.

Joel hesitated for only a second before leaning over, taking the edge of the comforter and tucking it around her, careful not to wake her. The fabric pooled at her shoulder, and she sighed quietly in her sleep, sinking into the warmth of the bed, but not waking.

Good. She was finally catching up on sleep. When was the last time he'd seen that girl rest? Never. She'd always woken up the earliest, wandering between her papers and blackboards in the living room.

Maya let out a content little hum against his shoulder, and Joel blew out a breath, stepping back out of the bedroom and into the dimly lit living room. He wasn’t going to bother putting her back on the bed. She was too awake for that.

Instead, he plunged back onto the couch, settling into the cushions and adjusting her against his chest. She curled into him easily, her featherlight weight pressing against his ribs. She hummed again, a soft, breathy little thing, and then—one of her fists landed against his sternum with a dull thump.

Joel huffed, peering down at her. “You tryin’ to knock the wind outta me, trouble?”

Maya lifted her head to blink up again, dark eyes round and glassy in the dim light, looking like she had something important to say. Then her fist lifted again, this time smacking more of a lazy pat than anything with real intent.

He narrowed a playful glare on her, shifting her a little higher against him. He poked at her cheek. “We got some problems, or is this just your way of lettin’ me know you’re still awake?”

She didn’t answer—fucking obviously—but she did something close to it. Her mouth rounded in a small, exaggerated ooh, and her fingers fumbled against his shirt before one of them caught onto his.

Joel felt the soft, clumsy pull of her grip, then the unmistakable wet warmth of her mouth closing around the tip of his finger.

He grimaced, but not in any real discomfort. “Great, there you go. You're lucky you're so beautiful.”

Maya suckled lazily, brows furrowing like she was concentrating really hard on the task, and Joel exhaled, letting her gnaw as much as she wanted.

Joel stared at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing slow, careful circles against her back.

She was a happier baby now. Not screaming. Not crying as much. Just there. Comfortable and safe.

He swallowed against the feeling mashing against his ribs. His jaw unclenched, let his head fall back against the couch, eyes slipping shut. And he let out the longest breath known to man.

It had been years—years since he’d felt this weight, this warmth, this need pressed against him. It was a different life, a different world, but somehow, it wasn’t. His body still knew this, still remembered the rhythm of it, the quiet intimacy of a baby trusting him enough to just be here, curled up against his chest, with no fear, no hesitation.

And goddamn him, but he loved it. Loved the small breaths puffing against his collarbone. Loved the way she looked up at him, slow and sleepy, tapping her tiny knuckles against him like she was checking to make sure he was still there. Loved that he didn't have to think about anything, not feel like the whole world was closing in.

Loved this.

He wasn’t thinking about the past. No, he wasn’t. But if he was, he sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

The sound of the front door unlocking jolted him.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his entire body tensing for a fight as his hand instinctively curled around Maya’s small back, protective, ready. His other hand curled into a loose fist at his thigh.

The door eased open with a quiet creak, and a familiar silhouette stepped inside.

Ellie.

“Joel?” she whispered, peering at him in confusion.

Joel just stared at her. Not because she was here—she was always stopping by when she damn well pleased—but because for the first time in his life, he was the one who forgot to lock the damn door.

Maya shifted against his chest, making a soft noise, her tiny fingers still curled around his. Joel gave her a small, reassuring bounce as if she’d needed one.

Ellie, meanwhile, was still standing there, taking in the sight of him on the couch, a whole baby in his arms, and the bedroom door cracked open just enough to hint at the woman asleep inside. The pretty neighbour that had Joel all riled up.

Her eyebrows lifted and mouth twitched as she crossed her arms. “This isn’t a hostage situation, right? Am I an accomplice now?”

Joel sent her a flat look. “Whatever gave that away?”

Ellie then continued to stare at him and at Maya.

It was the kind of look Joel had gotten used to over the years, the one where she tried to figure out if she was hallucinating. Because she’d seen Joel Miller do a lot of things—wrangle Clickers, nurse a cold one, fix up a rifle—but sitting on his couch, cradling a whole-ass baby like that? It was a new one. Like unlocking a new character in a video game.

Her lips pressed together, eyes still flicking between him and the kid, and then—she snorted.

“Oh, man,” she whispered, shaking her head, a shit-eating grin spreading over her face. “I wish I had a camera to capture this gold.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, get on with it.”

Grinning, Ellie plopped herself down beside him, the whole couch shaking, immediately leaning in close to peer at Maya. Almost as if she was the first infant she'd seen in her life.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice going all high-pitched and ridiculous. “Hiiii.”

Maya blinked at her, unmoving, her fists curled safely in her mouth, her tiny brows furrowing as if she were trying to figure out just who the hell this new person was.

Ellie wiggled a finger in front of her. “Here. Go on, grab it.”

Maya did not. She just kept staring, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, utterly mystified by the sudden intrusion.

Joel huffed. “Guess she ain’t impressed.”

“Guess she’s got taste, you dick,” Ellie shot back. Then, her face softened, a little smirk curling her lips. “She’s fucking adorable. Look at those eyes, damn.” Joel barely had time to process the warmth that spread through his chest before Ellie tacked on, “So, definitely not yours.”

His scoff came out before he could stop it. “Oh, real funny, kid.”

Ellie chuckled, finally settling back against the couch, still watching Maya like she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “How come they’re here?”

Joel didn’t go into the details, never liked to. About Leela’s bruises, about how she’d been too damn stubborn for her own good, about how he’d practically had to drag her in here to sleep in his bed.

Instead, he just muttered, “Blackout. Gonna head back in the morning and check it out.”

Ellie hummed like she knew there was more to it but didn’t feel like prying.

For a while, they just sat there in silence, and Joel simply let himself watch. The room was dim, the fire in the hearth burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the worn wooden floors. The cold pressed against the windows, creeping in through the cracks, but in here, it was warm—quiet, steady. Both in him and around him.

Ellie leaned in closer, her breath puffing softly against Maya’s round little cheek as she wiggled her fingers in front of her face. “What about this? You like this?” she murmured, tapping her tiny nose, and making a series of stupid clicking sounds.

Maya blinked, floored by this, her wide eyes tracking Ellie’s every move like she was watching the most fascinating thing in the world.

It took another few moments, but then—finally—Maya’s tiny fingers reached out, wrapping shyly around Ellie’s outstretched one. Not tight, not possessive, just curious. Testing.

Joel felt that feeling again, twisting deep in his ribs, imperceptive and calm and unnameable. He could get used to that feeling. It plugged every scar, physical and mental, until his shoulders felt ten times lighter.

The kid he’d sort of raised, playing with the baby he was yet to.

And for the first time in a long time, that muddle just… settled. It was late, too late in life for this kind of thing. But hell, cut him some slack.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring into the last of the fire, watching as the embers pulsed and flickered, struggling to stay alive. His hand absently smoothed over Maya’s back, following the slow rise and fall of her breathing, feeling the tiny weight of her against his chest. She was still. Not fussing. Just there.

Ellie shifted beside him, stretching her legs out, resting her arms against her knees. She wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence. She just sat there, watching him in that way of hers, like she saw more than she let on.

“So,” she finally said, voice casual. “How’re things between you and…?”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Just flicked her chin toward the bedroom.

Leela was still dead to the world, sunk into the kind of sleep that didn’t let you turn over, didn’t let you dream. Her hand had slipped out from beneath the blanket, fingers curled loosely against the mattress. He wondered how long it had been since she’d let herself rest like that, without one ear open for some threat, without her body coiled tight, waiting for the next hang-up.

Joel looked away. He shifted slightly, adjusting Maya, keeping his voice even. “There’s nothing between us.”

Ellie hummed like she wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, no shit.” She stretched her arms behind her head, smirking. “She’s way out of your league.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head. “No argument here.”

He didn’t need Ellie to tell him that. He was thickheaded, but he wasn't blind. Leela was… Leela. Stunning in that exotic way, compassionate as a human, insanely intelligent. And him? What was he exactly, a cut-throat? A fighter? A relentless fucking human who just refused to die? Twenty years ago, a woman like that wouldn’t have given him the time of day, much less a second glance. A girl like her, back in the world before, would’ve had a whole life ahead of her, a whole set of possibilities. Not this. Not him.

And maybe that’s how it should’ve been. Maybe that’s why this didn’t make any sense.

He tensed his grip on Maya and felt the way she instinctively burrowed against him, curling her little fingers into the fabric of his shirt. She cooed again, watching his mouth move to form words.

He could be something for her. If Leela wanted it, he could carve out a space in Maya's life, be her constant, be her safety net. Hell, be this baby girl's father. He would compromise in a blink. That was different. That was right.

But having Leela herself? That was something else entirely. That was dangerous. That was selfish. There were too many ways it could go wrong. Too many ways it would end badly.

Not because of him, or her, or anything either of them did—just because that was the way life went. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing anymore. Wasn’t built for it. He was too damn old, too set in his ways. And even if she—somehow—wanted this, wanted him, what then? How long until he fucked it up? How long until he lost it?

The way he always did.

He swallowed hard. “I’m too old for her,” he managed to mutter.

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You're fucking kidding. The world ended. There is no standard. And you still care about what, an age gap? Brownie points? Jesus, Joel. You've been through too much to care.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just kept his gaze on the fire, jaw tight.

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about how it looked or what people would say. Hell, no one would care. He wouldn't care. They were past that kind of bullshit.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t still impossible.

Because Joel knew himself. He knew what it was like to want something real, to care about someone so much it hollowed you out from the inside. And he knew how fast it could all go to hell.

It was about the fact that she still had so much time. That she could still find someone real, someone better. That she deserved more than a haunted, greying man, who could barely sleep through the night, combing through his days, who lived waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And she deserved better than a man too tired, too worn down by life, to give her more than what little he had left.

Ellie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Y’know…” she started, then stopped.

Joel glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly.

She didn’t go on right away. Just drummed her fingers against her knee, staring into the fire, her face unreadable. For once, she wasn’t running her mouth, wasn’t making a joke to cut through whatever was settling between them. She was thinking. That alone put him on edge.

Finally, she said, “It’s different. These last few weeks. Even Tommy sees it.”

Joel frowned, not at the words themselves, but at the way she said them—slow, cautious, like she wasn’t just talking to him but trying to make sense of it for herself.

Ellie had always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he wanted. But this—this was different.

She flitted her gaze toward the bedroom, where Leela was still out cold, her body barely stirring under the blankets. Then to Maya, curled up against him, tiny fingers tangled in his shirt, her soft weight pressed into his chest. Finally, she looked back at him.

She didn’t spell it out. Didn’t need to.

Joel swallowed, shifting slightly where he sat, adjusting Maya’s weight in his arms. His hand smoothed down her back, more out of habit than anything else. He glanced toward the bedroom too, toward Leela, who hadn’t moved an inch. Yes, it was different.

But Ellie wasn’t done. She hesitated, rolling something over in her head before finally letting it out.

“It’s… good, y’know? You having this nice thing.” She waved a vague hand toward the baby, toward Leela. “You don't usually let yourself have nice things. Something that’s not just me.”

Joel’s breath caught.

Ellie had always been his reason for waking up in the morning, the one thing keeping him tethered to whatever life he had left. And she knew that. Knew it in the way she carried herself, in the way she fought with tooth and claw to prove she didn’t need him to keep her standing. That he had his own life. But now, sitting there, she wasn’t mocking, wasn’t teasing. She was just… saying it. And she was goddamn right.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just pushing forward because he had to, wasn’t just surviving out of habit. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the axe to fall.

He had something to come back to. Something steady. Something small and warm and his, even if he didn’t know what the hell to do with it yet.

He looked down at Maya, at her tiny, trusting weight in his arms, at the way she twitched slightly in her sleep, lips parting around a breath. His hand smoothed over her back again.

Ellie saw the moment it clicked. The way his face shifted, just slightly. She smirked, satisfied. And that her good work here was done.

Then, just like that, she clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well,” she said, voice slipping back into that familiar teasing lilt, “guess I’ll let you get back to your hostage situation.”

Joel rolled his eyes, settling deeper into the couch as Maya nuzzled against his chest. The kid was out cold now, her little fist still tangled in his shirt.

Ellie was already heading for the door when she threw out in a whisper, “Oh—almost forgot. Maria asked me to tell you to bring your girl by the dam sometime this week.” She smirked, holding up air quotes. “Said she’d like ‘inventor insight.’”

His expression deadpanned. “Maria ain’t letting her go anywhere near machines.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Ooh-kay. Controlling much?”

Joel gave her a warning look. “Ellie.”

She dismissed him with a wave. “I’ll just tell her myself.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, already seeing how that would go. If Leela knew Maria was interested, she’d want to help. She’d go, eager to prove herself, eager to be useful. And then she’d get herself hurt again, pushing past whatever limits she had, just like she always did. That wasn’t happening.

“She’s stayin’ away,” he muttered. “She’ll go, then want to help. Overdo it. Get herself hurt or worse.” He gave Ellie a pointed look. “Better not.”

Ellie let out a sharp laugh, all evil intent. “And you’re telling me there’s nothing between you two?”

“Ellie,” he hissed, too fast, too sharp—just as Maya stirred slightly against his chest, her little face scrunching. He froze, holding his breath, waiting to see if she’d wake.

Ellie’s smirk was damn near insufferable.

“Denial,” she sang out, drawing out the word like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day.

Joel sent her a flat look.

Ellie just wiggled her fingers in a wave and made for the door once more. “Night, old man.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him alone in the quiet house, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Joel exhaled slowly, his hand smoothing absently over Maya’s back again.

Denial. Maybe. He wasn't ruling it out yet.

X

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