#and yeah look forward to hearing about it!

[drgnflyteabox]

daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices. 

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him. 

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked. 

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles. 

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Oh you're picturing it, are you? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can show off your star quality for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away. 

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door. 

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, isn't she?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed– you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Ignihyde

Go here for other dorms

(platonic ortho)

Idia Shroud

You almost regret how direct you are.

Because the second you hold out the chocolates and say, “These are for you, Idia. I like you,” he looks like he’s either going to faint or straight-up perish.

His hair flashes flaming pink. His pupils shrink. His shoulders tense so hard that you can almost hear his soul leaving his body.

“…W-What?” His voice cracks. He immediately clears his throat, gripping his tablet like a lifeline. “You’re—wait, hold up, pause��you’re joking, right?”

You frown. “Why would I joke about this?”

His entire existence malfunctions. He physically leans away from you like he needs to social distance from his own feelings.

“B-Because! You—me—this—!” He waves his hands in the air, looking more and more like he’s about to blue screen. “I mean, what kind of main character energy timeline is this?! There’s no way—this isn’t real life—"

You sigh, crossing your arms. “Idia.”

He flinches.

“I’m serious,” you say, firm but soft. “I like you. You. Just you.”

His breath catches.

His hair flickers again—brighter, more erratic—and suddenly, he’s curling in on himself, gripping his hoodie like it’s his armor.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, sounding utterly doomed. “Oh my god.”

You wait, letting him process.

And then—so, so quietly, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud—

“…I like you too.”

Your heart stutters.

His face flushes completely, and he immediately hides behind his sleeves, his voice muffled as he groans, “Ughhh, don’t look at me, I’m being cringe—”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re fine, Idia.”

“Nope, incorrect, literally having a cardiac event right now, please hold—”

You grin. “Then I guess now’s a bad time to ask if you wanna hang out?”

He pauses.

You watch as his brain visibly reboots, the panic flickering into something else. Something… hopeful.

“Uh.” He fidgets with his sleeves, glancing away. “…You, um. Y’know. Wanna stay and watch a movie or something?”

Your chest warms.

You nod, smiling. “I’d love to.”

Idia freezes again. Then, with one last tiny, flustered squeak, he scoots over on his bean bag, giving you space to sit beside him.

His hair is still pink.

Ortho Shroud

Ortho lights up immediately when you hand him the chocolates, his eyes glowing brighter as he carefully takes the box from your hands.

“For me?” he asks, tilting his head, excitement clear in his voice.

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I just… wanted to thank you. You’re a great friend, Ortho.”

For a moment, he’s completely still. Then, his thrusters let out a tiny burst of energy, making him hover slightly like he’s too happy to stay grounded.

“Wow!” he exclaims, holding the chocolates close to his chest. “This is amazing! No one’s ever given me Valentine’s chocolates before!”

Your heart melts. “Well, you deserve it. You’re always looking out for me. It’s about time I gave you a gift for once.”

Ortho lets out a delighted giggle as he zooms forward and pulls you into a hug.

It’s warm, firm, and just tight enough to make you laugh as he squeezes you happily.

“Thank you! I’m so happy! This is going in my memory banks forever!”

You grin, hugging him back. “Glad you like it, buddy.”

Ortho pulls back, still buzzing with energy. “Oh! I need to go show Big Brother! He’s gonna be so surprised!”

You chuckle. “Go for it.”

As Ortho zooms off, chocolates safely in his hands, you can’t help but feel lighter, happier.

Because, honestly? Seeing him that excited was the best part of all.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[00valentina-writes00]

can u write nsfw content about vi fucking reader with a strap, holding reader up on the air while she fucks her???? PLSSS IM BEGGING FOR IT NOBODY WROTE SOMETHING LIKE THIS BEFORW

♡♥︎Vi taking care of her girl♥︎♡

Warnings: strap on sex, vi is a strong girlie, top!vi, a bit of praise

Vi’s strong arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you suspended in the air as your back presses against the cool wall of her bedroom. Her grip is firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to ground you, to remind you of the strength she wields so effortlessly. Your arms are locked around her shoulders, legs hooked over her hips, clinging to her as if she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in this moment, she is.

Her breath is warm against your neck, ragged and heavy, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting flickering shadows across the walls. Every inch of your body is on fire, every nerve tuned to the way she moves, the way she holds you up like you weigh nothing at all.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” Vi murmurs, her voice a low rasp against your skin, laced with hunger and reverence. She shifts her grip, adjusting the angle of her thrusting slightly, and the movement sends a deep, aching pleasure surging through you.

Your nails rake down her back, desperate to hold onto something solid as she rolls her hips, each thrust deliberate, controlled. Vi isn’t in a rush—she never is. She knows how to take her time, how to make you feel every inch of her, how to tease you with the slow drag of her strap as she pulls back only to push in deeper, filling you completely.

“Look at you,” she whispers, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her grey eyes are dark with lust, pupils blown wide, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips. “Taking me so well. My good girl.”

The praise sends a whimper spilling from your lips, your head lolling back against the wall. Vi chuckles, dipping her head to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, dragging her teeth lightly over your pulse. Her hands tighten on your thighs as she picks up the pace, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that has you unraveling, pleasure winding tight in your core.

You feel weightless in her arms, helpless against the overwhelming sensation of being completely at her mercy. And Vi loves it—loves having this control, loves watching you fall apart for her.

“Come on, baby,” she coaxes, voice rough, eyes locked onto yours. “Let me hear you.”

Your moans break free, breathy and desperate, and she drinks them in like they fuel her. Every thrust, every roll of her hips, every whispered praise against your sweat-damp skin drives you closer to the edge.

She knows your body too well, knows exactly how to push you past your limits. And when she finally gets you there—when your body clenches around her and your cries turn into incoherent pleas—Vi doesn’t slow down. She keeps you pinned, keeps you shaking in her arms as she rides out your release, murmuring praises into your ear, grounding you in the aftermath.

Even as your limbs feel boneless, Vi holds you effortlessly, pressing kisses against your jaw, your lips, your forehead.

“You good?” she murmurs, her voice softer now, laced with something tender. You nod weakly, and she chuckles, shifting to carry you toward the bed. “Yeah, you are. That was real pretty, babe.”

She lays you down gently, her hands never leaving your body, tracing soft, absentminded patterns along your skin. And as she settles beside you, pulling you into her warmth, you know that tonight—like every night—Vi will take care of you.

[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 2)

Tell me it's all wrong 'til it gets to me

Some inspo from this brainworm

Word count: 4k

Warnings: g!p reader, Agatha is even meaner, degradation kink, humiliation kink, titjob, oral, reader once again is a walking HR violation, slight praise kink, one spank, fingering, sex, think this is it?

“Everyone have a good night?” Rio asks the next morning during breakfast. 

You’re spooning vanilla yogurt into a bowl and trying not to think about how much it reminds you of your cum dripping out of Agatha’s pussy. “I had a great night,” you answer, feeling everyone’s eyes turn to you, especially Agatha, who’s standing right next to you. “Um, yeah, Agatha and I actually had sex.” 

Rio snorts, as do a few other people in the room. You’ve gotten so used to no one taking you seriously that you like to play around and see what you can get away with. Whether it’s a truth or a lie, they don’t care because you blur the lines so often.

If only they knew how true that was, though. 

“So classy,” Rio says and you can almost hear her roll her eyes before she leaves the buffet to go find a table.

“Oh, don’t worry!” you call after her. “Agatha really liked it. It was all her idea.” Rio doesn’t even look back. If you weren’t the boss’s daughter, you’re sure you would’ve been fired at least four dozen times from just this summer. 

Agatha remains unfazed as she snatches the yogurt spoon from your hand. “You fucking wish. Never in a million years,” she retorts calmly and you giggle. 

She spends the rest of the day seemingly trying to get you back for that stunt: she salaciously licks yogurt off the spoon. She wears a shirt that dips a little too low and shows off the edge of her red bra. She looks up at you through her perfect eyelashes when you ask her if you can sit next to her at the table and she laughs cruelly after she says no. 

Or she’s doing everything she usually does and you’re just reading into it because you’re obsessed with her.

But when you find her in the pool alone after breakfast, wearing a two piece black bikini, it’s hard to believe that she’s not at least teasing you a little. You stand on the edge absolutely agape, your cock making an obvious tent in your pants. She smirks and gets out and walks over to you.

Water droplets cascade down the smooth expanse of her pale stomach and your mouth runs dry. You can see her nipples through her wet top and heat flashes through your body. Your head starts to spin. 

You whisper her name before she flicks water on your shirt and reaches down to pat your cock roughly. Your hips jolt forward and a muffled groan leaves your mouth and she snickers. 

“I’m surprised that didn’t make you cum,” she says but her tone makes it clear that she's still holding out hope you’ll embarrass yourself again.

“Built up my stamina these past few nights,” you retort. 

She scoffs. “Yeah, you really showed me yesterday. How long did you last? Not even a second?” 

“Okay, maybe the first time, but can you blame me after how worked up I was? And I lasted longer the second time,” you protest and she mockingly pouts. 

“Aw, poor you,” she tuts and you hate how it goes right to your cock. Her gaze drops down again to watch you strain more against your pants and there’s a devilish glint in her eyes when she looks back up. “I was right, you know. I knew you wouldn’t be able to last, I knew you were too fucking incompetent. You’re more pathetic than a common whore.” 

You whimper and clutch onto her arm with tight fingers because it’s the only way you can resist touching herself. 

She regards you pawing at her with the utmost disgust. “You’re so fucking dirty,” she snarls and heat swirls around your head and your knees almost buckle. Your cock is pulsing, growing, swelling—she’s going to get exactly what she wants. She knows it too. 

“Fuck, Agatha, please—” Your whines are pitiful and desperate and you look at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you can muster. 

Her voice lowers even more. “God, look at you. What a fucking embarrassment.” 

Your stomach muscles tighten. 

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this?” 

You hump nothing and hiss at the feeling of the rough fabric against your erection and her smile is wicked.

“What would any of them think if they saw you drooling over a woman twice your age? If they saw you harder than a teenager just because I told you how pathetic you are? You’re nothing more than a bitch in heat, are you?”

Agatha cups your cheek with a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to her words and you buck your hips again. The sounds falling from your mouth are weak and pleading and you think she’s about to finish you off. 

“You know,” she muses, tone now sweet as honey, “I better go get changed before we have to do whatever your dad has on the schedule for today. But you…you look a little hot right now. I think you need to cool off.” 

Before you can ask what she means—or ask for her to touch you—she grabs your arms, whirls you around, and gently shoves you. 

It feels like you’re falling backwards in slow motion and you feel your jaw drop as you watch her smile. 

You hit the water and you instantly recoil, the cold doing wonders to sober you up. Your erection has practically disappeared by the time you break the surface, gasping for air. 

“What the fuck?” you splutter and she tosses her head back with a laugh. 

Agatha finally shrugs when she stops cackling and you wade to the stairs, teeth chattering. Your clothes are clinging to your shivering body but she just watches in amusement. 

“Wanda!” you shout and your personal assistant comes running out from the house. Her green eyes widen when she sees you in the pool. “Can you get me a towel?” 

Agatha rolls her eyes as Wanda nods quickly. “Of course. Anything else?” 

You shake your head and she speeds off. 

“You don’t need her to tie your shoes?” Agatha quips and you grumble at her to shut up. Your family is rich—of course you’re used to the teasing about having assistants. Even as an intern at the company, you’ve delegated far too much of your work to Wanda and she always does it with no complaints. You’re betting the six figure salary your father pays her keeps her content. 

Wanda comes back with a towel and you snatch it from her when you finally get out of the pool. Agatha walks away without giving you another glance and you can’t help but feel rejected. 

She barely even looks at you the rest of the morning and then your dad calls his executive staff into a meeting for the whole afternoon so you lay on your bed, bored out of your mind. It’s the last day of the vacation and of course he wants to spend it getting ready for the next quarter. 

It’s tempting to jack off or to use the flashlight that’s sitting in your nightstand drawer, and you do try, but neither your hand nor the toy even comes close to how Agatha’s cunt feels so you give up with a huff. 

That night, you go to her room in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. You’re not willing to take the chance that she’ll come to yours because you don’t actually know what’s going on between you. She is so fucking confusing. 

You flirt with her, she always shoots you down, and then she makes you fuck a fleshlight before she takes your virginity? The point of it was to prove that you wouldn’t last inside her, and she was technically correct. So does that mean this is all over?

Not if you have anything to say about it. And there was her stunt by the pool earlier, so clearly she’s not done yet either. 

Knocking rhythmically and quietly on her door, you keep your eyes peeled down the hallway just to make sure no one sees. You joking about having sex with general counsel might be fine because no one believes you, but it would be much harder to cover this up.

Agatha opens it a few moments later in a matching purple pajama set and lets out an exasperated sigh. Her glasses are pushed up on her forehead and you can see her laptop on her bed. 

You slip past her into the room without waiting for her approval and make a beeline for the scotch, pouring yourself two fingers of it. 

“Come back for more humiliation?” she taunts and you feel your stomach twist. “Think you’re a big girl because you managed to stick your cock into one person one time?” 

“You know,” you say, draining a glass without even wincing at the burn of the alcohol and turning around to point at her, “that was all your idea. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you want me just as much as I want you.” 

Agatha raises an eyebrow and her gaze drops to the tent in your boxers. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she retorts dryly. 

You put the glass down and start to advance as she stands her ground firmly. “You didn’t have to fuck me. You didn’t even have to come to my room the first night. But you did. And I know how affected you were last night, you were fucking enjoying yourself.” 

She laughs cynically and rolls her eyes. “Please, honey, I’ve had better sex with my vibrator.” Ignoring the way that causes more blood to rush south—because now you’re thinking about her moaning loudly while falling apart holding a toy against her clit—you smirk. 

“Then why did you fuck me?” 

Her face twitches and she jerks her head to the side. “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.” 

You’d ask again if there was anything on your mind other than your throbbing cock and her hot cunt so you tear off your shirt, shove off your boxers, and jump on top of the covers. Your cock is standing straight up, oozing precum onto your stomach and twitching against nothing. 

“God, you’re fucking pathetic,” Agatha hisses and you hump the air, a strangled whimper leaving your mouth. “All it takes is a few words and you’re leaking for me.” 

She unbuttons her blouse again and you don’t think you’ll ever get bored of the sight of her tits, perky and supple and rose-colored nipples that you need in your mouth. She slides down her shorts and your breathing quickens, feeling heat flush through your neck and upper chest. 

“Agatha, please,” you whine. Agatha scoffs and climbs on the bed next to you on her knees and slips a hand between her legs. You stare, open-mouthed, panting, as she works at her clit. “Wait…can I?” 

Her hips jolt and you think you can hear her groan through her clamped lips. “You want to—what? Fumble around incompetently? Think you can even find my clit?” 

You nod urgently while your cock pulses and another spurt of precum dribbles out. “I want to, please,” you gasp, “I want to taste you.” 

“Fine. Try not to cum immediately again,” she snaps without any of her usual bite and moves so she’s laying next to you, her legs spread open. 

Situating yourself, you feel the air get kicked out of you when you get your first good look at her pussy. 

Agatha is fucking soaked. Her cunt glistens, lips swollen and pink and almost fused together, and you can see her clit peeking out at the top. Your mouth is watering and your cock gets harder if possible. You can’t resist lowering your hips to the bed so you can get some pressure on it. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe in awe. “You’re so wet.” 

“Are you actually going to do anything or just stare?” she says, tone laced with venom. “Maybe you should call your assistant, I know she does everything else for you cause you’re too incompetent.” 

You whimper and grind onto the bed, cock throbbing, shaking your head with wide eyes. You can do this.  

She purses her lips. “That’s too bad. She could probably actually get me to cum.” 

Heat tears through you and you surge forward with a vengeance, licking roughly up her cunt and she hisses before roughly grabbing your hair. 

“Slow down,” she barks and you mumble an apology before flattening your tongue and gently dragging it through her folds. “Better.” 

You say something that’s muffled by her pussy and you hump the bed faster because she squeaks when you rub your tongue against her clit. 

She swears under her breath and you can’t even focus anymore because of the dizziness in your head and the aching in your cock. The taste of her has overwhelmed your mouth and your nose and you’re sloppily devouring her while she tries and fails to stop her hips from rolling. 

“I can’t—fuck—Agatha, I’m gonna—” You can feel your stomach tightening, can feel your cock pulsing, and you know you’re about to cum from grinding on the bed and eating her out. 

Instead of mocking you, she growls and yanks you up by the hair until you’re practically straddling her stomach. Tendrils of precum pool on her skin and you swallow roughly. 

“Since you’re going to be fucking useless until you get off,” she sighs and grips your hips to pull you up even higher. Your cock drags against her, leaving a sticky trail in your wake and you have to put a hand out on the headboard to catch yourself when you realize what she’s doing. 

Your cock rests between her tits and she lifts her head up to spit on you and your hips jerk forward. The mess of her saliva and your precum is driving you absolutely crazy and you begin rutting against her. 

Her fingers dig into your ass and help you move and your cock fits perfectly in the crook between her boobs. You hold onto the headboard, panting while you look down at her, and there’s a heat in her eyes that you only see at work—when she gets exactly what she wants. 

“God, you’re pathetic,” she says without any of her usual malice. The pink from her cheeks has spread down her chin and to her upper chest that your cock is dragging against. “Can’t do anything for yourself so you need me, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” you choke out, your thrusts becoming shorter. The stickiness is making you throb and your grunts get louder.

Agatha spanks you and you shudder, your cock pumping out a spurt of precum, and then she lets go of your ass to push her breasts together so her soft, supple tits are wrapped around your hard cock and you sharply inhale. 

But then she leans down and flicks her tongue out against the tip of your cock and you can’t hold it back anymore. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck—I can’t—fuck,” you babble before your cock explodes, drenching the bottom of her face and the top of her chest in white. She lets out a gasp at the feeling of your seed on her skin and the sight of her covered in you makes one last strand of cum squirt out. 

You slouch back while your cock twitches and Agatha drags two fingers through the mess on her clavicle before stuffing them in your mouth. She looks delighted when you make a surprised sound before grabbing your hair and pulling you down and making you clean up your cum. 

“Good girl,” she purrs when you’re all done and then nudges you back down between her legs. The praise makes your stomach grow warm—apparently you like that just as much as the degradation. “Think you can focus now?” 

Nodding eagerly, you look at her pussy and your mouth falls open. She’s dripping onto the bed, folds spread open, and you can see her throbbing. 

This time, there’s no hesitation in putting your mouth on her and you moan lasciviously at her taste. Your eyes dart up to watch her face as you dip your tongue inside her and curl it and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. 

But then you lick back up and suck on her clit and she can’t help the audible groan that escapes her. The sound makes your cock pulse and you can already feel yourself starting to grow hard again. 

“Keep doing that,” she orders and you double your efforts, lashing your tongue against her clit and then sucking and her head falls back. “Two fingers inside me, now.” 

Her walls instantly bear down around you and you whimper, the vibrations making her hips roll. She is so warm and so hot and you never want to leave her cunt. 

“Fuck me harder, god, you’re useless,” she hisses but it quickly turns into another moan when you thrust in deeply and curl them until you find the spot that makes her clench. Your slurping noises, along with her sounds of pleasure, are going straight to your cock and you start to grind against the bed gently for some stimulation. 

“You like this,” you say into her cunt and she violently shakes her head while beginning to ride your face and fingers. Her walls are gripping you, trying to drag you in as deep as you can go, and you can feel every ridge and groove when you fuck her. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me.” 

She yanks on your hair and you moan. “Stop fucking talking,” she seethes and you chuckle, the vibrations reverbrating against her pussy and making her whimper. You think she might actually be getting somewhere. “Good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m going to be needing it after you—fuck—”

You suck on her clit roughly and her voice breaks off. She’s grinding harder on you, drenching your face and fingers, and she’s fucking panting. So are you, right against her pussy and your stomach flexes to keep your steady rhythm of humping the bed going strong. Your jaw and wrist are burning but from the way she’s clenching furiously around your fingers, she’s getting close. 

And you know that if you stop right now, Agatha would never let it go. 

So you keep doing exactly what you’re doing and her hips start to falter and her breathing gets heavier. 

“God, you’re such a slut, whoring yourself out to a woman twice your age,” she groans. “You’re so pathetic, fuck—”

Her hands scramble and tug on your hair and you’re about to make a snarky comment on how she’s just so desperate for your cum when she grabs onto your hard and leaking cock and angles it at her entrance. 

You barely have time to breathe before her legs hook around your waist. “Don’t you dare cum,” she warns and you huff out a laugh before pushing into her wet cunt. 

Agatha’s walls grip your cock and you freeze, your head dropping down to rest on her tits and you pant open-mouthed against her skin before sucking on her nipple. Her hips arch up to get you deeper inside and you let out a lewd moan. She feels so good and you can feel her throb around you. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your cock twitching. It’s such a different angle from her being on top of you and you love it. You start to move slowly, just to hold off your impending orgasm. 

You can see everything—the way her tits bounce with each thrust, the way her hair is sprawled out underneath her, the slight sheen of sweat on her chest, the bulge your cock makes in her stomach. 

“Agatha, Agatha, fuck, please, I’m gonna—fuck, please, I can’t,” you cry, your cock pulsing rapidly inside her. She clenches around you with each thrust and she bites her bottom lip roughly to control her sounds. 

“Wait, just wait, don’t cum yet,” she groans, strangled and needy, and you know you’re about to cum but you’re desperate to make her cum before you do. 

So you reach between your bodies and find her clit and furiously start to rub at it and she moans. “Tell me,” you order, “tell me that I’m making you feel good.” 

She laughs breathlessly. “You think because you’re on top, you’re in charge? Honey, you can’t do anything without me. You’re so pathetic that you only get this hard for me, right? Tell me that.” Her words are getting tighter and you duck back down to swirl your tongue around her nipple. 

“Just you, Agatha,” you murmur and she shivers from your hot breath. Tension is building in your cock and your stomach and your back and you thrust harder because you need her to cum. “I only want you, fuck, it’s always been you.” 

And then she keens, eyes rolling back in her head, and her cunt spasms around you. You feel a gush of wetness and you groan weakly before pumping her full of thick, hot cum. She gasps when she feels your seed paint her walls white and you collapse on top of her while your cock spurts out a few more loads into her. 

“You finally did one thing right,” she quips after a few moments and you laugh before nipping at the curvature of her breasts. 

“That’s the best performance review I’ve ever gotten,” you say, and once you’re fully soft, you pull out of her and sit up on your knees to spread her folds open. 

Your cum oozes out and your cock twitches at the sight and she gasps and squirms. She reaches down and swipes through the mess leaking out of her and then shoves her fingers into your mouth. 

The taste of both of you makes you whimper and she swallows roughly. You move back down of your own accord and slowly drag your tongue through her folds, getting your mixture all over your mouth. You steadily clean your cum out of her while holding eye contact and her struggle to remain composed would make you hard again if you hadn’t already cum twice in the span of about fifteen minutes. 

You make sure to lick her clit a few times and she writhes underneath you, stifling her sighs. Her cunt is a mess by the time you’re done, swollen and pink and still wet and she tugs you away because the stimulation has finally gotten to be too much. 

Flopping onto the bed next to her, you lick your lips and wonder what it would be like to kiss Agatha. You turn to look at her to find her eyes already on you. 

“What happens tomorrow?” you whisper and her gaze flickers down to your mouth. “When we go back.” 

Agatha sighs and gets out of bed, finding her pajamas on the floor and putting them back on. “We never speak of this again. And that means no more little jokes.”

It stings but you smirk to deflect. “Afraid someone will think the great Agatha Harkness deigned to fuck the boss’s daughter? That’s like, reverse sleeping up the corporate ladder. They’d probably applaud your charity. Or—you know what? I bet they’d be jealous. Everyone wants a piece of me, you know. Too bad general counsel already tamed this tiger.” You bite at her playfully and she snorts before fixing you with a serious stare. 

“This never happened,” she says solemnly and you nod. But before you can ask if you should leave, she lays back down next to you and her hand brushes against yours. You stiffen, but don’t pull away and her touch lingers.  

You lay so still, trying to breathe as quietly as you possibly can, so maybe she’ll let you stay. 

Her hand doesn’t move from yours the entire night. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 3 - Ignihyde]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi?

AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

**Need to go to bed for work tomorrow so Diasomnia will be on my next day off. Can't stay up long enough to squeeze it in**

If there was one thing Idia hated, it was going out in public. He hated how the sun burned his eyes, all the bugs flying around, the way people looked at his hair, and almost had a heart attack at the idea that he'd have to talk to people.

Major bummer. 0/10, don't recommend.

But he'd suck it up and soldier on because the call of sweets was too tempting to resist. The trek to Sam's isn't the longest from Ignihyde but it's enough to make him pace himself.

Yeah, he's not really an outside person. Or a physical activity person outside of dancing to Premo or working on his projects.

He briefly wonders if Ortho put Sam up to this as he finds his second wind and ascends the hill. Who has a bomb sweets sale and DOESN'T ALLOW ONLINE PURCHASES?! WHY WERE THE DISCOUNTS IN-PERSON ONLY?

Idia breaths a sigh of relief and fixes his hoodie before mustering up his courage and opening the door. He's throwing himself into the proverbial lion's den, into an introvert's worst nightmare!

The noise and people are almost too much but he distracts himself with all the pink and red. Mercifully, the candy is spread out around the store so he doesn't have to stay in the sea of people. Idia doesn't discriminate when it comes to sweets; he gets soft cake rolls, pixie sticks, little donuts, a few chocolate bars, and a couple of limited edition dessert drinks. He's secretly glad Sam's regular stock didn't take a hit because of the holiday; his snack stash needs replenishing. Packs of ramen and little things of convenience bury his sweets stash but he's careful not to crush anything.

He can almost hear Ortho nagging him to get something green or slightly healthy. If he doesn't, Ortho will be mad at him for a week. It becomes a battle of wits between the Shroud brothers and Ortho is the king of juvenile inconveniences. Idia has learned the hard way; Ortho resets his alarms, throttles his wi-fi, messes with his lights, takes apart his tablet or takes it off charge in the middle of the night, and just about anything else he can think of.

Idia begrudgingly puts some green smoothies in his basket. Along with some pudding cups.

Satisfied with his raid, he waits in line. He's chanting to himself the whole time: just walk, don't make eye contact! Just walk, don't make eye contact! The line stalls enough for someone to bump into him and he panics, stumbling forward into the person in front of him. His hair flickers and flares a little in his panic.

People give him space and he babbles a quick apology. He pulls his hoodie up over his hair but it doesn't hide everything. It makes him feel safe, though. He relaxes a little.

Then, he hears it.

HOW MUCH DO YOU COST?!

Oof. MAXIMUM cringe. NO ONE on campus has a charisma stat high enough to make THAT work! Except Kingscholar and Schoenheit, maybe.

It gets worse when he realizes someone said that TO YOU.

OH NO! HE HAS COMPETITION!

The tactic looks like it failed, though, so he's comforted. You wouldn't go for something so cheap and cheesy! This guy looks like a D-level tank AT BEST. You're an SSR easy. D-levels and SSR's don't go together!

He's an SSR when it comes to stealth and technical skill so maybe one day you guys can link up or whatever. Your choice. The tips of his hair turn pink and he blows on the closest strand to mute the color.

The guy is doubling down. "You're rolling a one, pleb. A hard one." Idia whispers to himself.

"You say somethin', Shroud?" the guy turns to him.

FUCK, HE KNOWS HIS NAME?!

Idia's hair roars to life with surprise. He yanks the hoodie down before the fabric singes and crisps. His strands are wild, untamed, and yellow. His instinct is to stutter and deny it, to backtrack, but your eyes are just shy of pleading and it makes him swallow the word soup.

"I-I said you're rolling a hard one. Y-You're failing!" Idia doesn't know if he's going to faint first or if his legs will give out. His heart might go first.

The guy clearly doesn't get the reference. The brain is buffering and the lag is too great. He shakes his head with a sharp, toothy smile, unable to help himself. Dumb normie, Idia gives a breathy chuckle. Idia has that unfortunate condition where his face talks for him and it must've said some shit because the tank is now laser-focused on him.

You're over the counter before he can process anything, grabbing the guy by the back of his shirt and telling him to leave. The guy just jerks his shoulders and stays the course. Idia sees you get ripped over the counter and tumble to the floor. You recover decently and grab the closest thing to you but something about the sound of your body hitting the floor sends him into a rage he'd only felt in online arguments.

It feels like his veins are burning. He can tell by the size of his shadow and the light dancing across the floor that his hair is long and ferociously orange. Raging orange. Lethal orange.

"Caution," Idia manages somehow through his rage. "C-Contents are hot." he knows he has to stay put. If he approaches the guy he will LITERALLY catch on fire. It's not a bad idea, and he can see the gears spinning in the guy's head. He's wondering if Idia's going to do it or if he has enough time to hit the door.

The guy chooses the door.

It takes several minutes for Idia to calm down. His hair seems to shrink as he deflates into his usual quiet mannerisms. It's shorter than normal! "Used up all my fuel," Idia complains as he drags himself to the counter. "Need calories." he melts pitifully into the counter.

"You need to buy what you burned, too." Sam points to the singed chips and snacks. He already has a few packs that are beyond saving in his arms. Idia realizes the shop is basically empty now and finds the energy to blush. Pink cheeks look really cute against his blue hair!

"Does this mean I'm done for the day?"

"Yes." Sam looks at you. He's not mad or disappointed, but he means you're done. "I think you're a bit of a fire hazard." he teases.

You both blush.

None of this was in his decision tree! WHAT DOES HE DO?

"You, uh, you want to come by Ignihyde and, um, watch some stuff? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course. I just, you know, since it was my fault and all--"

"Is that a nat twenty in the wild? I think I have to now!" you joke.

"You get that?" Idia's mouth hangs open in surprise.

"It might have different names but I think it's the same thing in my world." you shrug. He's so down to discuss games from another dimension!

A nat twenty indeed!

----

Ortho was doing his best to fill the gaps with whatever Sam's shop had to offer. Idia's grocery order was a little delayed due to the Valentine's holiday so he needed something decent to tide him over. Determined to keep his brother from an early, sodium-induced death, Ortho took it upon himself to shop. He wasn't totally heartless, though, so he'd throw in a few bags of chips to make Idia feel better.

A lot of this chocolate was out of the question! The sugar was through the roof! Then again, Idia was hopelessly addicted to sweets. He's pretty sure his brother broke some kind of record for sugar tolerance.

Equipped with Vil's suggestions and the things he researched, Ortho started hunting for healthy foods. He filled the basket with smoothies, yogurts, dark chocolate, fruit, and protein bars. There should be enough texture and flavor variation there to make Idia happy. Well...relatively.

Ortho floated patiently in line, subtly recording the conversations around him for later playback. Organic human interaction was interesting and would help him improve his algorithms and processes.

It's not like it hurt anything! All of the conversations were innocent and--

WAS SOMEONE TRYING TO MAKE A MOVE ON HIS FRIEND? HIS BESTEST, MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND?! ONLY HIS BIG BROTHER CAN DO THAT!

You may not totally get that he's a techno-organic construct (and not a boy who just really loves pretending to be a robot) but HE GETS that YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE AND THAT'S NOT OKAY!

"Excuse me, pardon me," Ortho weaves carefully through the people, playing a little 'wee-woo' alarm through his speaker system.

He floats beside the guy, staring at him with those big gold eyes. Pinching his thumb and pointer finger together turns up the alarm.

The guy is ignoring the alarms! How ridiculous! Is this what Idia means by natural selection and survival of the fittest?

A red light pops out of his shoulder, spinning in place.

HE'S IGNORING THAT, TOO?!

"You're being interrupted!" Ortho glares at him now, tuft of blue hair dancing angrily. "This conversation is clearly inappropriate for the setting and is henceforth terminated!"

"Terminated? Big words for a little boy! Go away, big people are talking!" the guy tries to shoo him away.

"Don't be rude to him!" you snap, "And he's right! The conversation is terminated!"

"Terminated!" Ortho echoes, pumping his fist. "Terminated!" he repeats, laughing when some of the people in line begin to join in and chant 'terminated, terminated!'

The guy leaves without buying anything and Ortho is happy to take his place. He pays for the the snacks. "And here's a sticker for you for being so sweet!" you put a sticker on the back of his hand. It's a heart wearing sunglasses.

Ortho laughs despite himself. One day he'll get Idia to explain it to you in a way you understand. He's surprised nothing like him exists in your world but he's glad to be here with you in Twisted Wonderland.

[synvil]

How Could I Forget? // Rafe Cameron

a/n : happy valentine's day <3 i hope you all have a wonderful valentines day, whether its by your lonesome, with gals or with your partner !

synopsis : You're starting to think Rafe won't ask you to be his valentine, much to your dismay, but he proves you wrong.

Valentine's Day.

The past few days leading up were pretty lonely nights, Rafe was always out on business or running errands and when he would make it home, you’d already be asleep or he’d be exhausted.

Even on days off, he tends to be preoccupied and it was hard to spend much time with him. But being the understanding girlfriend you were, you couldn’t really be upset at him. Rafe was hardworking, efficient and you had no choice but to let it go.

But with this being such a romantic holiday, you were really hoping he would be free and you could spend the day together.

Especially having Rafe ask you to be his valentine.

It’s stupid. You know it is. Yet something about the effort of still having your partner ask you to be their valentine despite already being together, is so romantic and cute and you just want to experience it.

Exiting the bathroom, you ruffle your wet hair with a towel after taking a hot shower, and exhale gently.

“Hey, babe,” As you reach the kitchen, Rafe strolls over and presses a kiss to your forehead, before walking back to the fridge. “Hey.” You smile and greet him back as you step towards the island and watch him. “Are you busy today?” You ask, tilting your head with a hum as you tap your fingers against the countertop, feeling your chest ache with excitement to spend time with him.

“Yeah, I have to run some errands and talk to Barry about some things.”

Immediately the sinking feeling pulls into your chest and you do your best to hide the disappointment lacing your eyes. "Oh.. You can't just take a day off to spend time together today?"

Rafe turns from the fridge after pulling out milk to put into his rather large tumbler mug of coffee. You notice he's been drinking a lot more coffee lately, on top of being so exhausted the last couple nights. He shares a half-apologetic smile as he pours in the dairy into the cup. "Sorry, it's important. But hey, Sarah and Kie said they were going to take you out today. Why don't you spend some time with them?" He secures the lid on both containers before setting the milk back into the fridge.

Your shoulders slump as your lips curl into a faint frown and you nod meekly in understanding. "I guess.."

Rafe notices the dejected expression over your face and purses his lips. He leans over the counter from across from you and tucks a strand of your wet hair behind your ear before cupping your chin to look up at him.

"Don't be sad, baby, I'll be done before you even realize."

Still, your eyes didn't meet his and he moves to cup your cheek. "I'll drive you to meet them before I go, okay?"

Managing to muster a small smile, you just exhale and stand up. "I'll go get ready then." You mumble and Rafe frowns, watching you excuse yourself to the bedroom. He exhales quietly, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his card before going over to the rack by the door where your purse hung.

He tucks his black card into your purse pocket and then pockets his wallet again before going back to his coffee to drink. “Hopefully that’ll cheer her up for a bit.”

“Be safe. I love you, angel.”

You sigh softly as you recall Rafe’s last words before he dropped you off.

Hearing your sigh, Sarah leans forward from her seat. “What’s up with the sad sigh?” She tilts her head and you blink, before frowning slightly. “Hey, did the guys do anything for you girls today?” You can’t help but ask out of curiosity, feeling the pang in your heart.

The two were surprised to hear the question and Sarah seems to understand what the problem was, and instead offering a sympathetic smile your way. “Yeah, tonight John B is taking me out to the beach to look at the stars and a picnic on the sand.”

Kie nods along, adding her own input. “JJ and I are chilling at his place with romantic comedies and snacks.” she shares and you purse your lip.

“but they did specifically ask you to be their valentine, right?”

Kie and Sarah share a glance before nodding a bit hesitantly. “Did Rafe not ask you yet?” Kie furrows her brows and you force your eyes down at your half eaten red velvet cupcake in dejection. “I barely even spent any time with him the last couple days. He’s been busy.”

Sarah can’t help but feel sorry for you, averting her eyes away from you as she reaches for your hand to hold. “I’m sure he’s planning something tonight. Don’t worry, okay?”

Kie scrunches her nose at the thought of Rafe. “Maybe. But let me know if he doesn’t, then i’ll whoop his ass.” Kie clenches her fist and you can’t help but chuckle, nodding at them. “We’ll see.”

After a few minutes, you decide to pay for your snacks, waiting until the topic moved on.

Excusing yourself, you slowly stand up and head to the counter of the small cafe you were in and decide to pay, reaching into your purse for your card.

“?”

Your brows furrow when you pull out a loose card outside of your wallet and recognize the black card to be Rafe’s. Your eyes widen in surprise before a faint smile laces your lips and you tap the card against the machine to pay before heading back.

As you wait for their conversation to finish, you grin at the girls and flash the card towards them. “Ready to go ladies?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the sight and she beams. “Rafe’s card?”

“Yep. He must’ve snuck it into my purse.” You laugh a bit and Kie smirks. “Well, it’s our card now.”

The three of you share giggles. “Now let’s go shopping, and get you girls some cute outfits.”

“You’re getting one too.” Sarah winks as the two immediately stand and pull you to your feet.

“Wha-? But i’m not doing anything—“

“doesn’t matter!” Kie grins as they drag you over to the nearest store.

“Have fun tonight ladies!”

Sarah and Kie blow a kiss your way as you wave to them. “Happy Valentine’s babe!” Sarah winks as she calls out from the car. “You have fun too, sexy!”

An awkward smile builds on your face as you look at her in confusion, but she’s already driving away before you could inquire.

You shrug it off before heading to the front steps of the house and enter, dusting off your new red a-line silk dress that ended at your knees, that Sarah and Kie insisted you buy.

Even though you had a better time than you originally thought, you still couldn’t help the sadness that builds when you remember you didn’t have much waiting at home for you.

Sighing, you shut the door behind you and kick off your heels before stepping into the living room, surprised to see Rafe home.

“Hey, welcome home baby. How was your time with the girls?” Rafe immediately stands from the couch and you chew on your inner cheek and shrug weakly. “Fine.. I didn’t even know you were home.”

Rafe smiles as he looks at your new dress. “You look stunning baby. I see my card was put to good use.” He teases as he walks over to you and goes to wrap his arms behind your waist as he kisses your cheek. “Yeah.. thanks.”

He notices your quietness and distant behavior and furrows his brows. “Baby?”

Hearing him call you, you pout and look away, feeling all the emotions of sadness and disappointment from earlier returning in a rush. Rafe was home but he wasn’t texting you at all and if he’s been home, why did he send you away when you could’ve spent the time together?

“oh? is something wrong, sweetheart?”

Letting the pout grow further on your lips, you wipe your stray tears that began to brim your eyes and shake your head. “It’s nothing.. I just want to go to bed.”

Rafe stops you and spins you to face him, his hands on your shoulders. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You finally look into his eyes and sniffle. “You’re such a jerk.” You harshly spat, taking him aback. “What—?”

“The least you could’ve done was say ‘Happy Valentines Day’ to me or something today. You didn’t ask me to be your valentine, or to spend time with me or got me a gift. You gave me your card by sneaking it into my purse instead of handing it to me, and i had to buy my own gift with it! And the past couple days we hardly even spent any time together because you’re always so busy with Barry and your business..”

You couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks or from your words from spilling out your emotions but you were overwhelmed.

Rafe is stunned into silence for a moment, feeling his heart ached when he hears you explain. After another minute though, he speaks again.

“…I didn’t know this was such a big deal to you, angel.”

“Of course it is.. it’s a romantic holiday and you forgot.” You huff and Rafe lets his lips curl into a small smile as he reaches up to wipe your tears.

“Come here.”

He reaches down for your hand and intertwines your fingers with his and pulls you into his bedroom.

“I’m sorry for not giving you proper attention lately.” He whispers and pecks your temple before letting you open the door.

And the sight makes you gasp.

Every inch of the room, it’s completely covered in rose petals, pink and red balloons and as well as a bed covered in various gifts and snacks, such as charcuterie and chocolate covered strawberries for you, and a small board spelling out, “be my valentine?”

“How could I forget, baby?” Rafe murmurs as he watches your reaction with a soft smile and brings your hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it.

You’re speechless, unable to say anything as you stare at it all. The bed covered in gifts were from various stores you’ve been looking at recently, but you never had the chance to talk to Rafe about buying any of it.

“I… how did—“

Rafe exhales heavily as he looks over at the presents. “I had to talk to Sarah for hours and talk to the owners of these companies and stuff to get the right gifts and the best ones. I figured Sarah would know best about what you’ve been wanting.. And then I had to order all these rose petals and—“

You let out a small laugh, unable to do much else as you listened to him explain the reasoning for his distance the last few days. You’ll have to make a mental note to thank Sarah later.

“Wow.. i.. thank you, Rafe.. I’m sorry I..”

Rafe interrupts you with a soft kiss on your lips. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too, angel.” You wrap your arms around his neck and smile, as his hands place themselves at your hips. “And I mean it, you look absolutely beautiful in this dress.”

"And since I neglected you today.." Rafe grins as he kicks the door shut behind him and pulls you to his chest by the waist.

"Why don't I spend this weekend making it up to you, yeah?"

a/n : agh this shouldn’t have taken this long, i’m sorry. i’m still recovering and going through a lot but please enjoy this! unedited.

[v-eee]

── jungkook x you

scenario: you and Jungkook used to be best friend until new female staff came into his workplace, Jieun. He has introduced you to her. Jungkook starts getting busy with his work and often cancel the usual food hunting night with you because he needs to work overtime with Jieun. You know Jieun doesn't like you because she has come to your cafe a few times and told you to stop texting Jungkook during his work hour. when you told him about that, he didn't believe you. Starting that day your friendship is not like it used to be.

(vi)

Your writing is already strong, with vivid descriptions and engaging emotions. Below is a revised version with grammar, punctuation, and flow improvements while maintaining your original tone and style:

Fast-forward to the night of the dance ball, and Jungkook was practically vibrating with irritation.

Here he was, leaning against the wall like some moody bystander, watching you laugh and twirl with Joon on the dance floor. Joon, of all people!

Jungkook scowled as Joon spun you around, your laughter ringing out like music. You looked beautiful in your black dress, hair swept up in that effortless way that made you look like a princess.

He took another sip of his drink, but it didn’t do much to drown out the voice in his head. That’s supposed to be me dancing with Y/N!

The irritation hit Jungkook like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even like dancing, but with you, it had always been fun. You used to drag him to the floor, laughing when he inevitably stepped on your toes, and he’d make some sarcastic remark about your poor teaching skills.

But now, you weren’t even looking in his direction.

“Dude, you okay?” one of his friends asked, nudging him.

“Yeah, fine,” Jungkook muttered, his eyes still glued to you.

He saw Joon lean in, whispering something in your ear, and you laughed again, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Jungkook clenched his jaw. He told himself he shouldn’t care—he was supposed to feel happy when you were happy.

But then, why did it feel like he was the one being left behind?

The dance ended with a spin, and you clapped as Joon gave you an exaggerated bow. You laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you walked off the dance floor with Joon by your side.

Jungkook straightened slightly when you spotted him.

“Hey!” Your voice was as cheerful as ever.

You stopped in front of him, your cheeks glowing from the dancing. Joon was already wandering off to grab a drink, leaving you standing there with Jungkook.

“You’re not dancing?” you asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “Not my thing. You know that.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Joon is surprisingly good. He didn’t step on my toes even once. I think he might be the best dance partner I’ve had in a while.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Wow, high praise from Y/N. I guess that makes me what—your worst dance partner?”

You laughed. “Oh, come on. You know you’re great too. Just… in your own way.”

Jungkook smiled. He was about to ask you to dance when the live band started another song. But before he could open his mouth, Joon had already tapped your shoulder.

“Let’s dance again! This song is good!” Joon said excitedly.

You quickly nodded. “YES! Let’s go!”

Jungkook exhaled sharply as you and Joon disappeared into the crowd.

“Sucks,” he muttered.

“Why do you sound so grumpy, Kook?” another friend asked.

“Nothing.”

The friend laughed. “Really? Then why did I hear all of our friends were scared to come over and chat with you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook’s eyes never left you.

The friend followed his gaze, then smirked. “What, are you jealous seeing Y/N with Joon?”

Jungkook froze. “What? No,” he said quickly, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

The friend gave him a knowing look. “She’s happy when she’s around Joon. Let her be close with others, just like how she lets you be close with Jieun.” Then, with a chuckle, the friend wandered off, muttering something about how he knew it.

Jungkook stood there, staring at you and Joon.

Was he jealous?

[zeltqz]

✈︎—𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏.

content. 1.6K words (kinda short :( sorry), fem!reader, riding, unprotected sex, ran comes back from work trip and misses reader, thats literally it lol, licking, kissing, mentions of getting names tatted on each other, cunnilingus, fingering

Ran flops onto your couch, dragging you down with him. It’s uncomfortable the way you land, shifting around a few times to find a more comfortable position. Ran eventually gets irritated and just pulls you on top to straddle him. 

“I missed you,” you say warmly, holding him tightly. 

He kisses the side of your head. “Missed you too.” He drums his fingers along your waist. “So whatcha been up to?”

You shrug simply. “I’ve just been catching up on my shows, and stuff. And work has been stressful.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Yeah, it is.” You chuckle, shifting on his lap to rest your head on his shoulder. You look up at him, tracing the sharp lines on his face with your eyes with pure admiration. You never get tired looking at your boyfriend, especially after being away from him for six weeks. 

He feels you staring and looks down at you, kissing your forehead. You smile happily, clinging onto him tighter. “How was your trip?”

He wrinkles his nose, trying to work around the subject at hand. You were squeamish and hated hearing about all the violence that surrounds his job. “It was…interesting.”

“Really?” His hands fall to his side when you sit upright to face him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Gonna tell me what you did?”

“Don’t think you’ll find it ‘ethical’.”

You have to bite down on your laugh. You lean forward to kiss down the column of his throat. “I definitely won’t, but you look stressed and I’m here for you to talk,” you say against his skin. He hums briefly in acknowledgment, but you can tell he’s not paying attention. “Ran. You can seriously tell me anything.”

There’s a muffle grunt coming from him you take as a no. “Don’t wanna talk,” he says almost childishly,  burying his face into your chest, fingers trickling down your hips to the curve of your ass. “Need a distraction.”

His fingers are already pinching at the waistband of your shorts, trying to tug it off you. “Wait, now?!”

He dismisses you, lifting you off his lap and placing you on your back on the couch. He spreads your legs apart, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. You held your arms up and he bent down, allowing you to wrap your arms and legs around his shoulders and hips, kissing him deeply. 

He pulls back and looks down, eyes wandering down the length of your body. He licks his lips at the sight of your nipples poking through your thin top. He sits back, re-opening your legs, rubbing slow circles on your clothed clit with his thumb.

“Ran—”

“Hm?” He’s not looking at you, distracted by the wet patch on your panties when he slips off your shorts. He continues playing with your clit, trailing his gaze up to your stomach, now exposed as you tug your shirt off. He catches the moment your top passes your breasts, instantly reaching out to grab one the moment they’re exposed. 

His thumb leaves your clit and moves down to your stomach, just beside your belly button. “What would you think of getting a tattoo of my name, right here?” 

“Only if you get mine riiiighhttt here.” You slip your hands beneath his shirt, momentarily distracted as you run the flat of your palms across his abs, and press against the side of his waist on the opposite side of his chest tattoo.

He chuckles and slips his shirt off. You bite your lip, sitting up just to greedily run your hands all over his muscles. He snatches your hand. “You wanted it where?” You re-point to the same spot.

“Here.”

“I’ll get it,” he says and you laugh, pulling him in for a kiss. “I’m serious, I will. Whatever you want,” he continues, forehead resting against yours. 

You look down at his lips, then back up to his eyes, nodding. “Okay. But that means you’re stuck with me. Forever.”

“Couldn’t ask for anything more.” He pushes you back onto your back and spreads your legs open. You lift your hips up and help him slip your panties off. ‘

He shifts to lay down, keeping your legs spread open with his palms flat on your thighs. Your mouth falls open when he licks a long stripe up your pussy.

“Oh my god.” It’s been so long since you’d been eaten out, the feeling long since missed as he teases you with his tongue. You look down, feeling yourself growing wetter at the sight of him with his eyes closed, lapping at your pussy with such eagerness.

He pulls away to spit on your pussy, rubbing his thumb against your clit before slipping a finger in, then two, pulling your clit back into his mouth and sucking rhythmically. His finger curls inside you, giving your clit a break as his tongue begins lapping at the wetness from your cunt, spreading it along your thighs as he kisses and bites down on the flesh of your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, open your legs for me. Don’t hide.” You obey his commands, shakily re-opening your legs, the pleasure overbearing when he slips another finger inside you. 

You reach back down to his hair, unintentionally dragging Ran’s head back towards you, digging his face back to your cunt, desperate to feel the warmth of his mouth again. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, you’re too good, don’t stop. Just like that!” You’re close to drawing blood with how hard you’re biting your lip. 

As if adding fuel to the fire, his fingers scour your insides, pushing you over the edge. He sits up and takes your nipple into his mouth, pulling a reedy gasp from your swollen lips when his tongue flicks at your nipples. 

“Fuck me please,” you whisper with all the strength you could muster in his ear. 

“You want my cock, huh?” He laughs at your eagerness when you nod, unable to contain yourself. He presses one last kiss to your nipple, sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and pulls away until it tugs back and recoils, pulling his fingers out from you. 

He shifts back and you watch with riveting eyes as he removes his pants. He leaves his boxers on, sliding them down to his knees, and sits back, manspreading. He gestures for you to sit on his lap and you scramble upwards, happily seating yourself on top of him. His cock brushes against the curve of your ass as you kiss him eagerly. 

“Ride me, baby. I’m feeling kinda lazy today,” he drawls, a slow smirk curling on his face as he lounges back against the couch, spreading his arms along the back of the couch.

“You’re always feeling lazy,” you huff, pouting even as you reach behind you and wrap your hand over the length of his cock. He groans and tilts his head back at the feeling and you can’t resist. You lean forward, sucking the base of his throat, feeling it bob as he swallows when your thumb runs over his tip. You slide your lips to his ear, biting gently along his lobe to pull another deep sigh from his lips. 

“Do you have a condom?”

“Nah. It’s fine though.” 

“You suree?” You’re leaning back regardless, reaching for his cock and positioning the head at your entrance, then sink down slowly. Your mouth falls open and you let out a deep, relaxed sigh. “Oh—”

His hands move to your hips, steadying you there before you have the chance to move. The tight grip of his hands never fail to make you whimper and try combat it. You sink down deeper and his fingers sink into the fat of your hips tighter. He loosens his grip and gives you full reign to go crazy. You lift up and drop back down, feeling his cock drag against your walls.

“You’re so fuckin pretty,” he mumbles against the curve of your face, planting a trail of kisses along your cheek to your ear. His pants in your ear only spur you on to go faster, your pace erratic as you ride him, grinding against his hips and feeling him hit every single inch inside you. His hands slide to your ass, kneading and squeezing your cheeks between his fingers as you squeal into his ear.

“R—Ran! I’m gonna,” you choke out, panting shakily. Your hand grabs onto the back of the couch, wrapping your arm around his neck.

“Gonna what? Cum? You’re gonna cum for me, hm?” You’re too deep in pure bliss to respond. He nudges your face towards his and sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. 

“I’m trying, I—”

“C’mon, lemme feel you cum around me baby. You want it, don’t you?” he goads against your lips, tenderly licking at your bottom lip long enough before you cant take it anymore. You release your firm grip on the couch, cup his face with both hands and kiss him raggedly, slipping your tongue into his mouth. 

You cry out when he spanks you, moving his hands back to your hips to bounce you harder onto his cock. 

“I’m cumming—!” you scream, hiding your face in his shoulder, hips jerking as you come undone on his cock. He gives one last thrust before pulling out, cumming on your lower back. 

It’s warm as it drops down the curve of your ass, dripping onto the couch.

“Fuck,” you both say simultaneously. Your voice cracks and he lets out a small laugh that trails off into a moan when your pussy clamps down against his cock.

His eyes flutter closed as you wipe the sweat from his forehead, running your fingers through his short hair. You trail your lips along his facial features, along his nose, down his cheeks. When you reach for his mouth he steals a kiss, smirking when you pout and reach forward to steal it back. He wraps his arms around your lower back, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. 

sooooooooo im sorry for literally disappearing for fucking MONTHS. Life really smacked me in the goddamn face and i literally had 0 free time for myself. Like at all. It was crazy. I'm sort of free right now but will be fully free by April because that's when I finish Uni for the summer, but I'll try sooo hard to write fics because i missed writing so BADDLYYYYY I MISSED U GUYS

[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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[alluramiura]

“𝒾𝓃 ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹𝓈, 𝒶 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇 𝓉ℴ 𝓅𝓇ℴ𝓉ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓎ℴ𝓊” ｜se-mi x reader

summary: you save se-mi during lights out.

word count: 1.6k words

warnings: lowercase intended, death description, 124 dies, se-mi lives, mentions of youngmi’s death (💔), reader is an implied foreigner

authors note: i was going to post something abt hyunju but i remembered how se-mi died and i got mad all over again. minsu you’re a fucking coward. enjoy.

you met se-mi after the first game, before six-legged pentathlon. you talked a few times, the first time being when you two agreed to team up. after the agreement, she proposed the idea to split up and search for more teammates.

a few minutes later, you found two players willing to join you; hyunju and youngmi. when you found her again, she had found four other players.

before you could say anything, one of the men behind her spoke up.

“who’s this, se-mi? the limit is five. we have all of our members.” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear him. he was standing the closest to se-mi, and you notice his number is 125.

your eyes flicker to his for a second before flickering back to se-mi, who looks like she was about to give you an apology before another one of the men speaks, quite loudly.

“who’s this chick?” a man with purple hair—“thanos“— steps forward to address you directly.

“oooh, i see what’s happening. you want to join the amazing thanos’ team, huh? we are sadly out of room, señorita. but come to me next round, yeah?”

you stare at him blankly before turning back to se-mi. “it’s okay. i found a few people. you can stay with your group.”

she nods hesitantly, and you give her a faint smile before turning to return to the two players you found, who have now found two more players.

after the second game, you spoke again, a little before voting.

you opened up about your situation, how you were still relatively new to life in seoul, and how it’s been rougher than you imagined it would be, especially with the whole death game thing.

she sat and listened, nodding softly as you explained the last few months of your life to her.

she spoke about her situation a little as well. she didn’t say much, just that going back to her life was as good as staying here would be.

hearing that, you shouldn’t have felt as shocked, almost betrayed as you did when you saw her with the small “O” patched onto her jacket.

you knew you really had no right to be upset—everyone was here for a reason, some reasons being worse than the others, and her singular vote would have changed nothing regardless—but you couldn’t help but think of how the majority of players would choose money over fellow human life, her being one of them.

you try not to let her see how much the thought bothers you, but she seems to catch on almost immediately.

“are you upset that i chose to continue?” she asked, a bit suddenly, after noticing you’ve barely said anything and had been avoiding her gaze.

“…i’m not upset at you directly. i just…wanted to go home really bad.” you mutter softly, fidgeting with your necklace.

she hums in acknowledgement, and what seems like understanding.

“i wish i felt the same way.”

the next time you talk to her after that was during the third game.

mingle was probably the most stressful for you. you stayed with youngmi and the rest of your designated group for the most part.

that is, until youngmi died.

seeing her lifeless body covered in blood changed something within you.

when the farris wheel stopped spinning once more, you almost didn’t move. however, you suddenly felt the strong urge to make it out of here alive, if not for yourself, then for the friends, family you found here that might not make it along the way.

when you saw se-mi again, she was alone, looking around frantically for another person after the number two was called out.

you first noticed that she wasn’t with her team, but you pushed that thought away as you rushed towards her, grabbing her arm and sprinting to an empty room.

once you were in the room with the door shut, you pressed your back against the wall, catching your breath.

after a few seconds of silence and heavy breathing, se-mi speaks up, her voice hoarse and breathy.

“thank you.”

hearing that, you look up at her before nodding, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the wall.

“you’re welcome.”

when you left the room, you noticed she stayed near you and your group instead of with the people she was with before.

you didn’t mind.

the final time you talked to her before lights out was after the second vote.

when you saw she voted “X”, you were almost as shocked as you were seeing her vote the first time.

you didn’t ask what changed her mind, however. instead, you asked her what happened with her team.

“they…they’re assholes. i should’ve known from the start.” she mumbles, sighing softly.

you two spoke a little more, and you told her about your newfound motivation to make it out no matter what, after witnessing the death of your friend.

you shed a few tears thinking of youngmi. you didn’t know her for long, but like many other people you met here, you formed a bond you knew you’d never have with anyone else you’d ever meet.

se-mi gently put a hand on your shoulder as you cried silently, her expression grim.

you stayed with her for the remainder of the time before lights out.

now, as everyone’s killing one another and the scent of copper fills the air, you run around frantically looking for a place to hide.

you were climbing to the top of one of the bunk beds when you heard a familiar voice.

a shriek.

you look behind you, and a few feet away stood player 124, standing over se-mi with a bloodied fork in hand, looking like he was ready to attack.

that same feeling you got seeing youngmi die suddenly came back full force, and before you even realized it, you had hopped off the latter and began running towards the two.

as you approached, you locked eyes with se-mi as she struggled to fight him off.

suddenly, a glass bottle shatters, causing you to step back, and namgyu to pause his murderous actions, looking up to find the person who threw it.

while he’s distracted, you grab a shard of the glass and jab it into his his shoulder from behind.

namgyu lets out a pained cry as the glass pierces his shoulder. in an instant, he swivels around, backhanding you in the face.

you hit the ground pretty hard, feeling blood trickle down your nose. your vision was slightly blurred and you were disarrayed, your hand pressing against your temple where you initially hit the ground.

se-mi’s eyes widen, a strangled gasp leaving her lips as she watches you fall to the ground. adrenaline fuels her as she takes the opportunity to scramble to her feet, kicking namgyu in his side.

he doubles over slightly, but quickly recovers as he takes another step towards se-mi.

to her surprise, you get back on your feet, gripping the shard of glass so hard that blood runs down your wrist as you charge at namgyu again.

her heart racing, she joins fray in a flurry of limbs and desperation, punching and kicking wherever she could. namgyu was strong, however, and he managed to dodge all of your messily aimed attempts at stabbing him, his own adrenaline surging.

he suddenly grabs se-mi’s wrist forcefully, slamming her against the wall and raising his fork over his head, preparing to stab se-mi in the neck.

“no!” you shriek, balancing yourself and locking your blurry vision onto namgyu before charging at him a final time, stabbing him in the back harshly.

you don’t stop after the first stab, continuing to drill the glass into his back repeatedly, his blood splattering all over your shirt and skin.

he screams out in pain, staggering as his strength slowly leaves his body.

it’s only when he hits the ground, choking on his own blood as it pools around him when you realize what you’ve done, your hands shaking as you look down at the blood covering your hands.

you almost feel sick knowing it’s not just your own.

if someone told you a week ago that you’d become a murderer trying to protect yourself and your loved ones in a death game you’d blindly signed up for, you’d call a psychiatrist.

you drop the glass, trembling as you slowly look up at se-mi, tears beginning to stream down your face.

se-mi quickly runs over to you, her heart pounding in her chest. she grabs your face, holding it in her hands as she checks for any fatal injuries.

when she sees that you don’t have any major wounds, she pulls you into a tight hug.

you wrap your arms around se-mi as you bury your face into her neck, sobbing as the reality sinks in of what you’ve just done.

she kept her arms caged around you protectively, as she looks around to make sure no one else tries to attack you two.

“it’s okay. you’re okay. i got you.” she whispers, her own voice wavering as she rubs your back, attempting to comfort you for the second time that day, only under completely different circumstances.

“i-it all happened so fast…” you cry out, clinging onto se-mi like a lifeline. “h-he was trying to kill you, se-mi…i had to…i had to.”

“shhh…it’s alright. you saved me.” she murmurs, slowly guiding you to a nearby corner, hidden in the shadows from the chaos. she doesn’t once let you go, her eyes scanning the room for any immediate danger as the lights flicker.

after a while, she pulls back, gently tilting your head up so you could look at her. her thumb brushes away the tears streaming down your face, her touch tender.

"you're safe now. it's over."

[abbottfansstuff]

Something Real:

**Chapter 1: New Teacher, New Problem**

Author's Note: What can I say? I have hit the inspiration zone... I have an outline completed and a week of vacation. Let's do this!

Abbott Elementary had seen its fair share of new teachers. Most came in bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, determined to change the world, only to find themselves deflated by budget cuts, broken copy machines, and kids who had no interest in learning. Melissa Schemmenti had learned not to get too invested. Newbies either sank or swam, and she wasn’t a lifeguard.

But the moment Y/N walked into the staff lounge, something about them put her on edge. Not in a bad way, necessarily—just in a way that made her sit up a little straighter and fold her arms a little tighter. Y/N was confident. Not in an overeager way, but in a way that suggested they knew exactly what they were getting into. That was unusual. And irritating.

Melissa watched as Barbara greeted them warmly, her voice filled with the kind of patience Melissa could only hope to emulate one day. Jacob had already attached himself to Y/N, rambling about some podcast he thought they’d love, while Janine was grinning ear to ear—no doubt thrilled to have another ally in her relentless optimism.

Melissa snorted into her coffee. “Oh great, another idealist.”

Barbara glanced at her with a knowing look. “Be nice, Melissa.”

“I am nice,” Melissa said defensively. “I’m just saying, let’s see how long that shiny new teacher energy lasts.”

As if on cue, you turned your attention to her, offering a friendly smile. “Hey, you must be Melissa. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Yeah? Don’t believe everything you hear.”

You chuckled, unbothered. “Noted. Still, I’m looking forward to working with you.”

There was no sarcasm, no forced charm—just sincerity. That was worse. Melissa could handle arrogance and cut through fake politeness like butter, but sincerity? That was harder to deflect. So she defaulted to what she did best—snark.

“We’ll see if you can keep up.”

Your grin widened. “Oh, I plan to.”

Melissa turned away, pretending to be more interested in her coffee than in the weird way her stomach flipped when you smiled.

By the end of the week, Y/N had already made themselves comfortable at Abbott. Quick on their feet and—most annoyingly—getting along with everyone. Melissa found herself noticing it more than she wanted to. You fit in too quickly, like you had always been there. When Melissa first started at Abbott, she had to fight to find her space and earn respect. But Y/N? You were already laughing with Janine and Jacob, even cracking jokes with Mr. Johnson.

“Hey, Melissa,” Ava called from across the lounge. “Your new little friend is getting cozy with Janine. Should I be worried about another teacher power couple forming?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Oh please, they just met.”

“Uh-huh,” Ava said, clearly enjoying herself. “Still, wouldn’t be the first time a new teacher got swept up by Janine.”

Melissa scoffed but glanced over at you and Janine anyway.

Before she could stop herself, she was walking over. “Janine, don’t you have a class to get back to?”

Janine blinked. “Uh… lunch break?”

“Right.” Melissa turned to you. “How’s your first week going? Still think you can handle it?”

You smirked. “Oh, absolutely. But thanks for checking in on me.”

Melissa scoffed. “I wasn’t checking in, I was just—” She stopped, realizing she had no real reason for coming over. “Whatever.”

“I think I can handle it,” you teased, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

Melissa turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring the way her ears felt hot.

This was going to be a long school year.

Later that afternoon, Melissa found herself paired with you for an impromptu supply closet restocking mission. Apparently, you two were the only ones who hadn’t successfully dodged Ava’s request for “volunteers.”

As you sorted through bins of markers and glue sticks, you glanced at her. “So, be honest—what’s your problem with new teachers?”

Melissa didn’t look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you were skeptical. And I’ve noticed you watching me,” you said while counting the blue markers.

Melissa’s hand froze over a stack of construction paper. “I’m not watching you.”

You just smirked.

Melissa sighed, leaning against the shelf. “Look, nothing personal, all right? I’ve just seen a lot of teachers come and go.”

You nodded. “Fair. But you don’t seem to be testing anyone else.”

Melissa frowned. Damn, you were perceptive. “You’re just… different.”

You tilted your head. “Different how?”

Melissa opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t have an answer. Or at least not one she was ready to admit. Instead, she grabbed a box of pencils and shoved it into your hands. “Just don’t prove me right, rookie.”

You held her gaze for a second before taking the box with a smirk. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Melissa turned away before you could see the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

This was going to be interesting.

[bcksbarnes]

snipped

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky is feeling plagued by his past so he asks you to cut his hair.

word count: 1.2K

genre: fluff, sad!bucky

bucky wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to do this, unfortunately his hair had been apart of him for so long that it was like an extension of himself. it was both a mask that represented a time that he wished to forget, and a reminder of the better human he needed to become. but, the thoughts of the tragedies he caused while looking the way did weighed heavy on his mind. he already spent most of his nights woke up with nightmares from his time as the winter solider, he couldn’t continue looking in the mirror and feeling the same way as well. 

“hey,” he says as he walks into your bedroom, leaning against the doorframe while he watches you lay in bed. when you don’t respond right away he calls your name, causing you to look up from your phone with a small blush on your cheeks. 

“sorry, nat’s on a date and i wanted to see how it was going.” you respond, placing the phone next to you on the bed. 

“did she answer?” he asks, a small smile on his face as he watches you. 

“yeah, she said he’s boring. what else is new.” you tease, your eyes raking over his face. it only takes you a second to realize he’s uneasy. “what’s wrong?” 

you two had been together long enough that it didn’t take much for you to know when bucky was upset or thinking about something. his usual quiet and brooding behavior was always met with small quirks like tapping his foot or biting his top lip when there was something on his mind. this time it was the former. 

he sighs as he kicks off the door frame, moving to the edge of the bed and sitting down, still an arms length away from you as he tries to think of how best to approach the topic. 

“can you cut my hair?” he lays it out, his fingers picking at a piece of lint at the bedspread, feeling sheepish as he doesn’t meet your eyes. he’s embarrassed by this for some reason. he’s cut his own hair before, usually when he was on the run and was able to find a rusty pair of scissors, but that was usually just a trim and now there’s something about the meaning behind this that makes it hard for him. 

your gaze softens as you hear his request, sitting up further on the bed as you wait to see if there was anything else he was going to say. when you were met with silence you speak up. 

“of course i can.”  

bucky looks over at you, his smile had faded a few moments ago and now all he could think about was how this was going to feel. liberated? angry? happy? he wasn’t too sure, and maybe that’s what scared him the most. 

he had done horrible things as the winter solider, things that he could never forgive himself for, but life was different now. he was deprogrammed, he was helping people, he met you and he was starting to feel like he was allowed a life of not always having his demons follow him around. he was ready to move forward. 

“hey.” you move off the bed to stand in front of him, your hand moving to gently grab his chin and tilt his head up towards you. “we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, bucky.” 

he sighs softly at your touch, his hands moving to rest at your hips as he pulls you a bit closer, your legs slotted between his. it’s intimate and full of affection, you two always know how to keep your touches light but meaningul. 

“i am ready.” though he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself by saying it out loud. “i think ... i’m ready to stop torturing myself every day with the reminder of my past. i want to move forward. i want to show myself that i’m capable of moving forward.” 

your heart aches at his words because you will never understand the pain he goes through everyday, but there was nothing that was going to stop you from supporting him. your hand moves from his chin to cup both of his cheeks, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. his grip on your hips tighten a bit as you hear him let out a shuttering breath that he had been holding in. 

his hands move up to press against yours, keeping your touch on his face close for a moment as he relishes in the comfort. and despite popular belief, bucky barnes needed comfort. 

it’s a few minutes later that the two of you are in the bathroom, bucky is sitting on a folding chair he managed to find and you had both the scissors and clippers ready to go.  

“are you sure?” you stand behind him as he sits, your hands on his shoulders as your gazes meet in the mirror in front of you. he nods his head softly, saying everything that he’s incapable of verbalizing in that moment. “okay, i’ve only cut hair like once so if it comes out bad don’t hate me for it.”  

bucky cracks a small smile before he closes his eyes, letting out one last deep breath before you get to work. a comb works through his long hair one last time, getting all the knots out as you place it in a short ponytail.  

the metal scissors are in your hand and you whisper a soft you got this to him before you begin to cut. it takes a second to cut through it all but before you knew it you were holding onto most of it in the ponytail. it was shorter, shaggier, needed to be buzzed down and given a little height – but he looked good. different, but good. 

you can feel the way he shifts anxiously while you use the clippers, having to tell him to stop moving on a few occasions so you didn’t accidentally cut him, but it’s over almost as soon as it starts, his eyes still closed tightly not wanting to look until the finish product. 

your hands find their way back to his shoulders once you put your tools down, taking a moment to admire your work and how different he looks. you bring your lips down near his ear. 

“you can open your eyes, buck.” 

a beat passes and you can tell he’s nervous to but he has to face it at some point. one last deep breath leaves his lips before his eyes flutter open, landing on the mirror in front of him. 

he doesn’t speak for a minute, his eyes taking in his features and his new defined haircut. it looks great, if you say so yourself, but in that moment he’s hard to read and you’re not sure what he’s going to say. 

bucky rests his elbows on his knees and his head drops forward, your hand soothingly rubbing his back. when he looks up again his eyes are red and teary, the moment obviously catching him off guard with how much it would mean to him. 

“how do you feel?” your voice is soft, keeping the both of you grounded in this moment which you know he appreciates.  

a tear slips from his eyes and he runs a hand through his freshly cut hair. one word slips through his lips. 

“free.” 

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

can you make one where rafe showed his friends a private pic between and reader and she gets all pissed

do you think i deserved it all?

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — explicit picture, manipulation, gaslighting

summary — you overhear your boyfriend and his friends talking abt a certain photo.

authors note — i’m writing with nails so this may have some typos but please ignore that. this can be read as a standalone but is apart of my mean!rafe series that is listed in order on my rafe masterlist under au's. if you guys have any longer requests, please send em in so i can make these a little more detailed cause my creativity is not flowing for some reason.

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

you weren't paying attention at all to what was going on around you. rafe, topper, and kelce always talked about stuff you couldn't care less about and that is exactly what they were doing now. the four of you were sat in the living room of the thornton mansion on the couches. your boyfriend was sitting beside you with your feet in his lap as you laid across the soft cushions and his friends were sat across from you two on the other one.

you were currently just mindlessly scrolling through instagram as you plotted your next post. you could faintly hear the boys talking about a variety of things along with the tv playing in the background. you sighed in annoyance when you couldn't find enough pictures and decided you'd be needing to go take some more. you swiped out of the app and began listening to whatever rafe was saying so you could let him know that you'd be needing a photoshoot soon.

"you guys gotta see this shit," he said as he scrolled on his phone and sat up a little straighter. "it's like fuckin' heaven, i'm tellin' you. 'nd she just doesn't care. none of those tantrums about privacy and all that other bullshit. i do whatever i want with 'em."

he leaned forward to show the two whatever he'd pulled up on his phone and their jaws immediately dropped. "holy shit, dude," topper mumbled, completely mesmerized by the screen.

kelce had the same look, leaning in a little to get a better look. "goddamn man. you got her all to yourself?"

your ears perked up at that and you shut your phone off, eyeing rafe wearily. "all mine," he stated with a smug grin. "i've got hundreds jus' sitting in this album. they just keep gettin' better every time i add one."

you felt your heart drop to your stomach and bile begin to rise in your throat. "you're one lucky son of a bitch," topper said with a laugh before sticking his hand up for a high five. "i'll be right back. y'all want any drinks or anything."

rafe looked at you momentarily. "jus' water," he replied, knowing you didn't care for anything else too much.

"i'll take a beer," kelce said while standing along with the blonde. "i gotta take a piss. be back in a minute."

topper let out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back playfully. "yeah right."

as soon as the two left, you were quickly crawling over to rafe and snatching his phone from his hands. "what the fuck is your problem?" he snapped.

you stared down at it in shock. it was a picture of you from a few nights ago. one taken from a higher angle with your ass propped up in the air, you hair disheveled all across the pillows, your hands gripping onto the sheets by your head, and his cum coating your cheeks and mid-back.

your lip began to tremble and you dropped the phone into his lap rudely. "are you serious? why would you show that to them? do you know how embarrassing that is?"

he laughed. genuinely laughed in your face. "are you serious? it's not that big of a deal. you always blow things like this way out of proportion. you say you want me to show you off and shit and now you're pissed when i do?"

"i didn't mean in a disgusting way," you spat back. "i didn't expect you to go show off a vulnerable picture of me and have you and your friends talk about me like and object as if i'm not sitting right here!"

you could see the frustration building inside of him. he grabbed your wrist harshly and used it to pull you closer to him. "don't you dare fuckin' talk to me like that. before you ever even think about raising your voice at me again, think about who runs this shit, alright? cause it sure as hell isn't you. just remember, i wasn't the one begging for a chance, you understand me?"

a deep red blush creeped up your neck and onto your cheeks out of embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that rafe," you said quietly. you didn't like when he was mad at you and you definitely didn't want him to leave you. "i'm sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"thats what i thought," he said cockily as he let go of your wrist. "you think i was gonna make a cute little instagram post or somethin'? that what you wanted?"

yes. it was. it was what you were dreaming of. but you knew better than to upset rafe. you were meant to say what he wanted to hear in times like this. you began to convince yourself that maybe he was actually right. maybe it was better this way. "no. i don't want that."

he smiled and chuckled. "good," he replied. now get your shoes on and get your ass to the car."

your brows furrowed in confusion. you had only been here for and hour or two. "but rafe--"

"do i need to repeat myself?" he was pissed. you didn't need to hear anything else to know that. "get in the fucking car. we're gonna go home and you're gonna sleep off this bratty fuckin' attitude. then when you get up, you're gonna drop all this bullshit and apologize to me the right way. got it?"

you nodded shyly and began to move quickly to find your shoes. you were in for a long, exhausting night.

[bitchinbarzal]

With you | B Faber

part two of i never wanted kids

summary: You walked away from Brock because you thought you were doing the right thing. But his voicemail changes everything, forcing you to face the truth you’ve been running from.

-

You never meant to listen to the voicemail.

You’d seen his name flash across your screen and told yourself to let it go. You weren’t going to listen. what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything.

But then, late at night, when your apartment felt too quiet and your thoughts wouldn’t stop racing, you hit play.

“I never wanted kids. Or maybe I did. Maybe I just never thought about it until you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a hand against your stomach.

Because he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know that the reason you left wasn’t because you stopped loving him or because you thought you couldn’t make it work.

He doesn’t know that the reason you walked away was because you found out you were pregnant.

And you were terrified.

You remembered all the times you and Brock had joked about it, about how kids weren’t for you, about how you’d rather just get a dog. You remembered the way he laughed when you’d scoff at the thought of parenthood, the way he agreed so easily.

So when that little test turned positive, your first instinct was to leave.

Because keeping it a secret felt safer than giving him a choice.

You thought you were doing the right thing. You thought you were sparing him, sparing yourself from disappointment. But hearing him talk about a future with you—a future where maybe kids weren’t as out of the question as you thought makes your heart ache in a way you can’t ignore.

You have to tell him.

You owe him that much.

Your hands shake as you knock on Brock’s door.

It’s late, and you know you should’ve at least texted first, given him some kind of warning. But you weren’t sure you’d go through with it if you waited any longer.

The door swings open, and Brock blinks at you in surprise, like he wasn’t expecting to ever see you here again.

“Y/N?” His voice is quiet, cautious.

“Hey” you say, shifting on your feet “Can we talk?”

Something flickers in his expression. hope, maybe. But he doesn’t push. He just steps aside, letting you in.

You walk into the apartment you used to call home, heart pounding as you turn to face him.

“I got your message” you say, voice softer now “That’s why I’m here”

Brock swallows, nodding “Yeah?”

“Yeah” You hesitate, searching for the right words “Brock, I need to tell you why I left”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, waiting.

You take a deep breath “I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you. I left because I—because I thought I was doing the right thing. Because I was scared”

His brows pull together, confused “Scared of what?”

You exhale shakily “I found out I was pregnant”

Silence.

A long, heavy silence that stretches between you, pressing against your ribs like a weight.

Brock’s mouth parts slightly, like he’s trying to process what you just said, like he’s trying to form a response but doesn’t know how.

You push forward before he can speak, before you lose your nerve “I didn’t tell you because I thought… I thought you didn’t want kids. We always joked about it, always brushed it off, and I panicked. I thought it’d ruin everything. I thought you’d feel trapped, or—”

“Y/N”

The way he says your name is so soft, so careful and it makes your throat tighten.

“You thought I wouldn’t want them?” he asks, voice laced with something between heartbreak and disbelief.

“I didn’t want to force you into something you weren’t ready for” you whisper.

Brock exhales sharply, running a hand down his face “Jesus, Y/N. You didn’t even give me a chance. You just… left”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes “I thought I was doing the right thing”

“And now?” he asks, looking at you like he’s afraid of the answer.

You take a shaky breath, pressing a hand to your stomach “Now, I don’t know. But I know I can’t keep running from this. I know I can’t keep running from you”

Brock steps forward then, hesitating only for a second before reaching out. His hand hovers over yours before gently resting on your stomach, his palm warm even through the fabric of your sweater.

It’s the smallest thing, but it makes your breath hitch.

“Are we—” He stops, clears his throat, like he’s afraid to ask “Are we still…?”

You nod “Yeah. Still pregnant.”

His jaw tenses, and for a moment, he looks like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

“You should’ve told me” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper “God, Y/N, I would’ve—” He stops himself, shakes his head “You didn’t have to do this alone”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it “I know”

Brock watches you for a long moment before his thumb brushes against your stomach, the touch feather-light.

“I meant what I said in that voicemail” he murmurs. “Every word”

You swallow past the lump in your throat “Even the part about maybe wanting kids someday?”

His lips twitch into the smallest, saddest smile “Especially that part”

The weight in your chest cracks, just a little.

“I don’t know how to do this” you admit.

“Me neither” Brock says “But we don’t have to figure it out all at once”

Your throat is dry as you stare at Brock, his hand still resting on your stomach, like he’s afraid to move and break whatever fragile moment you’ve found yourselves in.

He blinks, his mouth parting slightly before he swallows hard “How far along are you?”

“Four months” you whisper.

Brock inhales sharply, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rest against your stomach. “Four months” He says it like he’s trying to make sense of it, like the number means something different when spoken out loud.

You nod, biting your lip “Yeah”

He exhales, shaking his head slightly “I missed so much already”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that makes your chest ache.

“I wanted to tell you” you admit, voice shaking “So many times. But I thought it would just make things worse”

Brock pulls his hand away, running it through his hair “Worse? Y/N, I—God, I don’t even know what to say right now” He lets out a breathless laugh, more disbelief than amusement “I mean, you left. You disappeared. And the whole time, you were pregnant?”

You nod, eyes stinging “I know. And I’m sorry, Brock. I really am. I should’ve told you. I just—” You take a breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze “I thought I was protecting you”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then, finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he looks at you with something softer in his expression.

“You don’t have to protect me from this” he says quietly “From us”

A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it “I know”

Brock watches you for a long moment before nodding to the couch “Can we sit? Can we—can you tell me everything I’ve missed?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding “Yeah. Yeah, okay”

You sit curled up on one side of the couch, Brock on the other, facing you like he doesn’t want to miss a single word.

“So” he starts, rubbing his palms together “Tell me everything”

You hesitate, chewing your lip “Well… I found out in early December. I was feeling off for a while, but I just chalked it up to stress. And then I was late, so I took a test, and… yeah.” You let out a humorless chuckle “Not exactly what I was expecting”

Brock is watching you so intently, it makes your skin prickle “What did you do? After you found out?”

“I freaked out” you admit. “A lot. I sat in my bathroom for an hour just staring at the test, trying to convince myself it was wrong” You take a deep breath, the memory making your chest feel tight “And then I thought about you. About how we’d always said we weren’t the type for kids. And I thought—‘What if he hates me for this? What if he resents me?’”

Brock’s brows furrow “Y/N, I could never—”

“I know” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I know that now. But back then, it felt like the only option”

He swallows hard, nodding for you to continue.

“So… I left. I ran. And I tried to figure it out on my own” You let out a small, sad laugh “It wasn’t exactly easy”

Brock leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees “Have you been okay? Like, really okay?”

You pause, looking down at your hands. “Some days are better than others. The morning sickness was rough at first, but it’s gotten better. And I’m tired all the time, but I guess that’s normal” You glance up at him “I had my first ultrasound a few weeks ago”

His breath catches slightly “And?”

You hesitate before reaching for your phone, scrolling until you find the picture and holding it out to him “here”

Brock takes the phone carefully, his eyes widening as he stares at the screen.

The ultrasound photo is grainy, but the tiny shape of the baby is clear. His fingers brush over the image, his lips parting slightly “Wow.”

You watch as he just stares at it, his expression unreadable. After a long moment, he exhales “That’s… our baby.”

Your throat tightens “Yeah”

Brock blinks a few times, like he’s trying to process it all “I missed this” he murmurs “I should’ve been there”

You bite your lip, shifting slightly “You still can be. If you want to”

His gaze snaps to yours, something like determination settling in his features “Of course I want to”

Your breath catches “Brock—”

“I don’t know what this means for us” he says, voice rough “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I do know that I want to be here. I want to be part of this. I want to be part of their life” He looks at you, eyes burning with sincerity “I don’t want to miss anything else”

Your heart clenches, a mixture of relief and emotion threatening to pull you under.

“I want that too” you whisper.

Brock reaches out then, carefully lacing his fingers with yours.

“We’ll figure this out” he says, squeezing your hand gently “Together”

Six months later you sat alone in a hospital room holding your son, only hours old.

He cried out desperately and you winced.

“Gosh i go to get your mom a bagel and you miss me that much you’re crying? Jeez bud, pretend i’m not the favourite parent already and spare her feelings” Brock exclaims, walking into the room holding a bag with your breakfast inside.

You smile softly, Charlie now silent.

Brock leans down to kiss you softly “Hi beautiful”

“Hi, your son is really loud”

“Yeah, gets that from his dad. Sorry!”

[cherryshortycake]

Hi hi!! I heard your requests were open :D

I was wondering if you’d do a scenario with Bakugo where hyperfem!pastel and cutsie reader meets his family and their just confused of why someone who seems so pure wants to be with someone like Bakugou LOLOL

Thank you!! 💕

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ. ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴜᴛᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴀɪɴꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏ��� ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ.

♥ Summary: Bakugou Katsuki’s girlfriend (you), a sweet and hyperfeminine pastel girl with lots golden retriever vibes, meets his family for the first time. ♥

The door swung open, as Katsuki's sharp eyes immediately landed on you, waiting for him by the door with your usual soft smile. You're standing there in your light, pink-colored dress swirled with a tad of white, added with your sweater over top, that Katsuki got you for your birthday couple months ago. HE loved seeing you wear what he got you...

"Ready to meet my old hags, pipsqueak?" Katsuki's said, that held a rare tenderness as he adjusted his jacket. There was a slight, almost imperceptible frown on his face, one that couldn’t quite mask his nervousness. You knew him well, all the way down to his core.. he was nervous? You thought..

You not giving him any mind of his nickname to you, at this point you find comfort in it.. But you knew not to say anything about him being nervous. So you knew to play it off, maybe he can be more relieved?

“Yup! I can’t wait to meet them, Katsuki!" You chirped, practically jumping out your skin with excitement. It was a big moment—meeting the family. You tried to calm your bubbling energy with a deep breath, but that golden retriever energy you always exuded was too strong.

As you entered his home, the scent of warm food wafted in the air, and you felt a slight twinge of nervousness, but you quickly pushed it down. Katsuki’s mom was already in the living room, putting down her cup of lemonade on the coffee table, standing up to greet the two of you.

“Brat, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was this… colorful,” his mom said with an amused yet soft smile, referring to Katsuki. Eyes flickering to your pastel- look and the gentle aura you radiated. She wore a knowing look, one that said she was already sizing up the situation.

You bounced forward, your cheerfulness apparent in your every movement. "Hi! It's so nice to meet you, Mrs. Bakugou! I love how cozy your house feels, Thank you for inviting me and welcoming me!"

His mom chuckled, a lighthearted sound that contrasted her son’s usual gruffness. "You're as sweet as Bakugou said, huh?" she said warmly, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, she’s pretty... different from me,” Bakugou mumbled, but there was a soft affection in his words that you caught off, and it made your heart flutter. You smiled at him brightly.

Bakugou's mom eyed you, then looked at her son with a slightly raised eyebrow. “So, you’re the one who's making my son act like a fool then?” She joked. You wonder what she means, as you raise your eyebrow.

"Old hag!" Bakugou huffed, his cheeks turning a soft pink, which you found absolutely adorable. You giggled, reaching up and squeezing his arm, showing him that it's okay. He looks down at you, you teased, winking at him. Your touch was light, caring, and full of affection.

His mom grinned at you, clearly enjoying the exchange the look her son gives you. “I can tell you two have a special bond. You’re... different and very precious, and I like you.” She placed a hand on her chin thoughtfully. “Though I do wonder what someone as pure as you see in a rough kid like him.”

You giggled again, a soft sound that was almost like the tinkling of chimes. “Well, he’s got a big heart! And I think he’s a little softie under all that spark,” you said with a wink, reaching up to gently ruffle Bakugou’s spiky hair, causing him to scowl but not pull away.

His mom raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by how embarrassed her son had become. “A softie, huh? You hear that, Katsuki?”

Bakugou grumbled but didn’t argue, clearly warmed by the affection in your words, despite his attempts to act tough. “Shut up…”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the playful back-and-forth. It made you feel at ease, even though you were technically meeting his family for the first time.

After a few minutes of more teasing, Bakugou’s dad joined in from the kitchen, setting down a tray of food. His expression was stoic, but his eyes softened when they landed on you.

“So, you’re the one making my boy act like a mess?” he asked, his deep voice holding a light tease. His dad seeming very gentle and kind.

You looked up at him, your smile unwavering. “Yes, sir! But in the best way! I promise, I’ll take good care of him!”

His dad nodded slowly, then his lips quirked into a small smile. “Well, as long as you don’t let him burn the house down again, I suppose you're all right.”

“That was one time, old man!” Bakugou exclaimed, his voice clearly both embarrassed and defensive.

“You’re lucky you’ve got someone who’ll put up with your antics, boy,” his dad added, patting Bakugou on the back with a little more force than necessary. Bakugou pouting at him, with piercing eyes. His dad gulped. Showing he's somewhat scared of his son still, what did he do as a kid to him?? you thought, causing to giggle.

Your eyes sparkled as you turned back to Bakugou. “Aww, you really are just a big softie, huh?” you cooed, making his ears turn a darker shade of red.

As the evening continued, you fit perfectly into the family dynamic, your positive energy filling the room. His mom even pulled you aside while Bakugou was in the kitchen.

“You know,” she said, looking at you seriously, “I can tell you care about him. He’s lucky to have you.” She gave you a smile, a hint of approval in her eyes. “Don’t let that rough exterior fool you. He’s got a good heart, and if you can bring it out, he’ll be a better man because of it.”

You blinked up at her, your eyes wide with sincerity. “Thank you! I’ll do my best, I promise.”

Bakugou’s mom gave you an approving nod before she patted your head gently, the softest of gestures that made you smile brightly. “I like you. You’re the right one for him.”

Just as Bakugou re-entered the room, his cheeks flushed from something his dad had said, his mom squeezed your shoulder affectionately. "You’ll do great, kiddo."

Bakugou’s grumbling continued, but there was no hiding the soft glow of happiness in his eyes as he met yours. You could tell from the way he held your hand, a little tighter than usual, that he was more than just pleased with how things went.

And as you all sat down to enjoy the meal together, laughter filling the room, you couldn’t help but feel that this was where you belonged—right there with him and his family.

But his father broke the silence, pushing up his glasses trying to be serious, "So son, about protection, y'all know safe se-" "MASURA!!!!!!!" "ENOUGH" Mitsuki screams, Bakugou screams. silence opens again, and you break it with a laugh causing his parents laughing, but Bakugou is still grumps about it looking away pouting, but you nudge his arm smiling causing him to give a soft half one back.

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Happy Holidayz!! Ur SkyxReader Cupcakke remix edition fic was sooooooo good I ate that shit up 💕💕💕 now do LegendxReaderxRavio threesome with Legend n Reader as the bottoms (only if you want to 😳😳😳)

LORD HAVE MERCY I WROTE THIS IN AN HOUR

('Cupcakke remix edition fic' had me bawling with laughter LMAO)

Also slightly for @hornyonmainfics b/c I saw that you were thirsting for a Leg/Rav x reader fic..

Out Of Touch

Pairing: Legend x Reader x Ravio

Warning(s): You know what this is. No smut in this chapter, but this is an 18+ story, so please DNI if you're a minor!

Notes: Also inspired by "How Do I Make You Love Me" by The Weeknd.

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

"You've got to be kidding me," you deadpanned, staring at Ravio in his little green-apple eyes like he had personally wronged you, arms crossed over your chest as if to protect it from beating straight through your ribcage.

"Whatever do you mean, darling?" the Merchant flashed a smile that was all teeth. Oh, he made you mad. Ring-laden hands landed carefully in the middle of the large counter as he leaned forward to meet your disapproving gaze.

You pinched your temples, gesturing to the thick bundle of arrows like it would fortify your argument. "Goddamn it, Rav, these arrows were five rupees yesterday and you know it!"

You watched incredulously when he eyed the bundle, then returned to grinning you like the bastard he was. You couldn't believe him and Link were counterparts. "Were they?"

"Yes! And here I thought those ears would make it easier for you to hear," you hissed, pointing an accusing finger at that accursed rabbit hood of his, who he had most graciously shed when you stomped to the register nary five minutes ago. "Come on, dude. You can't be serious."

His eyes flashed wickedly and you knew you had made a terrible mistake. "Yeah, because I'm Ravio—"

You abruptly turned on your heel, only slid to a stop when a hand caught your wrist. It was the bunny bitch himself, practically bent over the counter in an attempt to keep stop you from marching out and finding another vendor.

"Hey! You can't just leave!"

You scoffed, pivoting slightly to face him once more, brow arched as you stared him down. "Why? This is a business, I'm not obligated to buy anything."

Ravio had the audacity to look affronted by the very insinuation that you would leave without spending your hard-earned rupees on his bullshit scams. "No, but you'd deny business to your ever-faithful roommate?"

"Um, Link is my roommate," but Link was also gone, having disappeared to do... whatever he did when he wasn't sulking around at home. You paused to think of an appropriate burn. "You're like the homeless guy who's taken residence in our rafters."

The Merchant gasped in faux offense, retracting his hand to slap it over his heart in what you could only assume was a wordless declaration of moral injury. "Rude! I steal nothing and contribute to rent."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Hyrule—"

"Not with that attitude, you aren't."

"...Fuck you, Rav."

Instead of firing some equally clever rebuttal your way, Ravio actually seemed to consider the prospect, all the while you blinked and wondered if now was a good time to start running. "I'd expect dinner first, as is proper" he eventually decided on, nodding slowly like it was a respectable response.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor; in no way, shape, or form was this a respectable response. "Um."

"And, of course, it would have to be when Mr. Hero is away, unless you're into that?"

Your cheeks flushed against your will. What... what was happening? Despite appearances, you'd known Ravio for years—which was probably why he was allowed to refer to you as a 'whore' when the two of you were tipsy and engrossed in a card game and you were allowed to screech about his outrageous prices in return—but never once had your roommate-esque relationship crossed over to... whatever this was.

And yet, here you were, being propositioned by the fucking Merchant.

Heart threatening to hammer from your chest, you turned, grabbed the bundle of arrows, and slung your entire pouch of rupees onto the counter.

"Keep the change."

You were gone before he could finish calling your name.

It was nearly nightfall by the time Ravio managed to drag his sorry butt home, slinking inside with unusual regard for your peace and quiet. Usually, he would fling the door open with some innocuous exclamation about the state of the Hyrulean weaponry market, but, this time, only a small creak could be heard, followed by the soft shuffling of boots.

"Hey, Rav," you called, back facing the door as you busied over the cooking pot, half-heartedly stirring the soup within. The three of you had learned early on that it was easier for everyone if you did the cooking, seeing as the other two were largely useless in the kitchen. "Did you make any sales?"

There was a pause. Then, he spoke: "Just yours. I closed up shop early."

Your head twisted around so fast you swore your neck cracked from the force of the action. Never in your life had you thought you'd hear Ravio, scammer of thousands, admit to willingly skip out on profits. Monsters had begun to emerge along the surrounding roads—which was likely why Link had traipsed into the wilderness a few days prior with only some bread, his sword, and a lingering gaze over his shoulder as you waved from the doorway—which meant business should be booming. "What?! Why?"

Now that he had your attention fixed on him, Ravio leaned against the wall beside the door, one hand combing through his soft black hair while the other braced across his stomach, like he was a swooning maiden rather than a self-proclaimed "Legendary" merchant. "And so the interrogation begins! If you must know, it's because someone bought my entire stock of arrows, leaving me high and—"

You eyed the bundle of arrows on the table, brain working furiously to decipher if he was lying or not. There was no way that Ravio, a god among merchants, hadn't seen fit to stock on arrows, one of the most popular weapons, in anticipation for what had colloquially become known as 'monster season' among the townspeople.

...Or was there?

"—dry! For shame, I tell you!"

Yeah, and then he'd propositioned you for sex, but you supposed it wasn't polite to mention when you had all but run out on him. Oops.

"That's so crazy," you said dryly, praying to whatever deity existed that it masked the budding nervousness in your tone. The soup burbled, and you turned to stir in some salt, still speaking: "Who would do that? That's just plain wrong. I'm appalled."

"So am I, darling," you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps, then the dull creaking of a familiar chair as he took his usual seat at the table, spinning around to lean his elbows back on the thick wood. You didn't need to see his smirk when you could practically hear it. "But, it would be wrong to say I'm not somewhat impressed.

You gave the soup a harsher-than-normal stir. "In what, your customer's ability to adapt to a changing business environment or yours to exploit them?"

There was a groan. "That's twice you've wounded me," he whined, to which you rolled your eyes and debated telling him to be a man. "And in a single day? For shame!"

"Sounds to me like you're ashamed of a lot of things," you sniped without any real heat, grabbing the pair of bowls you'd placed by the hearth and filling them with a hearty helping of mushroom-and-meat goodness. Ravio watched with rapt attention as you brought them to the table, placing one in front of him before taking a seat at the opposite side of the table. "You better eat up before Link comes home," you gestured to the half-full pot with a deadpan expression. "Because that won't stand a chance when he does, and I'd rather avoid trashing this place. Again."

"As you wish," he lifted the bowl to his lips and took a hearty sip. Your ears perked in realization, and you quickly snagged a spoon from the pocket of your borrowed apron, sliding it across the table to him with a muffled 'sorry'. He took the offering without hesitation, scooping a hearty portion of meat and mushroom, and you were grateful that someone in this house actually ate their fungi. Link had the nasty habit of glaring down anything vegetable on his plate like he was trying to absorb the nutrients through the power of his gaze alone. "And here I thought Mr. Hero was your favorite."

"I wouldn't worry, you can be just as much a pain in the ass, too," you assured him blandly; eyebrow raised, spoon filled to the brim.

He snapped his fingers. "And that's three!"

"Shut up and eat, Rav."

It was freezing.

A gust of wind rattled the house as you attempted to yank your thin blanket higher without exposing your feet to the abhorrent chill. You typically never bothered with repairs because Link was unusually obsessive in fixing any issues as soon as they arose, but with him gone... well, you weren't quite sure where the offending hole was, but, by Hylia, things would not be pretty when you discovered it.

You shivered; this sucked, and not in the good way. You yanked the blanket a bit higher, accidentally revealing the barest edge of toe to the air, which brought forth a hissed curse that was far too loud for comfort.

A beat passed. Then, from Link's bed on the opposite side of the room, you heard: "Are you awake?"

Your fingers, stiff and chilled, tightened around the threadbare hem of your blanket. If there was anything that Link and Ravio shared, it was that they were annoyingly persistent. There wasn't a single thought in your mind that he wouldn't bother you until you coughed up some sort of answer. "Yeah."

Another rush of wind battered the poor home, followed by... was that rain? Already? "Why?" Ravio's voice rang loud over the approaching storm.

"Because it's fucking cold," you bit out without much heat. Risking a glance at Link's bed, you found him bright-eyed and sitting upright, back against the thick headboard. It was strange seeing the Merchant without his usual adornments, like his rings or that horribly gaudy belt, but he was still wearing that bunny cloak-tunic-dress thing, so you supposed you couldn't complain that much. A thin laugh passed over your chilled lips, and you took the risk of rolling to your back, propping yourself slightly on your elbows to view him in greater detail. "What's your excuse?"

This was already turning out different than expected. After two years of being Link's roommate, you'd grown used to his quiet, somewhat brash demeanor, though it was hardly so when you had the vivid memories of joining him in bed when times got tough or nightmares tougher; arms snug around your back and a warm, silent face pressed to the indent of your collarbone, though he would kill you if did you anything more than acknowledge and move on. With Ravio, things were... uncertain. Not unwelcome, simply unknown.

"I don't like storms," he decided after a few beats, hands buried beneath Link's bedspread. His hair was as perfect as ever, nearly invisible in the darkness, but you would recognize its shine anywhere.

"It wasn't storming before," you said, not unkindly. The cold bit at your neck over the hem of your tunic-dress,

"No, it wasn't," he parroted, and the room fell silent once more. Until a crack of thunder rumbled outside and you both jumped, looked at each other, and burst into raucous laughter a second later.

"Hylia, I can't believe—!" you chortled, momentarily forgetting your grievances at the sheer absurdity of the situation. From across the room, Ravio shook from the force of his own chuckles as they bubbled up to join yours. He looked carefree, and you...

Well, you laughed a bit harder, knowing you weren't alone in the unexpected mirth. Clapping a hand over your mouth only did so much, and it wasn't until you heard the thick rustle of sheets did you finally give pause. It was the Merchant, of course, but he was... getting out of bed? Willingly??

Apparently, the storm could wait; you were far more interested in whatever fuckery he planned on doing, anyway. You watched with rapt attention as he walked across the room, expression twisting in the barest grimace when the cold floor met his bare feet.

"What are you doing?"

Your voice sounded booming in the budding silence.

Ravio didn't answer. He grabbed his scarf from where it was folded on the table, and ambled to your bedside. "Here," he said, offering the thick, black-and-blue fabric to you. "It's not much, but it should do the trick."

"Um," you blinked owlishly. "It's fine, you don't have to give me your stuff."

It was with much surprise that you watched his face harden into something akin to a disappointed scowl, like something a parent might give their misbehaving child. What the fuck was happening? "Of course I don't have, I want to."

Fuck, why did he always have to make such stunningly good points when you were least expecting it? Despite this, you bit your tongue, and your lip, accepting the scarf with about as much enthusiasm as a sleepy kitten. "Thanks, Rav."

The Merchant's smile shone brighter than the terrible, brilliant sun. "Keep the change," he said in a tone that couldn't have been anything but fond and you... well, you just watched as he began to shuffle back to Link's bed.

There was nothing between you and Ravi, or you and Link, or any such combination that involved you and the barest idea of romance. It was preposterous, and horribly disrespectful to your beloved roommates.

...So why did you want to reach out and stop him?

"Hey, Rav," at the sound of your voice, he paused, halfway between both beds. Anything could happen when a middle was involved, and you both knew how much he hated extremes.

The storm howled outside.

"Hm?"

You tried to stave off the spike of disappointment that rose at the loss of the term "darling", but some feelings had an annoying habit of simply bouncing back stronger. Hylia, you really were out of touch, weren't you?

The window rattled. You could have sworn someone was outside.

It would be so easy to tell him, so easy to cajole a warn body into the sheets beside you. You'd slept with Link countless times, cuddled in his embrace until the kiss of morning, when he'd slip out and carry you to your bed, gingerly tucking in while you feigned sleep. And if he pressed a pat to your head or brushed some hair from your face, who were you to judge. Link was a hero. Ravio was a merchant. All you wanted was to—

"Have a good night."

Candy-green eyes shone in the low moonlight. Ravio tipped his head just as you let yours fall on the pillow, the folded square of his scarf clenched tightly between trembling, frozen fingers.

"You too, darling," said the Merchant, and, without another word he retreated.

Stay here, your mind whispered. Bring me back to reality.

This was supposed to be one chapter, but my brain kind of got away from me so enjoy!!!