#even when walking from one end of the house to the other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 2 days ago

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

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

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

Joel had spent the past week trying to ignore it.

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

And the mother?

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

But it wasn’t warm.

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

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

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

But it was.

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

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

But then—he hesitated.

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

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

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

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

The poor mother looked like hell.

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t do it.

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

“Let me try.”

Joel didn’t exactly wait for an answer.

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

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

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

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

He stepped inside.

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

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

This wasn’t neglect.

This was someone trying—someone failing.

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

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

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

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

“Hey, ‘scuse me, I didn’t let—”

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

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

“Girl.”

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

“You fed her anything?”

There was a thoughtful pause, and then, quietly—

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

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

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

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

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

She flinched, shoulders jerking.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thatta, girl. There you go.”

“'Sokay, ssh. Ssh.”

“I got you.”

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

Silence. Oh, sweet, splendid silence.

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

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

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

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

“She got a name?”

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

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

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

“She ain’t yours?”

Her gaze flickered. “She is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something settled uneasily in his chest.

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

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

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

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

Wet. Trembling. Exhausted. Confused. Helpless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel’s stomach turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pull yourself together,” he bit out.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

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

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

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

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

Joel looked up at the home.

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

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

This time, jaw tight, he turned away.

That being said, Joel hadn’t slept well.

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

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

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

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

He adjusted the rifle on his back and exhaled sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel scoffed. “What’s the punchline?”

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

“She’s not okay, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the front door was open again.

Joel clenched his jaw.

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

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

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

Joel frowned, taking it all in.

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

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

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

Carefully, he stepped forward, peering into the nursery.

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

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

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

“Hello, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nodded. “And?”

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

He frowned. “That’s it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leela didn’t reach for her baby immediately.

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

But finally, she forced herself to move.

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

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

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

The crying stopped almost instantly.

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

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

Then, she winced.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She let him guide her.

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

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

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

"I'm sorry, Joel."

He frowned. “For what?”

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

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

Joel pressed his lips together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel snorted. "Me?"

She nodded, entirely serious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel frowned. Math. In a world like this?

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

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

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

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

Joel didn’t know what to make of that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But before he could, Maya stirred.

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

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

Joel let out a slow breath. Good. Progress.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll cover up. Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he have many children? No.

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

He grunted out, “Not your concern.”

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

“I understand,” she murmured.

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

Silence settled between them, thick but not uncomfortable.

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

Then, her voice—quiet, hesitant.

"Did your baby ever feel like a stranger?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That did something to him.

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

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

So, he did what he could.

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

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

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

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

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

It was something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This time, it sounded like she meant it.

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

Fifteen days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was unraveling.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shot her a look. "Eat."

She sighed. But she picked up the spoon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel shot her a look. "No."

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

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

Ellie smirked harder and drawled out, "Riiiight."

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

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

He cut her a sharp look. "Ellie."

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

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

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

He hesitated.

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

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

Ellie studied him. "Bet she likes you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ellie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maya knew him. Trusted him.

That realization unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He felt Leela before he saw her.

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

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

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

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

Joel kept on walking. Crossed the street.

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

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

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

He’d let himself care.

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

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

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highvern · 3 days ago

Text

Beggin' On My Knees

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, hint of angst, established relationship, biker! hoshi

warnings: pregnancy, impreg/breeding kink, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple play, unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, spitting, praise kink

Length: ~8k

Note: inspired by the Please, Please, Please MV. this was originally an idea for taehyung but alas my top freak took over again. something about biker/mechanic hoshi really is beautiful thank u @tomodachiii @haologram and @gyuswhore for keeping me sane

summary: After another run in with the law, you come to terms with the fact your friends might be right about your fiancé.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Even at your age, it’s somehow more embarrassing to buy pregnancy tests than condoms. You wouldn’t know since you’ve never bought condoms. That particular responsibility falls exclusively on your fiance after the few times in college when you snagged handfuls from the bucket inside the campus clinic.

You’ve bought a pregnancy test before. Not for yourself but for friends too embarrassed to walk into the pharmacy and publicly declare how active their sex lives were. Now you understand why they wanted someone else to do it. Why are there twenty different brands? Why do they require some high school employee to unlock the case so you can pick the one you want? Why are they so damn expensive? The anxiety you feel rivals the first time you bought weed sophomore year of college from some sleazy frat boy.

You’ve got the box resting on the bathroom counter, a timer on your phone, and the test just out of sight while you pace back and forth in the small space. The door is shut for no other reason than to isolate away from Soonyoung in the event he gets off work early.

You should call Soonyoung. He’d want to know, fight the urge to say something stupid like “I’ll try harder next time” when the tests come back negative and instead offer to pee on one in solidarity if only to lighten the mood.

You never understood when people say a woman just knows until right now because with each passing second the reality that those tests are going to be positive sink in. Despite the fact you and Soonyoung almost always use a condom and the times without them end with him coming anywhere not inside you. You just know it.

Each second ticks down like a bomb waiting to detonate.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your stomach twists. Surprisingly, you don’t dread it as much as you would have a year ago. But a million things a baby entails rush over you. Cleaning out the spare room upstairs, doctors appointments, daycare, clothes, school. Do you even know how to actually take care of a kid? One that belongs to you, who you can’t give back to their person when they get fussy or hurt.

Soonyoung was born to be a dad. He never hid how badly he wanted a family of his own, a family with you. He’s good with kids too. You’ve seen him with his nieces and nephews, your friends’ kids. The middle schoolers in your neighborhood come to him with broken bikes and scooters to be fixed, knock on your front door to ask if he can help them get their ball down from some tree. Even if he doesn't know what he’s doing he’d be there by your side.

As the initial shock washes away, the knots in your chest slowly unfurl. You can do this. Even though you planned your life down to the last detail, Soonyoung has a way of sweeping you into his tide. Engagement, marriage, house, babies. In that order. You’ve already got the house before he asked you to marry him and your wedding is only a month away.

After the worst of the panic settles into restless jitters, you leave the solitude of the bathroom. Soonyoung still isn’t home from work yet but it isn’t unusual. He’s been pulling more hours, shouldering more responsibilities since Mr. Lee, the owner, hinted at a promotion. Glancing at the clock, you guess he’ll walk through the door in two hours which gives you plenty of time to put together something to surprise him.

After a long shower, you burn time by cleaning up non-existent messes; you can’t sit still. The ‘surprise’ ends up being lackluster. Your weekly grocery shopping trip is tomorrow so the fridge is slim pickings for dinner and you make the executive decision to go out once Soonyoung is home. Some fancy restaurant neither of you can afford with tiny dishes designed to leave you hungry and stopping at the diner at the edge of town for a burger.

While the noise from the TV hums in the background, you scroll through internet searches on what to do when expecting. Doctors appointments, blood tests, advice on budgeting. It’s information overload but you’re giddy even with the stress.. Then you see it. A screenshot from one of your friends. No words, just a photo.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The longer you stare the quicker the realization becomes a reality. Soonyoung, your Soonyoung, the Soonyoung you’ve been waiting to get home, the reason for three positive pregnancy tests still on the bathroom counter, stares back. Or his mugshot does. A proud stain on the town jail’s website for everyone to see.

Storming out of the house, you notice Jeonghan’s car is gone from his own driveway. Hopefully he’s given your fiance an earful at the station already. If not, you’ve got plenty to say.

Whatever giddy happiness possessed you earlier is long gone, rotten disgust taking its place. How stupid do you look waiting for him at home while he’s gone and gotten himself locked up?

That stupid bike.

It isn’t the first time. That was the initial appeal back when you were a doe eyed freshman, finally out from under your parents thumb with more freedom than you knew how to handle. Soonyoung was the stereotypical bad boy with a taste for fast cars, working in a garage to your good girl persona who set the curve in all her classes. A few drinks at a run down dive bar landed you on his bike in some back alley, a hand under your skirt while he whispered the nastiest things you’ve ever heard. Then you returned the favor back at his apartment, riding him with enough vigor the headboard slapping against the wall sent his neighbors into a fit.

Then came the routine of Soonyoung picking you up from your dorms late at night, staying out until sunrise doing who knows what. He showed you off at street races, called you his girl in front of friends, and would take you out to the lake after winning a race and make you feel like a winner too.

It was fun.

Until the calls he’d been out street racing again wore down your patience as your friends’ giddy curiosity turned to embarrassment and ‘I told you so��s. It wasn’t enough to break your heart, but it tore your ego to shreds. They called him a loser and you defended him time and time again because you loved him. Because he promised it wouldn’t happen again.

He promised the last time was the last time. The time before that was also the last time and the time before and so on.

The parking lot of the police station is nearly empty this time of day; a few police cars and a handful of other vehicles. Otherwise, it sits deserted.

Jeognhan is waiting for you at the front desk, pretending to type away at something on the computer but you know better. You’ve done this song and dance too many times.

“What the fuck did he do this time?”

He quirks an eyebrow, sliding a clipboard with the usual paperwork your way as he speaks. “What do you think?”

You nearly rip through the paper from pressing the pen so hard as you sign. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Ma’am, language,” a young officer warns.

You’ve never seen him before and the stern look on his face pisses you off even more. His eyes widen in what must be fear because he scrambles back to the filing cabinet at the back of the room without speaking. “I didn’t know you had a new bitch, Han.”

Jeonghan takes his clipboard back before you can whack him with it. “Nope, that's still your fiancé. Chan, go get Soonyoung from the box.”

“Tell him I’ve got a hammer in the car for his balls,” you call.

“Please refrain from making threats inside the police station.”

Soonyoung has the sense to look afraid when he rounds the corner. He’s still in his work clothes, oil stained shirt and dirty coveralls, hair matted to his forehead. You can only imagine what he sees. Last time you picked up he’d still been drunk from a bar fight and you made him sleep on the porch with Jeonghan’s engine as an alarm clock. You’d been too tired to make threats, half asleep the entire time. This time, you feel on the verge of crying, throwing up, and exploding into a fiery rage.

You don’t wait for him while Jeonghan hands over the bag of Soonyoung’s belongings. Halfway to the car, he races to catch up without a word and goes as far as rushing ahead to open the driver's door for you. There’s a fraction of a second you contemplate speeding off before he can get into the passenger seat, let him walk home in the dark as punishment for being a dumbass. But you don’t. You want to yell at him for being a dumbass until your throat bleeds.

The car smells like motor oil and sweat with him so close in the passenger seat. You gag at the stench, rolling all the windows down to avoid vomiting. The last thing you want right now is to need him.

Under usual circumstances the silence hanging heavy in the air would be comfortable, familiar and warm with the golden hue of the sunset and the sound of cicadas not far off. The world holds its breath, but you don’t.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out you got arrested from someone sending me your mugshot?” you ask at the first red light. Soonyoung tries to answer but you cut him off. “No, you don’t. Because I’d never put you in that position.”

He grumbles out the window. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re better than me.”

“You think I’m pissed because I think I’m better than you? I’m pissed because you act like a fucking loser. I’m pissed because you’re a liar! You promised me you wouldn’t do this dumb shit anymore. YOU PROMISED ME. And I look like an idiot because I’m stupid enough to trust you.”

You wait for an excuse. Some honeyed platitude about how much he loves you and it being a mistake and how it’ll never happen again but Soonyoung offers nothing.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

You scoff. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Clearly!” you shriek, the vein in your neck throbbing. “Do you know how it feels to have my friends send me your mugshot? I’m at home tearing my hair out and you’re street racing some kid for kicks.”

“He wasn’t a kid—”

“I don’t give a fuck!” The edges of your vision scorch red, teeth gnashing. You’ve never been this angry with him. You’ve never been this angry, period. “Grow up!”

He’s lucky Jeonghan caught him and not one of the other officers hell bent on cleaning up the streets. He’s lucky you didn’t have to front bail money neither of you have, especially now. Instead of spending the weekend in jail, Soonyoung’s punishment is fixing whatever Jeonghan sends his way for the next month free of charge but it’s not enough, not even close.

The kill shot bubbles on the tip of your tongue but that last bit of self control keeps it under lock and key. This isn’t how you thought you’d tell him, nowhere close to the way the evening happened in your head before you saw that picture. You wanted to surprise him. Watch the way the news sunk in slowly then all at once. You remember the test you left on the kitchen counter for him to find when he got home before everything went to shit. The ember of rage flairs back to life.

“You wanna race so bad, go fetch!” You don’t think as you rip the keys to that cursed bike from his hands and chuck them out the window into the grassy median, gone in a flash. It’s only a temporary solution but it feels good. It’s the next best thing to taking a bat to his bike until there’s nothing salvageable.

Soonyoung sputters. “Are you crazy?”

Maybe. You’re absolutely toeing the line of unhinged. The car skids to a stop, tires burning against the asphalt. Thankfully the road is clear of any traffic.

“Get out,” you demand.

“What?”

“Get out. Get out, get out, get out!” You repeat the words over and over until he does what you tell him to. You feel the suffocating tightness in your chest signaling tears are seconds away.

“Baby, let's talk about this,” Soonyoung begs. He tries to reach through the window, he knows your weak spots too well. You snatch your hand away before he can take advantage.

“You can have this back!” You launch the diamond band right at his chest before taking off.

You get back home on autopilot. There are red lights and stop signs and other traffic laws you can’t remember if you followed but you’re in the driveway and barreling up the porch with shaky breaths. Guilt doesn’t cross your mind for a second. Soonyoung didn’t feel guilty for racing like a dumbass until he got caught, so why should you feel guilty for letting him deal with the consequences?

The urge to do something mean, not just mean but hurtful with the intent of seeing Soonyoung sick to his stomach, rears its head. If that’s what you wanted then mission accomplished. He saved for a year to buy that ring and you threw it in his face like it was nothing but cheap plastic. The ire from earlier rushes out of you like a deflating balloon. Your fingers itch for a cigarette but unlike your now ex fiance, you have to cut out all your vices. There’s no relief in pacing back and forth. There won’t be any solace inside the house either. You’re so tired. All the highs and lows of the day have drained you of everything. You don’t want to be mad or sad or anything anymore. You just want to go to bed and sleep off the entire day.

You want to leave but you don’t. You want to yell some more but Soonyoung will be at least another hour. There’s nothing to anxiously clean while waiting so you water the crispy plants on the porch while you wait.

Jeonghan’s cruiser pulls into his driveway across the street thirty minutes later. Still no sign of Soonyoung, not a missed call or text. You think to worry but he gets out of Jeonghan’s passenger seat and trudges your way.

He looks angry and tired. But your swollen eyes and splotchy face melts the furrow in his brows.

“I’m—”

You silence him with a blast from the water hose. Soonyoung takes his punishment like a man, standing completely still while you douse him from head to toe.

“I deserve that. Please, just listen to me—” He’s silent with another stream aimed at his chest. You feel some validation seeing him embody the way you feel: pathetic.

“Will you put the hose down so we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you huff, dropping the hose for him to clean up.

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

“No.” You head towards the door with no intention of letting Soonyoung inside. “Go sleep at Jeonghan’s, I don’t wanna be around you right now.”

“He already told me no.”

Jeonghan would take mercy on Soonyoung in this state; soaked to the bone with your engagement ring in his pocket.

You turn to face him. “I want you to get rid of your bike.”

Soonyoung stays at the foot of the stairs leading up the porch. He knows how you feel and he has the sense to look ashamed.

“You want me to sell Tammy?” he asks.

“I want Tammy to fall off a cliff into the abyss but that’s obviously not going to happen,” you seethe, blinking away more frustrated tears.

“I have a lot of good memories with Tammy.”

“What? The first time you got arrested? Or the time you fell off and broke your arm? Oh, I know! When you ended up in a ditch?”

“The time I asked you to be my girlfriend. And the time I won enough money to help put a down payment on the house. When—“

“It’s me or her.”

Does it feel juvenile giving your fiance an ultimatum between you and a godforsaken bike? Absolutely. But you’ve got a kid to think about now and the thought of Soonyoung missing their life because he’s too busy chasing the rush makes you sick.

“It’s you.” Soonyoung says it with finality but you don’t believe him.

“Then prove it.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Sell it. First thing tomorrow morning.”

He laughs bitterly. “I’m not selling my bike.”

“Then I’ll be sure to tell your kid their dad is a fucking loser.”

He blinks like the words don’t fully set in but your back is already to him by the time they do. Locked inside the house, you lean back against the door. You don’t want him to hear the crack of breath in your throat breaking into hot, wet tears.

“What do you mean my kid?” Soonyoung’s panicked voice comes through the door. “YN! Open the door!”

“Go away.”

His whispered curses slip through the door while he scrambles for the spare key hidden in the potted plant by the door. If you really wanted him locked out, you would’ve remembered to move it before he got home. Part of you does want him stuck as far away as possible. You don’t want to face him because you know he’ll kiss your tears away and that’s all you want right now. You want him to hold you, promise you everything will be okay.

The lock of the bedroom door clicks into place right as Soonyoung gets the front door open. You hear him downstairs, looking for where you’re hidden. You can plot his course in your head: straight through the living into the kitchen where one of the positive tests waits to greet him on the counter, then he comes racing up the stairs and outside the door.

He twists the doorknob with no success. “YN.”

“Go away,” you sniffle into the pillow. His pillow. You’re on his side of the bed, in one of his old shirts because even if you wish you hated him.

A dull thud against the door and a sigh signals his departure. You hear him shuffling back downstairs, but the sound of the front door never comes. The fatigue of the day takes over swiftly. Surrounded by the comforting smell of Soonyoung, you fall asleep until the smell of food wafts up through the vents. Not burnt but if Soonyoung is in the kitchen then it’s only a matter of time.

You creep down the stairs, careful to stay quiet so you can sneak back up without getting caught. Soonyoung’s body blocks whatever he’s organizing on the counter but you tell it’s a bribe from the sight of take out bags piled in the trash.

“What’s that?”

“Dinner. Do you want some?”

He’s got an entire pizza with garlic knots and cinnamon twists laid out like a feast. You watch him pretend to be nonchalant but he’s glued to your every move as you approach the counter and shove an entire garlic knot into your mouth, chewing with enough force to warn you haven’t forgiven him yet even though you're close to it. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Then we won’t talk,” he sighs into the base of your skull, fingers edging beneath your shirt for the comforting warmth of skin on skin.

“Don’t,” you say, but lean back into the warmth of his body despite yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Sure he is. You know he means it. Soonyoung is always sorry but it doesn’t stop him from being a dumbass. But he’s your dumbass no matter how many fights you have.

He lets you eat, content to hide his face in your shoulder and his fingers warm against the waistband of your sweatpants. You hate crying and you hate crying in front of him – because of him – even more. The heavy silence of the kitchen and the love of your life clinging onto you like his life depends on it brings a fresh prick of tears. Once you start, you can’t stop. The tears keep coming as Soonyong maneuvers your face into his chest. His new, clean shirt turns into your tissue. You fall into him without hesitation.

“Are you really…” he asks quietly, dropping kiss after kiss against your hair while you wring out like a sponge.

“Do you think I’d lie to make you feel bad?”

“No. I just—fuck. You’re pregnant.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“How do you feel?”

You blow your nose into his neck. “Like I wanna punch my kid’s dad in the nuts.”

“He probably deserves that.”

“He definitely does.”

“And he deserves to sleep outside.”

“Yep,” you nod.

“But you still love him?”

“Of course I do, you big idiot,” you sigh, leaning back to look at him. Mistake. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” His brow presses to yours, face rounded out, soft cheeks that make you want to scream. Brown eyes shine beneath his lashes. Soonyoung knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t but things would be a lot easier if you did.

Soonyoung takes the silence as an admission, and when you don’t object he falls to his knees, pulls your shirt out of the way and presses his face into your stomach. “We should name it Donatello.”

“No.”

“Leonardo.”

“No,” you giggle despite yourself.

“Raphael.”

“You are not naming our baby after a Ninja Turtle.”

“Mojo Jojo Jojo.”

“No.”

“Thanos.”

“Stop!”

“You’re laughing?” Soonyoung gasps, rushing to his feet to pin your squirmy body between him and the counter’s edge. “I’m trying to have a very serious conversation and you’re laughing?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you love me.”

You nod, hiding back into his chest where it’s safe. “Yeah, I love you.”

The silence marinates between you.

“I’ll sell the bike, promise.”

“You’re not the best at keeping promises.”

“This time is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want our kid to grow up thinking their dad doesn’t worship the ground their mom walks on. Because I know she’s way too good for me and I’m lucky to have her.”

“I’m not too good for you, I hate when you say that.”

“You called me a loser.”

“I said you acted like a loser and I won’t take that back.”

He looks away. “That’s fair.”

The icy wall of hurt freezes back up but you’re too tired to drag on the fight any longer. “When I found out my reaction wasn’t ’oh he’s being stupid.’ It was ‘how would I tell our kid their dad missed their birthday because he got himself locked up.’ That’s all I could think about. Explaining to our kid over and over why you’re never there.”

The words rest like a wet blanket over his flame of excitement. He doesn’t want to be that kind of dad; the one who misses their child’s life for something as stupid as street racing. Who leaves you to pick up a broken heart time and time again, two broken hearts.

You’re at arms length, Soonyoung examining you like a puzzle he can’t figure out but wants to try anyway. You hate when he looks at you like that. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he can’t quite believe you’re real. “You’re gonna be a great mom.”

“Shut up.” You hide the blush staining across your cheeks with another slice of pizza.

“You are.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I need you to be a good dad. And if you can’t then I’m not afraid to do it by myself.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“Can I talk to it?”

“If you want to.” You don’t tell him that the thing growing in your womb curiously of him is the size of a pea and doesn’t have a face, let alone ears. You want to hear what his first words as a dad are.

He rucks your shirt up higher until it’s bunched beneath your breast, stomach on full display for him to bury his face into.

“Hi. I’m your dad,” he starts timidly. You bite back a smile at his earnestness. “I don’t usually make your mom this angry. Usually, she’s pretty happy with me.” His lips brush your stomach with each word, tickling them into your skin. “I hope you take after her. She’s smart, and she’s pretty. God, she’s so pretty. I remember the first time I saw your mom and I knew I wanted to marry her.”

You snort. “You did not.”

“Yes, I did,” he corrects. “We were at this bar. You’re not allowed to go there. Ever. Maybe when you’re thirty or I’m dead. But I remember seeing her when she walked in and I thought ‘that is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and if she talks to me, I’ll throw up.’ I still feel like that sometimes. Even when she’s mad at me. And then when I got the courage to talk to her, I didn’t throw up because your old man is cool.”

Your heart swells too big for your chest. The night you met him wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. You saw him across the bar, all blonde hair and ruby cheeks as he screamed with his friends. He did throw up the first time you talked to him. After an hour of riding him until it hurt, you melted boneless in his lap and he snuck away to the bathroom to toss the used condom. You faked asleep as he emptied his guts into the toilet bowl before crawling back to bed and begging for cuddles. Pure romance.

“So cool,” you tease.

Soonyoung laces your fingers together, nipping at your fingertips in protest. “Your mom is mean to me but it’s okay because I love her. You’ll love her too. I just hope you’ll love me.”

You fight the urge to cry, only a single tear streaking down your cheek before stopping. “They’ll love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

“How?”

“Because I love you and I’m very smart. Remember?”

“I did say that, didn't I?”

You hum in agreement, pulling him up your body to nudge his nose along yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” You let him shower you in gentle touches, his hands smoothing up your sides. Soonyoung traps you between his body and the counter, his lips sweeping over your chin, your jaw, your covered chest. That’s when you feel it. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“Feels a lot like your penis to me.”

“That’s a part of the apology,” he whispers, the weight of his cocky heavy against your thigh, harder with each controlled grind. “Can’t believe I knocked you up and I never even came inside of you.”

“I can. You talk about kids so much I bet you manifested this.”

“You want it though, right?”

“Yeah.”

You’re lifted onto the countertop, legs spread around his hips. He’s got one hand wedge between your ass and panties to keep you close. “Do you think I’ll be a good dad?”

Not the conversation you thought would happen while you’re tugging his shirt off and working at the tie in his pajamas pants but you humor him.

“I think you’ll be a great dad.” You kiss him gently. His lips, his nose, his cheeks that round in your favorite smile. “If you stop getting arrested. How are you gonna ground Michaelangelo if you keep getting in trouble too?”

“She’s gonna be too smart for that. Just like her mom.”

“Oh, it’s a she now?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” He nips at your throat, a sweet flick of his tongue to soothe the sting. “Back to me coming inside you.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Gonna take it all for me?”

Your chin tips back to provide more skin for Soonyoung to mark up. “Want it.”

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he heaves. You’re trapped between a hand against the crotch of your panties and one pawing at your ass like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Take your pants off.”

An amused breath warms your throat. “Someone’s bossy”

“Yeah, and I’m telling you to take your pants off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Shirt gone, sweats pooled around his ankles, Soonyoung stands in nothing but a pair of tenting briefs and the thin chain you gifted him a week after he placed that band on your ring finger.

“Wow, who knew you'd be such a DILF.”

His cheeks tinged pink from the complement. “I’ve been a dad for five minutes and you’re already trying to hit on me.”

“We’re engaged, doofus.”

“Speaking of.” He snatches his pants off the floor, digging through the pockets until a familiar ring appears. “Don’t take this off again.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your chin between his fingers, pining you in his gaze. “I don’t care how angry you are with me. When I asked you to marry me, I meant forever.”

You can count on one hand the number of times he’s used that tone of voice with you. Soonyoung doesn't get angry often; at least, not with you. The last time he talked to you like this was when you wandered on the wrong side of town late at night, alone and drunk without a way home. You were pissed about a grade and wanted to do something reckless like every other kid at your university got to. Luckily, Soonyoung found you before trouble could. He used the same tone to chastise you for an hour about how stupid you’d been.

But he isn’t just mad at your antics. He’s scared too. You look at him — really look at him for the first time since this morning when you kissed him goodbye before work. Red eyes, lip bruised, not from kisses but the way he chews it when he’s anxious.

“I’m sorry.” You pull him back, arms wrapped so tightly around his torso he probably can’t breathe and you both like the certainty of it. The tension in his shoulders softens like candle wax but he doesn’t let go.

There’s still the matter of damp underwear and his boner. You want him, the gnawing aching way you always want him. Between your legs, stroking your sensitive spots to life over and over again until you beg for mercy he’s too eager to deny.

You nose against his cheek, adoring kiss after kiss against his skin until mouths meet. Soonyoung slips his tongue between the seam of your lips. You feel it the way down to your toes. On instinct, your hand trickles down his front, wedged tight between your bodies to paw at the fabric. A few dry jerks is all it takes for him to unravel.

“Wait,” Soonyoung gasps, hips rutting into the tight squeeze.

He keens with another tug, neck flushing a pretty shade of pink. The linoleum bites into your knees before you mouth over his underwear for a taste of what's to come. You suck the head through his underwear before leaning back to tease him with a kiss.

“Bedroom.”

“Didn’t think I’d see the day you’d refuse a kitchen blowjob,” you snicker.

Soonyoung doesn’t laugh. He pulls you back up into a bruising kiss, biting at your lip until you’re sure it’s bruised. His hand gropes down your ass, fingers tight to your entrance from behind. Whatever he wants like this you’ll agree to.

“Want you on my mouth.”

You’d kneel over his face right here on the kitchen floor if he wanted. But knowing your fiance, his sights are glued to whatever fantasies boil beneath that blond hair of his.

You race up the stairs, Soonyoung hands heavy on your sides. His thumbs press into the bare curve of your hips. Your clothes fall until just your underwear remains. You want to turn around and mount him on the steps but the second floor landing is close enough you don’t get a chance.

Soonyoung flicks all the bedroom lights on, eager to see every part of you as you crawl up the bed on all fours in nothing but your underwear. A few years ago you wouldn’t dream of sex with a lamp on let alone the overhead light but years of his utter devotion to your body and wanting to watch you get off like it’s his very own miracle gave you confidence. He looks ready to jump out of his own skin at the doorway. You glance over back and arch your spine a little more, ass higher in the air for his viewing. You might just finger yourself like this to see him suffer. You’ve done it before.

You stretch out, naked chest on display. “Are you coming?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.” Unconsciously, he palms his cock and approaches the side of the bed, pulling you into a kiss with a heavy lick of his tongue.

It doesn’t take much to drag him on top of you, dick hot to your thigh, perfect to rut against. There’s too much Soonyoung to think of anything else. His hands pinning you in place, his breath fanning across your chest as he suckles across the slope of your breast, thighs surging between yours in a dry hump you can’t help but beg for more of. His hips stutter when you do.

He follows the same playbook you did earlier; fingers trailing to the wet patch of your wants, mouth following closely. You’re in for a treat when he’s on his knees like this. He wants to tease you the way you did him but Soonyoung isn’t committed to denying you anything, he wants to rake you over hot coals by giving too much.

Your hands eagerly hook beneath your knees, legs spread wide before him like a feast..

“Taste so good,” he rasps with a soft suck at your clit. “You’re so hot.”

Even with the barrier of your underwear each lick lights you on fire. Soonyoung moans a lewd melody, lost in his own paradise. Your thighs twitch with each gentle prod at your entrance, folded away by his shoulders so he can touch as much as he wants.

The promise from earlier lights up your brain. You twist a tight grip in his hair, pulling hard enough to detach him from your body. Lips wet, eyes blown, Soonyoung tries to dive back down until another twist of your nails makes him wince.

“Call Jeonghan.”

His mouth may be gone but his fingers circle your clit in the way that makes you whine. “What?”

“Call. Him,” you command.

You snatch your phone from the end table, forcing it into Soonyoung’s grasp. He still doesn’t understand what you’ve asked.

“Sell him the bike right now.”

“Now?” He looks down at your pussy still on display, underwear soaked in spit and arousal.

You nod. Soonyoung knows better than to argue. He’s back in your good graces but only just, the promise of shipping that infernal bike off to someone else keeping him afloat.

Your body throbs for release, for his mouth to go back to work instead of whispering into the phone when Jeonghan answers.

“Two grand? Bullshit! There's at least…” he trails off.

You’re not going to stop just because he’s busy. You grab your breasts, taunt nipples visible between your fingers. Clad in a pair of sticky panties and nothing else, you’ve reduced him into a stuttering mess. Any other night he’d already be smothering himself in the wetness. You can see the urge in his gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Four,” Soonyoung counters. His face twists between wanting to argue with the neighbor, brows furrowed, lips in a heavy pout, and watch in awe as you suck on your own fingers before pinching at your chest again.

You’ve got him distracted with a hand between your legs, pushing your underwear out of the way to flash him exactly what he’s earning. Flushed and wet, the smell of sex hangs in the air.

“Thirty-five,” his voice cracks as you spread your legs wider, pulling his hand right where it belongs.

Soonyoung bats your hands away, fingers twisting through your heat. A gentle prod at your entrance like he hasn’t mastered your pussy enough to make you stupid and strung out with a few touches. There’s no way Jeonghan can’t hear every pleased sigh, the wet noise echoing from your pussy, the annoyance in Soonyoung’s voice as they barter back and forth.

Soonyoung leans over and spits where his fingers disappear, making you jolt with the force as he does it again. You nearly ask him to spit in your mouth just to see his eyes bulge but the opportunity disappears with the sound of Jeonghan’s cackle through the line.

“Fine, three. I’ll give you the keys tomorrow.” He ends the call, forces your hand out of the way, and eagerly makes up for the minutes lost.

Both of your hands find the soft strands of his hair to hold him in place. Your feet plant on the bed beside his wide shoulders, allowing you to hump his face pathetically only to be welcomed with a grunt. The rip of fabric registers right before what was once your underwear is left stretched across the middle of your thigh.

“S-shit, don’t stop.”

His fingers spread for his tongue to lick between. You punish him for such a dirty move with a harsh pull of his hair that he loves more than anything. Soonyoung does what he does best: groveling for your forgiveness. You’ll give it to him like always. But you both want him to work for it; it’s better when he does.

He spreads your legs wider, gives a pleased grunt when you hold him in place and grind into his mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant; vision blurry, body on fire.

Soonyoung moans into the sloppy mess of your pussy, sucking your clit between his lips, wedging another finger between the two already ruining you.

“Oh god—there.”

Your thighs crush his head but he forces them up and open, pinned in place. The tender glow of the end escalates into a scalding burn as it rips through every muscle. You clench so tight around his fingers he can’t move them more than a tight curl. When you cry at the overstimulation he finally rests.

“Did you just—”

Pins and needles ripple through your muscles and all you can do is nod. Once the initial shock fades, there’s a smug twitch of his lips. He catches your foot and pins it before you can kick him.

“Shut up.”

“Have I told you how much I think about you being pregnant?” he asks, watching your every move.

You shake your head. His fingers keep working in gentle strokes, the wet noises quieter than before but loud in your ears.

“It’s a lot,” he grunts. “Fuck, you’re gonna be so sexy.”

“I’m not already?” you half laugh, half gasp. The spark of arousal already demands more so you rock your hips down despite the sensitivity.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“But I’m not sexy?”

“Don’t pick an argument with me right now, please,” Soonyoung begs.

“Why?”

“Because I’m thinking about coming in you until you can’t take anymore.”

“Then I’ll be sexy?” you goad.

“You’ve always been sexy.” He punctuates the compliment with a kiss to your left hip bone. “Beautiful.” Another on your right. “Gorgeous.” One on the plush of your thigh. “I love you.”

He folds you in half, knees to chest like you possess the flexibility to stay there, ankles cuffed in his hand, lips hot on the back of your thigh.

“We should fuck on the bike one more time,” you tease.

“You want me to defile the mother of my child on a motorcycle?”

You moan at his words. You want him to come wherever he wants, as many times as he can. Until he can’t anymore. To feel nasty and used however he sees fit. You want him on top of you, behind you, bending you over every surface he can until you’re shaking.

“You’re about to defile me right here. W-what’s the difference?”

Soonyoung curls the fingers inside you tight, eyes glued to the way you heave before answering. He fucks into that spot that makes you his puppet and all you want is to ruin him the same way he ruins you with the slightest touch. “You said I should stop doing things that’ll get me arrested.”

You choke on another tease as he sucks on your clit, tongue coaxing pathetic sighs right out of your lungs. He could do this all night. He’d be happy to. Soonyoung grips you tighter as you squirm away. It’s too much. He knows it and that’s why he loves it so much, knowing he can make you cum hard enough to scream.

“Are the cameras still broken at the garage?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, already knowing exactly what you’re thinking.

“Then you can defile me at your place of business, over the bike. Just like old times.”

“No condoms.”

“How else are you gonna stuff me full of cum?”

Soonyoung groans, pushing your legs wider as his hips rut into the mattress. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Then get up here and do it.”

You’re soaked between the legs, sensitive and swollen. Soonyoung settles into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing his cock into the wet mess of spit and arousal. Your body acts of instinct, hips tilting until he slips between your walls.

“Oh my god.” He laps at the swell of your breast. “‘S okay?”

“Yeah, they don’t hurt yet.”

The sharp edge of his teeth leaves lines across your skin while he sucks at your chest until your spine breaks in half. His fingers keep firm pressure against your clit. Sloppy but enough to keep you pulled taunt. You’ll come a second time if he keeps it up.

“Oh my god,” you echo.

Soonyoung likes to fuck hard. Hard enough you feel like all your seams are splitting, just shy of shattering your limit. Now’s no different but there's a new edge of caution. Even with his hips flat, inside you until nothing is left to give, he tangles your fingers together and pins them over head in the pillows.

You push your body against his, needy and pliant. Blind want acting as a guide, your ankles lock around his waist. It feels so much better than all the other times he’s fucked you like this; knowing the risk of him coming inside no longer counts and he can do it as many times as you ask.

The slap of your skin against his fills the room, grunts and pathetic whines passing between mouths with narrowed vision. Nails biting into his shoulders, you flutter tight, trying to pull Soonyoung deeper even if he’s snug to the hilt. Stretched full beyond belief.

“More,” you beg. Frantic. Needy. All those feelings Soonyoung can incite with the barest of touches and a look.

He rises back on his hands, lighting up with each pathetic whimper of his name. “More what?”

If you had the brain power you’d knock the stupid smirk off his face. “Fuck me.”

“I am,” Soonyoung taunts.

“Breed me.”

“Already h-have.” Soonyoung looks like he wants to laugh but he sinks as much weight as he can into his hips, rhythm clumsy but it’s so good you don’t care. “Fuck, such a good girl. Aren’t you?”

You clench around him. He isn’t the most inspired with dirty talk but he knows your buttons, loves to press on your praise kink when you least expect it.

“Say it.”

“I-I’m,” you stutter from his fingers finding your raw clit. “I’m your good girl.”

“My pretty little wife,” Soonyoung gasps. “Perfect.”

Every bit of praise adds a drop in the bucket, chest tightening until it explodes without permission; shredding through your veins. Your teeth sink into his shoulder. Hard enough to bruise as you cry, “Soonyoung.”

He doesn’t stop for your orgasm, not for a second. You asked him to breed you and it’s his sole purpose until you’re both satisfied. “G-gonna come.”

“Want it, want you to come in me,” you sob.

Soonyoung grabs for your hair, a gentle tug with enough force your eyes open to find his.

“Want it?” he pants, tilting your hips to fuck deeper. You nod with limited room thanks to his grip. “Then take it.”

The sticky heat you’re accustomed to on your skin stains your insides for the first time. There’s no way you can go back. Not after knowing how right it feels to have him fill you. You shiver beneath his weight, nerves twitching from the idea of him doing it again. Immediately.

“Love you, love you, love you…” Soonyoung chants into your skin, lips slipping over your throat with each breathless gasp.

You roll down into the nasty feel of cum and cock, the minor relief not nearly enough. Not with the idea of sucking the combined taste off him rearing its head. But Soonyoung collapses with a point flex of his thighs to stop your motions.

“Holy fuck,” he shudders. “If you let me do that sooner, we’d have ten kids by now.”

You’re flustered at the idea. “Do you think my vagina is a baby rocket launcher?”

“It’s definitely something.”

“How romantic,” you snort. “Give it a few months and I’ll be so hormonal you won’t touch me with a ten foot pole.”

“Is that what you think?” he hums, face still hidden in your neck like he’s too exhausted to move except to lap at the dip in your throat. A subtle grind reminds you of his cock still wedge in your guts, stiff like he didn’t come hard enough to see stars.

It’s hard to think that after so many years together, this is the biggest love rush you’ve ever experienced. The urge to keep him wrapped in your arms for as long as possible brings tears to your eyes.

Soonyoung pops over your face after the first sniffle, terrified. “Are you crying?”

“No.” You swipe at the tears. “Shut up.”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, failing to hide his amusement.

“I’m carrying your child, sorry my hormones are all over the place.” You bat his hand away unsuccessfully, leaning your cheek into the comforting warmth of his palm. “We’re ready for this?”

“I mean, I was planning to knock you up on our honeymoon anyway,” he shrugs, lips soft on your hairline. “Do you have any more of those tests?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see what’d happen if I pee on one.”

“Nothing.” You push him off, rolling onto hands and knees with your ass in the air, face buried in the pillows. “Now, fuck me again.”

Soonyoung pushes the head of his cock through the mess of cum leaking out before sinking back inside with a grunt. “Yes, ma’am.”

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nightingale-prompts · 11 hours ago

Text

Alfred's meeting with Danny was no serendipitous turn of fate. It was a deal of sorts.

Alfred was not one to talk about his sources, but he had help from a contract to get Nightingale's employment. All I required was for him to sprinkle a handful of ash on the property, and he would know he was needed.

The butler knew that his ward was no mere human, and it was necessary. Damian needed a servant made of tougher stuff.

Alfred knew Nightingale was only a code name, and what a fitting one as well. He had a habit of being active at night. In a house of night owls, that was an asset. Danny did most of the cleaning and tending in the night. In the early morning, everything was ready for Alfred. Danny even had the time to make breakfast for his mentor. Not to mention everyone had their clothes layed out and ironed.

It was actually nice to have someone to look after him as Nightingale does.

The girls also took advantage of Danny's skills and have him do their hair and makeup once he showed that he was skilled at it.

Alfred knew of Danny's other talents. He could make unique requests and only had to wait for them to be fulfilled.

"Nightingale, go check onnmaster Jason. Make sure he is taking care of himself." Alfred said.

"Of course, master." Danny bowed.

When Jason woke up the next morning his hideout had been...changed? Everything was spotless: the furniture was replaced, his weapons organized, the fridge stocked with prepared meals, his clothes folded, and all his books organized on the shelf.

There was a note on the counter.

"A clean space is a clean mind."

Danny returned to the manor a few hours later to finish the rest of his work when he noticed that master Bruce had left an important document he needed for his meeting. Not one to let things fall behind Danny had to fix this.

Bruce was at the Watchtower in the middle of a meeting when a knock rang out on the door. Nightingale entered the room with a file tucked under his arm. The young butler knew to be subtle and as he walked through the room no one could even tell her was there. It was like he was invisible or perhaps he was to everyone except Bruce, who saw him clearly as he handed him the file. The moment Bruce took his eyes off Danny he was gone like a hallucination.

When Bruce returned Danny was busy carrying Tim to bed.

When Bruced tried to speak Danny only put a finger to his lips in a shush gesture and looked to Tim. Danny smiled wryly almost innocently as he walked off humming in delight after letting Tim talk him to death until his manic episode ended. He did love listening to Tim talk. He was so full of life.

Alfred's Apprentice- DCxDP prompt

Alfred isn't immortal and he can admit he's not getting any younger. It also wouldn't hurt to have someone else to take on the workload since the family isn't going to get smaller.

Instead of finding help, help found him.

"Call me Nightingale. Danny Nightingale." The young man said presenting a black card with perfect white ink calligraphy.

Danny was about Tim's age. He had already graduated early according to records. His record was perfect in all respects. Smart. An intellect comparable to geniuses in respects to science which had more uses in the households then you'd expect. He was very precise when it came to cleaning. Every surface needed to be cleaned regardless of how much use they see. In fact Danny would carry a blacklight and wipe anything with fingerprints. His almost supernatural strength allowed him to move furniture for easier cleaning.

Alfred had suspicions that Danny had a history in crime scene cleaning. He chose not to say anything.

The kid was a damn good cook as well. Though his tea isn't up to Alfred's standards. At least heist his aim is good.

Bruce at least didn't adopt this one and leave Alfred to take care of him.

"Nightingale, did you clean the ceiling?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, sir. Please leave any hard to reach places to me. The chandelier is especially finicky to polish and you have better things to tend to." He said bowing at the waist.

Bruce was still uncomfortable asking Danny for anything and let Alfred instruct him on what he should do. He has suspicions that Danny was being trained to tend to Damian should something happen to him. Alfred would come up with a contingency like that.

The others took to Danny as best as they could. Most treated him like a brother with the exception of Tim and Damian. Tim couldn't really see past them being the same age but Danny was able to understand his babble about theories and help him. Thought Danny was also to wait out Tim's insomnia easily and take him to bed.

Damian had no issue seeing Danny as a servant which was exactly what he wanted. Dick would criticize him about being rude but Danny would assure him that Damian was not being rude, he was just giving Danny a job to do.

It was during an outing with Damian that Danny was put to the test. They were just visiting an art supply store. Danny carried Damian's bags to the car and put them away in the trunk. As he opened the door to let Damian in a group of kidnappers tried to steal the young master.

It was likely a crime of opportunity as they saw a rich boy and his butler out and about.

As the group tried to drive off with Damian in tow, all the tires on their van blew out as Danny had already thrown down caltrops under the ties.

Gracefully and with the dignity expected of a bulter he pried the rough hands off of Damian, breaking every finger as he went.

"Please refrain from such brutish actions. I'd usually be unwilling to let this go but you must be very desperate to commit a crime so blatantly as to steal a child. I'm in a rush to get the young master home for dinner. So remain here, the police will be here in a few moments."

With that Danny escorted Damian into the car and drove them home.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc prompt #batman #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson #tim drake

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writeriguess · 3 days ago

Note

Hello! I hope you had a great day/night🥰

I was wondering If you could make a smutty fem reader x katsuki bakugo

the reader and bakugo have been together for some time and every time they had sex nothing really happened, the did it, did aftercare and went to bed (most of the times) but this time the reader was at bakugo's house visiting him but for some reason bakugo gets riled up and wants to do it with the reader, his parents weren't in the house anyway so he didn't need to stress about someone interrupting so in the end they end up having sex.

But katsukis mom and dad comes early and he doesn't notice, while the reader and katsuki are doing their thing Mitsuki hears strange noises come from bakugos bedroom. She ends up curious and walks towards his room to find out what was happening but then is meet with you and katsuki.

Katsuki gets really embarrassed but mitsuki isn't mad, instead she shouts "Are you finally making my grandkids"

You don't need to write a fanfic about this! You have full right to delete! But this is just an idea that has been roaming in my head for days and I just really want someone to write a fic abt this😅

Anyways! I won't be sad or mad if you delete this, write it if only you're comfortable❤️

(Also sorry for shifting between bakugo and katsuki I didn't know which of them to use😅)

Heat of the Moment

The thing about Bakugo was that he had control. Most of the time.

Sure, he had a temper, and yeah, he was easy to rile up in a fight, but when it came to you? He always kept himself in check. He never let himself get too lost in it, never let his instincts take over, because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

That was… until tonight.

You weren’t even trying to be subtle. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were gone, maybe it was just because you wanted to push his buttons, but every little thing you did was setting him off.

The way you sat so close to him on the couch, your thigh pressed against his. The way your fingers lazily traced the muscles in his forearm while you pretended to be watching the movie on the screen. The way you leaned in, lips just barely ghosting over his ear as you whispered, “You’re so tense, Katsuki… want me to help you relax?”

And fuck, he tried. He really fucking tried to ignore it. To just smirk and brush it off like you weren’t making his dick throb with every slow, deliberate movement.

But when you climbed onto his lap, straddling him without a second thought, and rolled your hips down against the growing bulge in his sweats?

That was it. That was the fucking breaking point.

His hands were on you in an instant, rough and possessive as he grabbed your waist and slammed you back down against his hard length. “You think you’re fuckin’ cute, don’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous, but the way his cock twitched against you gave away just how much you were affecting him.

You bit your lip, looking down at him with those teasing eyes that had been driving him insane all night. “Maybe,” you mused, rolling your hips again, slow and deliberate. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

A guttural growl rumbled in his chest before he flipped you onto your back, pressing you into the couch with his weight. His knee shoved between your thighs, spreading you open for him as he loomed over you, crimson eyes dark and full of hunger.

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than something, baby,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. One hand shot under your shirt, fingers finding your breast and squeezing, rolling your nipple between his rough fingertips as his other hand slid down to your shorts. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

You gasped as he shoved your shorts down, not bothering with finesse. His fingers slid between your thighs, pressing against your already slick folds. “Fuck,” he groaned, a smirk tugging at his lips. “All this from a little teasing? You’re such a fuckin’ slut for me, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips arching into his touch, and he chuckled darkly. “Nah, don’t even try to play shy now. You wanted this.”

And then he was lining up, shoving his sweats down just enough to free his cock. Thick, hard, already leaking precum. He didn’t even tease—he just grabbed your hips, lined up, and thrust inside in one deep stroke.

The stretch was sudden, almost too much, but fuck, the way he groaned against your neck made it impossible to care. “So fuckin’ tight,” he growled, giving you barely a second to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in, hard and fast.

You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as he set a relentless pace, hips snapping against yours with loud, wet slaps. Every thrust had your head spinning, had your body arching up into him as he fucked you deep into the couch.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, huh?” he panted, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanted me to snap? Wanted me to fuck you like I couldn’t wait another second?”

You moaned, nails digging into his back, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he drove into you even harder. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect—made for me.”

His name fell from your lips over and over, breathless and desperate, and he drank in every sound, every little whimper. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, pounding into you with reckless abandon. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

You didn’t even need to be told. The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave as your walls clamped down around him. Your whole body shook, a high-pitched moan spilling from your lips as you came hard around his cock.

Bakugo snarled, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, burying himself as deep as he could before spilling inside you with a guttural groan. His grip on your wrists tightened as he rode it out, panting against your neck before finally collapsing on top of you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of both of you trying to come back down from the high. Then, finally, Bakugo chuckled, low and satisfied.

“Next time you wanna tease me,” he murmured, voice still husky from exertion, “just tell me you wanna get fucked stupid, princess.”

You giggled breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Noted.”

Though, judging by the way his cock twitched inside you again, it seemed like one round wasn’t going to be enough tonight.

A while later, you were on it again.

Katsuki had barely given you a break before he was all over you, flipping you onto your stomach and muttering about how you were gonna “pay for riling him up like that.” Not that you were complaining.

The only problem? He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the sound of keys dropping into the bowl.

Didn’t hear the unmistakable click of his mother’s heels as she walked down the hallway.

You, on the other hand, froze the second you heard a voice call out:

“We’re home! Bakugo, did you clean the—”

And then, before either of you could react, before Katsuki could even think to move—

The bedroom door swung open.

Mitsuki Bakugo stood there, eyes wide, taking in the absolute disaster of a scene before her. Her son, bare-ass naked, hovering over you. Your face buried in the pillow, Katsuki’s hands gripping your hips. The sheer horror on your face as you registered what was happening.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

“HOLY FUCK, MOM—!”

Katsuki launched himself off of you, scrambling for the sheets in sheer panic. You barely managed to yank a blanket over yourself before Mitsuki’s voice rang through the house:

“ARE YOU FINALLY MAKING MY GRANDKIDS?!”

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Instant cardiac arrest. Take me now.

Katsuki’s face was redder than his damn explosions. “WHAT THE HELL, OLD HAG? GET OUT!!”

But Mitsuki wasn’t done. No, she was grinning. Grinning. Hands on her hips like this was the best news of her life.

“Damn, about time!” she continued, ignoring the way Katsuki was practically combusting. “I was starting to think you were incapable—”

“SHUT UP!!” Katsuki grabbed the nearest object—a pillow—and launched it at her with enough force to send it flying down the hallway.

Mitsuki just cackled, dodging effortlessly. “Make sure you’re using protection, brat—unless you’re actually trying to give me grandkids—”

“OUT!!”

With one last laugh, she finally strolled out, still muttering about how she was “too young to be a grandma, but still, wouldn’t mind a little mini-Katsuki running around.”

The moment the door slammed shut, Katsuki flopped onto his back, covering his face with both hands.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you could speak.

Until finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered:

“…So, uh. Round three?”

Katsuki groaned. “I hate you.”

But the way he rolled back over you said otherwise.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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fancyfeathers · 2 days ago

Text

Thinking about Yandere!Justice League having children with their darlings and perhaps those children aren’t too keen on their relationship with their parents…

Set in the universe of Young Justice.

Includes references to my Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling & Always Prey But Never A Bird

Clark’s daughter grew up in Smallville after Clark married his darling, living near the same house her father grew up in. She is one of many children, including Connor who her mother immediately took in as her own even if her father was still struggling with his feelings about his clone (though Connor rarely comes by unless Clark is gone, otherwise he is back with the team). Between herself and her siblings there is one major difference, she doesn’t have powers, or at least they have not come in yet.

She feels herself isolated from her siblings, especially when she sees one of her brothers practice and train with their father or when she gets pulled from the soccer team since it is apparently not safe when she sprained her ankle during a game but her dad has missed half her games of the season because of being Superman, Justice League business, or something with her siblings because of their powers that they are learning to control.

He is so protective but he is never even there.

She gets fed up when it gets near to her high school graduation and she is looking at colleges and talk to her parents about colleges and Clark is not sure about sending her off.

So she decides to leave on her own, pack a bag in the middle of the night while her dad is off planet and walks outside, walking across the empty field and she hears…

“Heading out?”

One of her siblings had caught onto her leaving, but they are not going to stop her, instead offering to take her anywhere she needs because she needs to leave this place to figure out who she really is.

Of course there will be panic when Clark returns home and finds one of his children is missing and she is completely untraceable, how is she untraceable? Clark can not even hear her heartbeat, she could be dead!

But she’s not…

Hal Jordan’s twins don’t really know their father super well because of when he is off planet as Green Lantern but he still wants to be a part of their lives, but their childhood is spent running around the Watchtower and being babysat by other league members or other Green Lantern Corps members while their dad is off planet, and their mother is tired of reading two very chaotic teenagers. Hal is like that one dad who does not fully understand that his children have been growing back, he’ll come into his teenage daughter’s room, sit on her bed and ask if she wants to go practice softball pitcher throws but he doesn’t know the last time his daughter played softball was in middle school. Or offering to take his son to the beach but his son cannot stand the feeling of sand on his feet or how the sand can ruin his books.

He remembers them like when they were babies and he made constructs from his ring of animals and toys for his children to play with and now when he picks up his daughter up from school he does not even know the names of her her friends.

But one thing that will never change is the fact that he will protect them no matter what. All it would take is for Hal to witness one incident, say he has to save his twins as Green Lantern, he makes the decision that at the end of the school year he is pulling them out and moving them into the Watchtower full time, besides they already stay there when he is off planet.

The two pick up on this when they overhear their parents arguing about it in the night, it is far past their bedtime so Hal doesn’t think either of them are listening but both of them listen in and all it takes is for their dad to go to a Justice League meeting and the two have packed their bags and jumped out the bathroom window.

Diana’s darling is definitely a woman and I think if they were to have a child they would have adopted an orphan, one who perhaps lost their family in an accident and Diana saves them, a young boy, a preteen at the oldest. He has a semi normal upbringing, he doesn’t really have any powers. He has never been to Themyscira because of he is a man, but Diana trains him anyway because it is important he knows how defend himself and his other adoptive mother when Diana is not around.

But the day comes where every little bird has to leave the nest and Diana agrees to let him to go to college nearby, especially after hearing about his intentions to become a lawyer. But his true intention to pursue such a career is because when he heard the stories from his other mother about how the members of the Justice League did certain things to get their partners and he felt horrified, he may not have been the one who done such a thing but he would be damned if he was not the one to try and repair it. Besides Diana has no reason to believe her baby boy is a liar, so he never even gets caught and forced to tell the truth.

It is at school where he meets someone not too different from himself and the two immediately hit it off, but the major thing between the two of them is that she is fast… really fast…

Barry Allen is close to his darling little girl, especially since she inherited his speed, they found that little fact out when she was practicing for track team tryouts and she suddenly found herself in Arizona, that was an interesting conversation when she called up her dad, a crying and confused mess, and before she could hang up Barry was already there, kneeling down in his suit and explaining everything to her.

Most kids get a car for their sixteenth birthday, she got super speed.

But another thing she got from her dad is his intelligence, it takes a lot to be a forensic scientist so Barry is hardly surprised when he little girl graduates early, he knows that she used her speed doing homework when he told her not to but sometimes the achievement outdoes the actions to get there.

Barry is willing to send her away from home for college, after all he is never far. But while she is at school she meets a boy, a few years older than her, and they become fast friends. She trusts him so she reveals her powers one night when they are hanging out around campus, her hand literally phasing through the wall with how fast it is going, but after that all turn is revealed and her world is shattered.

That boy was the son of Diana and he tells her everything, the truth about her own parents and she feels like she can never look her dad in the eye again. She doesn’t even feel like she can go home again, but when the end of the school year comes up they do have to move out of their dorm rooms and go home, but neither of them have the intention of doing that.

When Barry comes to help her move out, she is gone, most of her stuff is still there but she is gone. Then he hears the same from Diana about her son and everything clicks into place…

They found out the truth.

Zatara has another child besides Zatanna, though not biological. When Zatara’s first wife died and he kidnapped got remarried to his darling, she also had a child, a little boy from a former relationship. The boy may not be his biological child but that boy is his son, so just like Zatanna, he teaches him about the mystic arts.

The boy is practically raised by Zatara as his father, especially when his mother falls into stockholm syndrome, but that just makes the sting so much worse when Zatara puts on the Helmet of Fate to save Zatanna. Sure by the time it happened his son is basically an adult, but it still hurts when his sister comes back home and tells him and his mother what happened. So while Zatanna joins the team and leaves home he is left to struggle with his emotions about what happened.

The young man is cleaning up some of his father’s things to tuck away in boxes because his mother is to grief stricken to even look at them, but then he found some of Zatara’s old journals where he wrote about his darling, when he was too young to remember, and he feels absolutely horrified about what his step father did. He thinks about asking his mother about it but he does not want to bring up any sad memories she might have lingering, and he is not going to ask Zatanna, because his sister is still in pain after what her dad did to protect her.

So he decides it might be best for him to leave so he can make peace with a few things.

He packs up his bags and does not even tell his mother or Zatanna that he is leaving, just leaving a note on the kitchen counter. He travels the world, becoming a mostly self taught magician, besides the few things his father taught him when he was younger. He calls Zatanna or his mother every so often and every time his sister sounds more and more worried, but he reassures her that he is not on a team of superheroes like she is, he is just trying to figure out where he belongs…

But that promise does not last long once he finds out about the rest of the Justice League and their darlings and he is enraged…

Arthur Curry’s son is technically a prince, but really he feels captive in his own home. His father may be half human but his mother is fully human, and so their son is mostly human, so one can imagine how hard it is for him to breathe underwater without some form of assistance. Arthur tried to get his son adapted overtime, but it just became too hard as he got older and he had to rely on assistance to breathe underwater like his mother. He would be the heir to the throne if it was not for having young siblings who were stronger than he was, truly he is not jealous but he is disappointed that he is seen as so fragile for being born into an environment his body mostly does not want to be in. He is hardly let outside just because his body already struggles enough being so deep underwater… he wonders if it would be different on the surface, he’s never been up there before.

By some miracle he convinces his retainers to let him explore, just for an hour or two, but then an hour turns into a day and a day turns into weeks. He feels so much more alive on land, his lungs don’t feel heavy like they are struggling to breathe.

But the Prince of Atlantis going missing is going to cause more than a few people to panic. Including Arthur himself.

With more children of the Justice League going missing they get more worried and stressed and begin a mass search for them if it was not for a certain someone…

Now Bruce Wayne’s daughter I have written about before, she was the vigilante know as Songbird in Gotham, she ran away years ago and in this universe when everything was said and done she went off all on her own, sure she based herself off Black Canary, but with most of the league like this she wants nothing to do with it.

She was the first one to run away from home and not being caught by the Batman is certainly a feat but she is certainly her father’s daughter, so when she hears the news about some of the children of Justice League members going missing because she definitely did not hack their server communications. So she finds each child of the Justice League and she helps them out, because to be honest they all want the same thing.

Setting up a place for everyone to stay safely after tracking them down one by one, she even went all the way to Paris to find Zatara’s son to convince him because he was doing a show there.

So she makes lead lined shirts for little Miss Supergirl so she cannot be found via powers. Then it gets get worse when she does finally get powers and being half Kryptonian hits her hard, especially when she has no one around to teach her how to control them, well almost no one. Luckily she has someone in her corner, who better to teach her than the daughter of the Batman who taught herself how to be a vigilante, it should not be that hard.

Each one wants to either help one of their parents or they straight up are doing this out spite. But trying to piece together a team of the heroes who have next to no idea what they are going to do. But becoming a team to spite their parents turned into them basically stopping villains before their parents do.

Extra things

I love the idea of Clark’s and Bruce’s daughters and Diana’s son be best friends who have never met, like the second the meet each other they just know that they are inseparable. The self trained vigilante, the boy raised by an Amazon, and the half Kryptonian girl. Then the training sessions and teaching Clark’s daughter how to control her newly gained powers almost always turns into just chatting and some sort of shenanigans.

I don’t know why but something about Zatara’s son gaining powers kind of like the Scarlet Witch from the MCU just makes sense to me. Also the idea of Doctor Fate having slight, or heavy, protective tendencies over him while Zatara is the host.

Also I did not put them down here but I also had ideas for Green Arrow’s & Black Canary’s daughter because they would definitely share a darling, and I might write a second part for them and a few others.

Then I also thought about Martian Manhunter and his darling having an adoptive daughter because she is a meta human with telepathic abilities, but then I got reminded of Charles Xavier and thinking that she would be just to similar and now that I am finishing up this post I don’t hate that idea.

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trippiexlove · 3 days ago

Text

Heart of a Woman

Author Note: Based on the song Heart of A Woman by Summer Walker. Y'all chose it! I hope you enjoy. If you want to leave a song request for a one shot please comment on this post. Check out my master list for other one shots / stories.

Warning: Smut, Angst, P in V, Oral (f! receiving), Profanity, Praise, Toxic Relationship

Pairing: Zilla Fatu x Black OC

Word Count: 3,210

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Only thing that saving you...

Is a Heart of a Woman…

Indya leaned over the large island in the kitchen of the house she shared with her boyfriend of three years, Isayah.

Pissed wasn't even the word. She was livid.

Moments ago she received a random message from an unknown number. It was a message every woman dreads to get.

A coming to you as a woman message.

Normally she would ignore it, majority of the time it was just women trying to ruin their relationship. She knew how popular Isayah has become in the last year. His wrestling career really taking off this past year. She knew groupies came with this lifestyle. She had trusted him. But this was a constant cycle they went through.

But this message was different. It had actual concrete proof. Pictures, screenshots and screen recordings of multiple messages and FaceTime calls.

She couldn't help but to feel the hurt and betrayal. Most of all she was more upset with herself. Knowing that this wasn't the first time, but continuously keep giving him second chances.

She was so focused on the messages. Continuously scrolling through them, in denial, trying to find something that didn't make this true. The more she kept looking it the more she became upset. Indya was so focused on the messages until the familiar ringtone, signaling an incoming FaceTime from Isayah, came to her phone.

When she answered the phone she could see he was outside somewhere. Seem like he was talking to someone beside before his focus turned to the phone. "What's up ma, you good?"

"I'm coo'" she was very short with him. Her attitude evident as he furrowed his brows together. She walked into the living room, propping the phone on the table before sitting on the couch.

Isayah could sense her energy through the phone. "You sure? Yo' tone says otherwise" concern laced in his voice.

"Who's Erica?" She didn't waste any time, crossing her arms waiting for an answer.

Isayah scrunched up his eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face "What'chu talkin' about?"

She rolled her eyes before continuing to speak. "I won't ask again Isayah," she stated pointedly "who is Erica?"

He looked away briefly before looking down into the phone "I don't know what'chu talkin' bout Indy"

"So we're going down the route of acting like we're dumb" she nodded her head. She grabbed her phone off the table, going to the message thread. Once she pulled it up she sent all the messages and screen recordings to him.

Isayah phone dinged from the other end. She watched his face as he read through the messages. He kissed his teeth, exiting out the thread. "Indya that's someone I used to deal with a long time ago. Haven't seen that girl in years"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Indya frowned. "You must take me as a dumb bitch if you think I'ma just let you sit here and lie to me when there's fucking proof!" she raised her voice. Getting more and more upset.

"You just gon' believe her over what I'm tellin' you. I'm yo' man right?" Isayah voice rising with every word.

"Are you my man though?" Indya lifted an eyebrow. She stared right back at him as he shot dagger through the screen.

"Indya, stop fuckin' playin' with me. I told you I ain't seen that girl in years, the fuck you trippin' for?" Indya was token back from his words, before nodding her head.

"You know what since you wanna play dumb, I'll act fucking stupid. Go be with that bitch and stay the fuck away from me. You're single, fuck you!" Indya hung up before he could get another word in. She threw her phone down, before placing her head in her hands. She felt the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while. The constant ringing of her phone, as Isayah kept calling and texting, sounded throughout the living room.

After a while, she wiped her eyes before grabbing her phone and blocking his number. Heading upstairs to sleep the night off.

[Few Days Later]

Indya was out on a girl's day with her best friends, Sabrina and Tara. They got her out the house to take her mind off the fight she had a few days ago with Isayah. Refusing to let their friend to wallow in her feelings.

They spent the day shopping, getting their nails done, and were currently at their favorite restaurant to have lunch.

After placing their order with their server, Sabrina looked over at Indya. "We've been avoiding this conversation all day, but I think it's time to address it" Tara nodded knowing what Sabrina was getting into. "How are you feeling Indy?"

Indya sighed, throwing her head back slightly "I think I am just more mad at myself for continuing to keep taking him back."

"You can't be upset with yourself about that," Tara grabbed Indya's hand "It is not your fault that he can't grow up and see what an amazing woman he has and to treat you accordingly"

Sabrina nodded in agreement before adding in her two cents "You have been nothing but great towards him and will literally drop everything just to make sure he's ok. We all make mistakes but it's just how we learn from it"

Indya nodded. Taking in her best friends words. "It's just so hard because I really do love him." she sniffled a bit, wiping the tear that fell.

"We understand girl," Tara sympathize with her best friend "but sometimes love isn't worth the hurt he's causing you"

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sabrina asked as she leaned back in her chair.

Indya sat in silence for a moment, she knew what she had to do. The decision didn't come so lightly "I'm done and forreal this time. I can't keep doing this"

"We your girls, we love you and will support you" Sabrina smiled grabbing her other hand. Tara nodding in agreement.

Indya blinked back more tears smiling at both her best friends. Truly appreciative of them. "Thanks I love y'all"

Soon the server brought over their food and the conversation shifted to something lighter. For the first time in a last few days Indya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Forgetting about the drama and enjoying the rest of the time with her best friends.

They paid the bill once they were done. Hopping into Sabrina's car, she started heading towards Indya's house. When the pulled up Indya sighed when she noticed Isayah's car in the driveway.

He was back after being gone for a week due to having shows and appearances. Sabrina looked over at Indya, a certain look in her eye. "Do you need us to come in with you?"

Indya shook her head as she grabbed her keys out her purse "It's fine"

"You sure?" Tara leaned up from the front seat "We can just go in and beat his ass real quick and get your stuff"

Indya softly laughed at her friends "I promise I'll be fine. I'll text y'all"

"Ok," Sabrina said unsure "you better text us"

Indya promised she would text them as she got out, Tara taking her place in the passenger seat. She waved bye to them before walking up to the front door. She blew out a breathe before unlocking the door going inside.

When she walked in Isayah was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned to the door locking it.

"Where you been?" Isayah questioned, watching her every movement. Indya ignored him, throwing her keys in the bowl by the door. Walking right by him. He furrowed his eye brow as he watched her walk towards the stairs.

With quick movements he grabbed upper arm, making her turn towards him. "You hear me talkin' to you"

"Unless you're here to admit to what the fuck you did, we don't have shit to talk about" she tried ripping her arm away from him. This caused him to grip tighter.

"I keep telling' yo' ass that ain't shit happen between me and that girl" His frown deepened looking her dead in the eyes.

"She literally sent me screenshots of y'all messages!" Indya felt her temper slowly increase the longer he held her arm. She was beginning to become frustrated.

"Her ass could've faked those messages and yo' goofy ass sitting here believin' them!" He raised his voice slightly.

Indya widen her eyes in shock. In disbelief of what he said. She pushed on his chest, finally releasing herself from his grip. "Explain the pictures and videos of y'all on FaceTime then Isayah! Do you think I'm dumb?!"

"Indya tread lightly on how you speakin' to me. This is your warnin'" He squinted his eyes her direction. This only fueled the petty side of her. No longer caring how she was making him feel.

"I don't give a fuck, you ain't scaring shit over here. You can go be with that bitch and y'all both can be hoes together!" She turned to go up the stairs, but before she could, she was pulled back.

Isayah wrapped a hand around the based of her throat, pulled her close which made her look up his towering frame. She slightly shuddered at the the look in his eyes. His eyes going completely dark, a mix of anger and lust lingering inside them.

"I done let'chu get fly at the mouth one too many times. Now it's time for you to listen to me" Indya was getting upset with herself for just how quick she submits to him. Knowing that this was the issue in the ever ending cycle of their relationship.

First their good, then she catches him cheating, he uses his manipulative ways, he dicks her down and then the cycle starts over.

He could see the wheels turning in her head. Knowing she was going to try to resist he quickly scooped her up, making his way up the stairs to their shared room.

He plopped her on the bed, hovering over her. Placing both hands on the sides of her head. He leaned down placing kisses along her neck and behind her ear.

Indya didn't want to fall into the same old pattern again. She took her hands, pushing against his chest. "Isayah we can-" her breathe hitched as he sucked on the spot right below her ear.

Surely leaving a mark, he took one of his hands trialing down her sides til he reached the hem of the shorts she was wearing. His hands found their way in, brushing against her wet folds.

Indya softly moaned, arching more into his touch. He entered one finger in her, groaning at how wet and tight she was. He leaned up to look her in the eyes, entering another finger. Indya moaning out as he quickened his movements.

"What were you sayin' baby?" Indya couldn't make up any coherent sentences, as her core tightened. "You want me to stop?" When he didn't get a response he slowed down "Do you want me to stop?" his voice deepened. Indya eyes popped open looking at him.

She whined as she moved her hips, desperate for any type of friction. Isayah took his other hand, placing them on her hips to still her movements. "No I don't want you to stop" completely submitting to him.

Satisfied with her answer he pulled her shorts and underwear off, leaving her lower half completely bare. He removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.

He left wet kisses trailing down her chest and stomach til he was leveled with her intimate area.

He skipped all the teasing, quickly latching on to her sensitive bundle on nerves, switching from flicking his tongue across it and slightly sucking on it. His fingers entered her once more.

Indya loudly moaned at the double stimulation. She grabbed at the sheets on the bed, trying to ground herself. "F-fuck Isayah .. I'm cumming"

Isayah sped up the strokes of his fingers. Hitting her spot continuously, Indya reaching her climax soon afterwards.

Isayah sat up, cupping her chin with his hands "open up for me baby" Indya stuck out her tongue, knowing exactly what he wanted. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, letting her lick off all her juices off his fingers. Once she was done he brought her into a searing kiss, tasting her sweet essence.

He pulled away looking her deep in her eyes. "Face down. Ass up. You better arch how I like it" he stated in a commanding tone.

Indya wasted time doing exactly what he said. Arching her back just how he liked. Isayah let out a groan of approval, sending a smack to her backside.

As Indya waiting in anticipation, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, as Isayah shredded the last bit of clothing, coming up right behind her. She felt Isayah glide the tip between her wet folds.

He slowly pushed in, Indya moaning out as he stretched her out. He stilled for few moments to allow her time to adjust. "Fuck, you're so tight for me ma"

Craving more, Indya moved her hips back. Isayah taking it as a sign, picking up his rhythm quickly. Indya screamed out as he practically fucked her into the bed.

She brought her back against his abdomen, trying to slow him down. He quickly grabbed her wrist, pinning it against her back. "Ain't no running. You been talkin' yo' shit, talk it now"

Indya couldn't think, her brain clouded by the immense pleasure he was giving her.

"I-Isayah I can't!" she moaned out loud. Feeling that familiar burn in the pit of her stomach.

"Shut the fuck up and take it. This what'chu wanted right" Indya moaned loudly, Isayah groaned as he felt her clench around his length. He knew she was getting close and stopped all movements causing Indya to whimper. "You don't get to cum til I tell you to"

Isayah grabbed her other arm, holding both in one hand. He rammed back into her, causing Indya to gasp loudly. Isayah's strokes were relentless.

The only sounds throughout the room were their skin slapping together, "Fuck, look at'chu takin' it for daddy so well" He sent a smack to her backside, Indya moaning at the stinging sensation.

"Baby I can't hold it," she let out a breathy moan, her climax being so close "I need to cum please" she begged desperately.

Once again Isayah stopped his strokes abruptly, pulling out of her. He laid down, pulling her on top of him. "You want yo' nut, you gotta earn it"

Indya straddled his waist, reaching back grabbing a whole of his length. She slowly slid down, both groaning at the contact. He took a hold of her hips, bringing her down more, engulfing all of him. "S-shit"

Indya placed one hand on his chest as she slowly went up and down. She moaned at the new angle she was in. Isayah hitting a new spot. Indya threw her head back as she picked up the pace.

"Who pussy is it" Isayah wrapped his hand around her throat "hmm, tell daddy who pussy this is"

Indya gasped, feeling that burn in the stomach "Fuck daddy it's yours"

She rotated her hips, earning a deep guttural groan from Isayah. "Fuck, you ain't leaving' me." He moaned out again, feeling his release brewing "Damn, you feel so good baby keep it right there."

She smiled inwardly. Feeling a little motivated sped up her movement, the grip he had on her hips tightened. "Isayah I'm cumming" she whined out.

Isayah felt her movements slow down, he sent another smack to her backside causing her to whimper. "Keep goin' and you better not fuckin' stop, daddy cummin' wit'chu"

With his hands wrapped around her waist he assisted by moving her faster up and down. Indya let out a drawn out moan as she released.

Her released triggering Isayah's own, pulling her into a searing kiss as they both came down from their euphoric high.

Indya woke up, feeling extremely groggy and sore from the events earlier. She groaned as she turned over, seeing Isayah still sleep. She heart feeling heavy, remembering everything that happened.

She reached for her phone seeing she had multiple missed calls and messages from Sabrina and Tara.

Bri🔥: Indya are you good? Bri🔥: I swear if something happened I will sliced tf out of that big ass Samoan idc Tara❤️: Girl you need to call us back. Tara❤️: Bri is going crazy over here. You better call soon or we're pulling up.

Indya quickly texted them both back, telling them that she was ok and that she would explain in a little bit. She noticed it was a quarter after midnight. She quickly but quietly got up, throwing her clothes from earlier back on.

When she looked back at Isayah, she felt rage start to build inside of her. Many thoughts were going through her mind. Then an idea clicked. She acted quickly, going into the closet and started grabbing his clothes.

She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him up. She walked outside going over to Isayah's Mercedes, stuffing the clothes in there. She repeated this process about 3 more times. She grabbed the keys, backing the car away from the house.

She went back inside grabbing the bags she had already packed, putting them in her car. Turning towards Isaiah's car once more, she took a lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on.

She hovered the flame over a piece of clothing til it caught the flame. Quickly spreading to other article of clothing.

Indya stood there for a moment, staring at the flame. Feeling it burn away all the hurt Isayah has cause her, feeling a sense of calm. She was quickly token out of her trance when she heard noise come from the house. Knowing it was Isayah coming, she quickly got in her car, starting it.

When she started backing up she saw him run out the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

He saw his car in-flamed, his eyes widening in shock and rage "Indya what the fuck?!"

"Have fun with that bitch!" She quickly pulled off as he tried running towards the car.

Indya couldn't help but laugh but also cry as she felt the overwhelming feeling of freedom and her shoulders feeling lighter.

She didn't know how she did it but she found herself pulling in to Sabrina's house. Grabbing her things, she walked up the short walk way, knocking on the door.

The wait wasn't long, as Sabrina quickly opened up the door, staring at her friend. Eyes drifting to the bags beside her. Without saying a word she grabbed a bag, leading Indya in the house and to the guest bedroom.

She turned towards Indya, stood in the middle of the room. Silently crying. She brought her into hug as Indya began sobbing on her shoulder.

"I am here for you. I am so proud of you, finally choosing yourself" She let her cry on her shoulder for a while til she stopped. She pulled out the hug, wiping her friend's tears. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning" leaving the room.

Indya sighed, going into one of the bags, changing into a pajama set. She crawled in the bed, engulfing herself with the pillows and blankets, sleep finding her quickly.

#wwe #wwe fanfiction #wwe x black oc #zilla fatu x black oc #zilla fatu x oc #zilla fatu x reader #zilla fatu #zilla fatu smut #Spotify #talks with trips #trippiexlove

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namgyu-nurture · 3 days ago

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Hiiii! Can I request a Thanos x Fem!Reader where she’s possibly the nicest person on the planet and is literally so sweet to everyone. She’s Thanos’s whole world, he’s so in love with her, not comprehending how such a perfect angel could ever love someone as fucked up as him in his own mind. He’s not sure who he saved in a past life but he’s grateful she’s in his life and he’d quite literally do anything for her. Except for one thing: Haunted Houses. Su-Bong is tough and doesn’t let anyone fuck with him. But he does NOT do jump scares. So when they’re at a carnival with friends and she’s so excited to go to the mini haunted house…he’s hesitant. She immediately sees that and doesn’t want to embarrass him infront of his friends but Thanos saw how excited you were and would rather die than deprive you of anything. So…they go in. And chaos ensues. Just some fluffy rom com vibes with our sweet Thanos please & thank you (and if you want, maybe reader thanks him at home afterwards for being so brave for her ;))

Fearless for you - Thanos/Choi su bong x fem!reader

Warnings: none, slight swearing, mainly fluff !!

A/N: sorry if this EXACTLY like the request 😞😞 (also sorry if it’s short) I had a lot of fun writing this so tysm for requesting!! I loved it!

October 30th, the last day of the Halloween carnival before it went to a different town.

You and Thanos had planned to go to the fairground that night with a few friends, it was roughly 4:30pm but it was already turning dark outside.

The sky was a misty grey as street lights began switching on, making the streets glow. The streets were crowded but among them were you two.

“Come on su-bong! The others are going to be wondering where we are!” You teased slightly as you walk side by side, your slightly ahead of him.

“We would’ve been there by now if you didn’t spend like two hours on your makeup” he retorted with feign sarcasm, to which you blubbered a mocking noise. he loved to tease you. He never meant anything by it though, he was head over heels.

They both arrived at the meeting spot and greeted your friends with warm welcomes, you had been in the same small group for years, simultaneously we all decided to set off and explore.

***

They all pass by numerous carnival games, the girls were mainly chatting amongst themselves with average gossip how things have been when your eye catches on Thanos, who’s mid conversation with his friend Nam-gyu. They had made a bet on one of the basketball games, Nam-gyu challenged him, “I bet I can get the ball in quicker than you” and so they betted 10,000 won on it.

We stopped and watched as they played, the rest of the group cheered them on but you couldn’t help but just look at him, how he had that cute look of determination on his face, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself watching your beloved boyfriend act so competitive with his friend.

Thanos ended up winning and Nam-gyu handed over the agreed cash with a pout “fucking cheat” he murmured under his breath, clearly mad he lost, Thanos ignored him and surged with pride over his victory.

We kept walking and see a small haunted house. You couldn’t help the smile, you loved little spooks, loved the thrill. Your group started headed over, although. Unbeknownst to you, Thanos’ smile had faded.

You walked through the house, an actor jumped out and screamed, he was wearing a creepy clown mask and it took us all off guard, you jumped and squealed, smiling nonetheless.

We continued on, a dim room, something you couldn’t quite tell was a dummy or a person on an electric chair in a bloody prison uniform, there was bars so you didn’t worry about a scare, knowing that even if it jumped the bars would protect you.

It jumped and reached for Thanos through the bars, probably because he was an easy target, his bright purple hair standing out even in the dark. He screamed and snatched his arm away from the bars, he flushed embarrassed and wanted to shrink, he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight.

You could tell from his grip, and the way he was looking at you in the dimly lit rooms that he was hating every second of this. You squeezed his hand for a sign of comfort, rubbing your thumb over his hand which was trembling slightly from the tight grip he was applying.

You eventually found the exit and some people were giggling, appreciating the set design, but not Thanos, Thanos stuck to your side, grasping your hand like it you were going to disappear, you obviously noticed and gave him a kiss on the cheek, you were aware he didn’t like that kind of stuff, he never wanted to watch horror movies so you just assumed he didn’t like it.

“Thank you Su-bong” You whispered sweetly to him so no one else heard, you were proud of him, you squeezed his hand reassuringly to which he smiled softly, relieved.

After a while of walking around and looking at attractions, playing games, trying the fun snacks. You went home.

***

You walked through the door and hung up your jacket. You turned to Thanos who was following behind you, “thank you for today, that was really brave” you smiled at him and he smiled back, he pulled you into his arms and hugged you tight.

“No. No thank you” he whispered. “I wouldn’t have done that without you, I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes when that fucker grabbed me” you couldn’t help but laugh at his dramatic reaction, he always overreacted.

You pressed your lips to his softly. “So brave” you teased with a slight eye roll. “Let’s go to bed m’Kay?” You say suddenly realising the time and how tired you actually were.

He nodded and you went to your bedroom. You both crawled into bed and he kissed you softly “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too Su-bong” you smiled half asleep already.

He held you close as he watched you fall into a soft slumber. It wasn’t long before the sleep was dragging him down as well. He fell asleep with you cradled in his chest, his head nestled against yours as you slept peacefully. <3

#t.o.p #choi seunghyun #squid games #thanos squid games #thanos #squid game season 2 #choi su bong #thanos x reader #squid game #namgyu

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that-weird-thing-in-the-woods · 13 hours ago

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~{ Heyyy, so I’ll gonna be busy for a bit so this should hold you feral gremlins off for a bit so I don’t have you all on the edge of my woods with fire and pitchforks, soo hope you like }~

•The Dancer•

So when John Constantine walked into the house of mysterious only to see the FUCKING embodiment of time itself which is known to almost never bring good news [and who he has has had a few “one night” stands with, even if said “one night” lasted like a month with no change in the outside world] so John is internally freaking out inside.

And that’s when Clockwork turns to him and floats over to him until he’s in front of John and he says in his old and ethereal voice.

“Hello Constantine” Clockwork says and John feels like the pit in his stomach has grown into a cavern by what the embodiment of time may want from himso john turns his charm up to a fucking 11.

“Hello to you Clockwork, may this be a house visit maybe we could start where we ended last time~” John says in a flirty tone but in his voice in a underlying nervousness that he knows Clockwork can hear.

That’s when he hears Clockwork chuckle and responds with “Fear not, John I do not carry misfortune with my visit”The Ancient of time says with an air of amusement and mirth in his eyes as he looks at John. “Than why the sudden visit?” John ask still with a bit of a flirty undertone in his voice, look his not taking ANY chances with Clockwork anytime soon.

“The introduction of new Prince of death is in the coming days and you are in attendance” Clockwork says with finality that told john that he didn’t have a chance in the matter of his attendance and before John can say anything back Clockwork says “I will summon you when it is time, be prepared.”.

And he’s gone back to wherever Clockwork goes to do his job and John is just relieved there was no bad news for the world but then John realizes what clockwork said.

“THERES A NEW BLOODY FUCKING PRINCE???”

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

After a bit the ghost side of Danny’s (half)life has chilled out with him and the other ghost coming to an agreement for them to leave amity Park alone and Danny will go to The Ghost Zone three times a week to make sure he stays healthy and to hang out with them.

And turns out the observers wanted more power around a few thousand years back and used their influence and power to turn Pariah Dark insane and put him in the nap-time box so they could rule The Ghost Zone so Danny beat their collective asses and help Pariah Dark chill TF out so he’s back to normal and over this time has grown close with Danny and has come to think of him as a son so there chill.

Oh and don’t worry Pariah Dark also beat the ever loving shit out of the observers for turning him insane and turning him into a tyrant

But for the human side of Danny’s life has become more dangerous for Danny.

The G.I.W and his parents have somehow managed to get ahold [ VLAD ] of blood blossoms and turning their weapons more and more deadly for him and with Jazz off to college and Tucker, Sam having their own things. Danny is not having a good time and he talks about his concerns for his safety with Pariah Dark and he suggest that Danny moves over to the ghost zone full time as it is too dangerous with the blood blossom weapons and it’s not like the Fentons will notice him missing.

So Danny grabs his things and moves to the ghost zone full time and as he’s basically Pariah Dark’s ghost son at this point he is welcomed as the new prince so he’s just been hanging around the ghost zone for awhile [3 months].

And in this time Danny picked up dancing from a new friend of his who in her life was called..what was it again, oh yeah a gypsy! And she taught him how to dance and it has been affecting his ghost form so that’s fun and after he was found dancing in the gardens.

He had earned the nickname “The Dancing Prince”

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-•Appearances•

Danny’s dancing wear-

[ He likes to dress in more airy clothes when he’s dancing and the hair the accessories for when he’s dancing was given to him by his new friend ]

Danny’s normal wear-

[ Danny’s hair grew out a bit so when he’s not dancing he just holds it up with ribbons]

+ Danny has jewelry but I can’t find any good ones so that really up to you gremlins

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

~{ And that’s it! Hope this holds you guys off for a bit and the new friend I mentioned is mostly based off one of my OCs so just a random thing and if you gremlins like this I’ll probably add more but anyways byeeee }~

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writing-mlm · 1 day ago

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When Will I see you again?

Summary: After the second task, Cedric can’t keep his feelings for his best friend a secret. Things don’t go as plan after the third task, though. Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Male!Reader Wc: 5.3k tags/warnings: ravenclaw reader, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, coma, draco is a dick, HP slander a/n: obligatory I would curb stomp jkr if given the chance

The Great Hall’s entrance was filled with students, all of whom were waiting for the clock to strike eight and the doors would open. Partners from separate houses were finding each other on the edges of the crowd; thankfully you hadn’t been one of those. Ever the gentleman Cedric had waited at the top of Ravenclaw’s staircase for you. Even if he hadn’t asked you in a romantic sense and said you were going as mates. Cho had declined his offer and you weren’t all that interested in the girls at school.

No other reason.

Soon after getting to the crowd Professor McGonagall had called the champions to the front of it. You’d seen Krum and Hermione and took a second for yourself, surely the eighteen-year-old Quidditch star hadn't asked out the barely fifteen-year-old Hermione?

You didn’t feel strange in the line of pairs, standing behind Hermione but in front of Parvati. It felt right to be considered Cedric’s partner for the Yule Ball.

Cedric carefully wrapped his hand around your elbow as the rest of the students entered the Great Hall. His grip was loose until McGonagall told the champions to follow after her where his fingers tightened around your satin blazer. You felt him take a deep breath with each step, the applause from all sides felt deafening but at least most of the attention was on Harry and not the two guys walking together.

But it wasn’t as though you weren’t known together. While Cedric was known as the human embodiment of the Hufflepuff values, you were his Ravenclaw best friend. Friends since your first year after he’d helped you get the courage to get on a broom during lessons. Such good friends that other Ravenclaws stopped being surprised when you cheered for Cedric during Hufflepuff Vs. Ravenclaw games.

It’s just now you’re older and slowly growing out of the hormonal phase that awakened certain things in you. And Cedric. Although smart as you were, you were convinced he was thoroughly set on dating Cho Chang. And she's lovely, if you were into the girls at school you’d probably go for her, too.

Your eyes catch her on the dance floor, dancing with some random Gryffindor guy with a tight smile and barely hidden boredom whenever they would talk between dancing. The guy looked fine, though. Content even.

You admittedly hadn’t danced much that night, at least not nearly as much as other people did. On Cedric’s own account, he would’ve had a heart attack if he held you so close again without being able to hold you closer. He couldn’t bear staring at your face as he held you without his face turning red. How his hands would get so sweaty he’d need a second to wipe them on his shirt without you taking notice because you’d been trying to do the same thing.

So, sitting and eating was the next best thing. Laughing and talking about whatever you wanted until it was time to leave. He’d found Harry and told him about some of the tournament business while you waited at the bottom of the staircase, messing with the yellow corsage he’d gifted you at the beginning of the night.

That night he walked you back to the top of the tower and lingered behind, feeling as if he ended the night on such an open note it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

—

Anyone who’s friends with Cedric knows he wakes up an hour before breakfast. He spends thirty minutes getting dressed and then spends the rest of the time wandering about the grounds before it’s time to eat. Everyone also knows that at some point during the wandering, you appear at his side.

His routine was a little different today considering today was the second task and he was a bit anxious. This time he waited near Ravenclaw Tower for you, he’d seen most of your housemates walking past him and then one of your roommates. Cedric catches him before he can walk too far away and asks about you. Your roommate shrugs, they haven’t seen you since last night.

Now, Cedric doesn’t panic. You’ve probably fallen asleep in the library again and you’re waiting in the Great Hall. That happens about once a month. So, he goes to the hall and looks around for you. He sees the blue robes from your house but he doesn’t see you.

Now he’s a little worried. His leg bounces as he eats his breakfast, eyes focused on the hall doors before McGonagall once again gathers the champions and he’s off to the lake with Fleur and Krum. He notes that Harry isn’t there yet but that wasn’t where his focus was.

He stares into the lake, wondering where you are as his fingers dance across the yarn of your friendship bracelet made with the grace of a twelve-year-old boy.

He doesn’t catch when Harry arrives right before the task starts, his head snapping over to Bagman when his voice booms through his ears.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…three!” A whistle echoes through the cold air, quickly drowned out by the sound of cheering from the stands.

Cedric quickly uses a bubble charm before he dives into the icy water. He fights the urge to swim back up as his body shivers, fighting against the water as he swims aimlessly in the deep gray-lit water. Fish dart past him as he swims and he panics at the sight of an arm in his peripheral when he gets closer to the bottom of the lake. There’s no one else around him, though. He double-checks and then triple-checks. He can’t see anyone— no, he squints through his bubble and sees Harry. He’s spotting whatever they’re chasing and he swims in the same direction.

He fights through the wildlife and creatures that try to attack him, namely the grindylows emerging from the weeds. But his focus is more on what he’s approaching. There’s a statue of a merperson and attached to its tail are four bound people. Fleur’s sister, Ron, Hermione, and you. All of whom look to be sleeping, heads lax on your shoulders, and bubbles rising from your mouth with each breath.

He panics— blinking wildly at the sight because he’d been so worried something happened to you and this… this was crazy. What if he hadn’t known the charm? What would’ve happened if the merpeople had turned on you? What if he didn’t make it down within the hour time frame?

(We've taken what you’ll sorely miss— that’s what the clue had said. But past an hour, the prospects black. Too late, it’s gone. It won’t come back.)

You won’t come back to him if he’s late. You’re what he’ll sorely miss and he knows they’re right. He knows deep in his heart that taking you was like taking his oxygen, taking you would destroy him in ways he couldn’t— doesn’t want to— imagine.

Somehow Harry’s already there, arguing with merpeople who stop him from freeing everyone. He tells Harry to hurry, he knows Fleur and Krum are close behind him and as much as he wants to win he also doesn’t want Harry to get anything less than second place.

He pulls out a knife from his pocket and cuts through the ropes of weed. Once his knife drags all the way through, he grabs you by the waist and swims up. He doesn’t waste his time checking on Harry or the others. He only cares that he gets you up to the surface. That you wake up.

His head breaks through the surface of the water and the cold air stings his face as the bubble pops. Immediately his eyes check on you, the voices from the sounds nothing but noise until your eyes open and you cough up some of the lake water.

“Thank Merlin,” Cedric pants and drags himself to the edge, pushing you up before he pulls himself up to the bank as well.

“You won?” You chitter, the cold hitting you all at once. Someone hands the two of you thick blankets as Madam Pimfrey shoves a hot potion down your throats that wakes the two of you up a little bit.

“I thought you were dead,” He admits, opening his blanket to let you inside. You shake your head as you sit on a bench, head resting on his shoulder because despite having slept for hours, you’re quite tired still.

“Dumbledore bewitched us to sleep, last night McGonagall asked to see me. Thought she found out about me sneaking books out of the library,” You joke to try and lighten his clearly down mood. He hasn’t looked away from you since the moment he resurfaced, his heart hasn’t stopped hammering.

He never wants to experience worry like this ever again— even if in hindsight there was never any real danger. He blinks, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare at him, worried because he hasn’t said anything aside from that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? How he feels about you— about this? Surely that isn’t it.

Cedric is Hufflepuff’s golden boy. Truly he is Hogwarts' golden boy; he’s the kindest, most honest person to grace the infamous halls. He always has a smile on his face and he stands up for what he knows is right. But he’s afraid he hasn’t been entirely honest with you. His best friend.

He doesn’t know how to flat-out say he’s in love with you, that he has been since your fourth year.

“Cedric,” You whisper, wiping a tear from him. He’s been thinking so much that everyone has come back and he hasn’t noticed. Missed that Fleur didn’t finish the task and Harry had brought her sister up instead. “I wasn’t in danger, I’m alright.”

“I…” He blinks, holding your wrist. “I’m in love with you.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision!” Bagmen announces and you flinch but don’t look away from Cedric. Your eyes are wide and your heart thumping behind your ribcage. He doesn’t look away either, looking between your eyes.

“I have been for a while but I was… terrified seeing you down there,” He continues and you tune out Bagman until you hear Cedric’s name.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the crowd cheer. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

“One minute off,” You whine, rolling your eyes. Cedric laughs, his forehead pressed against yours as the judges list off the remaining scores. Krum had gotten forty and Harry had gotten forty-five, putting Cedric in first place for the task and tied with Harry for first overall.

You smile at him as you tell him your findings. He just nods, his nose knocking into yours before you’re herded into the castle by Madam Pomfrey to get dry clothes. He holds your hand the whole way there, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

The two of you are put in separate rooms to change, as are the other champions and the hostages and it gives the two of you entirely too much silence and time to overthink.

Being in love with your best friend is difficult, especially if you’re queer. There’s the added layer of are they also queer? Because you know for a fact Cedric had real feelings for Cho, so he’s not gay. But there’s a plethora of things he could be… into you wasn’t one you really thought about, though. Even if you joke kissed that one time at a post-game party after a dare.

Being in love with your best friend and admitting it is crazy. Cedric spends the whole time getting changed worrying that he’s ruined everything. He’s sure he’s going to leave the room and you’re going to ignore him. That things are going to be different for all the wrong reasons but he couldn’t keep it a secret for another second. He just couldn’t. And he’s not sorry about that.

But, he’s pleasantly surprised when you’re waiting in front of the room he was changing in. Your back pressed to the wall with your hands behind you, staring at the floor until you heard the door opening. Standing up straight, you smile at Cedric and fix your jumper over your pants out of nervous habit.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” He carefully closes the door behind him while you look up and down the corridor. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm… I just…” Staring at him, you shrug. “Do you want to go on a date next weekend? Madam Puddifoot’s Tea shop, maybe?” He smiles brightly and nods all the while you try and contain your own reaction. “Cool… well… they’re also having a celebration for you winning first place after dinner. Ravenclaw’s hosting, I’m supposed to bring you,”

“So we have three hours to plan our date?” He holds his hand out for you.

“I doubt we’ll need that much time,” You laugh, taking his hand. He just shrugs and guides you to where the two of you normally hang out. “Besides, I’m taking you. You don’t get to plan anything!”

“Fine,” He dramatically sighs.

—

By the third task, you’re still not an official couple. There’s no rush on putting a label just yet, you both agreed to it when a friend mentioned that for two people going on weekly dates, you two don’t seem any closer to dating.

Besides, there’s a tournament to win.

You settled in the stands of the Quidditch field which looked completely different with the twenty-foot tall hedges that ran all the way around the edge. You spot Cedric amongst the champions as he fiddles with his wand. He spots you, too, waving as you sit next to his father and mother. You’re unsure of why you’re allowed to sit in the family stands, but it’s all the same to Cedric— easier to spot the three most important people in his life, too.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Trizward Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each— Mr. Cedric Diggory, both of Hogwarts School!” You cheer along with the rest of Hogwarts, loud enough that the birds in the forest fly away from the harsh noise.

Harry and Cedric go in first and once they disappear, you can’t see them. There’s no magical broadcast and so, you’re left in the dark of what’s happening inside of the maze. So, you talk with his parents and then Ron’s family to pass the time.

You’re unsure of how much time passed before you see Harry slam into the ground with Cedric. Everyone cheers but you squint. Surely you’re seeing it wrong, right? That’s not what you’re seeing.

“Mr. Diggory…?”

“I see it, too,” He whispers and the two of you break into a sprint down the stands. By that point, Harry and Cedric are crowded by Fudge, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dumbledore as screams echo throughout the stands.

You make it there long before Mr. Diggory does, sliding on the grass once you're close enough to reach him. He’s laid there, eyes closed and body unmoving. He looks as though he’s in pain yet still as if that’s how he…

You cup his face, sobs bubbling through your chest and out your mouth, as he lies there. Your head shakes as you examine him and Harry keeps muttering something. An explanation, apologies— you don’t know. You can’t hear anything over your sobs and the shouts from Mr. Diggory. Cupping his face again, lay your head on his chest before you feel it.

…thump….thump thump….

You gasp and sit up, checking his neck before you cry out.

“He’s alive!” You choke, pulling him into your chest and rocking him back and forth. “He’s alive!” You declare as Mr. Diggory approaches, carefully, you set him back down so he can see for himself. He checks for himself as Dumbledore calls over Madam Pomfrey and he cheers, kissing Cedric’s head and holding his limp hand tightly in his.

—

The killing curse. That’s what Harry said. Voldemort or someone had used the killing curse on Cedric after they both grabbed the portkey. He was dead. Cedric was dead for over five minutes. They don’t know what happened but he was dead one second and alive the next. You didn’t care for answers, how could you when all you could hear was the fact that he was alive?

Sitting at his bedside, you stroke his hairline as he sleeps. A coma, alive but in a coma. It was better than dead, you keep reminding yourself when you find yourself frowning at his sleeping figure. Mr. Diggory allowed for him to remain at Hogwarts, he and his wife agreed that when Cedric wakes up, he should be somewhere he’s familiar with. He’ll want to see you as soon as possible.

It’s only been a week but they’ve visited him on the weekends. You think they’re staying in a nearby inn for the time being. He looks about the same, though. He doesn’t look ill or dead. Just asleep. The magic Madam Pomfrey and medical professionals use on him keeps him alive and thriving according to them. You try to learn about it when you can but your brain is mush half of the time. The other half is replaying how he looked when he was dead.

“Would you like to comb his hair?” A nurse asks and you nod, thanking her as you grab the comb and start gently working through his hair. You tell him about your day, about classes. About how he and Harry were declared the winners of the tournament. Harry declined the trophy altogether, insisting that it goes to Cedric instead.

You glance at it on his bedside table. You’re unsure of who brought it, probably Dumbledore or something. You describe it to him, how shiny it is. How it looks like a giant goblet and you’ll definitely pour some good booze in there as soon as you can. Celebrate with him.

A part of you waits for him to talk, to fill in the caps of silence but it doesn’t come. But you still talk. You talk about how there’s some new drama in your house. About how Cho keeps asking you if he’s okay. She wants to visit but she doesn’t know if she should. She doesn’t want to impose. You laugh and ask him if there’s someone you need to worry about.

He still doesn’t answer.

Setting the comb down, you stare at him for a while before checking the time. It’s nearly dinner time but you’re not hungry. You haven’t been for a week but you still eat. You guess skipping one dinner wouldn’t be so bad so you climb into the bed next to him and lay your head on his chest.

His heart is a steady rhythm under your ear, there’s a warmth to his body that makes you want to fall asleep faster and you do.

Sometime later, when visiting hours officially end, Madam Pomfrey goes to tell you it’s time but finds you fast asleep. She sighs and debates waking you up before she decides against it. She’s not cruel.

—

“And then Snape had the audacity to assign a mountain of homework,” You grumble as you angrily eat your lunch next to Cedric. It’s been two weeks of the coma, fourteen days of spending all of your free time in the infirmary, three hundred and thirty-six hours of not knowing if Cedric is going to wake up again. You know he is. He has to. You don’t just survive the killing curse only to die in a coma. He wouldn’t do that. You know it.

Rather frustratingly Hogwarts is currently split in two on the topic. There are those who think he won’t wake up and those who know he will. No one talks about it around you, though. They’re not that insensitive, you guess. You still hear it, of course, whispers travel far, and first years aren’t all that good at whispering.

You don’t care about either side. This isn’t some weird little bet like it was with Harry and Cedric. It was weird and you’ve been slowly dealing with it. Nothing harmful, not in a way they could prove, at least. It’s hard to trace back the sudden appearance of zits forming the words Prat on someone’s forehead.

“Our professors are still giving me those sad looks,” You admit, pushing the food around with the back of your fork. “It’s like I walk into a room and suddenly all they can think about is how I’m… here? I don’t know. But they keep asking me if I'm okay and that I should sleep more.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “They’re the ones giving us crazy amounts of homework. I don’t envy the work you’re gonna do when you wake up. But I’ll be here to help you study, of course.”

The doors open and you peek behind you, seeing his parents walking inside. They look how you feel but they smile as you look at each other. You wave as you stand up to give them space with their son.

“Ah, your folks are here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” Squeezing his hand, you collect your stuff and leave for your dorm where you sleep until you’re woken up from your nightmare. From there, you sneak down to the infirmary and sit on the floor next to his bed.

It’s incredibly quiet inside of there. Only one other student is there for breaking a bone. She’ll be out in the morning. You find yourself hating her for that and have to stop yourself from getting angry at a thirteen-year-old for being able to walk around.

Madam Pomfrey catches you during her rounds and crosses her arms as you sheepishly smile at her. She sighs and motions you to lie down. You thank her as you lay next to Cedric but she doesn’t acknowledge it as she walks away.

—

The infirmary is cold, colder than you would’ve expected but it is starting to snow so you guess it’s to be expected. Thankfully, you’re wearing Cedric’s Hufflepuff sweater to keep you warm. It still smells like him, you don’t know why you expected it not to, but when you put it on you’re ashamed to admit you cried for nearly an hour.

“If this is payback for the second task,” You start, your voice wavering as you stare down at Cedric’s unmoving body. “It’s gone on entirely too long. Wake up, Cedric. Please,” Your voice cracks as you fall into the chair. Covering your mouth, you stare at him as he remains unmoving. You just want something, anything to prove that he’s not a husk of a person. Something other than his breathing. Maybe a cough. You’ll even take a wheeze. A sneeze. Anything.

“Merlin,” Looking away, you inhale and look back at him. “I’ll do anything you ask, promise! I’ll eat those nasty snacks you like that taste like puke. I’ll drink cold tea for a year! I’ll… it doesn’t matter what you ask as long as you wake up!” But he doesn’t move. He hasn’t moved since they set him on that fucking cot. He doesn’t stir, he doesn’t snore. He just lays there and you’re expected to be happy that he is. That the only sign he’s alive is his shallow breathing and his chest rising.

A nurse walks in for his daily medication and you don’t watch as she makes him drink it. You just hold his hand, playing with his growing nails before quietly asking for a nail clipper. He doesn’t like them long, they poke him. It also gets caught on his clothes, so he keeps them pretty low.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna paint your nails if you don’t wake up,” You decide as you’re clipping his nails. “Yup. Neon pink and green. So, you better wake up soon.” Dusting his nails off, you look at him for a sign that he’s listening. Any sign, really. But there’s none and you quietly sigh before climbing into bed next to him.

Looking up at him, you kiss his shoulder before tucking your head into his chest. It’s not dinner yet, it’s barely even lunch but you don’t want to be awake right now. You’re tired of the reminders, tired of looking at him in the white bed under the white blanket. You miss his smile and laugh that you can only see in your dreams now.

—

“I got detention for a week,” You angrily admit as you toss yourself onto the chair next to him. It’s been four weeks of him being in a coma. His hair has grown a bit, you didn’t notice until recently. “They were going to give me longer but said because of my situation it’ll only be a week.” You use air quotes as you say ‘situation’, angrily looking around as though someone was going to agree with you.

“Bloody Malfoy running his fucking mouth about you. Laughing with his little mates who have their tongues down his throat, his little lap dogs without a fucking brain! Talkin’ about you being a lost cause and a…” You stop as you find yourself getting angry again. “I knocked him out. He’s awake now, I wasn’t allowed in here until he left.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You need to calm down. Talk to him about something happier. Talk about the positives of your day.

“My parents wrote, they wish you well. They invited you and your folks over during break and said they can’t wait to see you again. Can’t wait for you to meet Tate’s little puppies. They’re the cutest and maybe your dad would let you guys keep one,” You smile at the nurse as she brings over a comb and brush. Quietly, you thank her before moving your chair closer to the bed.

“I’m not sure if you noticed but they upgraded your cot. It’s roughly the size of your dorm bed; I think they did that ‘cause I keep sleeping here.” It’s been nearly every night that you spend down in the infirmary. Students who come and go with their own injuries have mentioned it to their peers. Apparently, you cry in your sleep and it keeps them up. Although no one is blaming you for that, they’re mostly just pitying you at this point.

Combing through his hair with the brown wine tooth comb, you give Cedric his usual hairstyle and smile down at him.

“I reckon this length looks good on you, hopefully, you don’t cut it. I quite like it,” Gently brushing his hair away from his face, your lip wobbles and you force yourself to look away. “I have class but I’ll be back, I promise.”

—

Six weeks. A month and two weeks. More days than you care to admit.

He’s doing better, according to the doctor who visits on Mondays. She said he should wake up soon but she didn’t give an estimate. Soon could be a year, apparently.

Unfortunately, today has been exceptionally rough. Snake’s been a larger prick, you tanked your history quiz, you overslept and missed your whole first period, and worst of all, you waited a whole thirty minutes at your usual spot waiting for Cedric before you remembered.

Wiping your eyes with your hands, you pull your legs up to the frame of his bed and lay your head on your thighs.

“I’ve been looking for spells to get in your head,” You admit through quiet sobs. “Maybe then we could talk. I miss your voice. I miss you so much. It’s getting harder and I’m not blaming you. I know this is a good outcome, I know I should be grateful you weren’t left in that cemetery to rot. I know I should be jumping for joy because you’re alive but it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’m losing you.” Blinking down to the floor, you chew on your bottom lip.

“Break is coming soon. They’re going to transfer you during it, so you’re not alone. I don’t know if they’ll let me sleep over still. You’ll be so far from me, too. Five hours by car, I checked. I’m sorry if I sound selfish, I keep talking about me. But I don’t know… how to talk to you right now.” Looking at him, you reach over and grab his hand.

“If you want to… go… you can. I don’t know if you’re in pain or something. I just want you to feel better, even if it means you’ll be gone.” Blinking rapidly, you tuck your head back between your legs and cry. You don’t know how long you’ve sat there like that but you get startled at the feeling of his limp hang gripping yours.

It’s not tight but you know it’s there as you look at him. His eyes are open, just barely but they’re open. You shudder at the sight, nearly falling from your chair.

“Cedric,” You whisper and he cracks a smile. “Oh Godric,” Smiling, you squeeze his hand before hugging him. Smiling into his neck, you feel him start to hug you back.

“That’s my name,” He mutters, voice dry and hoarse but it’s his. Madam Pomfrey walks over for her rounds and gasps at the sight of the two of you before rushing to send for his doctors. Slowly, you pull away and look at him. “Is there water?” Nodding, you reach over and grab your bottle from the table before giving it to him.

He struggles to sit up, giving you a pleading look and you prop him up without question. You help him drink, too, trying not to cry because he’s sitting up. He’s not laying down anymore and his eyes are open.

He’s awake and alive.

“What did I miss?” He asks.

“I spent six weeks giving you updates and you didn’t hear a single word?” You snort. “Of course,”

“Six weeks?” He echos and you slowly nod. “What happened?”

“Short story; you died and came back but you were in a coma. The long story is for later. When you’re back to normal. But you won the tournament! Uh, your parents have the trophy but I don’t doubt they’ll be here soon. They’ve come every Saturday and Sunday,”

“They do?”

“Mhmm, I left the three of you alone so I don’t know what you guys talked about.” Silence falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other.

“Were you crying?” He softly asks and you shake your head.

“Allergies, I decided playing with a cat was better than being able to breathe properly,” You lie and he doesn’t believe you but lets it slide and pats the bed. Sitting back down, he pulls you down and strokes the top of your head. Sighing with content, you look up at him and smile. ,

“I love you,” He kisses the top of your head before he speaks.

“I love you, too.” He waits for a second. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Yes, dork, it does,” You snort and he frowns, complaining that you’re being mean to him after he just woke up.

“Wait,” He shifts a little and you hum. “Why are my nails pink and green?”

#x male reader #x reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory x male reader #ravenclaw reader #harry potter fanfiction

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sfotiegiuls · 3 days ago

Text

Rafe Cameron

- chapter two -

summary: Rafe Cameron is your best friendor rather he was. He was until you started hanging out with his sister, Sarah and her friends, pogues. Now it’s been some time since you’ve been with him and those rare times you meet him, when you’re with Sarah, he ignores you.

warnings: nothing !

words count: 1.5 k

Rafe cameron X ex- best friend fem!reader

It had been nearly two weeks since the party at the Cameron house, and Rafe hadn’t spoken to you since.

Not that you were surprised.

That night had changed something—shifted the ground beneath your feet in a way you couldn’t quite put into words—but you weren’t sure if it had been for better or worse. It felt like standing on the edge of something uncertain, something dangerous, something you couldn’t turn away from even if you wanted to.

You could still hear his voice, low and rough, a challenge wrapped in something that felt almost like a plea. Prove it.

You could still feel the weight of his stare, burning through you like fire, like he was searching for something in you that he wasn’t sure he’d find. And then there was the way his fingers had brushed against your wrist, hesitant and unsure, like he was caught between pulling you closer and letting you slip away. In the end, he had chosen the latter.

And now?

Now, it was back to silence.

It was like the night had never happened. Like he had never whispered those words to you, never looked at you like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to, something he didn’t know how to deal with.

If you saw him around Figure Eight, he barely looked your way. If your paths crossed at a party, he ignored you completely. His eyes would skim past you like you were a stranger, like you hadn’t stood in front of him two weeks ago with your heart on the line, waiting—hoping—for him to meet you halfway.

It was almost worse than before.

Because before, you could convince yourself he didn’t care. Before, you could tell yourself that whatever you felt, whatever this was, it was one-sided.

But now?

Now, you knew.

You had seen it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched when you got too close, in the way his hands curled into fists like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you. You had felt it in the way he had hesitated that night, the way his touch had lingered longer than it should have, like he had been fighting some invisible battle with himself.

And still, he pushed you away.

So, you did the same.

You threw yourself into other things—anything to keep your mind from circling back to him. You spent more time with Sarah, with JJ, John B, and Kie. You let yourself laugh at JJ’s stupid jokes, let Sarah pull you into plans you normally would have said no to. You went out on the boat more, let the salty air tangle your hair, let the sun warm your skin until you felt like you could breathe again.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you could convince yourself that you were fine, that you didn’t miss him, that the space he had carved out inside of you wasn’t still aching with the absence of him.

But then there were moments—quiet ones—where your mind betrayed you.

Like now.

You sat on the dock behind Sarah’s house, your legs dangling over the edge as the water lapped gently against the wooden posts. The sun was beginning to set, casting shades of gold and pink across the horizon. The air was warm, thick with the scent of salt and summer, the kind of night that made everything feel a little softer, a little slower.

It should have been peaceful.

But your mind was anywhere but here.

It was back at the Cameron house, back to that night, to the way Rafe had looked at you, the way his voice had wrapped around you like a dare. Prove it.

You had wanted to.

God, you had wanted to.

But he had walked away before you even had the chance.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sarah’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, her concern laced in the soft lilt of her words.

You blinked, dragging yourself back to the present, back to the dock and the water and the fading sun. Turning your head, you found her watching you, her brows knit together, worry shining in her eyes.

You forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Sarah didn’t buy it. You could tell by the way she tilted her head, studying you like she was picking apart every unspoken thought you didn’t want to say out loud.

“About Rafe?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in lying.

“…Yeah.”

She sighed, shifting beside you so that her shoulder bumped against yours. “I know my brother, and I know he’s an asshole. But I also know he doesn’t just… let people go. Not if they mean something to him.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why does it feel like he already has?”

Sarah was quiet for a beat, staring out at the horizon like the answer might be hidden somewhere in the rolling waves.

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to prove him wrong,” she said finally, her voice softer now.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s what he said to me that night.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped back to you. “Seriously?”

You nodded, tugging at a loose thread on your shorts, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep yourself grounded in the conversation and not in the past. “Yeah. He told me to prove it. Like I needed to prove to him that he still mattered.” You shook your head, frustration curling in your stomach. “But it’s not that simple. He wants me to choose, Sarah. And I can’t.”

Sarah was silent for a long moment, mulling over your words like she was trying to piece something together.

Then, she said, “You don’t have to.”

You frowned. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

She nudged you again, gentler this time. “Then maybe it’s time to show him.”

You exhaled, long and slow, your gaze drifting back toward the water.

Because maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing. Maybe it wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it was about reminding Rafe that he had never really lost you in the first place.

But that meant stepping into the storm of who he was, into the chaos that came with loving him. It meant risking your own heart, trusting that he wouldn’t shatter it in the palm of his hands.

The question was… did he even want to be found?

And if he did—would he finally let you stay?

—

You weren’t planning on looking for him. Not really.

But later that night, when the air cooled and the sky deepened to a dark shade of navy, you found yourself walking.

Your feet carried you without thinking, moving through Figure Eight like they had a purpose, like they already knew where they needed to go. Past the quiet streets lined with towering houses, past the beach where the sound of laughter and crashing waves still hummed in the distance, past the edges of where you should have stopped.

And then, you saw him.

Rafe was sitting on the hood of his truck, parked just off the road near the marsh, a half-empty bottle in his hand. The glow of a streetlight flickered above him, casting sharp shadows across his face. His head was tilted back slightly, his gaze fixed on the sky, like he was searching for something in the stars.

You hesitated.

Turn around, a voice in your head whispered. Leave before he sees you.

But it was too late.

His head lowered, and his eyes locked onto yours in the dim light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the sight of you standing there.

“What are you doing here?”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “I don’t know.”

Rafe huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He set the bottle down on the truck’s hood, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

He shook his head, gaze flicking over you like he was trying to figure you out. “Show up when I’m trying to forget you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away for a second before muttering, “Not that it ever works.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and charged.

You could walk away. Let him keep pretending. Let yourself do the same.

Or…

You took a slow step forward, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Then stop trying.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled into fists on his knees.

You took another step, and this time, he didn’t look away.

And when you finally stopped in front of him, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating off of him, you realized something.

Maybe this wasn’t about proving anything. Maybe it wasn’t about choosing.

Maybe it was just about not running anymore.

And for the first time in two weeks, neither of you did.

———

taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

#rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks #fanfic #sarah cameron #jj maybank #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #rafe obx #obx fanfiction #drew starkey x reader

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604to647 · 2 days ago

Text

Take It Off (a Strawberry Shortcake Super Bowl drabble)

1K / Frankie Morales x fem!reader

Summary: You host Frankie and the TF boys for The Big Game and are given a choice of which team's jersey to wear.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames per usual (Shortcake, baby), oral (f!receiving), fingering, wee bit o' dirty talk, one (1) "daddy". Taylor Swift songs.

A/N: I cannot express just how much I do not care about The Big Game 😂, but just like last year, I wrote a Super Bowl drabble while the family watches football 🤗 This is our Strawberry Shortcake couple, but you don't have to read it (all you need to know is that Valentina is Frankie's daughter, Raynor is Reader's son and they're best friends). Apologies for this being barely edited - I'm trying to feign some interest as to what's happening on the field 🤭 Go Sports!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

🎶So take a look what you've done

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)🎶

Giggling, hands still soapy, you lean away from the kitchen sink so you can watch the musical performance taking place in your living room.

Frankie and his friends are watching Superbowl LIX at your house, and Uncles Santi, Will and Benny have been doing an admirable job entertaining two overly excited six-year-olds during the pre-game. First up: the Puppy Bowl; cute, but the show inspired increasingly desperate, renewed pleas from Valentina for a dog. When Raynor threw in his own puppy dog eyes to aid his best friend, Frankie, knowing he was in danger, had to hastily switch the channel. After that came a rousing American football lesson using toys found around your living room – the whole thing almost ended up in a Miller brothers fight when Will’s Lego Elsa quarterback got sacked by Benny’s Beyblade before his Jellycat offensive linemen were set up.

The remedy was an impromptu Taylor Swift concert, with each Delta Force boy headlining his Era of choice - Raynor and Valentina their enthusiastic backup dancers. Right now, Uncle Santi is in his 1989 era, twirling the kids around your living room with aplomb.

“You’re driving me crazy with that jersey, Shortcake,” growls the dangerous baritone kissing down the back of your neck.

Turning back to the dishes you want to get done before the game, you chuckle. Frankie looks more than adorable, pouting in his team colours, decked out in Chief’s gear – even his usual Standard Oil cap has been replaced by a bright red snapback. Showing up with a coordinating Santi and Valentina, he brought both you and your son matching jerseys; Raynor donned his happily, eager to match with his best friend. You on the other hand, are wearing a green Eagles jersey, matching the ones Benny and Will have on; with very little interest in the NFL, and even less loyalty to any particular team – you couldn’t say no to Benny when he held out the Philadelphia gear, pouting about being outnumbered. The apologetic look you gave Frankie as you slipped into the green top did not prevent him from shooting back a (somewhat) joking look of disgust.

Frankie’s hands grip your hips, tightening over the jersey material as if to change its colours through force; playfully you wiggle back into his hold, “Maybe that’s why I agreed to wear it, Francisco. So you’d rip it off of me later.”

“You’re trouble, baby.”

As if on cue, Will’s Red Era warble screeches into the kitchen:

🎶I knew you were trouble when you walked in

So, shame on me now🎶

Laughing, Frankie helps you with the dishes, the two of you finish in time to give Will and the kids a well-deserved round of applause as they close out the song, belting 🎶TROUBLE🎶 in canon.

“Going outside to throw the ole pigskin around before the game,” chirps Benny, tossing the football to Santi before scooping up a kid under each arm and heading for your backyard to a chorus of masculine whoops and high pitched first grader squeals and giggles.

“Not you, Trouble,” a hand pulls you back and towards your bedroom.

“Frankie!” you gasp, flushed and squirming when that same hand pushes you onto your bed after locking the door.

“Forget later, you’re gonna take that damn jersey off NOW,” snarls Frankie, dropping unceremoniously to his knees, bear paw hands roughly pulling down your leggings along with your underwear – he helps you kick them off before using those same big mitts to spread you wide.

The last thing you hear before throwing your head back against your mattress in a pleasure-soaked whine is something about how this cunt is the tastiest thing on tonight’s menu.

Frankie slurps and laps at your pussy like a man possessed, as if ravaging your cunt is his own personal contribution to his favourite team’s chances of winning tonight. You try to muffle your cries of ecstasy as your boyfriend positively feasts, talented tongue dancing and dipping between your folds, face fully buried in his own personal heaven. When two thick fingers breach your entrance and curl, you’re already closer that you thought possible – panting, you knock the red cap off Frankie’s head and fist his soft brown curls, “Frankie! Fuck, baby… I’m so close! Please, I’m so cl-“

The bastard slows down and pulls his mouth away.

Your head snaps up, death glare that could make a pro linebacker quake in his cleats aimed at the man between your legs.

“Say you’ll take off the Eagles jersey…”

“Francisco!!”

“… and wear MY jersey and I’ll let you come, Shortcake.”

Desperate, you nod frantically at the man who’s still sawing his fingers in and out of your cunt at an agonizing slow pace, “Yes, daddy, anything you say.”

“Good girl,” Frankie purrs as he resumes his previous pace, hefty digits thrusting through the glide of your dripping arousal – your body arches as you’re thrown back onto your bed with the force of Frankie’s conquest. Strong aquiline nose nuzzling your throbbing clit, Frankie chuckles low at your mindless whinnying; he lays a soft, pitying kiss to your crying nub before latching on and sucking.

You explode.

---

When the kids, Santi, Will and Benny come back in for kick-off, you’re just tipping a Wing Pit bucket of wings onto a plate to add to the spread – now wearing a bright red jersey.

“Awww, no fair,” whines Benny, grabbing a plate to load up, “you changed.”

“Sorry, Ben,” you grin with a happy shrug, “Frankie convinced me.” Frankie stands right behind you, arm wrapped possessively around your waist, one large hand splayed wide over the bright Chiefs colours you’re now sporting, the other holding a chicken drumette – his BBQ-stained mouth stretched wide with a shit-eating grin.

Will walks by on his way to the pizza boxes, hand coming up to smack Frankie on the head, “Cripes, Fish – you’re such a messy eater.” You nearly drop the bowl of dip you’re holding as you choke at Will’s words and Frankie’s belly shaking laugh of a response, “Can’t help it, menu’s tasty tonight.”

Thank you for reading! If you like stories where Pbois eat out their ladies while professional sports is being played, perhaps you may enjoy Hat Trick Part 2 (The Playoffs) 🏒🤭

#frankie morales #super bowl fic #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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sunwonkism · 2 days ago

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A love that waited

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Synopsis: After confessing at literally the worst time to Jungwon, you both made a promise to each other that in 3 years, if you still want one another, you will meet up in the same place you first met him.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Pairings: fem!reader x Jungwon

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Genre: right person, wrong time

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ wc: 2.4k

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ Warnings: implied bsfs, angst, fluff, cursing, not proofread much

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ➪ a/n: I rlly wanted to finish this for Jungwon's birthday, but it feels shitty🧍‍♀️this is inspired by this yt short from mr.spicygremlin! https://youtube.com/shorts/FXGZp_CDqj8?si=sWdKLUQUCs1K6Gsu I love her POVs and enjoy watching them!

January 29th, 2023

You were running in the airport, checking your watch every 5 minutes, trying to get to Jungwon’s gate before he got on his plane.

god, why did you only realize your feelings for him just 2 hours before he leaves for Singapore?

You stopped running to take a short break, panting to catch your breath. You checked your watch to see how much time you have left.

10:40am

His boarding closes in 10 minutes.

“Fuck” you muttered.

Where the hell is gate 12?

You saw a security guard patrolling the area and decided to ask him. “Excuse me” you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to look at you before you spoke again. “Could you tell me where gate 12 is? The person at the front desk said it’s around this area, and I’ve been looking for it for the past 30 minutes.”

He simply gestured to the hallway behind you. “Just a 10 minute walk, you’ll be able to see a big sign that says the gate number.”

You thanked the guard before sprinting in the direction he pointed at.

You didn’t even need to look for the gate number, you spotted him almost instantly. He was on his phone, wearing the bright orange hoodie he loved so much.

“Jungwon!” You shouted, running over to him.

He was getting his ticket verified when he realized he recognized the voice calling out to him. He looked up to check, only to see that it was none other than you.

“Y/n?” He asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

You stopped to stand in front of him, panting. “Sorry…could…could you give us just 5 minutes please?” You breathed out to the staff member attending to him.

“Only till the line ends.” She briefly responded, attending to the rest of the passengers while lightly pushing Jungwon so he wouldn't hold the line up. And to give you more time for whatever you needed to say to him.

You pulled Jungwon away from the line, to give you both a tiny bit of privacy.

Jungwon was the first to speak up. “So…why are you here? Don’t you have a date with Niki in like, an hou-“

“I’m in love with you.” You said as soon as you caught your breath.

He looked taken aback, you could tell he wasn’t expecting that. “What?” He asked, with confusion and shock written on his face

“I’m in love with you” you repeated. “I had to tell you before you leave. I felt bad when I just left you there after you confessed to me during our last hangout. A-and when you kissed me…I-“. You took a deep breath before continuing.

“The truth is, I was stunned when you told me that you loved me, and ran away when we kissed because I was afraid. I wanted Niki but I also wanted you. I didn’t mean to avoid you when you came to my house…I was just terrified because I wasn’t even sure what to do. I did some self reflection about it and I only realized this morning that…my love for Niki will never compare to the love I have for you. I had to tell you that while I still had the chance.” You confessed.

It was silent for a few minutes before he spoke. “Promise me something” he softly said.

“Anything” you replied, with hope in your eyes.

He held your hands in his before speaking again. “3 years from now, if you still want me. Meet me at the park where we first met at 12pm. You know, where I chased Maeumi down because he kept following you?”

You softly chuckled at the memory. “Okay, I will.”

You heard someone cough from beside you. You turned to look to see it was the staff member calling both of your attention. “Times up, you need to enter the plane now sir,” she said.

Before you can even say a word, you feel Jungwon pulling you into a tight hug.

“I will never forget you, okay? You will always hold a special place in my heart. So don’t forget about me, please.” he pleaded.

You hugged him back, equally as tight. “I could never forget about you, you’re my best friend”. You pulled away from the hug, opting to hold his hands before continuing. “And the first man I fell in love with” you finished, with a small sad smile on your face.

He was about to say something when the staff member called for his attention once again, signaling that he had to board the plane now.

He squeezed your hands before letting them go, silently hoping it won’t be the last time he’ll do it, before following the worker.

He turned around to make eye contact with you one last time, waving his hand at you. You waved back, watching him disappear into the bridge that leads to the entrance of the plane.

That was the last time you saw him.

3 years later…

You woke up to the sound of your alarm clock blaring loudly. You groaned before turning it off, laying back on your bed, already dreading the day ahead.

You were thinking how you really didn't want to go to work today when you heard your roommate, aka your best friend, scream from the other side of your door.

“Y/n wake up right now!!! Do you know what day it is??” yunjin shouted while continuously knocking on your door.

You sat up on your bed with your brows furrowed, utterly confused about what she's saying.

“Yunjin, what on earth are you talking about? It's a Saturday, and I have work?” you replied back to her while going to open the door so that she'll stop the annoying knocking on your door.

You opened your bedroom door to face yunjin before she spoke again.

“Y/n, you have absolutely no idea what today is? None at all?” She asked again with her hands on her hips.

You shook your head.

Yunjin sighed before pointing to the calendar hanging in your room. “Check the date, now.”

“Okay, geez” you mumbled. You walked over to your calendar to see a big red circle drawn around the number 29th of January, with bold letters reading “meet jungwon at the park at 2pm”.

Oh. My. God.

Today is that day?!?!?

You whipped your head around to look for a clock to see it's currently…10am?!?!?

“Shit, I knew I shouldn't have stayed up watching that tv show” you thought.

“I'm gonna be late” you muttered, before dashing to your wardrobe, picking something good to wear.

But then you remembered, you have work today.

“Noo” you whined.

“What is it?” Yunjin asked. You forgot she was still standing there.

You turned to her with a pout on your face. “I've used up all my leaves this month, if I ask for one more I might get fired.”

“Ahh” yunjin mouthed, before speaking. “Well, I know it's supposed to be MY day off today, but then I remembered your meetup with him today. So being the nice friend I am, l covered for you today. Thank me later”.

You squealed before hugging her tightly. “Oh yun thank you thank you thank you! I definitely owe you on this one.”

“Yeah yeah, don't waste anymore time or else you're going to be late.” She replied before pulling away from your hug.

“I'll be outside if you need anything” she said while walking away, leaving the room to give you privacy to change.

You looked back at your wardrobe and just decided to wear an outfit that never lets you down.

You quickly changed into the clothes and went to your vanity to fix up your appearance. Making sure you look the absolute best.

You took one last look at the mirror, making sure you look amazing before heading out of your room to put your shoes on.

“You're not gonna eat anymore?” Yunjin asked, chewing on a piece of bread as you walked past her.

“No time yun it's…” you trailed off, checking your watch.

“11am?!?, I'm so gonna be late” you said while rushing to put on your shoes.

After making sure you have everything you need, you grabbed your keys before going to the front door.

“Bye yun! I'll be going now!” You said, saying goodbye to yunjin.

“Good luck y/nie! Go get him!” You heard her reply, before closing and locking the front door.

“Thanks so much!” You said to the cab driver, giving him your payment before climbing out of the car.

You checked your watch to see it's 11:50, happy that you arrived at the park just in time. “Not bad” you thought.

As you were walking further into the park, you decided to spend the extra 10 minutes thinking about the current situation you're in.

You haven't really spoken to Jungwon in a long time. You lost contact with him when he started becoming busy because of school. When you tried texting him again, you realized he changed his number.

You're not even sure if he still remembers the promise you two made 3 years ago.

You've been having a lot of doubts about this meetup for a long time now. The only reason why you came is because you knew Jungwon is a person who hates breaking his promises.

But it doesn't mean he'll be like that forever.

What if he forgot? What if he doesn't want you anymore? What if he found someone better in Singapore? All kinds of bad thoughts raced through you as you arrived at the exact spot you first met him.

You checked your watch again. 12pm it reads.

“Right on time” you murmured.

Right now all you could do was wait.

This could go two ways. 1, he shows up and you two get your happy ending. Or 2, he doesn't show up, and you just wasted your time waiting for him.

Or 3, he shows up, solely just to let you know he doesn't want you anymore because he can't text it to you.

But from what's happening right now, you think number 2 is currently happening.

It's been 10 minutes since you started waiting for him. You were currently sitting on a nearby bench because your legs started hurting from standing too long.

You wondered if Jungwon got the place wrong, but you knew he couldn't. Or were you just in denial?

20 minutes passed by and he still hasn't showed up. You felt tears well up in your eyes. He forgot, or found someone long ago and couldn't care to tell you.

Just when you're about to get up and leave, thinking you wasted a whole 2 hours rushing over here and yunjin’s day off. Someone stepped in front of you and spoke.

“Am I late?” The person panted, sounding really out of breath.

You looked up to see who the person was, only to see the same man you've been waiting for 20 minutes (and 3 years) for.

He no longer had the dark brown hair you loved to run your fingers through. Now he had platinum blonde hair, which suited him really well.

You always told him how you thought he'd look good in blonde hair before he left.

“Jungwon” you whispered. “You showed up”. You were in utter disbelief that the man you loved and waited for so long is currently standing right in front of you. You felt like crying.

You hadn't realized a tear fell from your eye until Jungwon wiped it for you.

“Shh” he whispered. “It's okay, I'm here now” he said, before pulling you into a tight hug.

As you hugged him back, you let the dam break. Tears were flowing freely from your eyes. You were full on sobbing against his chest, soaking his shirt.

You two were like that for a few minutes before speaking.

“I..I th-thought you for…forgot” you said in between sniffles.

Jungwon pulled away to wipe your years. “I thought you knew I don't break my promises. Did you already forget?” He asked with a sad, but warm smile.

“I just thought…maybe you found someone else…I haven't spoken to you in months…it's hard not to doubt you know?” You mumbled, but clear enough for Jungwon to understand you.

Jungwon held your hands in his, something he deeply missed doing before speaking again.

“Don't you remember what I promised you pretty? ‘If you still want me. Meet me at the park where we first met’, that's what I said, didn't I?”

“I already decided it's you who I wanted 3 years ago. But I didn't want to start our relationship with long distance. And I wasn't sure if you really loved me or if you just said it out of the blue you know..” he trailed off.

He went back to caressing your cheeks with both of his hands.

“Thank you for choosing me. You have absolutely no idea how much I was stressing over today.” He said with a happy grin on his face.

You laughed before responding. “You have no idea how much I worried over this meet up too.” You said with a soft smile. “I have so many things I want to tell you. You missed out on so much stuff while you were away.”

He took one of your hands in his, swinging it around. He was slightly dragging you, signaling you to come along. “Oh yeah? How about you tell me over lunch? Where do you want to eat?” He asked.

You smiled, walking after him. “Sure, I heard there's a popular restaurant just 2 blocks away from here…”.

Divider: @toastray

#enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x you #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #jungwon x reader #jungwon x y/n

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tsukumomei · 8 hours ago

Note

OKOKOK in my mind in the “puppy love” fic, reader is moving to spain

and then three years later sae comes to spain cause he gets scouted by re al you know the story

and so they meet again ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 (they have cute “dates” if you will, where she shows him around spain and what not 🤭)

now idk if you’re taking requests at the moment, or even want to write a part two for this, but i (and many others i feel like) would LOVE to see this!

no force though, if you do wish to write it take your time, and if you don’t it’s all fine too!

much love, xoxo 💋

a/n: This is actually insane because this is EXACTLY what I had in mind for a bonus part! I was originally going to end it when they saw each other again, but I took your request and wrote about their dates too. Enjoy! Mwah! I wouldn’t consider this a part 2, though—if I ever write one, it’ll still be from Rin’s POV. But I’m open to writing more bonus parts for this fic, so feel free to send me an ask! ^^

—RIGHT WHERE WE LEFT OFF

ft. Sae Itoshi

a bonus chapter for Puppy Love

synposis: Sae moves to Madrid after getting scouted by Real, but he has two problems. One—he hates it. The city feels unfamiliar, foreign, nothing like home. Two—he’s determined to forget about you. But the harder he tries, the more his own mind betrays him—because no matter what he does, everything leads him right back to you. wc: 3.1 k

The shuffling in Sae’s carry-on grows more frantic as he impatiently searches for that notebook from you.

It was the first thing he stuffed into his bag.

Flipping through the worn pages, his eyes finally land on the last one—covered in messy scribbles, but the only thing that stands out is a single line written in red ink at the bottom:

"Wait for me. ❤️ Y/N"

Sae presses his thumb against the words, as if touching them could somehow bring back the past. Could somehow make you feel real again.

He leans back into his seat, staring out at the endless stretch of sky beyond the plane window, but it’s not Madrid he’s thinking about. It’s you.

This morning, back at the house, he’d been kicking a soccer ball around the backyard, the steady thud of leather against concrete filling the quiet air. Rin was there too, watching him with a knowing look before finally speaking up.

"Nii-chan, it was just puppy love."

Maybe it was. Maybe Rin was right.

But if it was just puppy love, why is it still lingering?

Why did he still worry—that if you ever came back, that you’d be mad at him for not being there?

It’s been three years.

The chances of seeing you again were close to impossible.

—

Sae steps into his new apartment in Madrid, rolling his suitcase inside as his manager gestures around the space.

“This is your living room,” his manager begins, flipping on the lights. The apartment is modern, minimalistic—exactly what Sae expected. “Kitchen’s over there. Fridge is stocked for now, but you’ll need to do your own groceries after this week.”

Sae nods, setting his bag neatly by the couch.

“The bedroom’s down the hall,” the manager continues, walking ahead. “Bathroom’s connected. There’s a desk if you need to study or review game footage. Wi-Fi’s already set up.”

Sae peeks into the bedroom—plain, clean, nothing extravagant. Just a bed, a nightstand, and a small window overlooking the street below.

“You’re across the hall?” Sae asks as they return to the main area.

“Yeah,” his manager confirms, crossing. “If you need anything, just knock.”

Sae scoffs lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

His manager gives him a once-over, then exhales. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to settle in.”

With that, the manager steps out, leaving Sae alone.

The moment the door clicks shut, Sae gets to work. He unzips his luggage, methodically putting his clothes away, setting his toiletries in the bathroom, and neatly stacking his training gear by the closet. He takes mental notes of what he needs—more food, basic supplies, maybe an extra pillow.

Once everything is in place, he pulls out his phone and dials home.

His mother picks up almost immediately. “Sae?”

“I just landed and got to the apartment,” he informs her, his voice steady. “Everything’s fine.”

“That’s good,” she says warmly. “Have you eaten?”

“I will soon.”

“Don’t just eat whatever’s fastest. Make sure you’re getting proper meals.”

Sae hums in acknowledgment before adding, “Tell Dad I made it safely. And Rin, too.”

“Of course,” his mother says. There’s a brief pause, then a softer, knowing tone in her voice. “It feels real now, doesn’t it?”

Sae leans against the counter, staring at the empty space around him. His new home. His new life.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

After a few more exchanges, he hangs up, setting his phone aside.

His eyes drift to his carry-on, to the one thing he hadn’t put away yet.

The notebook.

The worn cover, the slightly frayed edges—he traces them with his fingers before flipping it open once again. The pages are filled with your handwriting, messy yet familiar, scrawled with thoughts and doodles from years ago.

It’s ridiculous, really. He hasn’t seen you in three years. He has no idea where you are, if you’re still in the same country, if you even remember him the way he remembers you.

But memories flood in anyway. The afternoons spent at the park, your determined expression when you first crashed his soccer game, the way you always talked too much but somehow, he never minded. The way you scribbled on his arm once with the same red ink you used to write—

"Wait for me. ❤️ y/n"

Sae exhales sharply and shuts the notebook.

Maybe it really was just puppy love.

He stands, grabs his wallet, and heads for the door.

He needs to get out, get familiar with the city. He’s going to live here now, after all.

—

The city is foreign, unfamiliar—Sae hates it.

He was never one for traveling. The only reason he’s here is to play soccer at an international level, but outside of that, it feels suffocating in a way he never expected.

The streets are too loud yet too quiet at the same time. He doesn’t understand the conversations happening around him, the unfamiliar syllables blending into meaningless noise. The people pass by in a blur, all strangers, none of them acknowledging him beyond quick glances.

It’s not like he’s stupid enough to get scammed—he’s careful, always aware of his surroundings. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t belong here. It doesn’t change how frustrating it is to have all this free time and nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

The city is alive, buzzing with movement, but it only makes the loneliness feel sharper.

—

Today marks his second week in Madrid.

Sae realizes just how useless he is when it comes to directions.

The sun is already beginning to set, casting a golden glow over Madrid, and he has no idea where he is.

The street signs might as well be in a foreign language—which, technically, they are. He squints at them, but the unfamiliar words blur together, useless in helping him find his way. And as for Spanish? Well, he knows about as much as a toddler forming his first sentence.

Great.

Of course, it’s at a time like this that he remembers you.

Because you were always the human GPS between the two of you, navigating streets like you had a built-in map inside your head. You always knew the right turns to take, the fastest shortcuts.

And right now? Right now, he is the one most in need of that skill.

Rin thinks Sae is perfect, so he probably doesn’t even know about this little flaw of his.

Sae scoffs to himself, shaking his head. It’s ridiculous that, even now, when he’s supposed to be moving on, he still finds himself thinking about you.

He exhales sharply, pushing the thoughts away.

Enough.

With renewed determination, Sae steps onto the crosswalk, telling himself—again—that it’s time to leave his childhood love in the past.

But by the time he reaches the middle, doubt creeps in—just enough for him to hesitate, just enough for him to misstep.

And just enough for him to accidentally bump into someone walking from the opposite direction.

"Perdón," the girl mutters, barely sparing him a glance—until she does.

She stops short, eyes widening in surprise.

"Oh."

Sae blinks.

"It’s you."

For a moment, the city fades into the background. The people rushing past, the hum of conversation, the faint honking of impatient drivers—it all disappears.

You look different now. Your hair is dyed, a little wavier than before. A stylish bag hangs off your shoulder, outfit effortlessly put together in a way that makes you stand out even in the middle of Madrid.

But to him, you’re still the same stubborn girl who once barged into his soccer game with Rin, the one who never asked for permission—just demanded a pass like you belonged there. The one who never looked at him like everyone else did.

Your eyes are the same. That’s what catches him the most. Time has changed a lot of things, but not that. They still hold the same warmth, the same quiet confidence.

Sae wonders if he looks different to you, too. If you notice the way his shoulders have grown broader, the way the exhaustion lingers under his eyes. If you can tell that beneath all the fame and titles, there’s still a part of him that never stopped waiting for you.

Neither of you speak. Just stood there, caught in something neither of you were prepared for.

Sae exhales, then—without thinking—extends his hand toward you

But before you can take it, a sharp whistle cuts through the air.

"¡Oye! Move it!"

The traffic officer’s whistle cuts through the air, snapping both of you out of your daze.

Startled, you both turn at the same time, realizing the light has already turned green—and you’re still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.

Reality has always had a way of interrupting you two, hasn’t it?

Sae clenches his jaw, frustration flickering across his face. Meanwhile, you weren’t handling it any better—because instead of just walking away like a normal person, you were flipping off the traffic officer and hurling a wooden spoon at him.

Where did you even get that? Sae has no idea. And honestly, he’s not sure he wants to.

But then he feels you grab his arm, yanking him across the street as you break into a run—both of you fleeing from the traffic officer, who Sae can only assume is cursing you out in rapid Spanish.

And just like that, his expression softens.

—

“Whew, that was close,” you say between heavy breaths, still catching your breath from all that running.

Sae glances at you, unimpressed. “Maybe if you didn’t throw a spoon at him, we wouldn’t have to run.”

You roll your eyes, waving him off. “Oh, please. That guy already hates me. This isn’t even the first time, you know.”

Sae raises a brow. “Not surprised.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Hey! Rude.”

He exhales sharply, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “What did you do to piss him off before?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sae gives you a look—unamused but intrigued nonetheless. “I would, actually.”

You grin, pretending to think. “Let’s just say… it involved a churro cart, an old lady, and a very, very unfortunate slip on my part.”

Sae stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”

You flash him a cheeky smile. “And yet, here you are, running away from traffic officers with me.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue. Because, somehow, you’re right—because he’s relieved that he can finally talk to someone other than his manager, and just as relieved to see that you haven’t changed at all.

Isn’t it ironic? The very day he decides to finally let go of your memory, fate throws you right back into his life.

But something nags at him. You haven’t asked about Madrid, about why he’s here. It’s like you’re not surprised at all, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to bump into him on the street.

Sae narrows his eyes slightly before speaking. “Hey, you’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what?” you blink at him, confused. Then, as if remembering something, your face lights up. “Oh! Where are my manners?”

Before he can react, you throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Sae stiffens, caught completely off guard. But before he can say anything, you sigh dramatically against his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I can’t believe you followed me all the way to Spain. Oh, you really do love me.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated. You’re being an idiot again—definitely pushing it.

But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, after a brief hesitation, he exhales and wraps a single arm around you, listening as you ramble on like no time has passed at all.

—

“Maybe I should put a tracker on you.” you tease, walking a step ahead of Sae as you lead him through the narrow streets of Madrid.

He exhales sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.”

You throw him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure. After getting lost for another three hours.”

Sae doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, he follows as you turn into an alleyway, stopping in front of a small, unassuming café tucked between two buildings.

“This place has the best tostada con tomate in the city,” you say, nodding toward the café.

“The old man inside—Rafa—he always yells at me for ordering too much, but then he sneaks me an extra pastry for free.”

As if on cue, the door swings open, and an elderly man steps out. His eyes land on you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “¡Ah, mira quién es! La niña que me arruina el negocio.” (Ah, look who it is! The girl who’s ruining my business.)

You laugh, stepping forward to greet him. “Don’t lie, Rafa. You love me.”

Rafa scoffs but affectionately ruffles your hair before turning to Sae, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “¿Y este quién es?” (And who’s this?)

“My amigo,” you reply smoothly, though there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. “He just moved here, so I’m showing him around.”

Rafa studies Sae for a moment before nodding in approval. “Bien. Come inside. I’ll make sure he eats something decent.”

Sae barely has time to protest before you’re dragging him through the door, the scent of warm spices and grilled meat immediately filling the air. The restaurant is small, a little tucked away from the busier streets, but it’s lively, filled with laughter and the soft hum of conversation.

When the food arrives, you dig in without hesitation, taking a bite and immediately letting out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my god,” you moan, clutching your chest like you’ve just ascended to heaven. “This is it. This is what happiness tastes like.”

Sae raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You sound ridiculous.”

“You sound jealous,” you retort, shoveling another bite into your mouth. “You haven’t even touched your food.”

Sae watches you for a moment. The way you eat so shamelessly, without a care for how you look, is something he vaguely remembers from when you were kids. Some things never change.

“I’m just letting you be the poison tester,” he mutters, finally picking up his fork.

You roll your eyes. “Please. If Rafa wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it years ago.”

Rafa, passing by, snorts. “She’s not wrong.”

Sae sighs, finally taking a bite. He won’t admit it, but it’s good. Really good.

Just as you’re finishing your plate, you glance at your phone and stand abruptly. “Be right back. Don’t go running off without me.”

Sae only scoffs in response, watching as you disappear towards the bathroom. The moment you’re gone, Rafa leans against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to Sae with a knowing smirk.

“She talked about you before, you know,” Rafa says casually.

Sae tenses slightly. “Did she?”

Rafa nods, chuckling. “Not by name. Just 'some guy I used to know who’s hopeless with anything besides soccer and even worse with emotions.'”

Sae huffs. “Sounds like something she'd say.”

Rafa shrugs. “Well, if you’re sticking around, you better get used to her dragging you everywhere. She’s got a habit of making lost people feel at home.”

Sae doesn’t respond, just looks at him, expression unreadable. Rafa only chuckles, shaking his head as he wipes down the counter.

A moment later, you return, eyes narrowing the second you spot them. “What’s this?” you ask suspiciously, sliding back into your seat. “What were you two talking about?”

Rafa smirks, tilting his head towards Sae. “Oh, nothing much. Just sharing stories.”

You gasp dramatically, pointing a finger at Sae. “You weren’t talking bad about me, were you?”

Sae finally speaks, deadpan. “Wouldn’t need to. You embarrass yourself enough.”

You scoff, reaching over to steal a piece of food from his plate. “Unbelievable. I leave for one second, and you two become best friends conspiring against me.”

Rafa laughs. “Don’t worry, querida. He’s not that easy to befriend.”

You nod sagely. “That’s true. I had to force him to like me.”

Sae rolls his eyes. That was true for most people, but definitely not for you.

He liked you from the get-go, like there was a gravitational pull towards you that he just couldn't escape from.

The day continues like that.

You don’t take him to the usual tourist spots—the grand plazas or famous museums. Instead, you show him the Madrid you love.

A tucked-away bookstore where the owner lets you sit and read for hours without buying anything. A tiny family-run tapas bar where the food is cheap but incredible, and the owners greet you like family. A rooftop spot where you swear the sunset looks better than anywhere else in the city.

Everywhere you go, you introduce him like he belongs there.

By the time the sky turns golden, Sae realizes something.

This isn’t just a city to you. It’s a home.

And for the first time since moving here, Madrid doesn’t feel so unfamiliar to him anymore.

Maybe it’s because he’s finally seeing it through your eyes.

And maybe that so-called puppy love Rin kept telling him about is beginning to grow into something more.

a/n: "Puppy Love" is the one and only beloved Sae Itoshi fanfic franchise that will remain untouched by despair. I wholeheartedly believe that at some point during his four years in Spain, Sae had his dreams crushed and utterly heartbroken. But in this au? nah. no angst, no career-crushing disappointments, Just endless, tooth-rotting fluff and relationship bliss. The kind of soft, sweet moments Sae would never admit he enjoys. Because for once, he deserves to have something go perfectly right.

#(っ´ཀ`)っcienefics #blue lock sae #bluelock #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi fluff #itoshi sae x y/n #sae bllk #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae x reader #blue lock itoshi sae #itoshi sae x you #sae x you #blue lock

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emotionalhottiee · 2 days ago

Text

Our First Valentines Day

February 13th

As i sat in my living room putting the final touches on the gift basket i put together for Jey. I wanted to do something special for our first valentines together. So i bought him all of his favorite things. Plenty of Waffle House gift cards, some new air force ones, 49er gear and other little trinkets. Now i was just sitting here struggling trying to wrap the plastic around the basket, so i could put the blue bow on top. I went with blue to replicate his signature YEET colors.

After a while of fumbling around, i finally got the plastic around the basket. I added a blue bow for the finishing touch. I hope he likes it, i wanted to show him how much he means to me.

Valentines Day

I was so nervous for today. Jey told me he had something special set up for us. I just want today to be amazing, i wanna make sure Jey knows how much i appreciate him.

I put the final touches on my makeup, and made sure my hair was perfect while waiting for Jey to get here. So we could go out to dinner. The first part of our Valentine’s Day.

A few moments later i heard the door turning, it was Jey using the spare key to my apartment that i had given him. We embraced in a hug with an exchange of kisses. After we finished our canoodling session, I had Jey cover his eyes & wait. So that i could get his gift basket and put it in the trunk of his car, since Jey wanted us to end tonight at his house. He said it was apart of the surprise.

We made it to the restaurant, where he rented out the place so it was literally just the two of us aside from the restaurant staff. It was so beautiful.

We were enjoying our date when Jey spotted the empty piano. He took a seat and began playing “All My Life” by K-Ci & Jojo. I sat in a chair right behind him admiring him. He is literally so talented. I watched in adoration, taken aback by how perfect this man was. My Man. After he finished playing he turned to look at me, i was just grinning from ear to ear. While wiping away the tears that had fallen. Amazed by the man sitting in front of me. My heart was full.

We finished the rest of our dinner, laughing and sharing stares of admiration for one other. As we finished our dinner we, made our way out of the restaurant to Jey’s house. The ride went by so fast, due to us loudly singing our favorites love songs. One of us a bit more off key then the other, but we listen and we don’t judge.

Before i knew it we were back and Jey’s house.

Jey walked over to my side to open the door for me. As soon as i stepped out of the car i instructed him, to go inside and close his eyes. While i got his surprise out of the car he left the door open, standing next to it, with one hand over his eyes. Making sure i made it inside safely. Even without looking, he was protecting me, just another reason why i loved this man.

Once inside he locked his car & the front door. He grabbed my hand leading me further into the house and my jaw dropped when i saw the decorations he had set up for me.

My heart was racing and my eyes filled up with tears as i stood in awe. Seeing the effort Jey put into this, made me love him even more. If that was even possible. I thanked him for the beautiful decorations, and then he bought out the rest of my gifts. And all the gifts were so thoughtful. I finally gave him the gift basket and he was so excited. I was happy that he genuinely loved his gifts.

We held each other exchanging more “I Love You’s” and passionate kisses. This was an amazing first Valentine’s Day together.

I can’t wait to have more with him.

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #main event jey uso #jey uso romance #valentines day #fluff #jey uso fluff #wwe #wwe fanfiction #fanfic

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lostsyren · 2 days ago

Note

I have a request where rafe gets into a fight because someone said something about sofia, and later in the bathroom sofia is cleaning the cuts on his hands. (Btw I LOVE ur writing 💗💗)

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 watcher

{summary: after hooking up a couple times, rafe and sofia are no contact, but neither one is happy with the arrangement…}

{a/n: ok so i decided to do something a little different– it still fits what you wanted but i kinda went a different direction. essentially it’s them after 3x09! and thank you for ur kind words lovely, sorry this took so long}

{warnings: graphic violence, mentions of sex, stalking?}

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

After staying over at Tannyhill a couple times, Sofia and Rafe didn’t talk again. She tried to shy away from the pang of hurt that it caused– when he left her on read, when he waited until she was on the other side of the bar to order his drink, when he stopped looking her way with a smile and kind eyes. What made it worse was the fact she had to see him…everyday single day.

Sofia mentally made a note never to sleep with a customer ever again. The prickling shame that coated her skin, the sticky regret that settled in the lot of her stomach– it was all too much. The prospect that Rafe used her, as simply just a warm body he could fuck, a temporary distraction– it made her sick. She knew it was silly of her; they barely knew each other after all. But he was so surprisingly sweet to her. And now it’s like he’d flipped a switch, doused in a sudden and biting apathy.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to her– she knew that, she wasn’t dumb. He was a kook at the end of the day and she was the club bartender (no matter how much she hated that fact, it still remained true). But she liked him. God– she liked him a lot. She thought he was different.

Sofia shook her head vehemently. Stop thinking about him when he doesn’t even give you the time of day.

The Kildare night was dark and balmy, the late-summer humidity stifling. The moon was out tonight, shining like a pearlescent marble on a bed of black tar.

Sofia’s shift had ended, so she was packing up her things. A couple stragglers were left dotted around the outdoor bar and restaurant. One of them was Rafe. He always lingered at the bar, nursing a fleet of never ending drinks. Initially Sofia was worried. She’d seen this before in her father, a drink always in hand, his eyes slung low in a drunker stupor. But eventually she reflected the same frigid apathy back on to Rafe. He wasn’t her problem to worry about.

But it was hard to deny instinct. Sofia had been infatuated with Rafe for a while now, even before he’d noticed her presence. It was like her eyes were magnets and he was metal. So before she left, her gaze brushed over his figure, taking in the broad shoulders, the faint lines of veins skeining down his tanned arms, before trailing up to his face. And that’s when she realised he was already staring straight at her. Fuck.

He looked distraught, but like he was trying to hide it. The lines of his face were deep and the strain of his jaw was tight, blue eyes red rimmed. She quickly looked away, gripping the strap of her purse tighter and scampering out towards the exit.

Sofia got on the bus. Her car was in the repair shop (for the third time this year). So she had to walk half-way home since the bus routes in the cut were all situated a good distance from her house. Her work shoes clicked against the uneven asphalt, her pace brisk and nimble. She didn’t think anything of the footsteps behind her at first, but when she realised how close they were, as if shadowing her movements, Sofia’s heart sank.

She’d heard stories of muggings around and about these streets. So her footsteps quickened, her heart rate a sputtering mess.

Fragments of prayers escaped her lips. Prayers for protection, for refuge and everything in between. But the shadow that stretched like pitch across the pavement just seemed to elongate the closer it got to her.

Sofia swallowed a shuddering breath and chanced a look behind her. She hated that she was right– a group of maybe three or four men were tailing her.

She wanted to run but they were tall– they’d easily outperform her. Sofia reached into her purse slipping out her phone, the white glare form the screen opening on to her contacts. But before she could even call anyone, the looming presence behind her suddenly jolted forward, Sofia jerking up in surprise.

A hand yanked her phone away from her, the device smashing on the concrete. Sofia gasped, the sound shaky and convulsing as she felt two hands grip her wrists.

“Who you tryna call huh?” One guy goaded, as the other three encircled Sofia.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The panic that fringed her nervous system completely inundated her– blood rushing, heart pounding, skin sweating.

“Please, just take whatever you want and let me go,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and watering.

The man let go of one of her wrists, gripping the pliable flesh of her cheeks, squishing them together with sharp nails.

“How about we just take you then?” His words were low and pointed, like a knife being pressed against her jugular. Chitters of laughter emanated from the other guys walling her in. Fear gave way to anger as Sofia spat at him then used her leg to swing a knee in his groin. He grunted in pain, allowing for Sofia to slip from his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” He growled, yanking her back by the hair before she could sprint away. Sofia hissed in pain, her scalp burning from his relentless grip.

She thought she was done for, denigrated to putty in these men’s hands. But suddenly, out of the encroaching darkness of the streetlight, came a figure who threw a punch directly square in her assailant’s face.

Sofia flew back on to the pavement, scraping her knee on the concrete. Grabbing her phone, she scrambled backwards to witness the scene before her. Her vision was slightly blurred so it took her a second to piece together what was happening.

In amidst the guttural yells and sickening sound of fists hitting flesh, Sofia saw Rafe mercilessly grapple with her attackers.

Her brain was so frazzled she didn’t even consider the oddity of his presence in this situation– all she felt was a sudden rush of relief and an overwhelming gratefulness that she didn’t have to find out what these men were planning to do with her.

But worry quickly eclipsed her repose.

They were decimating him.

“Help!” Sofia yelled, her voice cracking and shrill.

One of the men had Rafe in a headlock, his beefy arm clasped around his windpipe. Sofia scrambled on to her feet and grabbed her keys from her purse. With a quiet stealth, she snuck up behind the towering guy before lodging the key in between his shoulder blades. The man shrieked out a string of curse words, dropping Rafe and swinging round to strike her instead. Sofia cowered from his touch, but Rafe didn’t let the guy’s wrath reach her.

“You fucking touch her again and I’ll kill you,” he growled, Sofia’s heart lurching at the sight of his black beady eyes and bloody lip. He looked feral.

Rafe’s swinging punches began to look rhythmic as he hit his knuckles repeatedly against the guys jaw. Sofia’s stomach roiled in sickness at hearing the crunch of bone. The repetitive thwack of skin hitting skin.

Before Rafe could knock the guy in unconscious, the wail of police cars sliced through the violence, distant glows of red and blue dancing around the darkness.

“Fuck let’s bounce,” said one hooded man before all four of them dispersed, leaving Rafe breathless and bloody, barely able to stand.

Sofia rushed towards him, quickly hoisting his swaying body on top of hers.

“Come on, my house is a couple minutes away.”

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just nodded, letting Sofia lead the way.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Rafe sat on the toilet of Sofia’s bathroom, waiting as she rifled through the cabinet for some cotton wool.

Neither said anything, the tension in the small space feeling like thick fog that clogged their throats.

“You’re different…I like that. You’ll do the right thing– I’m sure you will.”

Those were the last words Sofia had said to him– the last time they’d spoken. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk with her. He did. Desperately. But for once Rafe Cameron decided to do the decent thing, the right thing, as Sofia put it, and leave her out of his bloodsoaked life. Because that’s what happened whenever he cared about someone. They got hurt. Like his father leaving on a plane all bloody and maimed, cut by the blade of his son’s betrayal. The reminder of Ward sent a ripple of regret through him.

It has been hard to leave Sofia behind fully. She was addictive. Sweet like candy and soft like silk. He missed the air of her laughter– that easy, wispy sound which draped over him. He missed the warmth of her body– her small frame slotting against his larger one in the massive bed. Though she’d been in his life for an embarrassingly short amount of time, her absence left a hefty lacuna in the sepulchral hallways of Tannyhill. She became just another person who was no longer there.

And Rafe hated it.

So he resigned himself to stolen glances whilst she was working, watching as she danced freely at parties that she didn’t know he was attending, also following her home from work to make sure she got home ok.

And it’s a good thing he did– when he saw those men grope and paw at her, sullying her with their filthy hands, rage burst through his capillaries.

He could see the result of his violent outburst now in the dull yellow glow of the bathroom lights, his knuckles split and hemic, rivulets of blood flowing through the grooves of his skin.

Sofia ran the cotton wool under the hot water of the tap, gently lifting his hands up so she could clean the blood.

Her eyes fixated on the task at hand, as Rafe revelled in the gentleness of her touch. He usually had to patch himself up after fights, struggling alone behind a closed bathroom door, whimpering as he licked his cuts clean like a bad dog.

As she worked to clean him him, Rafe’s eyes dipped downward and saw the graze on her knee, a sizeable red scrape against her golden skin.

With his free hand, his fingers instinctively brushed against it, causing Sofia to jump up in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, retracting his hand away. Sofia just shook her head gently as if to say ‘it’s ok’.

She was close enough so that he could smell her strawberry shampoo– remembering the sensations of her tresses tickling his chest as his face nuzzled up against the crook of her neck. He honed in on the way her fingers skimmed his hands with the cotton wool– mirroring the touch of her fingertips gripping on to his shoulders as he pressed into her warmth. Rafe stirred with a heady desire from this inundation of memories that made him lightheaded, suddenly standing up in the tiny bathroom.

“Is everything ok?” Sofia asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

He nodded quickly.

“Let me clean you up too.” His hands floated over the curve of her hip, directing her to the bathroom counter, lifting her slightly to place her on the flat surface. Sofia let out a little gasp as he suspended her in the air, her eye contact unwavering.

The image of fucking her in her own bathroom passed through his mind, her soft body pressed up against the basin, the mirror fogged up from their combined breaths. Rafe shook away his thoughts but it was hard to do when she was so damn close. Rafe wetted some cotton wool, hooking his hand under the meat of her thigh, before cleaning the cut gently. He tried to control the tremors of his fingers, but it was near impossible.

Sofia’s soft breath fanned his nape, hitting his sensitive skin as he looked down at her leg. He shuddered slightly imagining her lips hitting that spot, her tongue supping away at his neck. The memory of her kisses hit him like a truck, the skilled manoeuvring of her mouth, leaving him trailing after her with inexperience.

Fuck he missed her.

Rafe plastered her knee up, rubbing his thumb up and down the plush of her thigh, before regrettably letting go.

Sofia starred up at him with her big, hazel eyes– they were almost imploring. But imploring him for what he didn’t know.

Their faces were inches a part. Rafe could see her scattering of freckles, each individual eyelash.

As if by instinct, his face hovered closer, the slope of his nose brushing against her cheek. Sofia’s breath hitched, the swell of her breast rising and falling with each uneven pant. Her lips opened, pink and wet and shiny. They looked so inviting. He could slip his tongue so easily between her mouth right now. She was right there.

Rafe could see her hands gripping the counter edge, her knuckles contrastingly white to his reddened ones.

“I should go,” Rafe murmured, eyes flickering over her face. Sofia did the same, her gaze alternating between his lips and eyes.

Sofia’s hands reached over to hold his, wrapping her fingers around his raw skin, “thank you Rafe.”

“No problem.” His voice was a raspy husk.

Rafe moved away from her and his heart clenched at the sudden distance. He left her sitting alone on her bathroom counter, her hair tousled around her pretty face and legs pressed deliciously together.

But despite how badly he wanted to destroy the space between them, pressing her up against the tiles, hooking her leg around the curve of his waist, Rafe still turned and faced the door.

“Wait.” Her voice was small and soft and hopeful.

He stood still, turning to face her slowly.

She jumped down from the countertop. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

Rafe’s heart faltered. Say yes, you idiot.

But he couldn’t do this. The past couple weeks watching Sofia, inhaling her like she was his new drug, he learnt just how different the two of them were. She criss-crossed around Kildare like a saint– dropping her siblings off to school in that scrap metal car of hers, volunteering at her local church, slaving away at her job and plastering a smile on for asshole customers. Even at the parties, she never was selfish or hedonistic. She minded her friends with care, she oftentimes was the designated driver and she smiled at everyone no matter kook or pogue.

Sofia was kind. Sofia was good.

Who was he to use her for his own personal gain? Even now, when he was lauding her saintliness, he couldn’t help but envision her at his mercy, inside of her, her name on his lips, his hands in her hair.

“It’s ok Sofia, I need to be heading home anyway.” He mumbled stupidly, palming the back of his neck.

Her face flashed with hurt– eyebrows stitching together, lips frowning in a pout. But she quickly recomposed herself.

“Ok.”

Rafe turned to leave, opening the bathroom door.

“What were you even doing here in The Cut?” Sofia suddenly asked.

Rafe froze. Fuck. He turned to face her slowly.

“Meeting a friend.”

“Oh,” Sofia intoned, “a friend? I thought you wouldn’t have any pogue friends.”

Rafe smiled, amused at her pointedness. “Then what are you then?”

“I don’t know…what am I?” Her tone took on a meanness that was uncharacteristic.

Rafe swallowed thickly, embarrassment tinging his cheeks, “Sofia–“

“You ghost all your friends? Or just all your fuck buddies?”

“Sof–“

“A text would’ve been nice. You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could come up with. One measly apology.

Sofia sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I’m sorry too– you don’t owe me anything. I– I just thought that you…I just thought that we…” she trailed off, a meekness settling over her body.

“You just thought that we– what?” Rafe probed, stepping closer. He wanted her to say more. Wanted her to give him a reason to stay.

“Nothing, nothing. You can go, it’s fine.”

“Sofia–“

“Please leave Rafe.”

His shoulders sagged with that all too familiar weight. And with a brief nod of the head, he left her there, finding his way back to his car parked a couple blocks down, the one he used to follow her down the street in, watching her with an obsessiveness he didn’t know what to do with, monomania seeping uncontrollably from his pores.

Rafe was about to drive the car back home, when he circled back, parking outside the house he was just in. Turning the engine off, the headlights flashed away into nothingness, leaving the car undetected from the street.

His eyes crawled up to Sofia’s bedroom window. She never closed the blinds. She was so naïve. So trusting. He was doing the right thing leaving her out of his instability, his fractured, messed up self. He’d hurt her like everyone else. And he didn’t want that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch.

Watch her slip out of her work clothes, imagining it was her was undressing her. Watch her examine the band-aid he put on her knee, recalling how her supple legs felt under his fingertips.

Watch her unhook her bra, slipping into her pyjamas then into bed, savouring the memory of how it felt to fuck her.

Rafe drove away quickly, shunning away the perverted thoughts that whirled around his mind.

He wondered if Sofia still thought that about him. She said he’d do the right thing– but Rafe didn’t know what the fuck that meant. He told himself he’d stop it. Cut all contact from her. Even the obsessive surveillance.

But the next morning, he made sure to arrive early at the country club, so he could watch her at the bar, like always.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

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