#so i want her to have something that can pack a punch

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

��You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[mercvry-glow]

a girls guide to shopping

parings. michael robinavitch x bratty!reader

summary. a shopping trip goes sideways after a teenager clocks your shit at a panty sale. thankfully your hot doctor boyfriend knows what's best.

warnings. age gap (robby early 50s, reader late 20s early 30s), reader gets punched, and passes out, hospital setting, robby is a little stressed and sassy but so is reader, pretty light overall, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I love them your honor! sorry for not posting for a few days while i figured out these stories/dynamics. always feel free to request dynamics like these, I love them more than anything else! as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 1900+

Coming into the ER while you were supposed to be shopping was a total fucking downer. Once, the mall had been a magical place—a glittery,  pretzel scented wonderland where you could lose hours drifting between candle shops and designer racks, sipping iced lattes and swatching lip gloss on the back of your hand like a civilized woman.

Now? Now it was the place where you got decked in the face by some teenage gremlin in low-rise jeans over a pair of lace panties.

And because you were a grown adult, you couldn’t even swing back.

Tragic.

You didn't even remember hitting the floor. Just the sharp, burning pop in your nose, the stars behind your eyes, and then—darkness. The paramedics told you you were out cold for maybe ninety seconds, but it was long enough to wake up under fluorescent lights, head pounding and crop top slightly askew.

“We got a female, LOC for approx one minute,” one of the EMTs was saying now as they wheeled your stretcher through the ER. “Vitals stable, GCS fifteen, alert and oriented, just... uh... kinda pissed.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” you muttered, clutching the melting bag of ice someone had tossed at your face like it could fix your whole life.

“Can you tell us your name again?” asked the other paramedic—young, blonde, and way too chipper for your taste.

“Yeah. It’s ‘I want a lawyer.’”

He snorted. “Okay, feisty’s good. You remember what happened?”

��I got my shit rocked by a seventeen-year-old with acrylics and rage issues over a five-dollar thong. And I swear to God, if I have to get my nose redone, someone’s getting sued. Possibly everyone!”

The paramedic just chuckled again and turned to the nurse approaching the stretcher. “We got a real diva on our hands.”

“Do not diminish me,” you snapped, even as you adjusted your messy bun and adjusted your once cute, now bloodied, jacket. “I am a victim of retail violence.”

The nurse—a tan-skinned, shorter woman with dark hair, and a clearly unbothered attitude—just gave you a once-over. “Put her in Bay 3. Maybe Dr. Robby can talk her down.”

You blinked. “Wait. Did you just say Robby?”

The paramedic raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

Oh, you knew him.

You dated him.

Michael Robinovitch: broody, brilliant, perpetually annoyed trauma doc. Your boyfriend. Also, the last person on earth you wanted to see you laid out in a hospital bed with smeared lip gloss and a possible concussion.

You shot upright slightly—then immediately winced and laid back down.

“Please don’t tell him it’s me,” you whispered like it was a state secret. “Lie. Say I died. Switch my name with someone else’s. Say I’m contagious.”

The nurse smirked. “Yeah, he’s gonna love this.”

That was the moment you knew you were screwed.

The curtains around North-3 weren't soundproof, but you were trying to pretend they werer. You laid there with an ice pack balanced across your nose and a mild headache blooming behind your eyes. The ER smelled like bleach and overworked nurses, and you were pretty sure one of your press-on nails had popped off in the ambulance.

The nurse—Princess, according to her badge—was updating something on the computer, tapping the keys like she’d done this a thousand times. She had a chill vibe, low braid, cute scrubs. Honestly, you respected her.

“So, just to confirm,” she said without looking up, “you fainted in Victoria’s Secret?”

You sighed. “Technically, I passed out next to a panty display. Slightly more dignified.”

Princess grinned. “Right.”

“I had a head injury,” you added defensively. “And that girl came flying at me like I personally wronged her.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t get trampled.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you said, deadpan. “I didn’t get to buy my stuff either.”

Princess chuckled. “I’ll put that in your chart.”

You slumped back onto the gurney, closing your eyes. This was officially the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you. Which was saying something, considering you once accidentally sexted your building manager.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled your attention to the hallway.

“Where is she?” came a familiar voice. Calm, but rushed. Less annoyed than… worried.

Your stomach dipped.

Princess didn’t even glance over. “There it is.”

You opened your eyes, sitting up slowly. “He’s here?”

“Yup.”

“Do you know if he’s like—mad?”

Princess finally looked up at you. “He looked… like he needed to know you were okay.”

You bit your lip. “Ugh. That’s worse.”

The curtain pulled open gently—no dramatic whip, no scolding.

There he was.

Dr. Michael Robby Robinovitch. Brown hair slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it on the way down, stethoscope hanging around his neck, scrubs just a little rumpled. His eyes landed on you immediately, softening the second he saw your face.

“You fainted over a pair of underwear?”

Your smile dropped. “Excuse me, I was attacked over a pair of underwear.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he didn’t laugh. He stepped inside quietly, pulling the curtain mostly shut behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.

“I mean, my face hurts and my dignity’s practically, but otherwise? Sure.”

He moved closer, reaching out carefully to lift the ice pack away. “Let me see.”

You let him, even though the swelling around your nose made you feel anything but cute. He studied you for a second, then met your eyes.

“Doesn’t look broken. We’ll scan just to be safe.”

You tried to joke. “If I need a nose job, I’m getting a cute one.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand gently on your knee.

“I got paged when they brought you in,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know it was you until I heard the report and someone described you as all ‘crop top’ and ‘attitude.’”

You laughed, even though your head throbbed a little when you did. “Hell yeah.”

“I was worried,” he admitted, thumb brushing lightly over your knee. “You don’t just faint. That’s not you.”

“I didn’t mean to be dramatic,” you said softly. “I just… kind of blinked and hit the floor.”

“You don’t have to explain. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

You exhaled, letting yourself relax for the first time since the mall.

He looked at you again, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

You smirked. “You really can’t, look what I get up too.” 

Robby didn’t move right away. His hand rested on your knee, thumb tracing quiet, reassuring circles through the thin hospital blanket. You shifted slightly, trying not to wince at the dull ache spreading from the bridge of your nose up into your forehead.

“Do I look terrible?” you asked, your voice lower now.

He glanced up from your chart, his soft brown eyes sweeping across your face—not with judgment, but with quiet focus. “You look like someone who took a hit and handled it.”

“So... still cute?” you teased lightly.

Michael’s lips curved, just barely. “Always.”

You smiled, then sighed. “This might be the most embarrassing day of my life.”

“Worse than the time you locked yourself out of the house in your underwear?”

“Low blow Mikey, low blow… and that was different. That was private shame. This is public, in my baby tee, with paramedics and nosy mall goers.”

He hummed softly, stepping back just as Princess peeked back in through the curtain, a clipboard in hand.

“Radiology’s ready,” she said with a kind smile. “You want a wheelchair or are you feeling steady?”

You started to sit up. “I’m fine. I can walk.”

Michael gave you a look—calm but pointed. “Let me help you.”

“I can do it.”

“I know,” he said, already offering a hand. “But let me anyway.”

You hesitated, then reached for him. His hand was warm and steady, and the way he hovered—not overbearing, just present—made you feel safe, even if your pride was still limping along behind you.

The walk down the hallway was quiet. The CT tech moved efficiently, guiding you through the scan with minimal small talk, and before you knew it, you were back in your bay, settling onto the stretcher again with a little more care than before.

Robby was waiting, flipping through a printout from radiology.

“Well?” you asked.

He glanced at you. “No fracture. No concussion. You’re just bruised, a little rattled too, but otherwise okay.”

You exhaled. “Good.”

He softened as he looked at you again, that quiet relief flickering behind his usual calm. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Yet another nurse returned just then, handing over a water bottle and a stack of discharge instructions. “You’re free to go. Ice for the swelling, rest tonight, and take it easy for a couple days.”

Michael took the papers from your hands before you could even skim them. “I’ll go over these with her.”

You gave him a look but didn’t argue. It was kind of nice, having him take over. Quietly protective. Familiar.

They gave you a small smile. “Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

You nodded. “No more shopping trips. Lesson learned.”

Michael helped you off the bed with a gentleness that didn’t surprise you. As you reached for your bag, you felt his hand at the small of your back, guiding you without a word toward the exit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, glancing up at him as the first doors opened.

He looked down at you, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. “Always.”

As the next set automatic doors hissed, the cool mid-day air brushed against your skin. The hospital parking lot glowed in the flickering daylight, and for the first time all day, things felt quiet. Still.

Michael walked beside you, not rushing, just staying close. You didn’t say much—didn’t really need to.

At your rideshare pickup spot, since you clearly hadn’t taken your car here. You stopped and turned toward him. He still had the discharge paperwork tucked under one arm, the other hand resting casually on the small of your back.

“You sure you’re okay to go?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. A little sore. A lot tired. But I’ll be fine, hopefully.”

His eyes searched yours for a moment, not quite convinced.

“You passed out,” he said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

“I know.”

“If anything feels off tonight—headache that gets worse, nausea, anything weird—call me.”

You nodded again, a little slower this time. “I will.”

He studied you for another beat, then stepped forward, brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. His hand lingered there, warm against your skin.

“I mean it,” he said. “Even if it’s just a gut feeling. Call me.”

You smiled softly. “Okay.”

Then, without any rush, he leaned in and kissed you—just a quick, careful kiss to your forehead, right above the bruise forming at your hairline. Tender and light. Like punctuation at the end of a sentence that didn’t need words.

“Rest,” he murmured. “I’ll check in later.”

You watched him for a second before stepping back toward the car that had just pulled up.

And even though your face still ached and your head felt like cotton, you suddenly felt a little better than you had all day.

mercvry-glow 2025

[rafesangelita]

hi victoria!!! i love ur pogue!sweetheart!reader and i was wondering if u could do a lil hurt/comfort thing where one of rafes friends tells reader she talks too much/is too loud and she gets super upset? i’m a super big crybaby and i talk a LOT and i’d love to see how you write how rafey defends n comforts her :,)

warnings: protective!rafe, topper and kelce are pretty mean in this one >:(, rafe defends you <3, sight angst, fluff, rafe being the king of reassurance

a/n: i have personal beef with anyone who tells ppl to quiet down when they’re excited for something, or just naturally outgoing. also idk how to play poker so excuse the way i explained it if it’s incorrect lol

before you, friday nights were always reserved for rafe and his friends, the group of them either going out for a beer or staying in and betting money on card games. but now? rafe spent his friday nights buried inside of you, both of you laughing and kissing each other in the dark until one of you fell asleep first. and rafe wouldn’t have it any other way. his friends however, weren’t very fond of your boyfriend choosing you over them.

which would explain their impromptu visit while you two were mid-makeout session. “so this is why she has you locked away, huh?” you jumped, rafe covering you with a throw blanket as he slipped his shirt on. “what the fuck, guys?!” rafe glared at kelce and topper, your skin hot with embarrassment. “you left the door unlocked, playboy.” topper pushed a twelve pack of beers into rafe’s chest, the pair of friends walking to the kitchen.

“are you okay, baby?” rafe leaned down, wanting nothing more than to sucker punch his idiot friends for making you feel mortified. “i’m in my bra and panties!” you whispered, scrambling up from the couch and running up the stairs to rafe’s bedroom. rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath before meeting topper and kelce in the kitchen. “y’all should’ve called me or something.” his tone was harsh, kelce holding his hands up defensively.

“she has you so pussy whipped bro, would you have even answered?” no, the answer was no. “it doesn’t matter, you two shouldn’t have walked in like that.” topper scoffed, popping open a can of beer. “chill, man, we just came to see our boy,” kelce slapped rafe’s shoulder, “and beat your ass at poker.” he added. rafe laughed, muttering a ‘not a chance.’ before going upstairs to check on you. “y/n?” you were fixing your disheveled hair, your lips still swollen from your previous activities.

“hey..” you turned, rafe pulling you in for a hug. “why don’t you come downstairs? be my lucky charm for the game we’re gonna play.” you shook your head, recalling topper’s words from earlier; ‘so this is why she has you locked away, huh?’ locked away? really? “i better not, you should go have your ‘bro’ time, i know it’s been awhile..” you smiled, hoping he didn’t catch the way your gaze faltered. he did. “i want you with me.” he pecked the tip of your nose, your eyes shutting momentarily.

“what if they don’t, though?” rafe was already dressing you, waving off your words. “well then they can leave.” he shrugged. you sighed, letting him walk you downstairs where topper and kelce had the game set up on the table. “the girl scout is joining us?” you didn’t miss the way topper exchanged looks with the boy on his right. “yes, she is. is there a problem?” kelce mumbled a ‘no.’, followed by an awkward clearing of his throat.

rafe pulled you onto his lap, the guys starting the game as you rested your head against his chest. you didn’t know a thing about poker, your lips quirking every time your boyfriend shouted excitedly. “there’s no way!” topper slammed his losing cards on the table, “i have nothing!” kelce was getting frustrated, the chances of him winning decreasing with each turn. “if i flip this card and it’s right, i take all of this.” the guys had already put in well over four hundred dollars, the tension in the room incredibly thick.

“with this money we’ll get you that mixer you been wanting, how does that sound?” you nodded, both you and rafe leaning forward in anticipation. as soon as rafe turned his last card over, you screamed, jumping up as topper and kelce heads fell down in defeat. it was the first time you had even opened your mouth tonight, and kelce wasted no time in shutting you down. “calm down, do you really have to be so loud?” your smile dropped, along with rafe’s. “forreal.” topper glared at you before pushing the money in your direction.

“what’s up y’all’s asses? she’s just cheering,” rafe pulled you to his side, “just a reminder that you two came here on your own accord and interrupted us, not the other way around.” in that moment you felt like a little girl again, always having someone to tell you to quiet down and suppress your excitement. you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes, their judgmental looks making you want to disappear. prior to you and rafe being together, topper and kelce had always been nice to you, but all of that seemed to go out the door when your boyfriend stopped participating in their little get togethers.

“we hardly see you anymore, bro, we just don’t understand why she can’t lay off sometimes.” topper looked over at you, his jaw ticking as rafe laughed bitterly. you couldn’t believe your ears. if only they knew how much you encouraged rafe to hang out with them. “has it ever occurred to you that maybe i rather spend my time with my girlfriend than hanging out with you two? get the fuck out of my house.” topper and kelce looked like they were at a loss for words, both of them apologizing to you under their breath.

“and not that it matters anymore, ‘cause you two are so convinced that she has me trapped in her evil lair somewhere, but she encouraged me to come down here by myself before i dragged her along with me. you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” rafe basically pushed them out before shouting, “and i’m keeping the beers assholes!”

rafe shut the front door, making sure to lock it this time before he scooped you up in his arms. “don’t cry, sweetheart, they’re both idiots.” you sniffled, laughing softly. rafe smiled at the fact that he knew how to make you feel better. “talk my ear off while i order that mixer, i love hearing your voice.”

[eden031]

Married life

Dr. Jack Abbot x wife!reader

voilence against healthcare workers (not graphic), fluff, mild angst, Jack Abbot needs a hug

Summary: When Jack‘s wife is it hit by a patient a worried Jack only comes close behind.

Words: 1.1k

A/N: Heyy, so I just finished watching the Pitt and I am in love with Jack Abbot, I already have a few other ideas in my drafts, hope you enjoy this little piece of writing I came up with. I hope you enjoy and disclaimer he might be a bit ooc so please forgive me.

A sigh escaped her lips as she looked at Dana, the ice pack pressed against her cheek.

„Robby wants you to get an x-ray, he thinks you might have broken something.“ Dana said as the bustle of the ED continued around them. A loud sigh escaped her as she looked at the charge nurse.

„Can I even get out of that or has he already put me in line for one?“ she asked, a low hiss escaping her as she pulled away the ice pack, gently touching the forming bruise on her face, the skin was hot and she knew that the possibility of her having a broken bone was not zero, she was a doctor as well after all.

„He already put you in line for one,“ she paused, „You can be glad Whitaker caught you, otherwise he would have made you get a CT as well.“ Dana smirked slightly as she grumbled.

A patient had hit her, full force in the face. He had not even been agitated before, he had nodded and listened, been very friendly and attentive of what she told him, but after she had told him that he would have to stay in hospital for observation he had lashed out.

„Do you want me to call Jack?“ Dana asked, she froze at the question, Santos and Whitaker had stopped talking at the mention of her husband‘s name. Only a few people knew she was married to Jack Abbot, there were multiple reasons for that, however one of the biggest was that it was funny to leave people guessing. She knew there was a betting pool regarding her relationship status and it looked like that pool would soon be empty.

„Don‘t you fucking dare, Dana.“ she hissed under her breath, she knew that Jack would already lose his shit when he saw her later when she came back home from her shift. “It‘s his day off, he shouldn‘t have to worry about me getting punched by some bastard.“ she pushed her ice pack back on her cheek, feeling the sting of the cold stronger than before.

Suddenly the staff door swung open, hitting the wall loudly, a loud groan escaped her as she saw her husband standing in the doorway. He looked around and stalked towards the nurses‘ station, he was in civilian clothes, cargo pants and a black t-shirt that looked like it was definitely the one that said army vet on the back of it.

“What are you doing here?“ she asked before Dana was able to say anything. From the corner of her eye she could see that Santos and Whitaker had moved in closer, probably to get a listen in on the conversation.

„Robby called me, told me that a patient hit you.“ Jack was now standing beside her, his hand was twitching, she knew that it was stressing him out, throwing caution to the wind she gently took his hand with her free one.

„It‘s okay, I am doing fine.“ she sighed as she squeezed his hand, smiling up at him from where she was sitting.

„Did you hit your head when you fell?“ he asked, an annoyed sigh escaped her as the question came from him.

„Jack, I am fine! I didn‘t hit the ground, Whitaker caught me.“ she explained as she looked over at where Santos and Whitaker were standing. Jack followed her gaze and saw Whitaker looking at them, he gave him a double thumbs up, then turned back to her.

„We are going home after your x-ray.“

—————————-

Jack had been true to his word; they had actually gone home after her x-ray, nothing broken, surprisingly enough. Now she sat on the sofa, another ice pack on her face, half laying on Jack‘s stomach, half leaning against the couch. She could hear the police scanner crackling in the background of their living room.

„Mind if I order take out?“ Jack muttered as he continued to rub his stump. She let out a laugh, wincing as her cheek hurt a lot more again.

„Since when do I mind take out, Jack?“ she nuzzled her face into his stomach, the soft fabric of the shift warm against her face. A small smile on her lips as she thought that their entire relationship had started with take out and sitting in his apartment after a rough shift, even when she had been a resident.

„Don‘t know, Indian or Chinese, or do you want to try that new Thai place two blocks away?“ he asked, pulling out his phone from his pocket. A groan escaped her lips.

„Jack, I don‘t care, just get us something to eat.“ she sighed, not snapping at him, but the decision fatigue was hitting her hard at that moment. Usually she still had some energy left to decide these things, but right now she couldn‘t.

„Alright, Indian it is,“ he muttered, „The usual?“ it was more to confirm than to really ask her about it.

„Please,“ she muttered as she sat up slightly. They would get it delivered today, usually they walked to get it, but today was not the day.

Finally the food arrived, sitting on the floor of the living room at the coffee table they ate, chatting quietly.

„You know I love you, right?“ she asked, glancing at Jack who looked like he just wanted to go to bed.

„Yeah, I know,“ he nodded, looking up at her she could see his face, her heart clenched at the sight, he was gutted. „You know how scared I was when Robby told me you were attacked by a patient?“

„Yeah, sorry. I didn‘t want them to bother you with that,“ she looked back at the samosas sitting in front of her. Guilt settled in her stomach as she looked at him, she knew it freaked him out, and he also knew that it was not the last time she would be attacked by a patient, it would happen again in the future.

„No,“ he shook his head, „I was glad when Robby told me it wasn‘t serious and I was even happier that he called me,“ he gently took her hand over the table. Squeezing it carefully, squeezing it back she smiled at her husband.

„I love you too,“ he whispered, his eyes shimmering in the dim light of the living room, as she looked at him she knew that it was more than that. She knew that look, it had been the one he had given her during their wedding night, when he had held her tightly, trying to make them melt together. It was devotion and admiration, the deep longing he had to be close to her always reflecting in his eyes in moments like this.

[hintsofhoney]

Ladies With Experience

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever... who are you to deny him?

Tags: smut, first time, virgin!reader, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dean, p in v, oral (female receiving), spanking, fingering, not-so-innocent reader

Word Count: 5k

A/N: As always, thank you to my loves @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean for beta-ing. Would be nowhere without you two 🥰

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Anyways, let’s say you’re right, fine. Who would want virgins?”

You know Sam didn’t mean it like that , and you felt stupid for letting it bother you. For letting this case bother you.

“You got me,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I prefer ladies with experience.” 

And there it was, like a punch straight to the gut. You hated that it hurt you as much as it did. So what, you’ve never had sex. But you’ve done almost everything else. You knew what you liked and what you didn't. You’ve been around the block a few times with the various sex toys in your nightstand drawer. It’s not like you weren’t experienced at all . But that didn’t make Dean’s words hurt any less. You swallowed down the burger and fries from lunch that were threatening to come up, before standing up from your seat at the small motel room table. 

The brothers looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I — bathroom,” you managed, before quickly making your way there, slamming the door shut behind you. 

Staring at your reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, you let the tears fall. Silently, you wiped them away as Dean’s words echoed in your head, and you hated that you loved him. Hated that you’d never be ballsy enough to admit it to him, especially now.

Something like five minutes passed and you knew you didn’t have long before one of the boys — likely Sam — would come knocking to check on you. You flushed the unused toilet so they wouldn’t suspect anything and turned on the faucet, splashing your tear-soaked face with cold water before using a hand towel to wipe it dry. When you emerged, the guys were packing up their duffels.

“Did you find them?” you asked, hopeful.

Dean checked his gun, before flipping the safety on and stuffing it in the back waistband of his jeans. 

“I sure as hell hope so, ‘cause if I’m about to crawl through the goddamn sewers for nothing —”

“They’re down there, Dean,” Sam replied, giving him a pointed look. He turned his attention to you, and if he had noticed anything off, he hadn’t let his face show it. “You coming?”

You grabbed your gun off the dresser and holstered it in reply.

Six hours later, the three of you were sweaty, panting, and splattered in blood after a close fight with dragons in the sewers. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to wade in any actual sewage. You hadn’t said a word to either brother since you had gone to the bathroom six hours ago, and to keep them from growing suspicious of your sudden silence, you opted to take a nap in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the motel. 

You stirred awake as Dean pulled into the parking lot, barely conscious enough to catch the end of the brothers’ conversation.

“I’ll get her,” Dean said. 

Sam nodded and got out of the car, gently closing the passenger side door before heading inside. 

You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them as Dean’s face came into focus. He was looking at you over his shoulder, one arm resting on the top of the front bench seat. 

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

It took a moment for the feeling you had been filled with prior to your nap to come back to you, his words from earlier echoing in your head. I prefer ladies with experience . You shot him a cold glare.

“Alright. What’d I do?” he asked, turning in his seat to better angle himself towards you. 

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t said a word since we left for that hunt, Y/N.”

“How do you know Sam didn’t do something?”

He replied with a knowing look.

You stared at your hands, clasped together in your lap, and muttered, “It’s nothing. Stupid.”

“C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.

You hated this. How easy he was to talk to. How you had always been able to tell him what was on your mind.

But not this . You couldn’t tell him this. 

You shook your head. 

“Hey,” he said softly, shifting in his seat. He was fully turned around now, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at those green eyes. “Talk to me,” he repeated, no room for argument in his words.

“I can’t,” you whispered. You wanted to throw up. He was your best friend, and you were utterly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with him. He preferred girls with experience, and you had none. Not in the way that it mattered. And he had known that, thanks to a late-night stake-out game of Never Have I Ever . 

His jaw clenched. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You briefly met his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long. 

“Was it something I said?” he prodded. 

You stared at the buttons of his open flannel, your eyes quickly darting up to meet his in silent confirmation. 

He sighed, pulling his hand away from your face and folding his arms on top of the backseat, resting his chin on his forearm.

“Do I at least get a hint?”

“Dean, I —”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’ve never not told me anything.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

“Because I can’t stand not talking to you.”

Your heart leaped at that confession, however innocent it might have been. 

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Because I’m making you. You would have silent treatmented me into next week.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed again, defeated. “Y/N, c’mon. Please? Whatever I said, I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean that you ‘prefer girls with experience’?” you retorted quite sassily. The question tumbled out before you even had time to think of the implication that came with asking it. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish. 

“Thought so.” You began to move to make your way out of the car, when Dean reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay if you do. I told you, it was a dumb thing to be upset about.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t stop to think about how this case might have been affecting you. You know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, right?” 

You swallowed, nodded. His hand felt like fire around your wrist.

“But for what it’s worth, I wasn’t serious. I don’t prefer anyone one way or the other. Sex is sex. If anyone’s willing to have it with me, I consider myself lucky.”

“Romantic,” you quipped.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I could show you, y’know.”

You almost threw up right there in the backseat. Your eyes grew wide.

“What?” you croaked.

“Well, if you’re worried about not having any experience… I just mean I’d be happy to, y’know. Show you the ropes.”

“… Of sex?” Really, you thought it was cute that he had this misconception of you. You knew about the ropes. You’d just never been tied up with them. 

“Of whatever you want.”

“You think I want to have sex with you?” It came out harsher than you meant it to, like part of you still thought you could hide the fact that you were in love with him. Like if you just joked it off it would go away, and you wouldn’t have to cross this line with him, even though you so badly wanted to. But you had to protect yourself, your heart. 

You didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“No, that’s not what I —”

You suddenly felt the need to clarify your question.

“No, I — I didn’t mean it like that either.”

Dean’s face morphed into one of confusion. “…So you do want to have sex with me?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and your throat bobbed. “Uh…”

“Forget it, stupid question, you don’t have to an—” 

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. Fuck it. Who were you to hold yourself back from the one thing you’ve been wanting for years? You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Oh, cut the shit, Dean. Like you’re surprised. Everyone wants to have sex with you.”

He scoffed. “ Everyone , Y/N, really?”

“There are literally smutty fanfictions written about you,” you replied, reaching into your back pocket for your phone, dead set on proving your point. 

“Gross. And Becky doesn’t count as everyone.”

“Actually, Becky only writes for Sam.”

You realized what you said at the same time he did, and he eyed you suspiciously.

“Why do you know that?”

God dammit. “I don’t. I mean — I — like, she obviously loves Sam. So, like, she wouldn’t write porn about you. Obviously.”

“Uh huh…” There was an uncomfortable silence for a beat or three. And then, “How much smut have you read about me?”

Your face felt like it had just been rinsed with fucking lava, and you knew it probably looked as red as it, too. 

“None!” you exclaimed, way too quickly. 

Dean smirked. “You do really wanna have sex with me,” he remarked, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Trust me, the urge is fading by the second.”

His grin disappeared almost instantly. “Would it help if I told you that I think about fucking you all the time, too?”

“Well, I don’t think about it all the —”

“Y/N.” He said your name like a warning, and the tone of his voice settled right in your core. 

“Yeah,” you squeaked. “Yeah, that helps.”

“Good,” he smirked, before grabbing his phone from beside him. 

“Uh… What are you doing?” You watched as he scrolled for a second, pressing a button before putting the phone to his ear.

“Telling Sammy to beat it.”

Your eyes grew wide. “What!?” you whisper-yelled. “No! Just — we can just do it back here!”

He gave you a pointed look. “I’m not taking your virginity in the backseat of my car, Y/N.”

“Why not!?”

“Because we’re not sixteen, for one. And for two… I wanna make it special.” He rushed the last bit out, like he was embarrassed to say it. And he should be. You cringed as you heard it. 

“Oh my God,” you began.

“Shut up.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Shut up. Sam, answer your phone, God dammit!”

“I have done, like, almost everything else, you know. In the backseats of many, many cars. You don’t need to make it special for me, Deano,” you teased. 

“For the last time, shut your mouth, or I’m gonna shut it for you,” he said, the look he gave letting you know he wasn’t in the mood to play. No, he wanted to fuck you. Beyond that, he wanted to dominate you. And you were more than happy to submit.

You might have been a virgin physically, but mentally? Mentally, you’d probably give Dean a run for his money. 

Sam didn’t answer. Naturally. He was probably in the shower, but you were kind of grateful because as much as you wanted Dean, you didn’t want to make Sam uncomfortable. Or worse, give him any reason to give you the talk . Because he totally would. After trying his brother two more times, Dean decided it would be better to just get a room of your own, and you were much happier with that decision. 

You watched as he unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping aside, gesturing for you to go ahead. 

“Ladies first.”

“You mean you’re not gonna carry me over the threshold?” you joked. “Thought you wanted to make this special .”

He gave you an unamused look, and you shot back a sarcastic closed-mouth smile before you were being swept off of your feet and over his shoulder faster than you could process.

“Dean!” you squealed, as he carried you through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him before practically throwing you onto the bed.

He was hovering over you seconds later, his face a few inches from yours, and the mood shifted from playful to serious.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded, your fingers coming up to play with the collar of his flannel.

“If I tell you something, you promise you won’t make fun of me?” you questioned, your eyes glued to the plaid pattern on his shirt.

“Promise.”

“I was kinda… holding out for you.” You drew your eyes up to meet his.

“Seriously?” he asked, half laughing. You could tell it wasn’t because he thought it was funny. It was because he couldn’t believe it.

You swallowed nervously, nodding again as you stared into those green eyes, and you hoped that this meant as much to him as it did to you. Something told you it did.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he said.

You tilted your head in question.

“About making it special for you. I know it’s like, the grossest thing I could have possibly said but, you deserve so much better than me, and so if —”

“There’s no one better for me, you idiot.” And you almost told him everything. That you’ve been in love with him ever since you met one summer at Bobby’s, back when you were just kids. That everything felt like it led up to this moment. That you wanted him to fuck you and make love to you all at once. That you didn’t want this to be the only time he did. But instead, you grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him towards you, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like it could have powered an entire country’s electric grid. 

He deepened it, and the two of you were nothing but tongues and teeth and lips — it wasn’t sexy. It was hungry. Starved, more like. Like he had been thinking about kissing you just as long as you had been thinking about him. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down towards your denim-covered core, down until you felt the hardness underneath his jeans pressed up against the spot where you needed him most, down until you couldn’t help but grind against it. He moaned as he kissed you, so you did it again. And again. And again. And —

“You need to stop that.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. You noticed that your arms were above your head, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress. You don’t know when that happened, but you weren’t complaining. In fact, it spurred you on. 

You smiled mischievously and rutted against him once more. 

“What’re you gonna do about it, Winchester?”

He dropped his forehead to yours, steadying his breaths.

“I can fuck you like it’s your first time, or I can fuck you how I actually want to.”

“And how’s that?”

He took a shaky breath, like he was actually having a hard time controlling himself. You felt a sense of pride shoot through you at that.

“Like the fucking brat you are.”

You almost came from that alone. 

Wanna know some common misconceptions about virgins? That they don’t have kinks. That they don’t watch porn. That they don’t have a plethora of sex toys  in their nightstand. That they sit and crochet in their convent dorm room all day. Sure, you were years past the age when girls typically lose their virginity, but you were no saint. In fact, you enjoyed being quite the opposite. And you enjoyed being put in your place. 

“Do your worst.”

It was like something in him snapped. His eyes were lust-blown and hungry and you didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked, and then he was undressing you so fast that you could’ve been part of a quick change act. He muttered something about a light system as he took off your clothes, and you nodded in a way that let him know that you already knew how all of that worked. 

When you were down to just a black lace bra and panties, he paused as his fingers hooked under your waistband. He stared at you, his expression serious, and you knew that he was going to give you one more warning. One more opportunity to say, “Actually, I’d like to have a totally normal, non-kinky, first time experience, please.” But that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You rolled your eyes. “I trust you. Put me in my goddamn place, Winchester. You’ve only been wanting to do it for the past two hours.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to do it for a lot longer than that, sweetheart.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, huffing a small laugh before pulling off your panties in one swift motion. His hands came to rest on your bare thighs as he locked his eyes with yours. “Any hard limits?”

You shook your head. “I trust you. I mean, like, don’t pee on me or —”

“Not gonna happen. But… most everything else?”

“Dean,” you began, looking at him pointedly, “I trust you. If it helps, I’ve used like, toys on myself before. And I don’t mean just a vibrator, I mean like… well, you get the gist.”

“So I don’t have to go easy on you, is what you’re saying?”

“Put me in my place,” you repeated.

“Alright,” he replied, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs as he roughly pushed them apart, “but just so we’re clear, that’s the last order you’ll be giving tonight.”

Your throat bobbed and you nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

You meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. No, the title came out in a way that made his jaw clench and his eyes darken and it stoked the fire raging in your core. 

Dean didn’t waste any more time talking after that, his tongue moving through your folds seconds later, drawing gasps and soft moans from your lips. You arched into him, your hands in his hair, silently begging for more. It wasn’t the first time a man had gone down on you, but it was the first time it felt like this . 

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one hand splayed over your abdomen and then his tongue was inside you and “eating you out” didn’t come close to describing his ministrations. He was devouring you like his life depended on it, like the sounds you were making were a goddamn Zeppelin song that he wasn’t anywhere near done listening to. And then he added a finger, and then another, and it didn’t matter how many times you had imagined him doing this while you had your own fingers inside you — nothing would have prepared you for how good the real thing felt.

“Oh — fuck,” you gasped, and he chuckled into your sex and you had to actively think about not coming on his face and ending this whole experience early. 

“You’re close,” he observed, flicking his tongue over your clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, and it was so fucking hot how he just knew that. It was like he had been fucking you for years, the way he knew your body, your tells.

You nodded. “Mmhm,” you confirmed, unable to form words with the way the coil in your abdomen was tightening. 

“Hold it,” he ordered.

Your eyes shot open, because it wasn’t the command you were expecting, and you tried to lift your head to shoot him a cold glare but you couldn’t. And he just kept pumping, flicking, licking, chuckling — fucking asshole.

“Mm — fuck — please!” you cried out.

“When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock. So hold it.”

You didn’t think you could. You had played this game with yourself and your vibrator and your self-control was majorly lacking and God his mouth and fingers felt so fucking good and you were there, the coil wound so goddamn tight, it would take nothing for you to let it snap, and then — 

He stopped.

He pulled his mouth away from your core, his fingers out of your pussy, and you were writhing underneath him, because you had been right there and you needed him to be touching you again right the fuck now.

You whined.

He spanked your pussy. Not hard or anything, just enough to see if it was okay with you, and fuck, was it. 

“Stop whining,” he demanded. He positioned himself so he was hovering over you again, his face inches away from yours as he stared into your eyes. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

You were curious as to what that something would be, but sensed that right now wouldn’t be the best time for that question. You nodded instead.

“Good girl.” He smiled when he said it, like he knew exactly what those two words would do to you. 

You squirmed underneath him, it had been too long since he’d last touched you. Too long being thirty seconds at most, but still. It had felt like hours.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he began, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your collarbone, “that you are very,” another kiss to the other side, “very,” one more to the middle of your chest, “impatient?” He slowly pulled down the left cup of your bra, your breast spilling out of it. “Makes me wanna take my time.” 

His eyes stayed glued to yours as his head moved down to your hardened nipple, taking it into his mouth at a goddamn snail’s pace. You arched your back, and he let you this time, chuckling at how easy it was to make your body react. His other hand slipped underneath you, unclasping your bra in a way that reminded you that he had a lot of experience doing so, and you refused to water the seed of jealousy that had sprouted from the thought. It didn’t matter that he had done this a million times. All that mattered was that he was doing it now, with you. 

He pulled your bra off and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were completely naked, and he still had 87 fucking layers on, the outermost of which was still speckled with dragon blood, and it’s not that you were anywhere near clean, but you certainly didn’t want those clothes touching your bare skin.

“Dean?” you rasped, and he pulled away from your nipple to give you his full attention.

“You okay, sweetheart? Do you want to st—”

“No! God, no. It’s just —” you sighed, exasperated. This was dumb. You were going to stop him for this? Your eyes landed on a spot of blood on the shoulder of his flannel. Yes, yes you were, because that’s gross. “It’s just that your clothes are covered in monster blood and I’m like, totally naked, and I don’t want —”

He chuckled like you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “I gotchya, baby.”

Baby. Baby ? You tried not to overthink the pet name as he climbed off the bed to take his clothes off, watching you the entire time. Sweetheart, you’d been called a million times. He called everyone sweetheart. But baby? Baby was his car, and no one else. Unless, that’s what you were to him now. His, and no one else’s. You filed the thought away under “Things to Think About After You Lost Your Virginity to Dean Winchester”.

He was in nothing but his boxers now, his cock already hard underneath them, and you bit your lip as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and slid them off. And then, there he was, exactly like you’d imagined him but also better, because this was real and happening. You gaped at him, at his size. He wasn’t any bigger than the fake one you had in your nightstand, but that one was nine inches and you could never fit it all the way in. He was perfect. All of him. 

“You okay?” he asked again, crawling back onto the bed.

“Mhm,” you managed, gulping.

He was on top of you again, his forearm holding up his weight as his free hand came to grab your thigh, hooking it over his hip and leaning down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as he moved his hips, teasing you with it. 

“Dean,” you breathed.

“Hm?”

“I want…” you couldn’t find it in yourself to finish your request.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You decided you liked “baby” better. 

“Please.”

“I thought you wanted me to put you in your place?”

You shook your head. “N-next time. Just, please .”

His eyebrows shot up, and you realized what you had said. 

“Next time, huh?” he asked, with that shit-eating grin of his. 

You rolled your eyes. He stopped moving, the smile wiped off his lips as he gripped you underneath your chin, somewhere between rough and gentle, the look on his face telling you he wasn’t messing around. 

“Roll your eyes at me again, and next time I’ll really do my worst.”

You bit back a smile, and you just knew he was thinking, Brat. But you asked your question anyway.

“But not this time?” There was a devilish gleam in your eyes. You were tempting him, and he knew it.

“Do you ever get tired of being such a brat?” 

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Do you ever get tired of it?” 

His jaw tensed, and he forced a sardonic, closed-lip smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hm. But not this time, right?”

“Y/N —” he warned.

“Afraid you’re gonna hurt me? Scare me? What’s really keeping you from putting me in my place… Sir?”

For the second time that night, something in him snapped. You yelped as he flipped you over and grabbed your hips, dragging them upwards so your ass was in the air and your chest was on the mattress. Four hits to your cheeks came down in quick succession, and when you reached your hand behind you to block them, it was quickly pinned to the small of your back. Three more hits followed, accompanied by a pathetic, “Ow!” from your lips.

“Color?” he questioned roughly.

“So fucking green,” you replied, dazed.

Seven more hits followed, each one harder than the last, and you didn’t think there was anything better than the sting you were feeling right now. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to mark you up like this.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he commented. Five more hits. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out at the last hit, one that felt like it reverberated through your entire body. One that definitely left a handprint behind. 

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. He spanked you four more times. “You just wanted me to mark you up, is that it? Think of me every time you sit down for the next few days, hm?” Three more. 

“Mmph!” Your cries were muffled by the comforter. 

“Yeah, I can tell. Look at this fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through your soaked folds. “Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath, and then he was flipping you back over. He nestled himself between your legs, his tip teasing your entrance. His expression softened as he stared into your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathily. 

He slid into you slow and easy, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out. 

“Good?” he asked.

“So fucking good.”

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when the time did come, this was how you wanted to go out. 

“Harder,” you encouraged, and he obliged. “Faster.”

He was properly fucking you now. Hard and fast and dirty. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, forcing him to go deeper. His head was buried in your neck, your nails were clawing up his back, and the room was filled with moans and pants and expletives that put a sailor’s mouth to shame. 

“Shit, baby,” he panted into your neck. “God damn, you feel good. So fucking tight.” He sped up his thrusts, and the bed was squeaking so much that you thought it was going to fall apart underneath you, but you were too far gone to care. He reached a hand down in between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling it expertly. You were on the precipice of your release in seconds. And then —

“Come. Soak that fucking cock, baby. Come for me.”

And you screamed loud enough to get both you and him kicked out of the motel if they cared enough as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, his pace only faltering moments later, right before he pulled out and painted your stomach white. It looked like a Jackson Pollock on your abdomen. Kinda hot, actually. 

“You okay?” Dean asked, looking down at you as he finally caught his breath.

“More than,” you smiled.

He mirrored the look on your face before crawling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He came back moments later with a damp washcloth, gently cleaning his masterpiece off of your skin. When he was done, he threw it across the room, aiming for the bathroom, and it landed on the tile in front of the toilet. He laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest as he pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you wanted to ask so many questions, all at once. What were you two now? How long had he been wanting this? Would there be a next time? Instead, you opted for —

“You know in fanfictions, they write you as a submissive most of the time.”

He snorted. “They’re half right.”

“A switch?” you asked, surprised. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled softly. “Sorry about your ass.”

You shrugged. “I was asking for it.”

“Oh, you were definitely asking for it. Still, I… I dunno. It was your first time, I didn’t want to get too —”

“It was perfect, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, smiling, dozing off already. “Yeah.”

[lostintransist]

The Price is Wife | Part 2

Part one here *Part one includes ace!wife!reader coming home to find John has brought home a boyfriend and packs a bag to spend the night at a hotel because why would John need a wife if he has a boyfriend???

Tear stains on your cheeks led to a cool washcloth on your face before packing all of your clothes back into your luggage. You didn't know if you would be able to book this same room for another few nights.

Digging your nails into the palm of the other hand you focus on breathing. The bright color on your nails makes you think of John. Fuck. He had paid for this set. Dammit all and beyond, you didn't want your marriage to end. You love John, he had to be one of your best friends. With a little wine in your glass you would even call him your soul mate. He would laugh and lay a kiss at your cheek, thanking you for the honor.

You loved that man so much you couldn't, wouldn't, stand in his way of being truly happy. John longed for more physical affection than either of you was comfortable with. You knew that John would thrive under the kisses of his boyfriend. Guess you would request a transfer at work and file uncontested.

Halting those thoughts before you started sobbing again you flap your hands at your face to keep your eyes from leaking. Your makeup was done lightly today, knowing you would be crying most of it off in John's office after work despite the setting spray.

Three meetings. That is all you had to get through today. You could buy yourself comfort food on the way to the hotel. Might even splurge and rent an overpriced movie. Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

First meeting drags, sending the following two into overtime and you to missing lunch and clocking out an hour later than you originally planned. The idea of putting food in your face makes you nauseus. Any food will taste like sawdust right now.

The first person to notice something is wrong is the gate officer. Office Madida had been letting you on and off base for a few years now. The man's bright smile fit so neatly on his dark skin that to see him without one would almost signal the end of the world.

"Ah! Mrs. Price, here to see your husband?"

Offering a wan smile you nod, "I'm a bit late. Would you call his office to let him know I'm here?"

"Of course! Give me a moment," Madida grabs the phone from its cradle and punches in a series of numbers. He looks you over smile slipping as he takes in the whole of you. "You doing alright Mrs. Price?"

The title slices at you. It won't be yours for to much longer. Your wan smile is now watery.

"Not really, but I appreciate you noticing."

He holds up a finger as he speaks into the phone. "Yeah, I've got Mrs. Price at the gate. She's asking that Captain Price can meet at his office?" He lifts a brow at you to confirm. At your nod he continues, "I'll send her in now. No, she won't need an escort she's been visiting her husband for nearly a decade."

Fuck a duck, your next anniversry would be ten wouldn't it? A hiccuping sob bursts past your lips. The hand you slap to your mouth doesn't prevent Officer Madida's sharp look as he hangs up the phone.

"Go and park Mrs. Price. Give me five minutes to get a replacement out here and I will walk with you."

You do as commanded, tears streaking down your face as you settle the car into park. Madida opens the door and reaches in to turn off the engine when he arrives. Thankfully you have nearly sobbed yourself out when he arrives. He walks close to you, deference and defense in his body language.

Officer Madida leaves you after John's voice rings out at your knock. Stepping into his office feels like the first time you did two weeks after you had gotten married. He introduced you around the base, proud to show off his new wife. The same drab brown covered the walls, a blanket you had crocheted him for your first wedding anniversery lay across the couch he kept for naps. The only real change in the room had to be the drawn look across John's face.

For a man who should have been happy to lose a wife and gain a husband he looked dreadful. Deep eye bags and his unkempt beard tell of a hard night. Maybe as hard as yours.

John rose slowly as you shut the door behind you. His eyes searched yours.

"Are you ready to talk now?" The gravel in his voice stings as if you were flung across it.

The lip quiver starts first. "What is there to talk about John? Why would you me when you have a boyfriend now? We are friends who sometimes kiss and share tax benefits and a flat. That's not much compared to someone who can love you the way you deserve and fills your needs and your bed."

Tightening your nails into your palms and your arms around your ribs you watch your husband round his desk. John's broad hands settle on you, one at your face and the other on your elbow. Your eyelids drift closed at the familiar, safe touch.

"Why would I want to trade one love for another?" John whispers, voice breaking.

Lifting a hand to lay across the one on your face you open your eyes and match his tear filled gaze.

"I can't see your boyfriend being okay with you keeping a wife. I can't be the reason you don't get to be happy."

John's hand slide around to the back of you, pulling you into a hug.

"The first thing I did," John spoke into your ear, "When Nik kissed me out of the blue was tell him about my wife. The woman who holds me as I cry and pokes fun at me until we both laugh. My best friend, my soul mate. I told him about our arrangement, and how anything with him could not hurt what I have with you. You're allowed to be selfish."

You are sobbing now, wrinkling John's shirt with your tears and your grip. Selfish isn't something you have ever been allowed to be. Asking for your parents to show up to important dates in school, graduation, etc were always met with cries of being selfish. Your sibling had an event that day already, or they had a work event. John had been the first to put your first.

Being put aside so often by those that claimed to love you it only made sense to step aside before John could do the same.

"No, I'm not. Selfish is always the word people use to say I am asking for to much." Sobbing harder the past pains work their way out through your grip on your husband. "Why didn't you tell me John? I would have understood. I want you to be able to be loved the way you deserve."

"Honestly?" He chuckled a bit, "I was so excited for the two of you two meet that I didn't think it through."

Pulling back from John you give him a look he is expressly familiar with. Sometimes your brilliant, SAS-trained, Air Force Captian was dumber than a box of rocks. At this point, you chalked it up to a function of testosterone.

"You forgot to tell your wife that you were bringing your boyfriend home?" The deadpan delivery has John's ears pinking up.

"Nik also called me an idiot after I explained that you were heading to a hotel for the night. He was looking forward to meeting you. If you're okay with it he is probably outside the office waiting to talk to you," John gives you the softest of smiles.

There is a light knock at the door.

"I want you both, and if there is anything you need from me to keep both of you I will do anything to make that happen." John speaks with the seriousness that made you believe he would fight god and win.

Pressing a light kiss to your lips John opens the door to his lover. Nik observes you with a cool indifference. The deepening wrinkles around his eyes tell you he might also be nervous.

"Would you like to see my helicopter?" His accent is thicker today than when he introduced himself last night.

You nod, and John offers your hand to his boyfriend. Nik takes your hand, tucking it into the corner of his elbow as the two of you wander further onto base. Passing no one on your way neither of you is ready to break the silence.

Leaving the building behind both you and Nik take a deep breath. Glancing at him you find Nik looking at your already. Both of you laugh out your big breath of air.

"I hate being in the base buildings for too long. Makes my skin itch," you offer.

"I dislike all the brown," Nik replies in return.

"What did John tell you?" You broach the subject first.

"He told me of his wife. Of her kindness, her self sacrificing ways, of the kisses you share, and the happiness that fills him up so much that I fell in love with coming from you."

No change in his tone or side glance at you. The feet attached to your body would have been rooted to the ground if Nik did not keep careful pressure on your hand, pulling you forward to the helicopter now within sight.

The ache in your chest that had started last night when John called Nik his boyfriend flared to life again, an improperly cared for fire.

"First thing you will need to learn," you cover your mouth with a hand, "Is that you can't say nice things like that to me. I cry if you are too nice to me and you are in love with John so you don't want to comfort his wife."

Nik blinks at you slowly, observing. He gives no inclination as to what he saw but lets your hand fall as you reach his helo. He opens the side door and invites you to sit down with a pat of his hand. Sitting next to you Nik does not say anything for a long time. Swinging your feet you prod at your emotions until you can parse them out enough for words. Your palms wear patterns up and down the thighs of your pants.

"I don't want to lose him, Nik. But he deserves to be happy and I know he will be happy with you. He's talked about you before, for years now, I just never realized he liked you more than as a friend. A word from you and I will file the paperwork today. It's an odd agreement between us. I knew it would end for him one day when he found someone to love and love him in return." Your voice breaks as you fight back the sobs. As if the cliffs could fight back a storm.

He pulls your hand from your lap, threading his wide fingers between yours. Hair dots his knuckes. He does not offer platitudes, or unfounded words, simply holds your hand as you weep.

"You love John. I also love John. Part of the love John carries is for you alone, and it would shatter him to lose you," Nik pauses until your sobbing has slowed enough to hear him again. "Give us a chance to learn to love each other, as friends and as those who love the idiot that is John Price."

Someone else calling John an idiot sparked a bark of laughter.

"I would love to learn to love you Nik," squeezing his fingers tight in yours you stand.

Nik joins you. Releasing his hand from yours he settles both against your face. Placing a kiss to one cheek and then the other, he finally places a kiss on your lips. The two of you share a smile and a nod of understanding. This would be a time of transition and of growth, but you both loved John enough to make room for the other.

The kiss Nik pressed to your lips did not go unobserved. Kyle, with a twisted and complicated relationship of his own he kept under wraps, saw Nik kiss John's wife. Turning and sprinting across the base he found his lovers, Simon and Johnny, reviewing paperwork from their last mission.

"Nikoli is a fucking homewrecker and is trying to get with Mrs. Price!"

That brought all work to a hard standstill.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Bonus

Masterlist

[ha-rinrin]

A Chance at Something Better

summary: Jinx's brings a little girl to your home, hoping to give her something better than what she had.

Pairing; Jinx x fem!reader ( they're married)

wordcount: 3.1k

Authors note: I saw on TikTok this one video saying that Jinx adopted a child, soo thats what I tried to do even if I have zero knowledge of whaat going on🤞🏻. If you want more married content just tell me and I'll do it, I kinda liked the idea of you and Jinx adopting a kid so, tell me if you want more of it.

masterlist

You’re in the dim glow of Jinx’s hideout, the familiar hum of metal and machinery filling the air. Her workbench is littered with tools, scraps, and half-assembled parts, each piece part of a weapon you’re carefully crafting for her—a small, sleek pistol that packs a powerful punch. The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the room, and you can hear the quiet drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the cavernous walls.

The two long braids and her purple eyes come into view before she does, Jinx’s shadow moving just a second ahead of her as she slips into the room. She grins, her smile sharp yet playful, watching you like she’s seen her favorite person in the world—because you know, deep down, that’s exactly what you are.

The moment Jinx steps into the room, a prickle of awareness slides down your spine. You sense another presence. Instinct kicks in before reason, and in one swift motion, you reach for a pistol on the workbench and whip around, aiming it directly at the darkened corner just beyond Jinx.

Jinx’s eyes widen as she realizes where your attention has landed, her mouth parting in surprise. “Whoa, whoa! Easy there, sharpshooter,” she says, her tone a mix of amusement and shock. She holds up her hands. “Drop the gun, okay? There’s… no need for that.”

You keep your stance firm, the pistol steady in your hand. “Why is it here?” you ask, eyes narrowed, keeping your gaze locked on the shadows in the corner.

From the darkness steps a small, timid figure, her steps cautious but curious. She’s barely up to Jinx’s hip, with wild blue hair that nearly mirrors the shade Jinx once had. The girl peers up at you, big eyes full of a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Jinx glances at her, then back at you, her expression shifting to one of guilty excitement. “She’s here,” Jinx corrects, her voice softening as she looks at the girl. “I know I was gonna… ease you into this, but, well…” She shrugs, her mischievous smile returning. “Surprise?”

You keep your gaze steady, the girl’s shy eyes darting between you and Jinx. The situation feels surreal, and though you’ve lowered the gun, the tension is far from gone.

“Jinx,” you say, voice firm, “can we talk… in private?” You emphasize the last word, giving her a look that says you’re serious.

Jinx’s grin wavers, a flash of nervousness crossing her face. She glances down at the girl, patting her shoulder gently. “Isha, stay here, alright? Just for a second.” Her voice is soothing, trying to keep the girl at ease as she leads you further back, just out of earshot.

Once you’re out of Isha’s line of sight, you cross your arms, keeping your voice low. “Jinx, we agreed… if anything this big was gonna happen, we’d talk about it first.”

Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, and she bites her lip, a little sheepish. “I know, I know. I just… I couldn’t leave her there. She looked so scared, y/n. Like she’d seen the worst of the Lanes in one day. I tried to picture leaving her, but… it felt too close to everything I went through.”

You sigh, the frustration melting into something softer as you watch her, seeing the hint of vulnerability she rarely lets anyone glimpse. “I understand that, Jinx. But bringing someone into our lives like this—it’s… it’s not just about a good heart, you know?”

She runs a hand through her braids, glancing down, trying to meet your eyes without completely meeting them. “Look, I know I rushed it. But she’s got nobody else. No one who understands. And if I’m honest… I thought maybe, with us, she could have a chance.” She glances up at you with a hopeful, almost pleading look

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance back toward Isha, then back at Jinx. “We make weapons, Jinx. Bombs. There’s nothing about our lives that screams ‘safe’ or ‘stable’ for a kid. Adding her into this… it’s not exactly ideal, you know?”

Jinx bites her lip, visibly torn but resolute. “I know what we do isn’t exactly kid-friendly, but it’s not like we’re blowing things up every single day. We’ll be careful. And… maybe she doesn’t have to see all that. We could keep that part separate. We’d figure out a way.”

You shake your head, though a small part of you understands where she’s coming from. “It’s not just about keeping her out of the crossfire. You know as well as I do that our lives are unpredictable. We’re not exactly… parental role models.”

Jinx crosses her arms, her brows drawn as she stares at the ground. “Maybe. But I think we could be. I mean, we’re not the monsters the world sees us as.” Her voice softens, barely above a whisper, “Isha deserves better than what I had. She deserves a chance. And we’ve got each other, y/n. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You let her words sink in, feeling the weight of her solve. The idea still feels overwhelming—foreign, even—but the determination in her eyes, that unbreakable hope, reminds you why you love her.

You take a deep breath, glancing from Jinx to the tools and parts scattered across the room. “Look, Jinx, we’re married, and yeah, we’ve talked about a family someday. But this?” You gesture around the hideout, with weapons and half-finished bombs lying out in the open. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a safe space for a kid. It’s dangerous—everything about what we do is dangerous.”

Jinx’s gaze doesn’t waver, her fingers laced in yours. “I know it’s risky. But I also know we’re more than the things we make here. We’ve made a life together, y/n. Maybe it’s not perfect or normal, but it’s ours. And Isha… she could be part of that.”

You sigh, feeling her conviction but unable to shake your hesitation. “Jinx, we can’t just decide this overnight. It’s not just about us anymore.”

Her grip tightens slightly, her eyes softening. “She needs us, y/n. We can give her a place where she’s not alone, where she doesn’t have to be scared all the time. We’ve got each other… isn’t that enough to try?”

You look down at your wedding ring, feeling its weight more than usual. The decision ahead is heavy, and Jinx’s fingers tracing the edge of the ring only intensifies that feeling. She meets your gaze, her voice soft. “I know we didn’t plan this, but when I saw her, I couldn’t walk away. She’s like me… like us. And she needs someone.”

You exhale, still unsure. “I know, but we’re not exactly the perfect environment for a kid. We’re surrounded by weapons and bombs, Jinx. This life... it’s dangerous.”

Her touch lingers on your wedding ring as she looks up at you, her expression sincere. “I get that. But when I was a kid, I had Silco… and he was all I had, even if it wasn’t perfect. I thought maybe we could give her something real—something better than what I had.”

You rub your forehead, feeling the weight of it all. “It’s not just about helping her. It’s about how much it’ll change our lives. Are we ready for that?”

Jinx squeezes your hand, her voice steady. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to give her a chance.”

You watch as Jinx’s eyes glisten, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to fall. Her usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. You can see the weight of her words sinking in deeper than she lets on, the fear of repeating the past, of making the wrong choice.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently cup her face in your hands, your thumb brushing away the tear that escapes the corner of her eye. The action is tender, your touch grounding both of you in the midst of the storm.

"Hey," you say softly, your voice low but firm. "We don’t have to do this perfectly. But we need to know what we’re getting into, Jinx. It’s not just about the heart—it’s about everything that comes with it. The good, the bad… and the ugly."

Jinx sniffles, nodding as she leans into your touch. “I know. I just… I don’t want her to end up like me. Like I did back then.” She swallows, her voice trembling. “I just want to give her a shot at something better.”

You hold her gaze, your hands steady as you keep her close. “You’re not alone in this,” you say again, the words sounding stronger this time. “You won’t be doing it alone. And neither will she. We’ll figure it out together. No matter what.”

Jinx’s lip quivers, but she manages to hold your gaze. “I never thought I’d have a family. Hell, I didn’t even think I could be a part of one.” Her voice cracks, but she presses on. “But when I saw her, I saw that little version of me—someone who’s been left behind, someone who just needs a place to feel safe.”

You can’t help the tightness that forms in your chest as you listen. You know she’s right. It’s like a mirror to her past, the girl standing there alone, hoping for someone to care. You pull her into you, your embrace warm and solid. “We’ll make sure she has that. Safety. Love. A chance to be something more than what this place wants her to be.”

Jinx clings to you, a quiet sob escaping her. You can feel the depth of her emotions, the mixture of fear and hope swirling within her. She’s vulnerable right now, in a way you’ve rarely seen, and it makes everything feel more real.

"I don’t know if I can do this, but I’ll try," she murmurs against your chest, her voice muffled but full of determination. "I need you by my side. I need you to help me figure this out."

You hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We’ll figure it out, Jinx. Together. I’m not going anywhere."

You hold her close, letting the silence wrap around you both, the weight of the conversation settling between your hearts. Jinx’s breaths come a little easier now, though you can still feel the trembling in her body. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself in the safety of your presence.

After a moment, she pulls back slightly, enough to look up at you with those wide, purple eyes. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she asks, her voice a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

You gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, Jinx. We’ll do this together. We’ve always figured things out, even when it’s been tough.”

She nods, her lips quivering into a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I don’t want to fail her. I don’t want to mess this up." Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how to be a mom."

You lean in, brushing your forehead against hers, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both. "And you don’t have to know how to be one right now," you reassure her. "But you’ve got a lot of love to give. You’ve got that. And that’s a hell of a start."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I guess we’ll learn as we go, huh?" There’s a trace of her old mischief in her voice, a glimmer of that familiar spark.

"Yeah," you say, your hand gently cupping her face again, “we’ll learn. And we’ll do it together. One step at a time.”

Jinx leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I never thought this could be my life... but maybe... maybe it could be.” She looks up at you, a new kind of determination in her eyes. "I want to make sure she has a chance to be better than I was. We can give her that.”

You nod, the weight of the decision no longer feeling quite so heavy. "We will."

And for the first time, there’s a real sense of hope, something unfamiliar yet comforting, settling between you both. You kiss her forehead softly, reassuring her once more that you’re in this together—no matter what comes next.

You both stand in the silence, the hum of the hideout settling around you. The girl, Isha, is still standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on you both, her small frame tense but not entirely withdrawn. She’s looking at Jinx one moment, then at you, almost like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react, unsure of how this new chapter will begin.

You take a cautious step toward her, the floor creaking lightly beneath your feet. Isha doesn’t move, her posture defensive, but there’s a hint of curiosity in the way her blue hair flutters slightly with every slight movement you make.

You crouch in front of her, your knees sinking just enough to meet her gaze without overwhelming her. “Hey there,” you say softly, trying to keep the tone light. “I’m not going to bite, promise.”

Isha’s eyes flicker to your face, her lips parting slightly as if weighing whether to trust you. It’s quiet for a moment, and then, after a long stretch of silence, she hesitantly reaches out, her small fingers brushing against yours.

You give her a small, encouraging smile and gently take her hand, your grip light, offering her the space she needs to pull away if she wants to. You feel the chill of her hand against your skin, the coldness of someone who’s been through too much too soon.

“You’re safe here,” you say, voice low and reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Behind you, Jinx shifts, her usual chaotic energy subdued for once, her gaze trained on the interaction. There’s a look in her eyes—part gratitude, part uncertainty—that makes you pause for a moment. She’s watching, almost as if she’s holding her breath, waiting for something.

She takes a small step closer, her voice quieter than usual. “Thanks,” she says, the words tumbling out before she can stop them, more to herself than to you. “For not running off.”

You glance over your shoulder at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes. “I told you I’m not going anywhere, Jinx.” Your voice is firm, steady, grounding. “We’ll figure this out. All three of us.”

Isha’s small hand tightens in yours, a soft, tentative pressure that feels like the first sign of trust she’s given. You smile, a little more genuine this time, and shift to stand beside her, giving Jinx a glance that holds a promise.

Jinx looks back at you, her expression softening, and for the first time, you see something almost like hope flicker in her eyes. She steps up beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance to Isha.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jinx echoes, her voice quieter now. She glances at Isha, her fingers nervously twitching but keeping steady. “We’ll make sure she has a chance.”

Isha, though still cautious, seems to soften just a little in response. Her gaze shifts from you to Jinx and back again, like she’s beginning to believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s found something worth trusting.

Jinx’s eyes flicker toward the workbench, her gaze catching the sleek pistol you’d been carefully crafting. The change in her demeanor is almost immediate, the air around her crackling with a familiar energy. Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, the kind that only she could pull off. The uncertainty from moments ago seems to evaporate, replaced by a spark of excitement.

“Well, well…” she mutters, stepping over to the workbench and running her fingers along the edges of the half-assembled weapon. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

You watch her, her movements quick and sure as she inspects the weapon. “I was making it for you,” you say, your voice holding a touch of amusement. “Had to give it some personal touches.”

Her grin widens, and she picks up the gun with a careful but almost possessive gesture, weighing it in her hands. “I know, I know… You always make the best toys.” Her voice drops a little lower, a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes. “But I could use something like this, especially if I’m gonna be a good role model.”

You raise an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips. “Role model? Are you sure you know what that means?”

Jinx gives a playful shrug, flipping the gun in her hands and inspecting it. “Hey, maybe I don’t know everything about being a ‘good’ role model… but I’m pretty damn good at keeping people entertained.” She gives you a sly wink, her usual wild energy creeping back into her voice.

For a brief moment, the weight of the situation seems to lift as Jinx takes a shot at her old self. The chaos, the thrill—it’s all there, in her eyes, in her grin. But beneath it, there’s something different. A protective edge. She’s not just planning her next move—she’s trying to figure out how to be something else, something more.

You sigh, crossing your arms, and take in the sight of her, the wild spark still there but now tempered with something else. “Just don’t get too carried away, alright?”

Her eyes narrow in playful challenge. “Who, me? Never.”

You shake your head, but the corners of your mouth lift slightly, the tension between you easing as you watch Jinx’s usual self return, in all her unpredictable, fiery glory.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you mutter, though it’s more affectionate than anything.

Jinx’s grin softens a bit as she looks over at you, the weapon still in hand, but her attention fully on you now. “Hey, thanks for sticking with me,” she says quietly, her voice softer than before, but the familiar edge is still there. “I know this... this is a lot. But I’ll do everything I can to make it work.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment, of the decision ahead. “I know you will, Jinx. Just don’t let this turn into another one of your schemes, alright?”

Jinx’s eyes sparkle as she steps closer, her lips curling into another grin. “No promises,” she teases, then lowers her voice to something more sincere. “But I’ll try.”

[angrythingstarlight]

don't know if you've ever had an ask about this before, but I have to know,, does bee like playing the drums with pots and pans and wooden spoons? does bucky join in? or would he get her a real drum set? I feel like malyshka would kill him if he did 😭😭

-🕊️

Steve bought baby Bee a drum set as payback for Bucky commandeering one of his restaurants. He didn't even warn anyone that he was going to do it. He snuck the set in one afternoon and waited.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

WC: Drabble

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series.

*

The banging is faint at first. Hesitant. Bee is slowly discovering that she likes hitting these sticks against the drum. The sounds it makes are hilarious. She quickly grows more confident. And louder. So much louder.

Bucky slowly lifted his head off your lap, his eyes narrowed at the open door. "What is that?"

"No clue." You cringe, wondering what on earth was making all that racket.

Just as Bucky is about to go investigate, Steve strolls, a smirk brightening his features as he bites into a slice of carved apple.

"Oh, that is my 'thank you for stealing my restaurant' gift for Bumblebee." He leans against the wall, seemingly unaware of the growing ire stirring in you and Bucky. "I think she likes it. Hey Bee?" He raises his voice over the clatter and banging of drumsticks.

A brief silence. The sudden reprieve from the noise has you sinking against Bucky's shoulder.

"Yes Uncle Steve?"

You don't like that look in his eyes. Neither does Bucky. He's rising off the couch, heading towards Steve.

Steve doesn't move. "You love your drums?"

You know your baby so well that you can practically hear her answer before it leaves her mouth. Bucky is almost within reach of Steve. Her head tilts back and she screams. "I loves it!"

Bucky gets his hand around Steve's jacket lapel, ready to punch him in the chest. He doesn't flinch. Both mobsters are used to trading threats of bodily harm like they're passing around a pack of gum. "Don't you dare—"

Steve grins. Winks at you. "Your papa wants to hear a song Bumblebee. Play him something."

"Papa you wanna hears me? You loves it too?" She's still screaming, apparently too enamored with her new toys to leave her office.

Bucky drops his head back with a defeated groan. And you, well you, reach over and grab your airpods off the coffee table. They're in your ears before Bucky notices. He mouths 'traitor' in your direction and then turns to his best friend.

"We"—he emphasizes with a pointed look at Steve—" can't wait to listen, Bee."

Steve slings his arm around Bucky's shoulder and they walk out. "You know I'm glad we're friends. I hate to think what you would do if we weren't."

Bucky laughs. "Remember Eddie?"

Steve whistles. "That was impressive."

They're almost at Bee's door when Steve decides to test the limits of his friendship. "I should probably mention I bought her a keyboard too."

"You mother–" She pops her head out of the room, Bucky just manages to stop himself from teaching his baby another curse word. "Hey Bee.

Bee grabs both of their hands and pulls them into her office. "Okays first I gonna plays the drums and nexts is piano and den the flutes. I so 'cited Papa." She dances to the stack of instruments taking up space in the corner of her play area.

"What flute? Really? It was only one restaurant." Bucky whispers under his breath, his head turning towards Steve. At least he has the nerve to look sheepish. Maybe he did go a little overboard.

"Dis one Papa," Bee answers, giddy at the thought of playing with all her shiny new toys. She's never had ones like these. She doesn't think she'll ever get tired of them.

Both men halt at the loud, piercing, off key noise coming from the flute playing, adorable toddler. "You loves it?"

Bucky sighs because if it makes his baby happy, he will sit through hours of her "music". A smile pulls at his lips because if he has to suffer then so does Steve. "I do Bee and your uncle Steve wants to spend all day listening with me. He canceled all his plans just for you. Right Steve?"

"Weally?" She beams, bouncing on her heels, excitement radiating off her.

For the first time since he hatched this plan, Steve feels a tinge of regret. "Of course Bumblebee."

Bucky lowers his voice, brow raised, his expression becoming devious and calculating. "I'm going to record her and then have one of my guys copy it to a shit ton of tapes and have them stashed at every single one of your homes. Your offices. Your cars. It's going to play on an never ending loop. As soon as you find one, I'll have it replaced with two more."

"Still worth it," Steve replies, settling in one of the chairs across from Bee's makeshift stage. "Alright, sweet Bee, let's go."

[lologoinsolo]

Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Cats and Their Men Masterlist,

The coming week has been filled with a rush of pet parents wanting their dogs to be bathed. You do the best you can by helping the grooming salon and when you have down time you head up front. Managers haven’t hired anyone and you have a sinking feeling that they won’t. The week would’ve been more stressful had Kyle not shown up twice.

The first time showing up, he looked beat up, you thought the worst but he brushed off your worry. “Just doing a job, love.” That didn’t ease you, what kinda job gives you a bruising on your cheek? You assumed he’d be longer but all he said was that he was “in an out, didn’t need to stay long like the other two.” His reasons for coming though was something you could handle a little better.

“Need a good vet for my girl,” he looks more worried about his baby than over his bruises. You can respect that to an extent but you still want him packing ice on them. “I think she’s mad at me cause I left so quickly. John’s been pulling doubles.” He grins just a little, “maybe I worried her but she’s not eating.”

“Sometimes when routines are changed it can cause cats to not eat.” Cat behavior is more complex than people like to think it is. They see a cat hiss at them and think the cat’s an ass when really the cat was giving signs to not be pet or picked up. “The store has a vet but…” you look to the front, “I’m not a fan of them. Here.” You tug him to the salon. Grabbing some printer paper and pen, “my sister goes to this one and she raves about the vets. You can get Marina seen very quickly at this one.” And added plus along with, “her chihuahua likes her vet’s too but that little dog loves anyone.” You hold it out to him.

He takes it, reads the number and name to memorize quickly as he then pockets it for later use. “Thank you, don’t know where I’d be without you, love.” He stands just a little closer to you and you almost reach to touch his bruise when the next client of poodles comes barking happily in. Kyle pulls back from you, “I’ll let you know how Marina’s feeling if something changes!” Yelling over the noises before he leaves.

You notice the slightest limp in his walk and you pray that however hurt him, gets hurt worse. Your attention leaves to greet the poodles and you trudge through the rest of your day.

You didn’t think you’d see Kyle again but he came back two days and looking much more happier than he did last. Your break was just about to be taken coincidentally. “Kyle?” Punching out and taking your smock off. “Marina’s doing okay now?”

He sighs in relief. “My poor Marina, she just has a very sensitive stomach.” He tugs a bag that he’s been holding to the front. The ones used for cats that have a more sensitive pallet. “No wonder she’s had a hard time eating.”

“And you thought it’s cause she missed you,” poking fun as he gives the most dramatically sad look his brown eyes can muster.

“I’m hurt that you’d say that to me,” he pats a free hand over his chest, “wounded even. The deepest kind of scarring.” He trembles on and you can’t help but laugh more. He notices your smock in hand, “going on break?” His brows perk up and you squirm a little under his observing eyes.

Rubbing the back of your neck, “yeah, finally.” Getting lunch has been hard to do since every pet parent wants their dogs in now. You don’t get commission like the groomers do and you’ve wondered about moving back to the front.

“I know a good burger joint nearby?” Oh? Your brows raise and he stammers, “I mean if you’d like to go— with me? I mean with me.” He murmurs a small curse under his breath. He takes a breather, “I’d like to take you out for lunch. My treat since you’ve been helping so much.”

Heat warms your cheeks and you nod, “yeah… yeah, okay? I could go for a burger. Let me just,” you nod to the breakroom to grab your hoodie. It’s still cold out and you really don’t want to freeze your bits off. “I’ll grab my things.”

He smiles that charming smile, standing a little taller as he waits for you to come back. Once your hoodie is on and you pay your cheeks to cool’em, he goes to the front and pays for his cat’s food. His car is nothing fancy but it’s sleek and sturdy. You can tell that he’s put a lot of character and love into it. Maybe you shouldn’t get into a strangers car so quickly but there are cameras at your store… that and Kyle isn’t a stranger anymore.

You chat away to fill the space and he keeps up with you and what you say even if you think it’s dumb. The drives quick, like he promised, and he opens his door to run around to get yours before you could grab it. “Ladies first,” he even holds a hand for you to grab— and you do take it. Your cheeks will never know peace when he holds your hand in a gentle firm grip. He lets go only when he shuts the door and he walks right beside you when the burger joints in view. “Makes a mean mushroom Swiss.”

“Oh? I like mushrooms too. They’re pretty fun-guy’s.”

He groans and rubs his nose to hide his smile. “That was horrible, love. This is egg-xactly why I hate puns.” He stops in his step to turn towards you.

You look at him and he looks at you as you both snort a laugh. “Well, lettuce stop then.” His grin widen even more and you find that you like his smile the longer you look at him. He waits for you to walk first and then he smalls his movement to match pace with you.

He walks a little closer to you. Mumbling offhandedly about how “he’s gonna love those jokes.” And you have half a mind to ask who but you get to the front of the line. “Hey, Netty,” he leans up against it and an old lady with a kind smile starts to roll her eyes.

“Back again, Kyle?”

He shakes his head, “not just me,” she looks from him to you. Her brows move up a little and you give a sheepish grin.

“She deserves a better date than a burger joint, Kyle Garrick.” Her tone heavy with a scolding.

You sputter and stammer, “no— no, this is not— we—“

He leans more forward, “I know, shame on me.” Looking from Netty then back to you and winks, your cheeks burn like a furnace now. “But,” he tilts his head back to the older lady, “you do make the best burgers and my best girl should get just that.” You feel like you might die on the spot. Butterflies are jumbling from your stomach and beats against your chest. “Two mushroom swiss and chips, please.”

“Mhm, remembered your manners, now is it?” Netty takes his card from him and swipes it. It dings and then she hands it right back, “be right up and here,” she hands a soda to the both of you for free.

“Thanks, Netty.” He smiles at her and motions for you to come sit. His fingers twitch around the sodas and he doesn’t bring up why he said what he said and you… you don’t either. The burgers come out neatly wrapped and when Kyle goes to grab it he stops and speaks to Netty just a tad. A small brown bag is handed from her to him and he pockets it.

“You wanna eat here?” He asks slowly, though he sounds a little quieter. “Or I… I could take you back to your job, if you’d like?” You pat the table and he sits down quickly. Giving you your burger and chips and he finally speaks up after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, love.” He bites on his full lip and his shoulders are more rigid than you’ve seen it be. “I shouldn’t have agreed to what she said. I just—“

“It’s…” you swallow a bit, the cold out hasn’t cooled your warm cheeks. “It’s fine, Kyle.” You’ve dated a few but no one’s called you their best girl the way he did. The butterflies in your stomach seem to get worse, you should be mad about it. You don’t think he intended for that to happen or say what he said. Maybe he played along with an old lady’s musing… you don’t know if you should be hurt or mad that maybe it was a joke.

“I,” he takes a breath, “I meant what I said…earlier,” he looks down to his cooling burger and then back to you. “You deserve the best, love.” He coughs a little, his bruisings have gone down only a little and he hasn’t limped once since he’s walked beside you. “And I would like to take you out on a—“

“I,” you cut him off suddenly, “t-the food,” you stammer, his face contorts slightly to sadness. “We should… I need to be back soon.” Your hands tremble as you start picking up your burger to eat. He nods and gives a soft “okay, love” before you both eat in silence.

He drives you back in silence and you pick at your fingernails. When your job is in view he parks his car, steps out and goes to open your door just like before. He holds his hand out and his smile’s a little smaller than it was. “See you around?” A hopeful look that makes your heart squeeze tightly.

“Yeah… Kyle… I’ll see you,” you walk quickly and your heart hammers against your chest. You punch back in, heading over to the back of the salon and you place your hands over your face to scream into it. Some of the groomers notice but shrug their shoulders. Someone offhandedly mentions “stress of the job” but it’s not that. It’s you realizing that you probably ruined something good before it could even start.

[81pastrys]

Hi!! I hope you’re doing well. I was wondering if you would consider doing something where Lando and reader had a baby when they were teens and no one knew but family so the baby would be around 8-10 now and the world somehow found out about it?

Reality

Summary— Lando made dumb decisions as a teenager and his ex decided her account should be public without archiving a certain post

Warnings— secret child ; Oscar cursing ; mention of murder, but no actual murder?

A/N— I like this one (let’s be real, I like all my work)

Dad Lando List

Lando had been pondering the day that his daughter would be revealed as his daughter to the public. Everyone always believed her to be a younger sister, nothing confirming nor denying the idea. Lexie always joined him in the paddock, usually going unnoticed. She was stealthy like that. He was a good co-parent, kept it a secret and tried not to make it obvious she was always with him.

This particular weekend was weird, Lexie’s mom had asked Lando to keep her for the weekend for a mysterious trip and he obliged but worried that she was making a mistake. “No, I’m not saying I can’t take her, but do you even know this guy?” He asked her over the phone.

“Lando, you aren’t my dad, there is no need for you to worry about me like this.” She explained to him. Yeah he wasn’t her dad, or boyfriend anymore but they have a 9 year old to worry about and she was crucial to that.

“It just seems strange, you never do this.” He said. She was on her way with Lexie already, a plane set for them to be off in Hungary. “Not to mention the rumors going around about Lexie.” He mumbled nearly.

“So do you want me to keep her?” She asked. “I can cancel the trip.” That is 100% not what he meant and she knew it.

“No, I’m taking her with me to the race, I already got her a pass.” He said serious now. “It’s whatever we can talk more later.” He shook his head, finishing up on packing his suitcase.

They go to the race with no troubles and Lexie does her thing, sitting on Lando’s side. The rumors going around were that she was, in fact, his daughter and not his sister like they had thought.

Only the closest drivers actually knew she was his, but most were oblivious to the fact. It only takes one fan to go deep diving on Instagram to find the picture his ex posted of them in the hospital with Lexie in their arms.

He scrolled through a bit of media before practice and nearly freaked out. “Lexie!” He called to her. She ran right up like she was in trouble. “Lay low today yeah?” He asked, kissing her head.

“Okay, as in hide out in your driver room?” She asked, she loved his driver room. Lando nodded at her for the great idea. “Got it, love you!” She said. Lando had trained her young not to call him dad in the paddock or garage.

He returned from practice and Oscar had now seen the picture that floated around. “Mate what is this? You had a kid and didn’t tell me?” Oscar joked around. Lando scratched his neck and Lexie emerged from the driver room, hugging Lando’s waist. Oscars eyes went wide.

“When I said I was a dumb teenager what did you think?” Lando smiled. Lexie playfully punched his arm. “I didn’t call you dumb! I called myself dumb!” He laughed.

“What’s Osc-uh talking about?” Lexie asked. Oscar showed her his phone and she looked up to Lando who looked down at her. “Does this mean I have to call you dad in public?” She asked.

“Holy shit!” Oscar cursed. He covered his mouth quickly. “Who else knows?” He asked. Carlos, Max, Daniel, Charles (because Max can’t keep his mouth shut)

“Hmm the entire world now.” Lando said. “I told her not to post that but that brings us back to dumb teenagers.” Lexie playfully hit him again and he knocked her head. “Stop doing that!” He laughed. They truly did act like siblings.

Carlos saw too and headed over to the paddock he once called home. “Hey Lex.” He greeted when she hugged him. “She made her account public?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah, mate she’s going off grid.” Lando sighed. “She went off with some dude to Italy?” It was like gossiping but they had voiced their thoughts on his ex already. “I don’t mind it means I get Lexie for a week.” He tickled her and she giggled.

“Stop it!!” She got out through giggles. Cameras were on them, the graphic usually just saying ‘Lexie Norris’ but this time the graphic had ‘Lando’s daughter’ under her name.

“You’re kidding.” Lando’s face dropped. “Man what the fuck.” He whispered as he smiled. Lexie calmed down and saw it too. They played the clip of him tickling her and she hugged him.

“I love you too dad!” She said. He about melted in his racing suit. Carlos smiled at the pair and so did Oscar. “Can you call mum and make sure that guy didn’t kill her?” She was half joking.

“Killing her is a bit absurd Lexie.” Lando said. “He took her to Italy, he might just drain her accounts or something.” He joked with his daughter.

“Call her anyway.” Carlos said now concerned Lexie was insinuating her mum could be dead somewhere in Italy. (She was not)

Lando called her and she was having a grand old time with the random man and he didn’t seem all too weird either so Lando didn’t have any worries anymore. They left the paddock that day as father and daughter.

I had a feeling she needed a different name, Lila wouldn’t be able to keep a big secret so Lexie enters the chat

@il0vereadingstuff

[damneddamsy]

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

RECONSTRUCTION ALGORITHM—A process begins to build from the wreckage.

summary: Birthday dinners and blues, laughter over a crowded table—and Joel, caught between the past and something new.

a/n: are you ready for your prescribed serotonin boost :) are you reading to die :) are you ready to have your heart broken :) are you ready for pain :) if yes, it's here, and it's fucking good! can you spot where exactly I had a mental breakdown? virtual bear hugs for those who get it!

Joel had faced a lot of things in his life—clickers, raiders, shit ration food, the long, merciless stretch of empty roads—but this?

This might actually do him in.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees, staring at the open boxes like they might bite. Three whole boxes. Packed full of baby clothes, soft and delicate, in shades too clean for a world like this—pale yellows, powder blues, faded pinks. Those colours didn't belong in this world anymore.

He exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his beard. It was just one of those things, one of those moments where life threw something at him he wasn’t built for anymore. Throwing a punch, taking a knife, breaking his nose—those, he could handle. But picking out a damn dress for a baby?

“This ain’t my thing, baby girl,” he muttered, glancing at Maya sprawled out beside him on the bed. She kicked her legs, fists flailing like she had strong opinions on the matter. The second he walked through the door, she’d lit up, beaming that wide, gummy grin at him like his very existence was the happiest thing in her tiny world.

Joel shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. You ain’t the one stuck pickin’ through all this.”

He waved a hand at the neatly folded mass of tiny expensive dresses, bloomers, and booties, smelling faintly of time and soap. They’d been Leela’s once. That part stuck with him—the fact that these had once clothed her, when she was no bigger than Maya.

His rugged fingers hovered over the fabric, hesitant. Everything was so soft, worn down in the best way—not ragged, but loved. Clothes, to him, had always been practical. Denim, leather, sturdy boots. He’d spent years in a world where softness didn’t last, where anything delicate got torn up, dirtied, or lost. And yet, here it was. Preserved. A little piece of the past, kept safe.

He picked up a tiny white dress with a lace collar, holding it to the light. “This fancy enough for a birthday dinner?” he asked, squinting at Maya. “Hm, looks like your mama's dress, doesn't it? Just missin' those... buttons.”

She just cooed, kicking harder, wiggling like she might crawl right out of the blanket. He set it down and picked up another, something in a buttery yellow with embroidered flowers. Lighter, easier.

“This one. Like a pretty sunflower.”

Maya squealed like she agreed, flailing her arms toward him. Obviously sick of laying there, wanting to be up here with him.

He snorted. “You got strong opinions on style, huh? Don’t take after me, then. I ain’t got a clue.”

And yet, here he was. Doing this. Going through the whole process because Leela had asked him—because it mattered to her. The realization settled in, quiet and solid. He was doing this because he cared. About Maya, sure. But about Leela, too. Enough to sit here, sifting through baby clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He shook his head, picking up a tiny pair of bloomers and setting them aside with the yellow dress. “Guess that’ll do. Don’t want you upstaging your mama.”

Maya gurgled in agreement, and without thinking, Joel reached over, scratching a hand over her belly, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric of her onesie. Happy, just because he was here.

And he was only here because Leela had asked this of him. After all, she was downstairs, turning the kitchen into a goddamn laboratory. She’d been at it since morning, long before he even peeled himself off the pullout in his living room. The kitchen light had been on when he woke up, spilling a soft glow onto the snow outside, and through the open window, he caught glimpses of her—stirring, measuring, dicing and slicing with careful, mathematical precision.

At one point, she’d pulled out a scale. A scale. Like she was preparing for an experiment instead of a birthday dinner. Her own birthday dinner, that is. The one Maria had specifically asked her to butt out of because then it'd be pointless. Don't think Leela caught that part.

He’d spent his morning like that—half-awake, watching her move through the kitchen with the kind of focus that made his chest ache. Maya was strapped against her in a sling, her dozing head tucked beneath Leela’s chin, and her mother’s long braid trailed past her back, swaying with every movement. She barely stopped to sit down.

And Joel—still groggy, still warm from sleep—just lay there, watching.

Watching from the outside. Watching a life that wasn’t his, but could be.

Maybe, in some version of things, he’d be sitting at that damn marble island with her, sipping coffee, watching her openly instead of from behind the glass. Maybe he’d be close enough to tease her about overcomplicating her own birthday meal, close enough that she’d smile that shy smile, but lean into him anyway, chin up for an apology kiss.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to wonder what it would be like—because he’d already know.

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought off. Right. First things first.

He crouched down, dragging Maya closer to him over the bed, the buttery yellow dress draped over his arm. “Alright, darlin'. Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, slipping her tiny arms through the sleeves. She surprisingly went along with it without a fuss, blinking up at him, her round face curious, watching him.

Joel worked quickly, big fingers clumsy against the delicate buttons, careful not to tug too hard. “Y’know, you make this real easy,” he said to her, smoothing the fabric over her legs. “Your ma ever tell you that? Some little shits scream their heads off over this kinda thing.”

Maya just cooed, trying to catch her toes, like she knew she was being praised.

He snorted, lacing up her brown booties—useless, yet so adorable. “Don’t let it go to your head. You're still trouble.”

With a final adjustment, he lifted her, tucking her against his chest. She fit there like she always did, perfect and warm, her breath puffing against his throat. The second she was settled, her legs kicked in delight, hands curling into the collar of his shirt—habit, just like always.

Joel huffed, pressing a steadying palm against her back. “Beautiful girl,” he whispered, rocking slightly, just enough to keep her from getting squirmy. “Yeah, you are.”

Maya gurgled in response, gripping tighter, like she had any real strength to keep him there. Like she thought she needed to.

Joel didn’t move for a second, standing there, one hand spanning nearly the whole of her back, feeling the tiny rise and fall of her breaths against him. He arched his head to brush a kiss at her ear and turned toward the door.

Then he noticed it. The humungous closet doors were open.

It wasn’t like him to pry, but something about Leela always pulled at his curiosity. He glanced at Maya, as if seeking permission—she only pushed her lips into a pout—so he stepped inside.

Due to lack of better words in his dazed head: it was a rich woman’s closet. Joel had worked on plenty of houses back in the day, done high-end custom storage, and seen his fair share of luxury—but he’d never been around long enough to see it lived in.

Drawers lined one wall, sleek and built into the cabinetry. Rows of dresses, coats, scarves, bags, and belts filled another. Shoes—so many shoes—lined the shelves, some still wrapped in plastic, some broken in just enough to show which ones were loved. In the centre, a long glass table gleamed under the dim light, scattered with jewellery. Diamonds, rubies, and jade sat in their cases like they belonged behind some jeweller’s counter instead of lying out like an afterthought.

Maya made a soft, curious sound, leaning forward in fascination. Joel caught her before she could squirm right out of his arms. "Woah, kiddo."

His attention snagged on the dress draped over the table, carefully selected from the clutter.

Black. Velvet. Long-sleeved. Nothing flashy. No lace, no frills, no shimmer. Just smooth, short, heavy fabric, dark as ink, the kind that’d cling in all the right places. Understated, sure—but that only made it worse.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening. Christ, that can't be it, can it?

But Leela didn’t dress up much. Hell, he was used to seeing her in practical things—thick holey sweaters, clean jeans, and overstretched socks. Even the night dresses she wore were simple, easy. Unbearably cute.

But this? This was intentional. This was her putting thought into it, picking something that would fit her like a fucking glove. Black so stark against her skin, those big eyes, her legs. And Joel—he needed to stop thinking about that immediately.

He shifted Maya in his arms, clearing his throat like that’d help steady him. She was still staring, as if equally entranced, her small hands flexing toward the diamonds glinting under the glass table. He sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple as he stepped back.

“Don’t even, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I ain't raisin’ no flashy tastes in you.”

She gurgled in protest, kicking her feet, and Joel took that as his cue to get the hell out of there.

Now mind you, the past two weeks had been a state of grace.

He didn’t know what else to call it—what else to call the way he found himself here more often than not, the way it felt more natural by the day. He wasn’t just some frequent visitor anymore or a guest, or that guy who'd come around to hover with his tools. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was here with them. Even after patrol, he still ended up on their porch, dropping his rifle and pack by the door before stepping inside like it was just a given.

Hell, it kind of was. A little 'honey, I'm home' moment, if he really brooded on it.

Breakfast. Dinner. Sometimes all three meals, if time allowed. And they’d sit together on the kitchen stools, him and Leela, Maya on either of their laps, silent but companionable, sharing the space like it had been carved out for them alone. They didn't talk about much, sometimes Joel would hit her with a 'back-in-the-day' spiel, or Leela would inform him what happened in her workshop, though most of it went over his head. He liked to listen hard when she spoke, especially when she gave so little. And each morning to come, each evening in leave, Joel would feel it—that want, quiet but persistent, tugging at him, already pulling him into the next day.

Even Leela was eating again. Not much, but enough. It relieved him that she hadn't entirely given up on herself. He noticed the way she still picked at her food sometimes, however delicious it was, pushing it around more than eating it, and he never said a word. Just let her be, let her do what she could. He’d take what he could get.

There were moments, though—times when she got stuck in her own head as if phantom hands had reached out, clawed in and dragged her back to whatever had put her here in the first place. He’d see it clearest when she nursed Maya, like something about it sent her spiralling inward, caught in something he couldn’t see. But he could pull her back to him. He quickly learned how.

“Hey.” His voice was always low, careful, like he was trying not to spook a horse. And then a distraction, a lifeline. “How about I get us a cut of lamb again tomorrow? Y’know, those meatballs you made last week?”

Her eyes would clear, focusing again. “Yeah. Koftas.” And that smile would come alive, trademarked in his name. “Did you like them?”

“Too much. Hits the spot.”

It helped that Leela was a stupidly good cook. It wasn’t about the skill or the recipes—though she sure as hell knew her way around those—it was the way she did it. The way she measured things down to the last goddamn granule, cut with a precision that could’ve put surgeons to shame. She had a scale drawn onto her chopping board, and every damn herb on her windowsill was labelled like she was running a test kitchen instead of a home. He thought about it sometimes and had to bite back a smile.

"Is there anything you can't do?" he'd asked her once while stuffing his face with generously salted roast potatoes he'd passionately complimented. "I dunno, deadlift three thousand kilos? Roofing? Fix a busted engine? I bet that's nothin' to you."

She'd laughed, aimlessly twirling her fork in her hands. "Hmm... I'm quite inartistic. I can't strum a guitar as well as you. I can't sing or dance either."

"I'll give you five days until you're a pro guitarist," he challenged playfully.

She tilted her head. “I don’t know, Joel. Now that I think about it, I might be a lost cause.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. You learned how to do everything else, didn’t you?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not everything. You make me sound like some superhero.”

Joel stabbed another potato with his fork. “Nah, I bet you’d pick it up fast.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” He chewed, swallowed. “You got the... hands for it.”

Leela looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she could see what he meant. She had the prettiest fingers, long, soft, wide nails that would've graced those fancy designs once upon a time, and pale nerves coiling over lean bone. Jesus, he really was losing it.

“You say that like you’ve given it some thought,” she mumbled.

Joel just shrugged, lying through his teeth. “Not that much thought.”

Her mouth quirked, but she didn’t push. Just filled his cup with more water. “I still don’t think I could do it.”

“Why?”

She tapped the prongs of her fork against her plate. “I don’t know. I guess… it’d feel too good. And then I’d have to wonder why I spent so many years not doing it.”

Joel watched her, the way her fingers fidgeted, the way her eyes had gone elsewhere. He thought about telling her that was the whole damn point. That just because you hadn’t done something before didn’t mean you didn’t deserve to now.

Instead, he just said, “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

She met his eyes, and after a second, she nodded. “Yes. I do.”

And the way she stated it—gentle, effortless, like it was unmistakable—had Joel suddenly very interested in his plate again.

Then there was little Maya. His ray of sunshine. Growing like a wildflower, changing in ways he barely had time to keep up with. And he was there to see it. More than that—he was there for it.

Like that day, sprawled on the living room carpet beside her, lying flat on his back while Leela worked at the blackboard nearby, mumbling numbers under her breath at miles per hour, the scratch of chalk entwined with the dusty warble of Merle Haggard on the record player. Just another quiet moment, another stretch of time folded in between everything else.

Until Maya grabbed at his hand.

Her fingers curled tight, her little voice rising in breathy coos, calling for his attention. And then—just like that, way too ahead of schedule—she twisted, flipped herself over onto her front, and grinned at him like she’d just conquered the goddamn world. All that, in scarcely three months. The kid's going to be a genius just like her mama.

“Shit!” Joel breathed, pushing up on one elbow. “Daggum, girl. C'mere. That was really good, baby, real nice. You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She grinned wider, pleased with herself, kicking her legs against the carpet. He lifted her right off and plunged her in the air, pulling out a happy squeal. He brought her all the way down to push three deep kisses into her bunched cheeks.

Leela turned, brows raised, eyes flicking between them.

“Finally rolled over, she's been trying for weeks,” he told Leela, laughing, out of breath.

“Oh,” she mouthed. “Rolled over?”

“Oughta get a picture or somethin’,” he muttered, still looking at Maya, pride swelling in his chest in a way he hadn’t expected. He ran a hand over her downy-soft hair. “It’s a milestone. Turnin’ point, as I say.” The pun slipped out before he could stop it, and he cursed Ellie in his head.

Leela just blinked at him. Like it hadn’t even occurred to her. And maybe it hadn’t. Because, later that night, without a word, she passed him a little silver digital camera and said he spent more time with Maya than she did.

Joel had caught her elbow before she could walk away. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to as he told her, “You’re doin’ a great job at being her mom. It's not just me here.”

It didn’t help, not the way he expected to. She just nodded, scooped up Maya, and left the room.

That was the thing about Leela.

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t think she was in a position to care for another person. Like she was still caught somewhere in between—stuck in the space between whatever hell had given her Maya and the life she was trying to build around her.

She didn’t even have to say it. Joel saw it.

He saw it in the way she tried. The way she forced herself to be soft, forced herself to hold Maya just right, forced herself to soothe her, talk to her, to touch her like it was second nature instead of something she had to teach herself from scratch. It was in the way she hesitated when Maya reached for her like she wasn’t sure she deserved to be needed. It was in the way she lingered outside the nursery door some nights, just standing there, like she was working up the nerve to go inside.

It wasn’t easy for her. But she tried. Joel marvelled at that, her patience despite whatever tormented her. And yeah, progress was slow, but it was there.

Joel’s boots scuffed against the freshly washed mat at the foot of the stairs—he’d done that himself, thanks for fuckin’ noticing—as he made his way to the kitchen. Leela was crouched in front of the oven, arms wrapped around her shins, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Somethin’ wrong, or you just real interested in watchin’ bread bake?”

He barely had time to brace himself before the scent hit him—sweet and sugary, with a crispness that wasn’t quite like bread or cake, something lighter, airier.

Leela still didn’t look up. Whatever was in that oven had its hooks in her.

Joel pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, bending just enough to peer in. White. Puffy. Looked like a cloud. “The fuck is that?”

“Pavlova.” Her voice was muffled against her knees.

He squinted at it. “Uh-huh. The fuck is that?”

She exhaled, shifting just enough to glance at him. “For Eton mess.”

Joel lifted a brow. “You just sayin’ words at me now, smartass?”

She huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something in her posture—the way she kept her nose tucked between her knees, fingers lightly gripping her calves. She was nervous.

“It’s meringue,” she admitted lowly, like she didn’t want to say it too loud in case that made it collapse in the oven. “It’s delicate. Needs to set just right.”

Joel straightened, rubbing at his jaw. “So it’s just sugar?”

Her mouth twitched the closest thing to a smile she could manage while preoccupied. “And egg whites.”

“Ah, so fancy sugar.”

“Trust me, you'll love it.”

He snorted, ready to argue—but then Maya leaned in against his chest, watching them with big, curious eyes, her tiny hands reaching for the oven knobs. She was getting handsier every day.

Leela finally turned, and for the first time, she really saw Maya, and took her in—the tiny white dress, the soft embroidery, the way her dark eyes blinked down at her with nothing but unfiltered, open-mouthed joy. No fear. No hesitation. Just love for her mama, plain and easy.

And just like that, Leela’s whole face softened. Melted, almost.

“Oh, Maya,” she breathed, reaching for her. “You look so pretty. Aw, my sweetheart.”

She scooped the baby out of his arms without a second thought, cradling her close, and tucking her against her shoulder. Her fingers ran through the fine baby hair at the nape of Maya’s neck, gentle, reverent, like she was trying to memorize her.

Then, before Joel even knew what was happening, she leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Maya’s forehead.

Not him. Oh, never him. But he felt it anyway. It relaxed in his chest, warm and unwanted, curling into the space he’d been trying real damn hard to keep empty. Like a ghost of something he wasn’t allowed to want.

He forced himself to look away, exhaling through his nose, adjusting his stance like that might shake the feeling off. It didn’t. Because the truth was—he’d thought about it. Too much. Too often.

The way she tilted her chin when she looked at him, how her mouth softened when she spoke to Maya, the bare curve of her throat when she laughed—all of it had lodged itself in his head, taken up space like it belonged there. And the worst of it?

He’d imagined it. His own mouth against hers. Slow and deep, catching the breath between her words, pulling that softness into him, feeling the curve of her spine, the softness of her hair twisted into his fingers.

And it was fucking ridiculous. But it didn’t stop him from thinking about it. Didn’t stop the way his gaze snagged on the spot where her lips had just been, where his had been too—because yeah, he’d kissed that exact place on Maya’s cheek before. More than once.

That was different, though. Right? Had to be.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless, needing something to do. He settled on the island, finally taking in what was right in front of him.

And, Jesus. Five trays. At least.

Stacked and spread out across the counter, gleaming under the low kitchen lights. There was no rhyme or reason to it—roast lamb chops, some kind of stewed eggplant, rice flecked with peanuts and saffron, a whole mess of things he didn’t recognize.

Still, she was gonna lose her goddamn mind. Not because Leela had transcended her at her own game—but because she’d cooked her own birthday dinner. Like she didn’t know how to sit still, even for that, or that she couldn’t let people do for her the way she did for them.

Joel shook his head, dragging a hand down his beard. One of those things. Something about Leela that made sense and didn’t, all at once.

“I’m going to go get dressed before Maria gets here,” she said, finally pulling his attention back to her.

Then, casually, like it was nothing, like it didn’t send something tight curling in his gut, she added, “I laid something out for you, too. If you'd like to wear something nice.”

And then she was gone, disappearing down the foyer, leaving Joel standing there, staring after her like an idiot. Like a man in deeper than he had any right to be.

X

Joel had thought long and hard about what to get Leela for her thirtieth, and it had damn near driven him mad.

He wasn’t good at gifts. He wasn’t good at a lot of things, really—at knowing what people wanted, at knowing how to give without feeling like he was handing over pieces of himself. It felt impossible.

What the hell do you give someone who already has everything—even in the goddamn apocalypse?

Leela didn’t need anything. She had a home, one of the nicer, better-built ones, passed down to her like an heirloom. She had clothes, ones she patched up herself, sewn with delicate little stitches. She had music, kept safe on a high shelf, and books stacked in neat piles by the fireplace. She had cars, she had diamonds just sitting up there in a closet, and she even had her own plants thriving.

She had all that and more. So, yeah. He’d considered it all. Clothes. Music. Books. Lights. Pictures. A cat, even. Something that meant something. Significant.

And then, out on patrol, he’d found it.

A cherry tree. Growing wild, untamed, tucked between dense brush and the gnarled twist of maple roots. Dark fruit hanging low, the weight of them bending the branches, like they were waiting for him.

At first, he’d strolled right past it. Just a tree. Just cherries.

And then he’d stopped, brows furrowed. He’d remembered the way she wove them into her life. The careful little cherry embroideries, the tiny red-painted symbols on her sugar and salt tubs, the delicate pattern etched everywhere.

She loved them. Enough to keep them close. Enough to mark them as hers. And so, like a damn fool, he’d kneeled and plucked them.

In a few hours, he'd picked the whole thicket clean. He’d stuffed them into his jacket pockets, let them fill the space in his backpack, red staining the fabric, fingers sticky and sweet with their juice.

It had felt right at the time. He'd felt so proud of himself. She was going to love the shit out of this.

Now, standing by the front door, having Tommy and Maria say that they'd managed to acquire a goddamn Polaroid camera for her—yellowed with age, probably out of photo paper but still lasting—Joel felt like a massive fucking idiot.

At least their gift had value. At least it wasn’t perishable. But, she already has a digital camera, his conscience reasoned with him. Sure, but especially to her, it was the thought that counted. She wouldn't be out here, letting Joel borrow cashmere sweaters and luxury denim on the fly.

And then Ellie had showed off her gift—another layer of shit over his confidence—a handmade journal, stitched together with patience and effort, thick pages bound in soft, timeworn leather. Thoughtful. Meaningful. Her best friend, Dina, definitely had a hand in this. Ellie didn't have the patience to craft something this considerate.

And Joel was the one to talk—well, Joel had a box of cherries. Fucking cherries. Cherries he’d spent hours picking, his fingers raw, his back aching for two days straight. Cherries he’d plucked in pairs, stems still intact, trying to mimic the little embroidered ones she stitched into her life. He’d thought he was being thoughtful. Now, how the fuck was he supposed to compete with journals and cameras?

So he did what any man with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

He pretended they didn’t exist. Let them sit out on the little porch shelf where he’d left them, where he figured he’d grab them when the time was right. Except now, the time wasn’t right. Never will be. And he’d just let them sit there forever, let the cold creep into them, let them wrinkle and rot and become another thing he never got around to.

Better to just let everyone think he was a callous, inconsiderate bastard than actually admit he’d put his heart into something. Easier that way.

As Maria and Ellie jogged upstairs, loud and chattering, off to greet the birthday girl and Maya, Joel made his way into the kitchen—only to get cornered by Tommy’s knowing look. That damn eyebrow, he got that from their dad.

Joel ignored him. Busied himself with laying foil over that one lonely tray, the rhythm of his hands methodical, grounding. It wasn’t until Tommy leaned against the counter, arms folded, voice low and amused, that he finally spoke.

“I knew you hated sappy shit, big brother, but this is a new low.”

Joel exhaled slowly, flattening the foil more aggressively than necessary. “Not now, Tommy.”

“Not now,” Tommy mimicked in a baritone, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You couldn’t even get her somethin’ small? The girl was ready to let you move in, for cryin' out loud.”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Hell, Maya, at least?”

That one stung. He didn’t know why. And somehow, the thought of that bothered him more than the idea of disappointing Leela. Maybe because he could take being an asshole to her. Could brush it off, let her think he was callous, numb. That was easy, safe.

But Maya? She was just a baby. His little girl. This tiny thing with nothing in the world except her mother, who carried all the pain and all the worry, while Joel sat on his hands and pretended like he wasn’t thinking about them more than he should.

He pressed down on the foil harder, smoothing out creases that weren’t there. He could feel Tommy watching him, expectant, waiting.

“Right,” Tommy sighed, knowing what to expect. “I’m gonna go drain the lizard.”

He scowled, finally looking up. “That's some real dignified talk. Better tone it down at dinner.”

His brother just grinned with a playful salute, disappearing down the hall.

Joel stomped his way into the dining room, fists stuffed into his pockets. Not because he knew what the hell he was even looking for, but because he had to move. The ache in his chest was getting to be too much, and if he sat with it any longer, he might actually have to acknowledge it.

Leela had transformed the shit out of this dining room, and Joel took it all in. Candles flickered across the table, their golden light pooling over the wood, catching on the edges of intricate ceramic plates, and warming the dark corners of the room. The food that Leela had slaved away to make was spread out, lavish, rich, the kind of meal that had no business existing in a world that had already ended. As if this little town, this home, was untouched by the decay beyond its walls.

The blackened, humungous yard outside those slightly gaumed French windows—he ought to get around to that this week—was paved with a clean sheet of snow, and it was clear what lay under it. A manifold garden of some sort, from the cursive-letter markers sticking out from the ice. And a pond, maybe.

It was all so soft. Painstaking. Conscious. Like everything Leela touched.

A sudden thrum of light, breathless, girlish laughter echoed from upstairs, Ellie's the most rambunctious of the lot, obviously having fun with that new camera.

“Maya, smile...” Then later, “Ha-ha, she's got no fuckin' teeth!”

It flushed a small smile of his own at the sound. He hadn’t heard that kind of laughter in years. Not since Sarah. Not since the days when she and her friends had holed up in her room, voices tumbling through the walls, their shrill giggles slipping into his evenings, melding with his exhaustion, belonging there, like a part of his house itself.

Back then, he’d barely noticed it. In fact, he'd wanted them to shut the hell up so he could focus on paperwork. He’d never thought to savour it. And now? Now it pressed against the deepest crevices in him, brittle and aching, something he couldn’t touch without it breaking apart in his hands. It still hurt like hell.

And then, as dinner time neared, the big room filled out—oh, Joel hadn't meant to look. Hadn’t meant to let his eyes linger that way. Fuck, he forgot how Leela was going to be tonight.

No. He dragged his eyes from her, yet the image remained seared into his head.

But there she was, standing at the far end of the room, completely different and exactly the same.

That velvet dress—Jesus Christ, he needed air.

He’d known it’d be trouble the second he saw it. It fit too well, soft in places he shouldn’t be noticing, snug over her hips, floating around her legs bare, smooth, unfairly right there. Her usual braid was pulled back tight, but a few strands had already come loose, slipping against her cheek, catching at her collarbone, and softening her face. A thin strand of pearls nestled at her neck—simple, understated. Like she was one of those lunching ladies in country clubs, lugging their crocodile leather bags, and clutching their pearls. Fucking adorable now that it registered, she was probably dressed like what she'd seen her mother wear back then.

And in another life, a girl like her would’ve walked right past a man like him. Would’ve mistaken him for a valet. Would’ve never even looked at him. He should be thanking his stars that the world went to shit and brought him her.

Joel clenched his jaw, forced his gaze away, and focused on the room instead. Maya, the real star of the show, was being passed off between the rest like a pack of smokes, her little chubby arms reaching, everyone cooing, fussing over her pretty, new dress.

Everywhere except. Leela...

She had drifted toward the bar cart at the edge of the room, breaking out the good stuff. He glimpsed the label—vintage Pinot Noir, knotty French scramble and expensive as hell. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that somehow, without even thinking, he’d ended up standing beside her.

And when she looked up—she smiled at him. Small, a little shy, the kind of smile that said she was nervous for no reason at all.

“Hi, Joel.” Her hand smoothed down her stomach as if flattening that cute little belly bulge, fixing something that didn’t need fixing. “Do I look okay?” she murmured, hesitant. “Is it too much? It is, isn't it?”

Too much? For him, fuck yes. Fine? Fine wasn’t even in the same goddamn ballpark.

So, he opened his mouth. Closed it. Nothing.

“No.” A beat. “You…”

Nothing again. He was drawing a blank. The words dried up before they even had the chance to form, like dust in his mouth.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be poetic about it, but there was nothing in his head that felt close to good enough. No simple word, no half-mumbled compliment that could measure up to her tonight.

Leela stood in front of him, shifting slightly, looking down, constantly pressing her palm over her stomach like she was suddenly self-conscious. She was always incredible. She always knew her way around things. That wasn’t news.

But tonight, she just...—his jaw tightened. He wasn’t even gonna let himself finish that thought. His throat worked as he opened his mouth again, ready to force something out, anything—

“God, this smells fucking delicious!” Ellie’s voice tore through the moment, shattering it.

Leela startled slightly, before blinking, exhaling a soft laugh, and looking away. And just like that, the moment was gone.

The next thing he knew, everyone had settled in, chairs scraping against the wood, good wine flowing, voices overlapping, the liquor kicking in, laughter beginning. The candlelight flickered against the dishes, the soft golden glow catching on deep greens, bright reds, and the spread of food that looked like something out of a damn painting.

Joel wasn’t even sure where to start, but Ellie had no such problem. She was going to town, her plate stacked high, fork stabbing into rice and lamb and eggplant, making a goddamn mess of herself.

Maya sat in her lap, eyes wide, fists curled into her mouth, watching every movement with a sort of blank curiosity, like she was studying some unknown species.

Joel almost smirked. Baby girl had better instincts than most.

Meanwhile, Maria was not having it. She sat back in her chair, arms folded, watching Leela with something sharp in her gaze.

“Why would you cook your own birthday dinner? I told you to let me handle it.”

Leela shrugged, reaching for Joel’s plate once more. He barely had time to grab his plate back before she was scooping more roast potatoes onto it. Christ. At this rate, she was gonna have him fattened up like a prize hog by the end of the night.

“I had to say thanks to all of you somehow,” Leela murmured, matter-of-fact like it truly was that simple. Like, it wasn’t the most Leela thing in the world. “For everything you did for Maya and me. Thank you.”

Maria sighed, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Tommy beat her to it.

“Honey, there’s no thanks between family. You just take it and be happy about it.” His laugh was muffled by a sip of his wine.

Leela, in the middle of reaching for another serving spoon, paused. And Joel saw it—the way she responded. It was subtle. Not a gasp, not anything dramatic, but something small. The way her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should smile like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. He let his own smile grace his face as he did.

Before he could think on it too much, he caught movement from the corner of his eye—Leela, still standing, still serving, still doing everything but eating.

Joel set down his glass with purpose.

“Sit down.” His voice was low, and firm, leaving no room for argument as he grabbed the spoon from her hand and dropped it onto a tray. “Eat. They're grown-ups, they can serve themselves.”

Leela sighed and sat. Finally. “Okay.”

Joel didn’t give her much choice, pressing the chair in behind her knees, setting her plate in front of her like it was law. He caught the flicker of hesitation, the way she lingered as if she had something else to do, something else to fix. But there was nothing left. The food was hot, everyone was fed, and she was out of excuses.

He scooped a little of everything onto her plate, careful not to overdo it, careful to leave out the eggplant. He didn’t know when he’d learned that about her, just that he had. And she didn’t object, just picked at what landed in front of her, moving the food around with her fork. She didn’t eat right away, not really.

Maria, Tommy, Ellie, and Joel had a rhythm. They talked over each other, ribbed each other, passed stories back and forth like well-worn cards, easy and unthinking. They'd raised a toast to the birthday girl, Maya's new dress, this astonishing dinner, Joel smiling for once—it felt… safe. Loud, but not in a way that grated. Just lived-in.

He wasn’t sure what she thought of all this. Maybe it was too much, too loud, too different from what she was used to.

Especially when Tommy, halfway through a sip of whiskey, nearly choked and gawked at her. "Wait, wait—back up. You didn't know turnin’ thirty was a big deal?"

Leela blinked, clearly lost. "Why would it be? It’s just… a number."

Tommy clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. "Oh, Jesus. Joel, tell her. Tell her what happens when you turn thirty."

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at her, smirking. "Your knees start makin’ noises you ain’t never heard before. The hangovers last three to five business days. And suddenly—" he jabbed a finger at Tommy, "—this clown starts talkin’ about cholesterol like it’s the Grim Reaper."

Tommy pointed back at him, indignant. "It is the Grim Reaper! You think I like checkin’ my blood pressure for fun?"

Leela stared between them, unimpressed. "So, you’re telling me turning thirty means getting old and miserable?"

Joel shrugged. "Pretty much."

Tommy raised his glass. "Welcome to the club, darlin’. It’s all downhill from here."

Leela huffed a small laugh, shaking her head, but Joel could feel her eyes on him. Not in an obvious way—Leela wasn’t like that. But he could tell. The way she always tucked herself into the background, listening instead of talking, watching instead of stepping in.

Like she was still trying to figure out how all of this worked. How they worked. And Ellie, for one, was having the time of her life.

She jabbed a finger at Joel, like she was about to make some grand accusation. "I swear, it’s like clockwork! Dude’s got, like, five phrases in rotation. Seriously, he's some old Western cowboy stuck in a fucking time loop. It’s insane."

Joel exhaled sharply, already tired. “The hell are you talkin’ about, girl?”

Maria smirked, leaning in like she knew exactly where this was going. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

“That one didn't count. You ready? Okay, let's go.” Ellie straightened in her chair, cleared her throat dramatically, and then—“‘Ain’t my first rodeo.’”

Tommy barked a laugh. Maria made a face that said, damn, that was actually a good one. Joel just shook his head, but he didn’t argue.

Ellie pushed on with that wicked smirk. “‘Coulda told you that one.’”

That got Maria and Tommy good, they were already in fits. Joel sighed, reaching for his glass. Meanwhile, Leela pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“See? See?” Ellie counted on her fingers, riding the high. “‘You ain't gonna like the answer.’ Huh, Tommy?”

Tommy wiped at his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Shit.”

Joel took a drink, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table. That one was sadly dead on.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head, but Tommy only leaned forward, grinning wide. “Oh, oh, what about ‘Never said I was a good man’?”

Ellie, inspired, went for the kill. “Right, yes! And my personal favourite, ‘Shit’s fucked,’ obviously.”

That one did it.

Maria actually turned away, full-on wheezing hard. Tommy clapped a hand on the table, throwing his head back to roar out a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, reaching for his whiskey. “Table’s turned against me.”

He flicked his gaze to Leela, watching her reaction—like maybe if she thought it was funny, it would be worth the humiliation.

She met his eyes over the rim of her glass, her expression unreadable for a beat, then—slowly, her lips curved. She took a sip of her water like she was trying to hide it, but he caught the way her eyes softened, the way she tucked her chin slightly, almost sheepish.

Leela finally spoke, her voice a soft, amused murmur. “I think they just know you too well, Joel. It's nice.”

Joel paused mid-sip, watching her as she turned back to her plate, finally taking a bite.

It was a simple thing, but the words sat with him. It wasn’t just that they were teasing him. It was the fact that she was here, part of it, taking it in, letting herself be in this moment. He realized then—that Leela had spent so much time holding herself apart, hovering at the edges of things, always wary. Not tonight.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head like he wasn’t entertained, even though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Whole lotta talk for a bunch of ingrates,” he muttered. “Maybe I oughta keep my words to myself. See how y’all fare without my wisdom.”

“Your wisdom? Are you fucking kidding?” Maria scoffed, still wiping at her eyes. “Joel, the day we take life advice from you—”

“Will be the day the world actually ends,” Tommy finished, reaching for his drink. “Again.”

Ellie snorted, still looking way too pleased with herself. “Go on, old man. Say something profound.”

Joel didn’t dignify that with an answer, just took another sip of whiskey, glancing at Maya on Ellie's lap. That same warmth ravaged him for a moment.

But when he looked to his side again, his eyes found Leela. She wasn’t laughing like the rest of them—not outright. No sharp, teasing glances, no knee-slapping or head-shaking.

Just that same small, quiet smile, the kind that broke his fucking heart in two.

He wasn’t sure how long they looked at each other, just that he noticed how the candlelight softened her features, how her fingers smoothed over the rim of her glass absentmindedly, how her braid had loosened slightly throughout the night, one long stray wisp of hair curling by her shoulder. God, she took his breath away.

And then he noticed the table. Maria. Tommy. Even Ellie. Side-eying and smirking like damn fools.

Joel scowled, bracing himself. “What now?”

“Not a damn thing,” Tommy said, though the way he fought back a grin suggested otherwise.

Ellie waggled her brows. “Oh, no, you just—look really wise right now.”

Joel fought the urge to groan, letting his head tip back slightly. “No, really. Thank you.”

Leela shifted, clearing her throat, poking at her plate like she wanted to disappear into it.

Tommy looked like he had more to say, something locked and loaded, but before he could get it out, across the table, Maya started to fuss, her hands curling and uncurling toward the plates on the table, making that small, needy noise. Baby girl was the centre of attention, as always. She had a way of pulling eyes to her without even trying like the whole world naturally revolved around her.

But the moment Maria chimed in, her voice carrying easily over the table—“Maya, honey”—that was when it happened.

Her eyes snapped up, searching the table with a determination far too strong for someone so small. Her fingers flexed, hands opening and closing in that telltale way, reaching, waiting—and then Maria tried something else, something that shouldn’t have stood out, except—

“You wanna say hi to Joel?”

The second it left her mouth, Maya’s little head swivelled, locking onto him with that same urgency, that same expectation. Maya made a soft, almost questioning noise, like she was waiting for something, her arm stretching further, fingers still curling and uncurling.

He didn’t even think about it. Didn’t think about how much she knew him now. How his name meant something to her, how she was already learning that when she reached, he would be there.

“Ugh. But I just got you,” Ellie clucked her tongue, bouncing Maya slightly. “Can’t believe this, you're straight-up ditching me for a fogey. Breaking my heart, kid.”

“Guess she's just sick of you, kid,” Joel teased.

“Shut up.”

Maya squirmed, unsatisfied, her arm stretching further. Then came that stubborn cry, the kind Joel had long since learned to recognize—the warning before real tears, before she got herself all worked up.

And, well, he had tried to resist it before. Tried to tell himself to let her be, that she needed to settle on her own, that he wasn’t supposed to get her used to always having him right there. Didn’t matter one fucking bit. The minute those eyes got glassy, he was already reaching across the table.

"C'mere, baby girl," he muttered, hands steady as he lifted her from Ellie’s grasp. “There you go. Hi.”

She melted against him instantly, her warm little body pressing into his chest, a fist curling into the fabric of his shirt. He barely had time to adjust before she shoved both hands into her mouth, hiding that big, gummy grin like she was suddenly shy.

He chucked her chin. "Happy now?"

Maya let out a tiny giggle, then dropped her head forward against his shoulder, burrowing in, pressing her face into his collar like she wanted to disappear inside him.

"Yeah, that tracks," Ellie said, smirking. "Guess she just likes dinosaurs."

Joel only fed the fire. "I think it's my rugged good looks."

That drew out a few annoyed groans around him.

Ellie snickered. "Not that she’s got much to compare to, though.”

It was a silly joke. A throwaway line. She didn't know any better.

But Joel felt it shift the air at the table, quiet but undeniable, like the slow pull of a storm rolling in.

Leela’s grip on her fork tightened, her knuckles paling around the metal. It was barely a reaction. Just the barest pause. A slow blink, calculated and measured, like she was pushing something down, pressing it deep, locking it behind her ribs before it could surface.

But Joel caught it. He wasn’t sure what it was—not exactly. He only knew the way it felt. The way a sharp sense of awareness dug into the back of his skull, the way his chest clenched, like something inside him had just brushed against a wound he hadn’t known was there.

Maria noticed, too. She shot Ellie a look. Just a quick, subtle thing, but full of meaning.

Ellie’s chewing slowed, the realization dawning. "Shit. Sorry," she muttered, suddenly fascinated with her plate. “I'm so sorry, Leela. I wasn’t trying to—”

Leela’s voice was too even, barely managing the dismissive smile. “It’s alright, Ellie. It's nothing.”

It wasn’t. She was practically forcing this lie out of her mouth.

She pushed her chair back. “I’ll go... um, be right back.”

Joel caught the way she moved—not hurried, not frantic, just a little too controlled, like she was forcing herself not to make it obvious that she needed to get out of there.

He should’ve stood. Should’ve gone after her, said something, done something.

Maria was already moving. “Let me check on her,” she said softly, chair scraping against the floor as she followed Leela through the kitchen doors.

Joel exhaled, slow through his nose.

The warmth of the meal, the easy hum of conversation—it all dissipated like heat off an open plate, leaving only the scrape of utensils, the occasional clink of glass. The space Leela left behind stretched thin, like a too-wide gap in a picket fence.

Ellie exhaled, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I really wasn’t trying to… god, I have such a big fucking—”

Joel adjusted Maya in his arms who was busy combing fleece off the expensive cashmere on his chest. “Ain’t your fault, kid. 'S’all right. Just a touchy subject.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just kept his eyes on the rim of his whiskey glass, watching the candlelight slice through the amber liquid.

Because it was the truth. It wasn’t Ellie’s fault. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wishing he could take back that moment, wipe it clean. Like smudging out a scuff on a wood floor—pretending it had never been there at all.

Ellie nodded, but her fork just scraped uselessly at the plate, pushing food around in slow, absent-minded circles. She curled in on herself, shoulders drawn tight.

Tommy cleared his throat, voice pushing for something lighter. “Think it’s time we brought out dessert, huh? Said it was some trifle or somethin’.”

The words hovered, waiting for someone to catch onto them, and keep the momentum going. But no one did.

Joel didn’t answer either. He just tipped his whiskey back, letting the burn roll slow down his throat.

“Ah, what the hell,” Tommy muttered, scratching at his jaw.

Joel barely registered it. His mind wasn’t here. It was behind that door, past the threshold of the kitchen, where Maria had gone.

He should’ve been the one to follow. But Maria knew better. Knew when to step in, when to let someone walk away without pressing.

And Joel—Joel just sat there, gripping his glass too tight, holding Maya closer, listening to the faint rattle of silverware, the flicker of candlelight, the distant creak of the floorboards in the kitchen.

The moment had died out. They just hadn’t called it yet.

X

Maya's nursery looked different now.

It used to be dim and quiet, a place half-lived in, half-abandoned—just a room with a crib shoved into it, like it didn’t belong there. Like she didn’t belong there.

Now, it felt like a home. A place meant for a child to grow. Soft, muted green stretched across the walls, warm in the glow of the low bedside lamp. Shelves lined with neatly folded onesies and tiny socks, stuffed animals tucked into corners like silent sentries. The window bench had been cleared of dust and laid out with a fresh quilt, facing the snowy street below—facing his house.

Joel rocked on his heels, shifting Maya higher in his arms as the low murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs. Goodbyes being said. Chairs scraping back. The door cracking open to the cool night air.

He should go. He knew that.

But hell, it was barely ten. He never left before Leela fell asleep—not until he was sure she was actually going to sleep. And that wasn’t for another couple of hours, at least.

Not that he was leaving anytime soon. Not unless he figured out a way to pry this little troublemaker off him.

Maya wasn’t having it.

He’d tried everything—rocking, pacing, humming low in his throat—but she refused to close those pretty eyes, just kept watching him, Her fingers patted at his chest, curling into his shirt. Then she'd reach up, clumsy and determined, fingers smushing against his nose, his cheek, his scruff.

Joel exhaled, shifting her slightly in his arms. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Maya blinked up at him, all big, dark eyes and stubborn little fists. He knew how much she loved conversing with him, even if it seemed deranged to talk to a fucking infant.

"You gonna let me put you down, or you plannin’ to keep me hostage all night?"

Maya made a breathy 'o' up at him, mouth parting in a wide, drooly grin. Like that would get her off the hook.

Joel snorted. "Yeah, that so?"

Another coo, this one higher-pitched, like she had a whole argument ready.

He shook his head, tired but amused. "Mhm. I'm convinced."

Joel sighed, lifting her up so they were at eye level, holding her by the armpits. Her legs kicked in the air, her chubby fists went straight to her mouth, and she tilted her head back, distracted by the warm glow of the nursery lights.

Too big. She was growing too damn fast.

He felt it in the way she relaxed against him now, her body stretching longer, heavier. Felt it in the way her head fit differently in the crook of his neck, in the way her fingers, once barely able to grasp his thumb, now had a grip strong enough to tug at his shirt.

It was frustrating. Fucking unfair. She'd only been in the world for a few weeks, and just when she was starting to fit perfectly in his arms, she was already growing out of them.

Joel swallowed thickly, staring at the soft roundness of her cheeks, the dark lashes fluttering against her skin. His fingers traced the slope of her back, feeling the tiny, steady rise and fall of her breath. How can you miss something that was not yet lost?

A lump pressed against his throat.

“You know I love you so goddamn much, right?”

It wasn’t much more than a whisper. A thought barely forced out past his lips. And yet—it felt so final. How long until he heard it back from her? Another year? Two years? Would he still be around when she said it to him?

Joel clenched his jaw, sighing. Hard as hell, saying it out loud. Felt damn near impossible, like something fragile, like something that wasn’t his to admit. Like if he said it too much, too often, he might have to face what it really meant. That he’d already taken responsibility for her, or if anything were to happen to her—

Maya let out a breathy giggle, legs kicking, fingers smacking against his cheek.

Joel blinked, barely catching himself before he smiled.

When he pulled her closer, she wriggled against him, pressing her small, warm face to his, her tiny palms patting at his chin, his nose, his temple. Soft puffs of air landed against his skin, clumsy, open-mouthed, like her own sloppy, little version of a kiss.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. This was really all he needed in whatever was left of his life. It seemed too easy to make it enough.

“Fine, you win this time,” he muttered, voice rough, thick.

Maya gurgled against his cheek, cooing, like she understood his plight.

He descended the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Maya too much, hoping the rhythm might finally lull her to sleep. Her head lolled against his shoulder, tiny fingers curled into his collar again, but she was still awake, just blinking wide-eyed at the world.

Joel paused at the landing when he caught voices near the door—Ellie and Leela, still lingering. A strange sight, to be honest.

“Look, I really messed up back there and—” Ellie started, arms tight around herself, like she was bracing for impact.

Leela didn’t let her finish. Instead, she pressed something into Ellie’s palm—a tightly rolled set of charts. “Joel told me you love astronomy,” she said simply. “These belonged to my mother once. She was like you, too.” A beat. “They should go to someone who’ll actually use them.”

Joel shifted against the railing, watching as Ellie unrolled the top just enough to glimpse the faded celestial maps inside—one for each month, constellations inked in delicate, ghostly lines.

Her breath hitched. “Holy shit.”

Leela blinked. “Is that a good 'holy shit' or—”

Ellie nearly lunged forward—almost, but not quite. She caught herself, scratching the back of her head instead, a grin breaking through like she couldn’t hold it back. “Best fucking holy shit. Thank you.”

For a moment, she just held the maps, careful, reverent, like something fragile. Then she exhaled, shaking her head with a laugh—the kid really couldn’t believe her luck. “This is so sick. I’m gonna—I don’t even know, but it’s gonna be fucking awesome.” She clutched the charts to her chest, voice lighter than it had been all night. “Thanks, Leela. Really.”

Leela gave a slow nod, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the gratitude. She hesitated, then tested out a cautious, “Um. Have... fun.”

Ellie barely caught any of that. She whooped into the night as she left, the charts still hugged close. Oh, Joel was definitely not going to hear the end of this for at least a month.

Leela lingered in the doorway, lips parted, watching Ellie disappear down the street. Then, almost like she didn’t quite believe what had just happened, she slowly shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hands lifted, covering her face, fingers threading through her hair. A breathy laugh escaped her—soft, disbelieving.

Joel caught the tail end of it, the faint curve of her smile before she tucked it away. Small. Quiet. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

And hell, if that didn’t do something to him.

“I take it you enjoyed dinner then,” he said, his voice rough with amusement.

Leela startled slightly and hadn’t realized he was still there. Her eyes flicked first to Maya, softening instinctively before settling on him. The edges of that smile lingered—that wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

She stepped closer, hand brushing over Maya’s back. “Little troublemaker fighting sleep again?”

Maya let out a big, sleepy yawn, eyes drooping but still resisting, gripping the fabric of Joel’s shirt like she could anchor herself awake. Stubborn baby girl.

Joel huffed, shifting his hold on her. “Like she doesn’t even need it.”

Leela hummed, tracing slow, absentminded circles against the baby’s onesie. Joel expected her to say something, but when he glanced up, he found her watching him—something different in her gaze. A glint, teasing but warm, something playful in a way he hadn’t seen before. It softened him in places he wasn’t prepared for.

Then she took a step back, and before he could think too much about it, she reached above the shoe rack, retrieving something small and wooden. A box.

Joel tensed the second he saw it. Goddamnit. Should've buried that thing in the snow.

She bit back a smile, shaking the box near her ear. “So, um… Tommy found this on the porch shelf,” she mused. “Told me you went through a lot of trouble to get it.”

Joel clenched his jaw, exhaling hard through his nose. He knew exactly what Tommy had done—ran his mouth just enough to make sure Joel would have to sit through this whole damn thing.

Leela tipped her head, all exaggerated curiosity. “I wonder what it is.”

“Yeah, real mystery,” Joel muttered, walking past her like he could simply exit this situation.

Instead, he focused on Maya, carefully easing her onto the soft padding of the playmat. The thing was space-themed—little planets and stars dangling overhead, catching the dim glow of the living room. Her tiny fingers curled around a plush moon, legs kicking as she let out a gurgled sound of delight.

Joel let out a quiet breath. This was fine. He could watch her do that. Much easier than watching Leela.

But there was no avoiding it, not really. Not when she was already lowering herself onto the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

He hesitated, looking away. He could’ve bif goodnight, walked out the door, and left her to open the damn thing by herself. He could’ve avoided this whole moment, let it pass, let it go.

With a great, defeated sigh, he sank down beside her, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Leela carefully slid the lid open, and the ruby cherries sat there, dark and glistening, their juices staining every inch of the wood. The smell of them hit the air—ripe, sweet, unmistakable.

She sucked in a breath, quiet but sharp.

Joel pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to explain himself. That it was dumb. That it didn’t mean anything. That it was silly. That he’d done it because—hell, because. Because he wanted to see her smile for him. Because he wanted to leave some sort of a mark on her special day.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Thought you liked ‘em. It's not much, but...” yeah, it was from his heart. And he went on with a gruff, “Happy birthday.”

Leela nodded with a gentle laugh, but she didn’t say anything at first. Just reached in, plucking one between her fingers, rolling it like she wanted to feel every dip and curve of it before finally slipping it past her lips.

Joel tried not to watch too closely. The way her lips curved around the fruit, the divots on that pillow-soft skin stretching, before her tongue darted out to catch the juice. His throat bobbed with a dry swallow. God, he was going to lose it.

“Mm,” she moaned, shaking her head. “This is wonderful, Joel. Thank you.” She held up a sudden finger as if lit up by an idea. “How about a blackforest cake?”

He winked. “Right on, darlin'.”

He reached for one, too, grinning, chewing in sync with her.

Then he caught the way she twirled the stem between her fingers, that amused little gleam returning in her eyes, and he knew exactly what she was about to do. Oh, come on. Right now?

Leela quickly popped the stem into her mouth, brows furrowed in concentration.

Joel smirked despite himself. Fine. They were doing this then.

He followed suit, slipping the stem between his lips, tongue working it in practised motions—an old skill, long-buried, but still easy enough to find. A long time ago, he’d done this a hundred times over, showing off for Sarah, besting Tommy every damn time.

Sure enough, when he held the knotted cherry stem between his teeth, he arched a brow, only slightly smug. “How ‘bout that?”

Leela let out a muffled laugh, sticking her tongue out to reveal hers. Looser, messier, but still knotted. “You’re way better.”

Joel huffed a small, satisfied sound, settling back against the couch. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait for it.”

She cocked her head, intrigued, and he felt it then—her undivided attention settling warm against him. That expectant little gleam in her eye.

Well, hell. No turning back now. He worked his tongue around the stem again, shifting it between his teeth, coaxing it into another trick—one a little tougher, one he hadn’t pulled off in years. One wrong move, and he'd choke.

It took longer, and she was watching him too damn close, like she was trying to map every movement, every small shift in his jaw.

Then, finally, when he held it back out—the knot was gone.

Leela gasped, surprised, hands flying to her mouth. ���How?”

Joel smirked, slow and deep, feeling a ridiculous amount of satisfaction at her reaction. He tapped his fingers against his knee. “Sworn to secrecy.” Then, just because he could, he added, “It’s a Miller thing.”

She laughed, warm and unguarded, shaking her head. “So dumb.”

Joel chuckled along with her, feeling ten pounds lighter at that sweet sound.

Leela, still grinning, tossed another cherry into her mouth. And then another. And another. Until her cheeks puffed up like a damn chipmunk, lips barely able to contain the burst of juice dribbling at the corner of her mouth.

Joel snickered at her, shaking his head. “Jesus, girl,” he muttered, reaching out without thinking. His thumb swiped slowly and easily at the corner of her lip, gathering the stray stain. “Slow down. It’s all yours.”

And that should’ve been it. The moment she pushed him away. But.

Leela didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him. Not startled, not uncomfortable, not embarrassed. Just… watching. Chewing. Observing. Curious.

Her lips, still slick with juice, parted the smallest bit, like she might say something, but she didn’t. And neither did he.

But instead of pulling back—God help him—his gaze flickered down, just for a second, tracking the spot where his thumb had been. And before he even fully processed what he was doing, he brought it to his mouth, pressing the tip between his lips, tasting the cherry juice there.

A big fucking mistake.

Because it wasn’t just the cherry. It was her. All Leela and sweetness. He'd imagined moments like this for hours on end in his lonesome.

It was the heat of her skin, the warmth lingering on his fingertip. A trace of something softer beneath the tartness of the fruit. Something that made his breath go tight in his chest.

Leela inhaled, shallow and quiet.

See, Joel should’ve drawn off her. Should’ve laughed it off or said something—anything—to keep this from tipping too far. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

Because for a second, just a second, he allowed himself to imagine it—let himself fucking want it. Joel wasn’t a man who let himself have much. Wasn’t the kind who asked for more than what was given, especially when life loved to take so much away from him. Sarah, his softness, his humanity.

But this? This, he wanted. He wanted it so bad.

Not just in passing, not just in a way he could ignore, but in a way that curled deep in his gut, low and slow. In a way that had him tilting forward before he could stop himself, his breath hitching ever so slightly, just as any man would attempting to her, his hands grounding against his knee like that might steady him, like that might make this less surreal.

Because she was right there. Close enough that he could see the flicker of amber light in her eyes, the crease between her eyes, the way her breath had changed, softened, like she’d been expecting this.

Maybe she had. And maybe that should’ve been enough to make him stop. Because, Jesus Christ, what the hell was he doing? What was he hoping to accomplish? Kiss her? Laugh? Maybe for once not leave this home feeling like a drop-in?

Leela was younger, cleverer, and healing. She was light, and he was nothing but a warm, dark, empty void pressing down on her, on this moment, on the air between them, threatened to swallow any hope of life.

She wasn’t flinching. Wasn’t moving away. But God, she should’ve.

She should've punched him square in the jaw, woken him up from whatever dream he was walking. She should’ve recoiled at the smell of whiskey on his breath, should’ve been weirded out that he’d even dared to lean in, that some old, beat-up man thought he had any goddamn right to touch something as brilliant as her.

Because that’s all he was, wasn’t he? Worthless. Worn down. Hands stained in more blood than he cared to admit. A hardass heart that refused to stop beating.

And she? She wasn’t for him. She was for someone who could meet her in the daylight, who didn’t have to carry every sin, every regret, every ounce of grief in their bones. Someone who hadn’t done the things he’d done.

Yet, something pushed him on. Told him to take that chance.

His breath came rough, unsteady. The space between them felt impossibly small, thinning with every heartbeat, every second, every goddamn pull of the air between them—

Except—just then—

Leela’s shoulders dropped with a slow, measured breath, and instead of leaning in, closing the last bit of space, she leaned away.

Her voice was a sigh, not scolding, not sharp. Just beaten. “Joel.”

It settled somewhere in his ribs, dull and heavy. The truth of it. That this had been a mistake. That she was kind enough, maybe even foolish enough, to let him down gently.

He didn’t pull back fast—he had a little more dignity than that. But he did pull back, gritting his jaw, clearing his throat, nodding once like that had been nothing, like he hadn’t just let himself be stupid, let himself slip into the foolish idea that he could have this, even for a second.

Because he wasn’t that man. He never had been.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle. Joel could hear the soft tick of the clock in the next room, and the low hum of the wind against the windowpane, Maya's soft, sleepy puffs from the playmat. He could hear his own breathing, slower now, measured, because he had to make it so.

Leela stared down at her lap, at the way her hands twisted against each other. Her shoulders had drawn in, tightening like she was trying to make herself smaller, and he hated that—hated that he’d put that look on her face, that he’d made her feel like this.

He tried to work his voice, to apologize, tell her that he'd leave and never look her way again. Nothing came out. Because, ultimately, in doing so, he knew he stood to lose Maya, too. And he just couldn't let that happen.

But, when she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t sharp or angry. It was just… hollow. Blank. Terrifying.

“I’m rotting inside, Joel.” Her fingers curled, nails pressing into her palm. “I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Joel frowned, something uneasy stirring in his chest. He waited, but she didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at her hands like they held something, some mark or stain, only she could see.

“It’s a good thing Maya needs you more. I'm glad she has you.” She let out a small, breathless laugh—except it wasn’t really a laugh at all. “She's better off with you than me. You're good for her.”

A fit of unexpected anger rose in him—not at her, never at her. He wanted to tell he she was wrong. That Maya was hers. That no matter what she thought, no matter how deep she believed the 'rot' had gone, she wasn’t something Maya needed to be protected from.

“Any longer, and I’ll sicken her with me. She’s so small and pure… the softest part of me. And I can’t bear to even touch her. To feed her. To just be with her. I'm so afraid...” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and then, quieter: “I think I might really kill her, Joel.”

Joel froze.

The words hit him like a stab to the abdomen, like a goddamn gunshot, something he wasn’t ready for but should’ve seen coming. He’d heard her say those words before, hadn’t he?

That night—Maya’s first bout of colic. He’d rushed up to her nursery, rubbing at her back, murmuring low nothings just to calm her down. The screaming had gone on for hours, splitting apart the thin walls, rattling through the house like something relentless and starving. When he'd hatefully asked her to pull herself together, blamed her for knowing nothing.

And Leela had been standing at the threshold, watching. Her hands limp at her sides. Hollowed out. She had whispered it then, too. I think I might kill her.

And back then, he had thought it was the average… exhaustion. Fear. That helpless kind of inadequacy that came with first-time mothers.

But that wasn’t it at all, was it?

No, this wasn’t about being unsure.

This was agony. That bitter edge, that raw, bleeding thing inside her. That feeling of being left to die in her own body. And she was still living in it, with that numbness within.

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse beating thick in his ears. “Leela,” he managed, rough and uneven. It was the first time he had ever said her name out loud, and it landed heavier than he knew how to carry.

She sniffled, fingers curling tighter into her palms.

“I disgust me,” she whispered. “I stain everything, I know this. I’d never forgive myself if I did it to you.”

He exhaled, slow and steady, because if he didn’t keep himself calm, if he didn’t keep himself grounded in this moment, he didn’t know what he’d do. What he’d say. He didn't trust his instincts anymore.

And Leela was still looking down, fingers twitching in her lap, like she could feel something crawling under her skin. If she dug her nails in deep enough, if she pressed hard enough, maybe she could carve out whatever filth she thought was still inside her.

Joel knew that feeling. The itch of it. The glare from his mind's eye.

He’d stood in front of a mirror after things he could never undo, scrubbing his hands raw, watching the way the clear blood seemed to seep deeper between his nailbed and fingertips, no matter how much water ran down the drain. But no, this wasn’t the same. Not even remotely.

Joel had earned his stains.

Leela had been made to bear hers.

The thought clawed at him, made his ribs feel too tight, his breath too shallow. Because she wasn’t talking in metaphors. Not really. Not the way he might have, not the way he sometimes felt it, an unbearable burden in his gut, an ache in his chest.

She was talking about it like it was real, like it was something rotting inside her body right now. Like it was fouling her up, stinking only to her.

Because it was. Because someone had done that to her.

He clenched his jaw, heat rising behind his ribs. He didn’t know how. Didn’t know when. Didn’t know the details, and Jesus, did he even want to? He'd lose his shit.

A part of him did. A part of him wanted to be the man he used to be, the man who wouldn’t ask questions, who would just take his rifle and hunt down whoever had put this look on her face, this disgust in her voice, this strife in her bones. If that was what she wanted...

He could still kill for her. He absolutely would, without hesitation. If she said it, he'd walk right out that door and make for the front gates. He could wipe those motherfuckers off the face of the earth, make them suffer, bleed, scream, and beg before he pulled the trigger. He'd done it before, to less violent people. Why not now? What were a few more bodies to him? Nothing but newer ghosts.

But really, what would that do for Leela? What would that change?

She had to wake up every morning in the body they left her with, haunted, festering. And worse—she had to live in the mind, unable to outrun the moments between the others, the life they had shattered.

She had to look at Maya every day and wonder if she was capable of being her mother. Wonder if she was capable of loving her, if she was capable of keeping her safe. How could she when couldn't even protect herself?

Joel wanted to tell her that she could. That she already did. But that wasn’t something his words would fix. Especially not his.

So he didn’t say it.

Didn’t say anything for a long time, just watched her, just took in the way her shoulders hunched, the way she trembled like the truth had broken something loose inside her, and now she couldn’t shove it back down.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to touch her, wanted to ground her, but he knew better than to startle her. He was stupid, just not a fucking idiot. He knew the way the past could reach through time, could grab hold of you even when you were safe, even when you were far away from where it happened. And fuck, she was drowning in it, wasn’t she?

Drowning in memories she hadn’t spoken aloud.

He didn’t need to hear them to see them.

Because her eyes—those dark, gripping, hollowed-out eyes—were far away, looking at something else. Someone else.

A room. A face. Hands. A warning. A little help.

The moment he thought it, bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t know, not really. But he could imagine. And it made him fucking sick.

He knew, somehow, that she had spent months alone, trying to live past this, trying to bury it under silence, under time, under the thousand little ways she kept people at arm’s length.

Leela sniffled sharply, yanking herself back to the present, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Just wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her fingers curling inward again like she wanted to disappear into herself. Like she deserved to.

Joel wouldn’t let her.

Carefully—slowly—he reached forward, brushing the tips of his fingers against the back of her hand.

She flinched. A slight tremor. A barely-there shake in her breath. Fuck, it hurt him, too. That some part of her—some deep, instinctual part—still thought she had to brace herself for what might come next.

But she didn’t pull away.

He worked at her fingers, gentle, patient, until she let him unfold her hand from the tight, white-knuckled fist she had made. Her palm was damp, warm from being clenched for too long. There were crescent moon indents where her nails had pressed into her skin.

Without thinking, without hesitating, he laid his own hand over hers. Mangled beyond repair, scarred, spoiled, lost to time.

Leela finally looked up at him. Finally, he let him see her.

Her face was blotchy, her dark eyes rimmed red, lashes wet, and God, she had never looked more exhausted. More fragile. This girl, who could accomplish anything and everything, looked helpless.

And she didn’t believe him. Not a single thing he’d just said. Yeah, she was right not to.

Maybe he was stained. Maybe he was rotting, too. Maybe it was too late for him, too late for a man who had done what he’d done, lost what he’d lost, to be anything else.

But not for her. Never for her.

He brought her fingers to his lips, brushing them softly against her knuckles.

She made a noise—small, unsure and confused. But she didn’t pull away. God, she didn't pull away.

His grip tightened just slightly, cradling her hand in both of his now to brush another kiss, like it was a lifeline, like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to her. He let his forehead rest gently against hers, breathing slow, trying to keep himself from gripping too tight, from pulling too close.

"There's nothin’ left to stain or rot in me," he admitted. "Just a lot of space left for the two of you."

The words landed soft, like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud, like maybe he was trying to convince her that they were true.

And Joel—he knew what that felt like. To be left alone with it. To drown in it. To have no one there to pull you out of it. So he didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. This time, he wasn't heading for the door.

All he did was stay.

Leela sucked in a breath, sharp and shallow, like she was trying to hold herself together, but Joel could already see it—she was already falling.

And he wasn’t about to let her hit the ground alone.

His fingers curled tighter around hers, his other hand coming up to the back of her head, his thumb brushing just barely along her hairline. He felt her shudder beneath his touch, felt the way her breath came uneven, quick and unsure.

Close enough that he could feel every tremor in her body, every sharp, shallow breath she took. But he didn’t shush her. Didn’t tell her to breathe. Didn’t whisper that it would be okay.

Because he wasn’t a goddamn liar.

And because this—this agony, this slow, rotting thing inside her—wasn’t something words could untangle. It wasn’t something she could be reassured out of, something she could be reasoned or comforted or willed away from.

It was in her bones. In her blood. It lived there, like a sickness that had no cure.

So what the hell could he say? What good would empty do?

All he had—all he could offer—was this. His hands around hers. His touch, light, present. The slow press of his forehead against hers, grounding, real, unmoving.

And he held her. Not tightly, not desperately—just enough.

Enough for her to know. Enough for her to feel, just for a second, what it was to be held and not taken.

To be seen and not used.

To be broken and not discarded.

Joel breathed out slowly, before pulling back just enough to see her. Leela didn’t move or speak, just watched him quietly. Hoping for something from him.

His palm lifted to touch her cheek. Not enough to startle, just enough to remind her he was still here. That he would be.

“Alright then, birthday girl,” he murmured. “I’ll put Maya to bed. See you in the morning.”

No reluctance. No more questions. No trying to make sense of whatever had just passed between them.

Because nothing had changed. And that was the point. Whatever had been said, whatever had happened—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Leela didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm gently like she was holding onto the warmth he’d left behind. There was a little curve that rested on the edge of her lips.

Joel didn’t look back as he left the room, didn’t linger in the doorway like he sometimes did. He just walked upstairs to Maya's quiet little corner of the world, enduring, sure, carrying her small weight against his chest.

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, unfurling her fists from his collar. She stirred, a breathy sigh escaping her lips as she calmed into a deeper sleep.

Joel sighed, pressing his hands against the crib’s edge, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring down at her, at the impossible being that she was.

Warm, breathing, real. A perfect thing born from ruin.

Joel swallowed against the knot tightening in his throat. How the hell did something like her come from so much pain? From something that had swallowed her mother whole?

He didn’t know how it had happened. Didn’t know when he had stopped just watching from the outside and stepped into the mess of it. Didn’t know how someone like him—someone as stained, someone as wrecked—had ended up here, standing over something so goddamn perfect.

Nothing mattered because the truth was—he wouldn’t undo it. Wouldn’t take back a single second of this.

His breath ached with that same old, familiar twist as he reached down, brushing his fingers over Maya’s impossibly small hand.

She twitched, her lips parting slightly in sleep, and goddamn it—he felt it everywhere. Joel let a small grin pull at his lips as he curled his fingers around hers, feeling the faintest squeeze in return. Yeah, she was all his.

He sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. Once. Then again. Then a third time, lingering, his lips brushing over her fine, downy hair, drinking in the warmth of her, the scent of her, the sheer, impossible realness of her.

No, nothing had changed.

But somehow, everything had.

X

{ taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @brklynln -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[siriuslylantsov]

canine tendencies

pairing: sirius black x reader

description: in which, you put charms in sirius' hair and confront certain traits of his.

tags: fluff! fem!reader, mmm pining, cuddling, totally platonic activities going on here, r is muggle-born hence the vet and dog anatomy knowledge, sirius is a puppy agenda, pretty women from the 70s mentioned (dont pay much attention to it), flirting.

a/n: staying true to my username with more sirius black. wanna play with his hair for days tbh. happy reading!

wc: 1.7k

“you don't know when to give up, do you?”

you raise your chin indignantly, “i'm stubborn.”

sirius fixes you with a withering glare, it doesn't pack much of a punch but you can tell he's stalling. he finally relents with a long sigh, ever the dramatic. you squeal, walking over to his bed with a little pouch that jingled as you moved. you nudge at his shoulders to lean against the headboard and set yourself down beside him. he grumbles, muttering something along the lines of waste of time and how your neck is gonna hurt. you bite back a smile at his cause for concern: you. 

“complain all you want, but you know this is gonna look good,” you muse, with an air of smugness. “you’ll be singing my praises.”

he lets his head hang to the side, looking at you, up those pretty eyelashes of his. his eyes are indifferent, yet they crinkle at the corners, trying to not prove you right. pools of grey and blue, you could drown in them. 

your elbow is wedged between a pillow and the headboard, propping you up, knees curled, poking into his thigh. his legs are sprawled out in an obnoxious man spread, effectively making you move closer so you don't fall off the bed–that's small enough regardless of the space he's taking up. 

he's avoided you all day since you proposed the idea at breakfast: putting charms in his hair. what's strange is that you’ve done his hair plenty of times before sans protest. you ponder it quietly, simultaneously willing him to concede with squinted eyes, as he deadpans you.

if he could, he would've told you that he’s afraid to be alone with you. not that he hasn't been before, he has and he's been this close to you too (he constantly is). but something is different now, something about your hands in his hair that he can’t deal with. especially recently, you've taken to scratching behind his ear and it drives him a little crazy. he won't stop you though, on account of it feeling so good. usually, you're around the others so he can shift his focus elsewhere rather than think about how softly your fingers pad over his scalp, but now you’re alone and he's cursing lily for dragging his friends to some stupid baking endeavour that he stealthily got out of. 

you watch as annoyance passes over his features (directed to lily but you don't know that) and it instantly worries you. maybe he was serious about not wanting this, were you pushing him?

“sirius, if you really don't want me to do this,” you start, a nervous edge to your fast rush of words, “please tell me. i don't want to force you into doing anything-”

“hey,” he stops you with a hand over your arm and a small reassuring smile. “i'm sorry, i do. i just think you’re hot when you're irritated.”

“you must think i'm farah fawcett all the time then,” you mutter, rooting around in your pouch for the gold cuffs you thought would suit him. “and i'm not irritated, i have a surprising amount of patience for you,” you correct, inspecting the cuffs in your palm.

sirius sits up a bit to peer at them, chewing his lip in thought. “mmm not her. barbara carrera maybe,” he adds, looking back at you, his resistance fading away.

your eyebrows shoot up slightly, in mild shock. “she's pretty,” you remark to his comparison and the seemingly honest delivery.

“yeah,” he says, incredibly earnest, “so are you.”

curious and curiouser. “you think flirting with me is gonna get you out of this?”

“i don't know, is it working?”

“nope,” you say curtly, bring your hand back up to his face, this time with a few charms as well. “pick.”

he does, and sets them in your other hand held out. you begin parting his hair for the braids, you settle for placing them under the top of his hair, since his layers are short they'll peek through nicely. you tie a sloppy half bun to the unused portion of his hair so it's out of the way and section out a piece to braid. 

sirius dutifully holds the gold adornments in his hand as you work, suddenly quiet. he always gets like this, you've noticed. all quip remarks are silenced when your hands are in his hair. you make note to tease him about it later but for now you're content to stay quiet. 

he's humming something quietly, a tune you're unfamiliar with, it's ok he’ll tell you later. it fills the silence nicely. you pick the first charm, looping it into a strand of hair and continuing the braid to secure it. his hair is unbelievably soft, it's probably why you like touching it so much. you both know it gets greasier faster because of your constant contact but sirius makes no move to stop you, ever, simply muttering a spell to revive it. 

it goes on like this for about ten minutes, mostly because the charms were a bit more difficult to work with than you thought and also because you were extremely wary of trying not to tangle his hair. he stares at you diligently out of his periphery and you try not to meet his gaze. 

when you're done you lift the handheld mirror to his face. fuck, he looks beautiful. you have to look away, allowing him to assess everything on his own. 

he shoots you a blinding grin, looking exceedingly pleased with how it turned out, “thanks, dove!”

“you’re welcome,” you respond. “it looks good, right?”

he nods, looking into the mirror again. “really good. you did an amazing job.”

your heart flutters at the praise but you don't let it show, accepting his words with a smug smile. it doesn't last long though as he jumps you with a hug, winding you. arms wrapped around your middle, his head rests on your chest, just below your chin, squeezing you in appreciation. you wrap your arms around him in tandem and lean back against the headboard and the pillows, practically pulling half of him on top of you.

it's rough and tumble for a moment before he settles with a low hum, arms still circled around your torso. he knows they’ll go numb the longer he stays like this but he doesn't care. 

you trail one hand into his hair instinctively, like it's second nature. your nails lightly graze over that spot behind his ear and he’s done for. when you begin scratching, he melts, like truly melts against your body, letting out a long, pleased sigh. he makes note to kick himself later for acting like this. beneath his cheek, he feels you shake. are you laughing?

he lifts his head, a little incredulous. “what?”

you chuckle, seeing how he blinks away the blissful air to his expression. “nothing, it’s just-”

he looks at you expectantly as you contemplate your words.

you let out an amused snort before speaking again, “i don't know if it's, like, a subconscious response to your animagus form but dogs really like being scratched behind their ears.”

he gapes at you, affronted. “are you calling me a dog?”

“you are, padfoot.”

he whines petulantly before dropping back to your chest. he noses at your sternum, his own wordless way of getting you to continue. so you do. 

“dogs have a very concentrated area of nerve endings here,” you explain quietly, scratching his scalp again, just behind his ear. “when stimulated, it causes the brain to release endorphins, making them feel relaxed.”

he hums in thought though it sounds more pleased and it scarcely proves your point. 

“how’d you know that?” he asks, voice muffled by your shirt.

“my friend had to take her cat to the vet and i read one of those pet magazines to pass the time,” you murmur, your voice still quiet as you begin to feel sirius growing heavier over you.

“y’so smart,” he slurs, words trailing off in the beginning of sleep.

“don't fall asleep,” you whisper, though you make no effort to wake him up.

he mumbles something incoherent, nuzzling further into your neck but giving you a little grace by shuffling off of your body. one leg is still tangled with yours and his arms are still tightly wrapped around you but at least he's not crushing you. 

“tell me more,” he requests, words trailing up at the end in question.

you think for a moment, reaching to the depths of your brain to retrieve the dog facts you read about that day, perking up when you do.

“hmmm dogs have incredibly sensitive noses. they have up to, like, 300 million scent receptors, where humans have about 5 million and the part of their brain that processes smells is 40 times larger than ours,” you mumble, tapping a light finger to the tip of his nose. 

“cool,” he exclaims, though it's anything but. his eyes slowly flutter shut as you coil a piece of his hair, sealing your fate for the rest of the evening. that is until, much to sirius’ dismay, his roommates come bursting in.

flour scattered over their clothes and hair alike, they’re boisterous as they enter, chatting something along the lines of baking is actually kinda fun. he groans against your body, sleep stretching far and wide from his grasp. you stifle a laugh as he glares at them annoyedly. they pay no attention to the boy, instead making plans on playing quidditch. to this, he brightens. jumping from the bed at a speed you can't quite justify, not being overly fond of the sport yourself. you were more inclined to flying for fun, rather than competition. 

he glances back at you, tentatively, asking for your permission almost. you shrug indifferently, you were going to make your way down to the field anyway. he grins and leans down, pressing a quick firm kiss to your cheek before rushing after the dwindling voices down the stairs, his own broom in tow. 

you bite your lip to push down the giggle that bubbles up in your throat, maybe there are some innate canine tendencies.

reblogs and replies are appreciated :) | m.list

[witchesverse]

run, little one, though the pack may follow

pairing: dark!agathario x werewolf!reader

summary: she killed your pack and chased you for six hours. you think you've been saved when you find a cabin, but unfortunately, you've walked right to her doorstep.

content: mentions of killing, wolf hierarchy, kidnapping, collars, muzzles, degradation (mutt, dog), hair/fur pulling, being chained to a wall, shock collars, mean!agathario, death threats, face slapping, noncon, somnophilia.

1.3k words

masterlist // the shelter masterlist

Six hours ago, your life was ruined. The witch, you have learnt her name to be Agatha, slaughtered your pack before driving you into the forbidden forest - a place no werewolf should enter. You thought your torment would end there, but she hasn’t stopped chasing you.

Your paws slap against the forest floor and your legs weaken with each step. You’re exhausted and need a break, but if you stopped running, she would catch you and kill you. The feeling of hope sparks in your chest; a cabin stands in the distance. You can pretend to act as an injured dog and seek shelter. You scratch against the front door and whine. A few seconds pass before the door is opened, revealing a woman with dark hair. Something about her aura makes you shiver. You give her your biggest puppy dog eyes and whimper, lifting your paw as if it is injured. 

The woman studies you for a moment before scoffing. “Agatha, come get your bitch.”

There is no time to react. Agatha grabs you by the scruff of your neck and pins you to the ground. You growl and twist in Agatha’s hold, desperately trying to escape her grasp. You feel something slip around your neck and click in place.

Did she put a fucking collar on you?

“Do not forget the muzzle. I am not dealing with teeth.” the woman hisses with disgust.

To wear a collar was embarrassing and degrading, but a muzzle was by far worse. You weren’t able to defend yourself with your teeth or assert dominance as easily. Only the lowest wolves in the pack wore a muzzle as punishment. There was no way you could allow yourself to wear a muzzle.

You manage to squirm out of Agatha’s grasp and pull yourself away from her. You stand defensively, teeth bared and eyes narrow. You can’t keep running, it has proven to be futile. 

“Brat,” Agatha pulls something out of her pocket and presses the button.

An unbearable pain pulses through your neck and you collapse to the ground. It feels like you’re continuously being punched really, really hard in the neck. The collar is electric. You try to stand but your muscles feel weak and like jelly. Agatha grins wickedly, taking three steps towards with the muzzle in her hand. The muzzle is black and has a few large holes for your nose and air to pass through. It has two straps on the side which she clips around the black of your head, and one strap going down the middle of your head which clips to the two straps. If you had the energy, you would scratch and snarl at her. To wear a muzzle was pathetic. It showed signs of ownership and submissiveness - she did not own you and you are not an Omega.

"Remember our deal, Agatha." the woman seems disinterested in you, almost like she doesn’t want to keep you.

"You'll be a good pet, won't you, darling?" Agatha purres.

You wish that you were human so you could snap a reply at her.

Your limp body is encased in purple magic, lifting you from the ground. Your body trails behind Agatha and the other witch as they walk inside. The cabin is small. Directly next to the door, there is a worn leather sofa and two empty bookcases. The kitchen is at the end of the cabin, and the wooden dining table is adjacent to it.

The unknown woman takes a seat on the sofa. Agatha continues down a hallway and turns into a room. This room is nearly empty. There is a queen-sized bed in the centre of the room and two cabinets on either side. On the right, there is a large dog bed and a chain connected to the wall. You are placed on the dog bed and Agatha attaches the chain to your ankle. As much as it is degrading, you can’t deny how comfortable it is. 

Agatha crouches, her hand threads through your fur, pulling it to reveal your throat to her. You bare your teeth. “I’ll give you a day or two of grace, but I wouldn’t try that attitude on Rio, sweetheart.”

Rio. That is the name of the other woman.

She releases her grip on your fur and pats the side of your muzzle before standing. “Get some rest,”

If your body didn’t feel like dead weight, you would have launched yourself at her and ripped her throat out. You don’t want to sleep. You don’t want to follow her orders. You want to be free with your pack; they deserve a proper burial. You stifle a cry at the thought of your pack. They are dead, rotting alone, and no doubt being torn apart by wild animals. You are the Alpha; the protector of the pack, yet you failed to protect. You blink back your tears. Crying won’t help, it will only blind you. If you want to take revenge, you need to focus.

You fight sleep for as long as you can, but there is no point. You are exhausted, your body aches, and the bed is so comfortable. You sigh, close your eyes, and let the world go dark.

When you wake, you notice two things. One, you’re human again. Two, your pussy and thighs are sticky. You drag two fingers through your slick; you’re drenched. You swallow, dragging yourself to your knees. It’s dark outside; moonlight is illuminating the room. There is a light breeze coming through the open window, making your naked form shiver. Wait, there’s an open window. An escape.

You stand eagerly and quickly move to the window, completely forgetting about the chain connected to your ankle. You fall to your knees and wince at the loud smack. You glance at the door, expecting one of the witches to walk through, but they don’t. 

“Fuckin’ chains.”

You tug at the chains, hoping they’ll disconnect from the wall. They don’t budge. You don’t even bother trying to take the chain off your ankle; it’s padlocked. You groan, flopping on the dog bed in defeat.

“Gave up already, mutt?”

You snap your head to the door. Rio leans against the door with a mocking smile. She’s wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. As she walks towards you, you back into the wall. She crouches, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. Forgetting about the muzzle, you try to bite her. Her mocking smile drops and she pulls you by your collar.

“Don’t try that shit on me, mutt. Or I’ll make you wish that Agatha killed you with the rest of your pack.” she snarled.

“Fuck you.”

Her hand collides with your face. The slap is hard and brings tears to your eyes. She pushes you onto your back and keeps your thighs spread. One finger drags through your pussy, making her laugh.

“Agatha treated you well. Too bad, you weren’t awake for it.”

The look of confusion on your face makes her laugh harder.

“Dogs have never been that smart, have they?”

You hate being called a dog or a mutt, unfortunately, Rio seems to enjoy it. You hate everything about this. Never in your life have you been in such a vulnerable position or had someone have so much control over you.

“Why?” you croak as her hands glide over your stomach and tits.

“Why not?”

“Leave her alone, Rio.” 

With a smile, Rio shuffles back from you. She’s still close enough to touch you but you’re grateful she gave you space. It’s pathetic how terrified you know you look. You have pushed yourself against the wall, trying to create as much space from them as possible.

“You’re scaring her before it’s meant to get scary, my love.” Agatha tsks, kissing the top of Rio’s head.

“It’s not my fault that she’s a scaredy cat.”

You growl. A scaredy cat? Seriously?

“I’ll kill you both.” you promise. “I’ll make your death slow, painful, and horrible. Nobody gets to harm my pack and walk away from it.”

They laugh hard, especially Rio. You scowl. People are meant to cower under your threats, not laugh.

Agatha sighs. “We better get your training started then, shall we?"

\\

taglist (comment to be added) (if ur name is crossed off, i couldn't tag you)

@lanfear-is-my-darkmistress @absolute-memegarbage @teenybean @psychickryptonitebouquet @screamsin-gay @marvelwomenarehot0 @ctrlaltedits

[bluem1lls]

(srry for anon😭) id love to see a se-mi smut fic with the brothers best friend trope… obviously only if ur comfy w it!!! im literally taking se-mi crumbs rn but i adore ur fics !

✧₊⁺ i can see you (makes me want you even more)

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: don't ever fall for your brother's best friend. but when she kisses you like that, when she fucks you like that, how could you not?

content: minors DNI, brother's best friend! se-mi x younger sister reader, smut, fingering/oral (r!receiving), spanking, daddy kink, squirt, choking, angst, se-mi is 24 here x reader is 22, fluff at the end!

authors note: hiii omg im so sorry for the weekend, i was exhausted!! but i made this, gathering these three requests together so i hope you love it!

"no"

"yes- it's not even a question! she's coming!"

"you lied to me! you said she wasn't!"

"you wouldn't have come if i told you!"

i sighed as i smacked him. he quickly hit me back.

"if she bothers me, i'll punch her. i'm not kidding."

"fine, whatever" my brother, nam-gyu, rolled his eyes.

he's been insisting that i came to this trip for like a year, saying he missed me. i haven't seen the gang for a whole year. we all used to get along just fine, except se-mi and i.

she used to make fun of me for being nam-gyu's little sister. ever since they became friends (when i was 12 and they were 14), she's been a bitch to me. i argued more with her than with my own brother, but somehow, she always found a way to fix it at night.

when her and her girlfriend mocked me for my pjs at 16, making me cry, she waited till midnight to sneak into my room, laying in bed besides me as we watched my favorite tv show.

"i'm sorry. i really like these. don't ever take them off"

and when i was 18, she told the entire group i was the most annoying girl she knew. but once they all left, she set up a pillowfort downstairs along with my favorite snacks. we played videogames there all night.

"i'm sorry. it wasn't true. you're the coolest girl i know"

and when i turned 20, me and nam-gyu had a big fight. she took his side while i sobbed. but when everyone went to bed, she came to my room and hold me as i sobbed on her chest until i fell asleep on her.

"you're so stubborn.. but we-..b-but he loves you so much. he's trying to take care of you"

and with time, i started to fell in love with her. the feelings growing more and more each year.

she was my first love. my first not reciprocated love.

"hurry up, min-su said they're outside!"

"i'm coming" i yelled at him as i grabbed my suitcase, checking if i packed everything.

as we left the house and said goodbye to our parents, my brother carried my luggage to the trunk.

thanos switched from driver to the passenger seat to leave nam-gyu. se-mi was sitting in the backseat, looking by the window from the left side. min-su was in the middle and i was supposed to sit on the right side of the window seat.

i opened the car door and got in as the three stared at me up and down.

"look who's finally here" thanos turned around to smirk at me as he spoke. "holy shit you look so much older! the last time we saw you you were like 21, how old are you now?"

"you don't say that to a girl! and it's been only a year!" i smacked his head as he winced.

"we missed you! even se-mi missed you!" i hugged min-su as i rolled my eyes at his comment while se-mi snorted.

"how could i not miss the princess of the group?" she said in a low voice. our eyes met after one year as she scanned my face.

here we go again.

"hey. we will have a peaceful trip to the cabin. did the four of you heard me?" my brother said, getting in as he started the car.

"can we go get something to eat?" i whined.

"you just finished the entire bag of pretzels all by yourself, and you're still hungry?" min-su said, not even looking at me as the four of them were rotting on the couch, playing with the ps4 dad installed last summer.

"i swear i'll start crying, i'm starving! and i've also been wanting to play all afternoon but none of you-" i said as the doorbell interrupted my big speech. se-mi quickly got up and threw the controller to me as i lifted one brow.

"take it, got more important shit to do than to hear you whine" she said, running to open the door.

i could hear a feminine voice talking as se-mi chuckled and moved aside, letting her in.

"come in pretty, so, this is the entire gang and that's nam-gyu's annoying little sister" she said introducing us, as i stared offended.

the girl stood behind her. she had long black hair and soft eyes, she looked just like one of se-mi's perfect victims.

the guys said a quick 'hey', without even taking their eyes off the screen.

"but let's go upstairs, i'll show you my room" se-mi said, grabbing her hand while pulling her upstairs.

once they disappeared, i let out a furious scoff.

"seriously?"

"you know how she is; we don't even try anymore. she has more game than we do" thanos mumbled as he eliminated my brother from the game, celebrating on his face.

"don't start any-" nam-gyu said as i cut him.

"if i hear any moans, i swear to god-"

and of course, not even 20 minutes later, we could all hear the loud moans and screams coming out of se-mi's room.

i swear, fuck her.

i checked the time as i left my comfortable bed. i read the clock's display, 2:30 am.

i put on one of my brother's big shirts that i stole from him as i got downstairs to get a midnight snack and some water.

i turned on the kitchen lights to find se-mi, with a green shirt and some grey sweatpants leaned against the counter, hair on her face as she scrolled through her phone. she lifted her gaze, smirking when she found my face.

"apparently i can't even get some water without you being around" i mumbled, passing by her side and going straight to the fridge to grab the water bottle and a glass from the shelves as she chuckled.

"weird, because if i remember correctly, the last time we saw each other you were saying something entirely different."

i closed my eyes at the memories of last time in the cabin. a year ago, when she lifted me and took me upstairs to her room. her hands were in my hair while she kissed me. my lips red and swollen. her hands teasing my folds over-

i close the fridge as i straighten myself, looking at her.

"a mistake, remember?" i said, sarcastically smirking, quoting her words from last time.

"this-this was a mistake. if nam gyu finds out, we're both fucking dead. this never happened." she said, putting on her jeans and looking for her shirt.

i should've kept my mouth shut.

but the words slipped out as she kissed my neck, her fingers inside of me.

"i love you, se-mi"

i covered my naked body with a sheet, ashamed. "i'm in love with you" my stare lost in a blank point.

she stopped changing as she stared at me, her eyes wide.

"you don't. i'm just older than you and you think you're in love-"

"i know i am!" i shouted as she shushed me, getting close to me.

"you're not. and i definitely know i'm not. we know better. you like fucking around and i do too, that's all this was." she said, grabbing my face to meet hers. she scanned my watery eyes as she wiped the tears.

"we know better than to fall in love just because a night of good sex" she said

"and then i never saw you again after that. you suddenly were 'too busy hanging out' everytime i was in your house." she said. the memories hitting us both like a trainwreck.

"i didn't wanted to see your face again"

"i wanted to see yours" she said, slowly moving closer to me. her hands gripping my waist, holding me against the wall.

"why? to tell me once again how it was just one night of good sex and that's all?"

her eyes trailed all over my face, one of her hands left my waist to cup my face, her thumb gently caressing my cheek.

she sighed, pressing her forehead against mine.

"i'm so weak for you" she murmur, making me sigh.

"don't do this se-mi.." i closed my eyes as i felt my heart flutter.

as i open my mouth to speak again, a soft feminine voice interrumpted us from upstairs.

"se-mi? did you get the water? i'm thirsty"

of course. i should've seen it coming.

i scoffed as i pushed her off. she also seemed to regain consciousness as she quickly grabbed a glass of water and filled it up without saying a word. she stared at me with a hint of.. guilt? before making her way upstairs with the girl.

pretending to hate eachother was the healthiest thing we could've done.

i stopped partying every night once i hit 22, but sometimes, i missed it. mostly, my old version. the one who used to fuck around, who wasn't afraid, the life of the party and most importantly;

i miss the old me, who wasn't completely in love with se-mi.

so yeah, maybe i wasn't in my right mind when we started taking a few shots with the guys before the anual party they threw in the cabin everytime they did their summer trip.

and maybe i wasn't in my right mind when i called my ex fling to come to the party because well... what could go wrong?

i layed a few oufit options in my bed as i prepped the shower, feeling a bit tipsy as i choose the skirt and top that most went with my style.

i got out the shower, wrapping myself in a towel as i started applying my hair products. i felt the door open as se-mi walked in and closed it behind her.

"the guys want to know if you're done already because we want to start shower-" she stop mid-sentence, taking in my naked framed wrapped with just one towel.

her eyes lingered on me like a pervert, making me roll my eyes.

"yes, is that all?" i said, she roamed my body like she was trying to undress me.

she hummed while stepping closer to me, grabbing the little towel knot that stopped it from unwrapping me.

"you gonna get all dolled up for me?" she said, her other hand went to my hip.

"not for you" i slapped her hand as she chuckled. she grabbed me from my arm, pulling me against her.

"you're such a brat. bet you love knowing the effect you have on me hm?" her breath fanning against my neck made me shiver, she let out soft chuckle. "if my hand lowers a little more, i can even feel how soaked it makes you. isn't that right princess?" she said, placing a kiss on my neck, making me feel uneasy.

"you need my fingers? like last time?" she whispered on my ear, kissing and licking my neck as i tried to suppress a moan.

"why yours, if i could get more skillfulled ones?" i said, pushing her away. i grabbed my hairbrush to focus on something else as she scoffed at my statement.

"yeah? they have you clenching, dripping down your thighs like i did?"

"oh yes! i remember my last hookup, she had me begging for more. i even remember calling her dadd-" her hand quickly wrapped around my throat, my back against her chest.

she tightened her grip while choking me, making my cunt throb for more as she made me look at myself in the mirror.

"if i hear you say something like that again i swear-"

"se-mi? stop making my sister mad and come help with the drinks" nam-gyu's voice could be heard from downstairs, breaking the moment. she lose her grip and step away, shouting back. "coming!"

she turned around one more time before leaving my room.

"we're not done princess. if you wanna be a brat, you'll get punished like one"

i left my room with my makeup, hair and outfit done. i locked the door so one got in as i took a quick look at the house. it seemed pretty full even though the party was just getting started.

as i got downstairs, i could see my brother with thanos, min-su and se-mi with a girl on her lap. they were smoking and drinking on the couch.

"look who finally finished getting ready!" thanos said, whistling as he took a look at my outfit.

"that is so short" nam-gyu tried to pull my skirt down as i slapped his hand.

"stop it! i like it that way" i said.

se-mi's eyes didn't leave my body, not even as she squeezed the girl's waist tighter. her stare was glued on my thighs as the short skirt left little to the imagination. i could see her gaze darkening with desire. she hummed in agreement with nam-gyu.

se-mi lifted an eyebrow as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. i turned around to see no-eul.

"look who's finally here! you invite me yet you don't even wait for me at the door, rude"

my ex.. fling? all the guys knew her. and se-mi did too, of course.

i leave a kiss on the corner of her mouth, as she said a quick hello to my friends. i dragged her to a corner more far away from se-mi and my brother as i heard the group laughing, all except for her.

i could feel her cold stare follow my moves as i headed to the kitchen with no-eul. i grabbed a bottle and poured a shot for her and another for me.

"so, what brings you back?" she said, her arms possesively going around my waist as i drank.

"nothing important, as always" i chuckled, staring at her. "happy to see me?" i said as she nods, cupping my face.

"always" her reply makes me smirk.

as she gets closer to place a kiss, i feel a soft push, breaking us from the moment.

"can i grab the bottle or?" a low voice said, making me face right just to meet se-mi's annoyed gaze.

i handle the bottle as she leans against the counter, staying right besides us.

"you look so pretty tonight" no-eul said as i could see se-mi rolling her eyes from the corner.

"yeah? all for you" i bit my lip as i slid her hand to guide her to my waist. i heard the brunette besides me mumbling something as she kept staring at us.

"you have a problem?" no-eul turned to face se-mi, with an annoyed expression.

se-mi drank a shot, her eyes taking my face.

"oh sorry, it's just that when i had her upstairs with my fingers wrapped around her throat, she didn't seemed to be 'all pretty just for you' " she snickered, making no-eul clench her jaw as she gazed at me.

"are you for real?"

"no! she's a fucking liar, wait-" i cupped her face as she got rid of my grip.

"i'll go get something to smoke, excuse me" she said, disappearing in the crowd.

i turned to se-mi as i punched her arm and she winced.

"you're a fucking jealous cunt and-"

"and you're making me go insane with that little skirt." she said, stopping my rant mid-sentence as i stared at her. "and if you don't stop flirting, i'll have to bend you over against this counter, move your pretty panties aside and insert two fingers on that pretty cunt so everyone can see who's the only one that can do it" she said, pressing our bodies together. she turned around to see if any of the guys could see or hear us, but they were too busy with some girls.

i stood there frozen.

fuck it.

i grabbed the nape of her neck, pulling her towards me, her lips meeting mine with a harsh and desesperate kiss. she quickly returned it.

after a few minutes she softly pushed me, grabbing my hand to drag us to the nereast bathroom. as we got in, she locked the door behind us.

she quickly pushed me against the door, grabbing my thighs to lift me up, making me wrap my legs around her as she kissed me for a second time tonight.

i grabbed her neck, making the kiss more intense. our tongues fought for dominance as we both moaned.

her lips broke with mine to deposit open-mouthed kisses on my neck, biting and licking as i leaned my head aside, giving her better access.

"w-wait se-mi" i said as she kept kissing me. "no, stop"

she stopped the kisses. her eyes were almost black from lust, her lips red and her face filled with a confused expression as she let me down on my feet again.

"i don't get it se-mi. 'this was a mistake', but your eyes want to undress me everytime we're together. and we 'can't date', but everytime i try to move on to forget about you, you're always there to make sure i don't" i raised my voice, that couldn't even be heard right because of the loud music coming from outside.

her hands rubbed her face in frustration as she took a deep breath. she grabbed my hand again, pulling me upstairs and leading into my room. she closed the door behind her as she turned to look at me.

"do you know what nam-gyu would say? he would kick my ass for dating his little sister, i can't do that to my best friend!"

"you can't do that to your best friend so you choose to break my heart instead?"

"that's never what i wanted!"

"well that's what you did when you left me naked in bed, crying my eyes out while you moved on, fucking any girl you could to forget about me because i know damn well you liked me too!" i said, almost screaming. my breathing getting heavier as i took a step towards her.

"doll, i can't-"

"if you can't, then stop messing with my life! if you don't want to date me because you're too afraid then let me fuck with whoever i want! i'm sick of you controlling every interaction i have with someone. either you decide to get serious with me or back off and leave me alone" i said, anger could be heard in every word i said.

she froze at my words. her eyes widen and her lip trembled.

"i guess you're right" she stepped away from me, turning to leave. "i don't deserve you. i- i know you'll find someone better to fall in love with." she said, watching my teary eyes as she left my room, closing the door behind her as i finally let my tears fall.

i lowered my shoulders as i sat in bed, letting out a choked sob. i felt so...pathetic.

i stared at the ceiling for 5 minutes, cursing her in every language i knew while i kept crying.

suddenly, i felt the doorknob moving as the door opened.

and there she was, standing there. she bit her lip piercing as she re-entered my room, closing the door and leaning against it while she stared at me. my eyes wide as i open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"i know i don't deserve you but.. i'd rather change to be the person you need than letting you go with someone else." she came towards me, her hands cupping my face. "i'll be damned if i see anyone laying their hands on my girl." she said, smashing her lips against mine as i moaned in surprise.

she was leaning since i was in bed, so i grabbed her shirt and pulled her, making her fall on top of me. our lips never breaking the kiss.

i sneaked my arms around her neck, pulling her deeper as she bite my lower lip, making me whimper.

"my pretty girl" she said as her knee got in between my legs, pressing against my center, making me whimper. "i'm keeping that skirt i swear to god. you're such a tease. i wanted to lift it and fuck you right there and then"

"w-wore it just for you, daddy" i hiccuped as her knee made my clit twitch and my cunt throb.

she let out a low groan as she heard my words. her hand wrapped around my throat, leaving me with little to no air as her tongue entered my mouth.

"did anyone ever fucked you the way i did baby? did anyone ever made you squirt like i did that night?" she said, breaking the kiss with a possessive tone as her grip tightened.

i shook my head no, my brain feeling fuzzy from lust and desire.

she lifted my skirt, giving a harsh slap at my pussy, making me let out a choked moan.

"use your words like the big girl you are" she said in a low tone.

"no one e-ever touched me like you did"

her hands roamed through my body, harshly pulling down my top, letting my tits out as i didn't had a bra on. she took one nipple on her mouth, while her hand sneaked to my covered cunt, softly spreading with her fingers the wet patch that formed in my panties, pressing at my clit. i couldn't stop moaning from the sensation.

she separated her mouth of my tits with a loud 'pop'. her fingers pushed my thong aside, spreading the wetness all over my cunt and using it as lube to get two fingers inside of me as her other hand left my throat and flew to my mouth.

"sh, sh, we don't want anyone hearing those pretty moans" she cooed, making my eyes watery from pleasure as her fingers thrusted harsh and quick inside of me.

she lowered to get her face in between my legs, one hand holding my panties aside as the other one kept thrusting. she spit on my cunt, spreading the glob with her tongue around my aching clit.

i chanted her name as her fingers hit the spongy spot inside of me, making my walls clench around her as she moaned, making vibrations hit my clit. my eyes rolled back as i gripped the bedsheets.

as she felt me getting closer and closer, her fingers suddenly left my inside, making me sob.

she moved me around to place me in all fours and slowly began to remove my damp panties. the sight from my mirror was pornographic. the mascara tears running down my cheeks, my tits hanging from the top, my panties now pooled around my knees as the skirt revealed my drooling pussy underneath it.

se-mi gave a few harsh slaps, spanking me. the red print of her hand on my ass felt warm. her fingers gathered my slickness as i felt her breath against me. she licked a fat strip of my pussy from behind, making me moan loudly.

"such a whore. you were this desesperate for me to fuck you again?" she said teasingly as i nodded. "my needy girl"

"please, please daddy" i sobbed as i felt her fingers tease my entrance. my cunt clenching around nothing, waiting for her.

she hummed as her two fingers entered inside of me again, making me whimper as a few tears slipped.

"so pretty on your knees. just for me"

she trusted ruthless as my hand sneaked to circle my clit, clenching around her.

all i could heard was the music downstairs and the wet squelching sounds my cunt made, all wet for her. i couldn't stop moaning louder and louder everytime she hit that spot.

"f-fuck. gonna. cum" i whimpered as the circles on my clit got sloppier and her moves got deeper and quicker. "daddy- i'm gonna squirt all your fingers" i said as she moaned, her fingers going at a faster pace at my words.

while she kept fucking me, her other hand went to my hair, pulling it as she gave one more thrust. the tingle from the harsh pain and her fingers inside made the heat on my lower tummy snap as i could feel myself squirting all over her fingers, wetting the sheets underneath as my body collapsed in bed.

her thrusts got slower until they stopped completely. she removed her fingers from inside of me and placed them on my mouth as i licked them clean with my tongue. she bite her lip and kissed me one last time before getting up.

she came back with a small towel to clean me and then got rid of her clothes, laying besides me.

she hugged me as my head positioned on her chest.

"there wasn't a time in where i wasn't in love with you" she whispered. it felt so intimate, only for me to hear.

"when we were younger, when you got mad at me, the first time we kiss, when we hooked up, i was always head over heels for you, princess". she said. her hand softly caressing my hair, making my eyes close. "i kept trying to forget about you all the time but the feelings were always there, reminding me that i'll never stop loving you. and if, us being together, means we'll have to tell your annoying brother who will probably murder me after, i'll still do it for you"

i smiled and softly chuckled. my heart fluttering from happiness, and god, butterflies were small in comparison to what she made me feel.

"i never stopped loving you either" i replied, feeling a kiss on my temple.

and this time felt different. the cold feeling i had before, when she left me alone in bed, was no longer there.

it felt warm now, with her body besides mine, her love-filled gaze. i knew this time was going to be different.

[nanenna]

This Stream of Consciousness Could've Been an Epiphany

More Sleepy King AU HERE

Can you guess what days of the week I usually have off LOL

-----

Danny isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. He feels like he should be more worried about that, mostly because of how weird Dad had been acting all morning. He’d been so… quiet. Calm, quiet, soft, gentle. Not that Dad wasn’t always gentle. Sure, his hugs and back slaps could pack a punch, but Dad knew he was big and strong and tried hard not to do anything too hard. Danny’d seen what Dad’d done to walls, the way he hugged was downright delicate in comparison. And Danny was a lot tougher now, he could take Dad’s bone crushing hugs easily. So yeah, gentle for Dad was usually still too much for normal people.

But Dad was also usually excited, loudly excited! He was being really quiet today, and it was kind of weird.

Maybe Danny should be a bit more worried about being lost?

But surely if he should be worried Dad would tell him so. Dad knew now, had for a few weeks. In that time alone he and Mom had set about reinforcing the portal so no one could get through without permission. Danny had even taken them on a couple trips into the ‘Zone to introduce them to friendly ghosts. It was embarrassing to introduce them to Frostbite, but also kinda necessary so he’d sucked it up and done it. So Dad knew that Danny has powers, knew just how strong he was. If Dad were worried he’d want Danny to know so he could help.

But still, Dad was acting weird. Nervous. Danny couldn’t figure out why. If he didn’t trust these strangers they were just hanging out with he wouldn’t have left Danny alone with them, right? Then again maybe he felt it was safest to not talk to Jazz in front of them. To keep Danny safe from ghost hunters they’d all agreed it was best to keep it secret, so if Dad and Jazz were talking about him as Phantom it made sense he’d want to step away.

Danny nibbled on his poptart, still trying to puzzle through it. He looked around at the strangers and well… he knew some of them at least. Dad had called the dark one Batman, everyone knew who Batman was. He remembered his parents debating whether he was a ghost or a cryptid, a huge debate that they couldn’t come to a conclusion on. Unlike Santa, that one could crop up at any time. Unlike Santa, this one wasn’t so divisive, guess his parents were less invested or something.

So the woman next to him… looked a lot like Pandora wearing a human disguise. She looked at him and smiled, then reached forward and nudged his mug. “Drink it while it’s hot,” she said warmly.

Yeah, she sounded a lot like Pandora too, something about the way neither were actually speaking English. Danny nodded and picked up his drink, if Pandora and Dad thought they were okay, if they both trusted Batman and the other people dressed weirdly then Danny would too. Even if they smelled like ozone and lab cleaning solvent.

The smell kept getting stronger too, there was a pressure in the room. It had stopped suddenly when Jazz called, but it was picking up again. It was weird, like being in a bubble getting dropped in the ocean. At this rate his ears would pop, or the whole room would implode like that one sub going to visit the Titanic. Kinda ironic, waaaaaaay more people have died exploring the bottom of the ocean than space. Technically, no human has ever died in space, the closest was the Challenger disaster and they didn’t make it to space before the explosion. That was so sad. But it was still pretty amazing no one had died going to the moon, not even Apollo 13! No one had even died in the Justice League, so far as Danny’s heard. Not even a cop-out “technically died in space” while actually fighting bad guys on an alien planet technicality.

“Jazz was just checking in on us, I told her we’ll see her at dinner tonight.” Dad sat down next to Danny, peeking over at whatever Batman was working on as he did so.

Danny nodded and hummed in agreement. That was good, it seemed Dad thought they’d be home by dinner despite being lost right now. That was good.

It was weird though, he hadn’t called her “Jazzypants” like normal. In fact, Dad hadn’t pulled out a single nickname, not even “Danno.” So was Dad worried about them being lost or not? Danny couldn’t figure it out.

The pressure was building again, Danny yawned, trying to make his ears pop. It didn’t help. It hadn’t the last two times either. Or was it three?

Dad nudged the plate with his poptarts on it, Danny picked up his half eaten rectangle and started nibbling again. Chocolate wasn’t his favorite flavor, he kinda wondered what happened to the strawberry from before. It would go nicely with the hot chocolate, a nice contrast of flavors. There was just something about artificial strawberry flavoring that Danny really liked.

Danny slumped over, his body leaning against Dad. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, if he should be worried or not, but Dad was there so everything was going to be okay.

Kinda wished Mom was there instead though. He had no doubt she could easily kick Batman’s butt if he did need to be worried though. But Pandora was there, even if it was a new human disguise he’d never seen before, so that was just as good. Pandora liked him, she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

The pressure suddenly stopped again. Danny yawned, his ears still didn’t pop. It was so annoying.

“Oh my god,” the guy with a metal bucket on his head hissed, “it’s a god egg!”

[crazyk-imagine]

Outbursts and Understanding Each Other

Pairing: Jacob Black x Uley!reader

Characters: Jacob Black, Uley!reader, Paul Lahote, Jared Cameron, Embry Call, Leah Clearwater, Seth Clearwater, Quil Ateara V, Brady Fuller, Collin Littlesea

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Paul being an idiot again, it got cuter, Jake had a brain, Emily is an angel, Sam and Emily are my fav, Embry just wants his imprint, Paul is such a big brother here, love writing for the wolfpack, reader knows about imprint history, reader worries about Jake not having feelings for her, Jared is an idiot, Emily is that mom

Word Count: 2,431

A/N: Okay my fellow readers, I did it. I finally sat down and did part two

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a hard few days after, well, learning that you were forever bonded to him.

You didn’t quite know what the right move was or if you should consider dating Jacob, even though he had clearly been in love with the whitest girl in Forks.

You gulp as you take a step back. “Could you,�� you sigh, not wanting to lose it on the guy when he’s been nothing but nice to you since this whole thing happened. “Jake.”

He wasn’t paying attention and stepped closer to you again, wanting to get more bacon on his plate.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Jake! Would you please get out of my way before I declaw your paws!”

Jared glances back at the two of you, with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth.

Paul doesn’t do anything to hide his amusement, much to Jacob’s chagrin. “Looks like the princess finally showed off her claws.”

He pats his pack mate’s shoulder, “glad it wasn’t your face that took the brunt of it.” Paul steps away, grabbing the muffin off your plate as he goes to sit down.

You shake your head; definitely not your finest moment. You don’t want to look at him because you don’t want to see his disappointment.

Jacob clears his throat, “we’re going to go outside.”

You open your mouth to argue as a piece of toast is shoved into your mouth.

-

“I bet that’s not what she imagined getting-” Paul doesn’t need to turn around to know his alpha is staring at him. He bolts out of the chair before anyone can take a breath.

“Paul, get back here.”

The hot head shakes his head as he shifts mid air, running into the woods.

Emily shakes her head sighing.

Jared nods, “I know. I don’t know why Paul thinks he won’t be reprimanded for saying things like that. I mean clearly, she’s going to be the dom over Jake, not the-”

He sheepishly smiles at the angry face his luna is making. “I didn’t mean it,” he sprints out the door. He looks over his shoulder and calls out the her, whining, “don’t call my mom.”

She smiles, picking up her landline, punching in the numbers. “Hi Mrs. Cameron, it’s Emily.”

A sad wolf howl can be heard from the side of the house.

-

You let him drag you out, unsure of what else to do as you feel down about how you behaved a few minutes ago. You pull the piece of toast out from your mouth. “If you’ve brought me here to kill me, just do it already.”

He scoffs, “I’m not a leech.”

“Oh, he has a heart, how wonderful.”

He rolls his eyes, “would it kill you to act normal?”

You immediately nod, “yes it would and how am I supposed to act normal when none of this is normal.”

He opens his mouth to say something when he realizes you’re right. “Okay fine, maybe none of this is normal but that doesn’t mean you need to act like it’s the end of the world.”

You scoff, “I’m not.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe,” he crosses his arms.

You can’t hold this in anymore.

“You know what, Jake. I’m tired. I’m so sick and tired of this- everything is so crazy and wrong and I,” you close your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry.

You lower your head, holding your breath, trying to keep yourself together.

He can sense your sadness and reaches for you, placing his hand on your arm.

You hiccup, taking a deep breath.

His eyes widen as he pulls you closer; his body heat warming you in a second.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, to calm yourself enough so you could talk to him without losing control of your emotions.

You can admit sometimes it does help to have a good crying session, but not when you need to talk.

He can tell with how slower your back is moving under his hand that you've managed to calm yourself down. He doesn't say anything to not startle you or break your concentration. He won't do that to you.

“I'm scared,” you mumble.

“Scared of what?”

You want to pull back so you can look into his eyes but you're afraid he won't understand and squeeze him tighter. “This isn't real.”

He opens his mouth to respond and stops, letting your words sink in. He can understand where you're coming from with him being in love with Bella for more than half of his young life but he also knows that this is real. Yes-

He sighs, lowering his chin to rest it on top of your head. “I know this doesn't seem real but it is. My love for Bella has nothing compared to what I feel for you.”

He squeezes you in a tight hug and pulls back. “I know things are all happening fast but I want us to work. You know, I- I can be whatever you want me to be. I can be a- a friend or a brother or more. I don't care as long as I can be in your life. We haven’t known each other long but I do know that I care for you more than I've ever cared for anyone that wasn't my family or, now the pack.”

He sucks in a nervous breath, showing off his pearly whites with his commonly new nervous grin. “I hope I didn't make things weird with that whole um-”

“Speech?” You interrupt.

He nods, “yeah that.”

You purse your lips to hide your amusement. “I,” you sigh. “I have more feelings for you than I thought I would, I'm not entirely sure what they are exactly. I know the bond isn't the whole reason why I feel the way I do but- I- if we're going to start, whatever this is going to be, this needs to start off slow. I don't just jump into things especially when it comes to starting a new relationship with someone.”

“So we're starting a new relationship?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes and smack him with your piece of toast. “God, you're just like a guy.”

“I am a guy.”

“Not right now you are. You're mister professing his love,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of me.” He sits down on a rock nearby, patting the open spot beside you. “I don't want to rush into anything either and I don't want to mess this up... more than I already have-”

You stand in front of him, shaking your head. “You haven't messed anything up.”

“I did. If I didn't you wouldn't have screamed at me-”

“I didn't scream.”

He owlishly blinks. “My ears were close to bleeding.”

Your jaw drops and you smack his arm. “You're so dramatic.”

“Not always.”

You roll your eyes, “sometimes you are.”

He nods, “yeah, I’ll admit that sometimes I am.”

You take a bite of your toast.

“I don’t know how that thing has lasted this entire time.”

You shrug, “I don’t either but here we are.” You slowly lean against him, resting your head on his warm shoulder. “You’re so warm.”

“I bet he could think of another way to warm you up.”

You roll your eyes at Paul’s comment. “Go suck Jared’s-”

Your uncle, still in his wolf form, growls at the two of you.

You take another bite of your toast and look away. “He started it,” you mumble while chewing.

“Let it go,” Jacob advises. “Or else he’ll make you do things you don’t want to do.”

You shake your head, enjoying the scene of Paul trying to run away from his alpha as Jared is on the floor cackling with Embry and Quil joining after the man falls face first into the dirt.

Brady and Collin trail behind the two boys, confused at the sight before them.

-

“I can’t believe I’m stuck here.” You sigh, throwing your head back against the couch.

“It’s not that bad.”

Your snaps towards Jacob, glaring at him. “I am sicker than- well you know.”

He stares at you with a deadpan expression. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re right, I’m not.”

He nods, happy to see you finally agreeing with him.

“I’m a comedian.” You smile at him before coughing more, your sides start hurting more.

He carefully sits down beside you and hands you your cup of tea.

You breathe in the hot steam for a few minutes before taking a careful sip of the hot beverage.

He doesn’t stare at you (like you’d caught him doing a couple days ago, he doesn’t want you yelling at him again) and waits for you to ask him to set the mug on the table beside him.

He turns at the weight of your head resting against his shoulder and smiles softly at you as you close your eyes and breath in the steam.

His ears pick up on your slow breathing and he grabs the mug from you before you can drop it in your lap. He adjusts himself so you can lay on him, letting you use him as your “personal heater” as you said earlier.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken you out of the house and to the cliffs without a jacket the other day but he can’t deny, he likes you relying on him to take care of you.

He brushes away the few strands of fallen hair out of your face, studying your sleepy expression.

He thanks all the stars that aligned to make you his imprint, you are more than he could have ever wanted in a person. He knows now, as he listens to your breathing, his feelings for Bella are nothing compared to what he feels for you and will continue to feel for you.

He realizes he lied, he can’t be the kind of guy who’s like a brother or a friend to you.

He wants more; the wolf inside him needs more.

He would walk hundreds if not thousands of miles to be the only one to have a romantic relationship with you. He will wait as long as it takes until you feel ready to give your heart to him and chase off anyone he needs to.

He’s yours as you will (hopefully, fingers crossed) be his.

He can’t help himself as he leans forward and pecks your forehead, silently promising to spend his forever with you. 

Extra

Jared walks into your room, searching for Jacob. He needs help with his bike, hell if he knew how to describe what was happening to it.

His jaw drops, surprised to see you bundled in Jacob’s hold. He creeps into the room, practically tip-toeing to the person he needs to talk to.

He bends down and pokes Jacob’s shoulder.

The shifter barely opens his eyes as he lifts his arm to smack Jared in the back of the head, who opens his mouth to whine but is stopped by his friend covering his mouth.

“Make a sound and you’re dead.”

Jared nods, thankful for his shifter healing abilities; if he didn’t have them, he’d have a headache by now. “I need a favor.”

“You need a lot of things.”

Jared rolls his eyes, “okay, that’s fair but I need you to look at my bike.”

“Why?”

“It’s making that weird noise again.”

"Describe it to me."

“No. You made fun of me last time.”

“Fine, if I promise to not make fun of you, will you help describe it so I can figure out your issue.”

“I,” he sighs. “Roo- reer- r-” He stops when Jacob snickers. “You told me you-”

Jared falls on his back and struggles to understand what happened.

The door slams shut up the two boys.

“I told you not to go in there,” says Emily.

“You told me not to wake her,” Jared corrects her.

“And how did that work for you?”

The shifter stomps his feet as he walks down the stairs.

Jacob cackles at his friend's behavior.

“And look what the cat dragged in,” she teases him.

“Hardy-har.”

“I told him not to go in, I knew she’d kick you two out.”

He shrugs, “I know, I mean it was kind of my fault. I knew I shouldn’t have messed with Jarhead.”

“Is that princess’ new nickname?”

“Paul, shut up with that stupid nickname,” you shout from inside your room.

“Hey your voice is coming back,” the hothead comments.

You roll your eyes and open your door, glaring at one of your best friends. “Paul Isabel Lahote-”

“My middle name isn’t-”

“I know your middle name isn’t a girl's name,” you huff. “But your dumbass won’t shut up about this and I can’t take it anymore. You need to shut up so I can feel better.”

“Screaming like that won’t help you.”

You take a step forward and he takes off.

Emily shakes her head, “you’re just like your uncle.”

“Runs in the family, Em.”

Jacob steps forward and blocks your path from Paul. “You’re going back to bed.”

“But-”

He shakes his head, “bed.”

You sigh, “fine.” You sadly walk back into your room.

“Jake, tell me what you did. I can barely get her to help me be my wingman,” Embry whines.

“No one can help that.”

“You all are so rude.”

“We never claimed to be nice,” you say, voice muffled because of the door.

“I’m getting that now. I don’t even know why I shifted now.”

“You had no choice.”

“Shut up.”

Emily shakes her head at the sight of her kids (yes, she’s officially claimed you all) messing around with one another. 

Previously: Part I

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